Gospel Story Finder

“I’d like to go just one mile further, if we can,” said Bishop Steve Pond of the Kelso Ward, Longview Washington Stake. He was in the car with Mike and Beverly Glen of his ward, who were able to get through many of the roadblocks close to the volcano because they lived in that area. They had been winding up the narrow ash-covered mountain roads, helping the bishop check on members’ homes that might have been damaged by the mudslides and flooding.
“I’m afraid we’re not going to get through this roadblock,” said Mike Glen. “It’s manned, and they’re giving $500 fines to anyone who doesn’t belong up here.”
“Tell the national guardsmen that you’re a bishop and are checking on your people,” suggested Beverly Glen.
The car pulled up to the roadblock slowly, and the guardsman, who turned out to be LDS, poked his head in the car window.
“Hello, bishop,” he said. “How can we help you?”
“I’d like to check on some of our people who live up the road a ways,” said Bishop Pond.
“Very good. Some new tremors were felt in the last hour, though, so listen to your radio. If you smell lava, evacuate out of the area because as soon as we get the word to evacuate, we’re going in that direction,” said the guardsman. “Are we having Church this week?”
“Depends on your mountain,” said the bishop. “We’re going up the road now just a couple of miles, then we’ll be right out.”
Then they drove off, closer to the mountain and checking the members’ homes marked on the bishop’s map by pins. He used the map to keep track of his members during the disaster, and had spent most of his time outside of work the past two weeks since the eruption contacting members and making sure they were okay. Tonight he’d skipped dinner so he could get up to the homes while it was still light.
As soon as it was rumored that the volcano might blow, Bishop Pond had called a meeting with the ward welfare services committee to plan for the possible disaster. He asked the Relief Society to prepare a list of emergency supplies (much of which was to be taken from each family’s food storage) that could sustain each family for several days and was portable enough to be thrown into the car at a moment’s notice. The list was passed out to each family at sacrament meeting two weeks before the major eruption. Bishop Pond also assigned each ward family in a potential flooding area to another family on safe ground, so when the volcano did erupt (though no one knew if it would) everyone had a safe place to go.
To ensure good communications with the outside world and each other if the telephone system were hampered, a ham radio communications system was set up, too.
“Bishop Pond was really inspired in helping his ward members prepare for a possible disaster,” said Beverly Glen, a counselor in the Kelso Ward Relief Society. “It took a lot of work and foresight to help people get ready for what was to come.”
Some ward members put their food storage in their attics in case of flooding, so their food would stay dry. Many people drew upon their water supplies when their normal source of water turned to mud from the volcano’s mudslides. And some families drew upon their food storage when other families from the ward moved in with them.
“What we’ve learned from this situation is really just a verification that we need to do what the Lord tells us through his prophets, even without understanding the reasons,” said Bishop Pond.
“Overall, the disaster has brought some real blessings to our ward members. We’re much closer now as a ward, and we’ve been given the opportunity to really serve each other.”

On a bright Sunday morning in 1910, I hurried through the streets of Bristol, England, with my family. “Dad,” I asked, with a tug on his coattails, “will there be many people?”
“More than usual, Hetty,” Dad answered. “We don’t often have an Apostle come to our district conference.”
“But remember,” my big brother, Herb, said, “this is a church meeting, not a social gathering.” He tried to look stern, but I could tell that he was teasing.
“There will be plenty of time for both,” Dad said. “After all, it’s hard enough to make friends nowadays.”
He’d said that last bit quietly, almost to himself. I knew life hadn’t been easy for Dad since he’d been baptized. His coworkers teased him about giving up his pipe. And the daily papers often wrote mean things about the Church. But Dad stayed strong. Sometimes I wondered how I would do if I were faced with persecution. I looked up at Herb and wondered what he would do.
We soon reached Wolseley Hall. It wasn’t really a proper church building, but that day it looked like one. Members in their best Sunday clothes milled outside the doors, shaking hands and greeting old friends. Then everyone gathered in the hall.
When we were seated, some men filed into the seats in the front. I recognized the district president, President Little. He was followed by a man in a long-tailed black coat and a tall silk hat.
I tapped my dad’s arm. “Is that Elder Clawson?” I whispered. Dad nodded.
I knew that Elder Rudger Clawson was an Apostle. I looked closely at him, but except for the way he was dressed, he looked the same as the men sitting next to him. But later, when he spoke, I knew that there was something special about him. The feeling in my heart reminded me of our first visit with the missionaries. When they had taught us about Joseph Smith, a warm feeling had filled the room. I felt that same warmth as I listened to Elder Clawson speak.
We had three meetings that day, with a break in between each for a bite to eat. I thought I’d be tired of meetings, but I was a little sad when Elder Clawson stood up to give the last talk. I’d felt so good inside all day, I almost wished the day would never end.
I tried hard to listen to Elder Clawson’s speech so that I could go home and write it in my journal. But as he was speaking, I heard shouts outside the hall. Suddenly a big splotch of mud hit the window above my head. More mud and rocks struck other windows around the hall, and the shouting grew louder.
“What’s happening?” Herb whispered to Dad.
“It sounds like a mob,” Dad answered grimly.
Elder Clawson finished his talk as if nothing were happening, then announced that he would give the closing prayer.
“We ask thee, Father, to watch over and protect us,” he prayed, and as he did, the fear left my heart.
After Elder Clawson finished his prayer, he told us to stay in the hall until it was safe to leave.
“What are we waiting for?” I whispered to Dad, after we’d been sitting for half an hour, listening to the shouting outside.
“I don’t know,” my dad answered, “but the Lord will provide.”
A few minutes later, a knock sounded boldly on the door. President Little opened the door a crack and peered out. There stood a friend of his, a police officer. He had his uniform on, and he had brought along another police officer.
“Follow me,” the officer said. “I have a tram car waiting in the street.”
The two officers turned and swung their clubs to make a path for us through the mob.
“Stay close,” Dad whispered as we stepped out the door. I took a deep breath and threw my shoulders back, surprised to find that I wasn’t a bit scared.
Elder Clawson followed behind us. As he walked through the door, shouts rang out.
“There he is!” “The Mormon Apostle!” “Get him!”
The crowd surged in around us, and Herb left my side. “Herb,” I called. I turned to see him pluck the hat from Elder Clawson’s head, cram it on his own and dash off.
“There he goes!” someone shouted, pointing at the top hat bobbing through the crowd. “After him!”
I stood, stunned, watching the crowd break up and chase my brother. Then I felt Dad tugging my hand. “Come, Hetty. He’ll be fine. Elder Clawson asked Heavenly Father to protect us.”
“And He will,” said a voice behind us. It was Elder Clawson. He watched his hat for a moment as it disappeared into the dimming light. “You have a brave son,” he said, turning to shake my dad’s hand. “May I come over early tomorrow and thank him?”
Early the next morning, President Little and Elder Clawson came to our house. Herb, shy for once, placed the hat into Elder Clawson’s hand without a word.
“How did you get away?” President Little asked Herb.
“I hid in the bushes for a while, till they tired of looking.”
“Well done, son,” Elder Clawson said. “What made you think of putting my hat on?”
Herb looked bewildered for a second. “I don’t know.”
Elder Clawson smiled. “I do. You were prompted by the Holy Spirit.” He shook Herb’s hand.
I smiled proudly at my brother. He had done the right thing. I knew in my heart that I had, too. When we stepped into that mob, I hadn’t bowed my head and tried to hide. I’d held it high to show that I was glad to belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I promised myself then that I would always hold my head high and never be ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Illustration by Brad Teare
Joseph swung at the baseball and missed. Again.
“Strike three!” the umpire called. “You’re out.”
Joseph trudged back to his team with his shoulders slumped. How would he ever hit a ball this season? They had only one game left.
“Good try,” his coach said. Joseph shrugged and plopped down on the bench. He was so tired of striking out! He’d worked hard all season long, going to every practice and staying late most days. He even practiced at home whenever he could.
His coach once told him he had one of the best swings on the team. So why couldn’t he hit the baseball?
The next batter from his team swung hard and smashed the ball with a loud crack. Up, up, up it went. A home run.
Joseph sighed. He didn’t need to hit a home run. Just a normal hit. He said a silent prayer to Heavenly Father, asking that somehow he’d be able to hit the ball before the season ended. Tomorrow would be his last chance.
Later that night the missionaries visited Joseph’s house. Mom had signed up weeks ago to have them over for dinner. While they ate, Elder Seeley started talking about baseball.
Joseph sat up straight and paid very close attention. Apparently Elder Seeley was some kind of a baseball star back home before his mission. Nobody in Joseph’s family had known that before.
Mom seemed very interested too. She turned to Elder Seeley and asked, “Would it be OK if we all went outside so you could give Joseph a few tips on his swing?”
“Absolutely,” Elder Seeley said.
The moment dinner was done, Joseph raced to get his baseball and bat. Joseph couldn’t wait to see what the missionary might teach him.
Outside, Elder Seeley pitched a few balls and watched Joseph swing. “You’re swinging way too fast,” he said. “Slow it down, nice and easy.”
Elder Seeley also taught Joseph how to grip the bat better and the best height to hold his elbow.
“Let’s see that swing again,” Elder Seeley said and pitched one more time. Joseph swung and heard the crack of the ball hitting his bat. The ball flew over the back fence. He’d done it! He’d actually hit the ball!
Mom and the missionaries cheered.
A peaceful feeling came over Joseph. He was going to hit the ball in the game tomorrow. He just knew it.
The next day Joseph stepped up to the batting plate and took a deep breath. He tried to remember everything Elder Seeley taught him.
The first pitch came. He swung and missed.
“Strike one!” the umpire called out.
Joseph didn’t let it bother him. He still had two more strikes.
The next pitch flew out of the strike zone.
“Ball one!” cried the umpire.
Joseph took another deep breath. He could do this. He still felt that same warm feeling inside.
The pitcher let the ball fly. Joseph focused and swung.
His bat smacked hard against the ball and sent it flying. Joseph stared in wonder for a moment as the baseball soared away. Then he dropped the bat and ran toward first base as fast as he could.
A cheer rose from the crowd.
Joseph skidded to a stop on the base and smiled. Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. The answer hadn’t come in the way he’d expected, but Joseph knew Heavenly Father had sent someone to help him.

The first things I noticed among the hustling paramedics and the wailing sirens that cold January morning in Utah were Esther’s hands. Her long, strong fingers, which had always been so busy serving others, were now cramped and motionless. My own hands reached out to warm hers, and her closed eyes fluttered open briefly. She looked around as though to identify who was near her.
“It’s okay, Esther,” I said, trying to comfort her as I straightened her nightgown and covered her with a blanket. “The doctors will find out what has happened to you.” I felt Esther relax; then we were both swept into the ambulance and rushed to the nearby hospital.
To say Esther was only a neighbor is like describing the sun as only a source of light. Esther’s hands had reached out to me when I was a teenager and had led me to the treasures in my junior high school library. For more than 40 years, her hands had dispensed knowledge and service throughout the neighborhood. She had hired and patiently taught many young people how to prune and care for her orchards, how to improve the neighborhood, and how to love their neighbors. She had reached out to old and new alike, and her hands had sewn the fabric of our block into a quilt of friendship that spread far beyond its physical boundaries.
All that busy winter, I had yearned to help someone. But I knew it was a futile desire. I was working full time in a very stressful job, and I was the harried mother of five very involved and very busy children, ages 5 to 25, including two who were getting married within weeks of each other. My family, work, Church and community responsibilities had strained my capacity to do more than survive each day. But something in the depths of my being kept calling out, wanting to help someone in some way.
Many mornings, as I checked off my accomplishments of the previous day and plotted my strategy for meeting the struggles of the dawning one, I had recalled the Lord’s admonition to “not run faster or labor more than you have strength,” (see D&C 10:4), and I had thought, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll find time to take dinner to someone or to take flowers to a sick friend.”
Service, to me, was a physical object one presented as a gift: it was homemade candy or doughnuts at Christmas, freshly baked bread for a new neighbor, or outgrown clothes for needy families. Now, as I sat at Esther’s bedside on a cold wintry day, Esther taught me that service was something else.
“Esther, squeeze my hand,” the doctor coaxed. “Come on, Esther, you can squeeze my hand.”
“I’m trying,” Esther answered, but her words collapsed into themselves, and her voice trailed off. The doctor shook his head, slipping his hand from Esther’s unmoving one.
“Esther, they are going to move you to another room now,” I explained as they wheeled her bed out of the emergency room. “It’s going to be all right.” Her frightened eyes searched mine for reassurance and then closed in peace.
Surprisingly, despite my fear for Esther, I felt an unusual sense of peace. For once in my harried, over-full life, I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t worried about my list of Saturday chores. I wasn’t concerned about my family. They knew I was with Esther, and their prayers were with me in that cramped, bare cubicle.
Morning edged into afternoon. I called Esther’s family in another state and told them of the situation. I served as a link between the hospital, Esther, and her family members, who were trying to cope with this emergency. And I talked to Esther.
As I sat by Esther, I watched storm clouds gather and snow begin to fall. My thoughts went back 35 years to when my grandmother had had her final stroke. Others had been frightened of the silent stranger who inhabited my grandmother’s frail body, but my mother had told us to hold her hand, to stroke it, and to talk to her.
“I think she can hear you, even if she can’t communicate,” my mother had said. “She needs to hear and feel your love. Talk to her, touch her, and let her know you love her.”
I hadn’t thought of my mother’s words for many years, but they came back as I talked to Esther, stroked her immobile hands, and filled the tiny room with my whispered prayers.
Too soon the room was crowded with Esther’s family, and I eased out of their way as they gathered around her. When they reached out to caress her still hands, stroke her hair, and talk to her, the urgent need that had held me captive all morning disappeared.
“She’s slipped into a deep coma,” the nurse explained to Esther’s loved ones. “Earlier she was trying to communicate, but now she’s unconscious and unaware.”
I stood at the doorway and took one last look at Esther’s inert hands. They were more relaxed now, but they remained open and reaching out to others. I dashed tears of appreciation from my eyes and thanked Esther for her last gift to me.

Living and growing up in the same coastal town, another teenager named James, 15-year-old James Hankin, is charting his own plans for travel and greatness. James desires to serve a full-time mission and has been preparing for the last six years. James has a lot of support in achieving this goal. His father, Blair, knows about missionary service, having served his mission in Haiti. And Blair returned there to donate service after the recent earthquakes.

When asked about his dad’s service in Haiti, James says, “He served his mission over there, so he can speak Creole. I’m really impressed. Basically, he’s working with an orphanage, taking medical supplies to them. I’m hoping I can actually go this summer.” The toy shop where James works part-time has also donated toys and supplies to be sent to the children of Haiti.

Service and missionary work are serious business for the Hankins. James’s mum started a missionary savings account for him when he was young. “I’m happy that my parents are helping me go on a mission,” James says, but he doesn’t leave all the saving to his parents. James has made considerable contributions to this account. Not only does he work Saturdays on Whitby Pier in a toy shop, but he also helps his sister and dad on a daily paper round (paper route). He delivers leaflets each month, and to top that off, he also offers to deliver leaflets for the local businesses in his area.

Of his missionary fund, James says, “I’ve got about 3,000 pounds [approximately 4,557 U.S. dollars] already saved up. And that’s by going to people I know and asking if they want leaflets delivered.”

Finances are only one aspect to James’s missionary preparation, along with scripture study, praying, and a lot of exercise thanks to many Young Men sport activities. The young men in the Scarborough ward go on regular visits with the missionaries. The Scarborough ward recently had a missionary service night where all the members of the ward went to a neighbouring village and knocked on doors for a few hours.

Along with being involved in the ward missionary efforts, James has enjoyed seminary this year. “I get a lot of support from the students and teachers. I do early morning study via computer rather than going to a house because we are quite spread out,” said James. The use of computers, Web-cameras, and online calling services is essential for the Scarborough/Bridlington seminary class. “If we did it without the computers, some of us would travel 30–45 minutes there and back every morning,” James explained. “We use Web-cam conference calls so we can all talk to and see each other and the teacher can see us. Our area is so big that this helps.” James appreciates the effort the ward goes to for all the youth to have seminary.

Samuel the Lamanite is another inspiration for James to serve a mission for the Church. James cites Helaman 13 as one of his favourite chapters in the Book of Mormon.

“I like Samuel preaching from the wall while the people fired arrows, rocks, and spears.” James said. “He had the bravery and courage to get on the wall and not be hit.” James hopes to emulate that bravery, courage, and faith as he follows in the footsteps of his father and other missionaries who faithfully went to serve the Lord on a full-time mission. Charting that voyage to success is all part of the plan.

Illustration by G. Bjorn Thorkelson
Cara put down her pencil and stared at the piece of paper on her desk. It was blank except for her name and a big eraser smudge. What should I write? she thought.
Across the aisle her friend Lily was writing busily. Cara put her head down and rested it on her arm.
Cara really liked her new school. It was in a church building of another religion, and her new class was small enough that her teacher, Mrs. Schmidt, had time to help her with math. Every day after math, Mrs. Schmidt taught a lesson from the Bible. Usually the Bible lessons were a lot like what Cara had learned at home and in Primary.
But a few weeks ago, during a lesson about baptism, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that babies who died before they were baptized couldn’t go to heaven. Then she said that one of her own children died right after he was born. When she said that, Mrs. Schmidt looked like she was going to cry.
“But babies who die do go to heaven,” Cara wanted to say. If only Mrs. Schmidt knew that, maybe she wouldn’t be so sad anymore. But Cara felt too shy to say anything.
After school Cara told Mom about what Mrs. Schmidt said. “Knowing that babies go to heaven is one of the blessings we have because of the Book of Mormon,” Mom said. Cara hoped that Mrs. Schmidt would read the Book of Mormon someday. She wished she had the courage to tell her about it.
Now in today’s lesson, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all one person. Cara thought about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. She knew that They were two separate people and that each of Them had a body. She was glad she knew that for sure, even before talking to Mom or Dad about it.
But then Mrs. Schmidt had said, “Class, please take out a piece of paper and write about what we have been talking about.”
That’s when Cara got a worried feeling in her stomach. She wanted to do the assignment the way her teacher wanted her to. Could she be brave enough to write what she knew was true?
With her head down on her desk, Cara began to say a silent prayer. Please, dear Heavenly Father, what should I do?
Almost at once Cara began to feel calm and peaceful inside. The Holy Ghost whispered that if she wrote what was in her heart, everything would be OK.
Cara lifted her head, picked up her pencil, and began to write:
Heavenly Father and Jesus are two separate people. They have bodies of flesh and bone like we do. The Holy Ghost is a Spirit who can speak to us in our hearts.
After writing a few more sentences, Cara put her pencil down. She didn’t know what Mrs. Schmidt would think of what she had written, but she felt happy that she had been able to tell her teacher something important and true.

“It’s not like we were on a date, Bishop,” said Paul. “We were just hanging out.” Fifteen-year-old Paul was trying to explain why he was having moral problems with a young lady whom he had never “dated.” When the bishop spoke with the young lady, she, like Paul, failed to grasp the seriousness of what they had done because, after all, they weren’t “dating.”
Young Latter-day Saints know the guidelines for dating. Most can recite them by memory: don’t date until age 16, date in groups, and only date those who share your same high standards. But more and more LDS teens aren’t dating in the traditional sense. Sure, they may attend a few proms or other formal dances at school, but most young people today prefer to just hang out. “We just get together at someone’s house,” one teenager explains, “and watch videos, play games, or talk. No one asks anyone. Word just spreads that we’re getting together and everyone comes.” Another said, “Sometimes we pile into cars and just drive around. It’s fun.”
Of course hanging out can be fun. It’s casual and informal. There’s no pressure, and it takes very little preparation. Most parents and Church leaders are happy to see young people gather with positive friends and stay in groups. Such activities can promote feelings of acceptance and inclusion that are necessary and good. However, the casualness and lack of accountability that accompany hanging out can sometimes open the door to problems and put young people in situations where their safety—both physical and spiritual—is in jeopardy.
As a bishop in a BYU student ward, I asked some of the young people I work with for their advice. Is it possible to hang in there with gospel standards and covenants while hanging out with friends? Here are their responses and suggestions:
Plan activities in advance. Josh Smith from San Antonio, Texas, says, “I know it takes a little effort, but it really is better if your friends know what they are going to do. Say, ‘Hey, we’re going to make some cookies and deliver them, or we’re going to play volleyball.’ Just so everyone isn’t sitting around saying, ‘So, what are we going to do now?’” Josh is right. It’s easy to go with the flow, but if we are not careful the flow usually takes us in only one direction—down. Dustin Coffman from Lake Charles, Louisiana, says, “Everyone finds it harder to resist inappropriate videos, music, and activities when such things are thrown at us at the last minute and we haven’t thought about what we could do instead.”

Several years ago my friend Joseph was planning to drive from Utah to Washington, D.C., USA. He invited me to go with him for the road trip. Along the way we visited various Church history sites, and when we got to the East Coast, we drove to New York City.
We were there just two weeks after the tragic events of September 11, 2001. We felt strongly that we should visit the site where the Twin Towers had been destroyed.
We saw a soldier waving people through a crowded street as they viewed the wreckage. He handed out tissues to dry people’s tears.
Joseph and I could feel how deeply these events had hurt everyone, and we wanted to do something about it. We decided the best thing we could do was talk to people, listen to their stories, and perhaps share a message on the hope of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with them.
On our way back to our hotel, we were traveling in the subway. Sitting across from me was a lady who was reading a book. I wondered what was going on in her life. I introduced myself and told her that we were visiting New York. I said we were curious about her experiences with the recent events of September 11.
Her name was Maria, and she had lived in New York City for decades. She worked in a building a few blocks away from the towers. She told us that a few weeks before September 11, she had received a strong feeling that she should pray and ask if God was there. She said that up until that point in her life, she hadn’t prayed much and hadn’t really felt like she needed to. She didn’t feel an answer to her prayer until terrorists struck the towers on that fateful morning. Chaos and confusion ensued all around her, yet she suddenly felt calm. Maria told us that she felt this incredible peace and that, in spite of all the inexplicable destruction of the moment, she felt that God was there looking out for her.
After Maria shared this with us, Joseph and I told her that she had felt the Spirit of her Heavenly Father in the form of that special peace and comfort. We told her that she could always feel that peace, as she seeks Him in prayer and by searching the Book of Mormon. We gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon and told her that the book would bring her a continuation of the peace she had been seeking. She was very happy to receive it and thanked us.
I don’t know what came next in Maria’s story because Joseph and I had to get off at our stop, but I know that Heavenly Father loves each of His sons and daughters. I know He is in the details of our lives, especially when things seem to be going wrong all around us. He can provide unspeakable peace that comes from His Spirit, through the power of His Son, Jesus Christ. Christ’s light can shine brightly through the thickness of any trial or tragedy because He has overcome it all.

When my family and I lived in Rhode Island, a minister of a local Methodist church invited me to join with the pastors, priests, and rabbis in our area to help fight a number of problems in the state, such as the prospect of casino gambling. I was happy to help.
One day after our meeting, these ministers were talking about the sense of calling they had, a great inner feeling, that led them to become ministers, pastors, rabbis, and priests. They discussed how, during the course of their career, they had the feeling they should leave one congregation and “seek another pulpit,” as they call it.
I was most interested in this conversation. Then this good friend of mine, the Methodist minister, said, “Well, there may be some here that have a different idea of what a calling is.”
I said, “There’s only one person here who has a different understanding, and that’s me, so let me tell you a little about my own experience.
“When I was 12 years old, the bishop called me to be the music leader for the young men and the young women. I knew nothing about music and couldn’t sing well. But the bishop called me, so I did it.
“A Young Women president told me, ‘Okay, Robert. We’re going to make a conductor out of you.’ And she began to wave her arm one, two, three, four. And within 20 minutes I felt ready to conduct the Mormon Tabernacle Choir!”
Then I told these ministers, “Later I was called to other positions in the Young Men and in Scouting. I didn’t want to do those any more than I wanted to be a music leader, but the bishop called me and so I did it.
“And then one day I got a call to serve as bishop. I had observed what bishops do, and I really didn’t want to be called to be a bishop. But I was called, so I accepted. Later when I was called to be a stake president, I didn’t want to be a stake president, but I was called by an Apostle of the Lord, so I did it.
“Why is it that I accepted all these calls, even though I didn’t really want to do them? It was because I believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy—which is by revelation—and by the laying on of hands by one having authority to preach the gospel and administer the ordinances” (see A of F 1:5).
I continued, “I do not believe that a call comes from within. It is not a feeling that you have within you. It is a call that comes from God, through the servants who have also been called and set apart to that very purpose.”
In the course of that conversation I perceived what an unusual understanding of callings that was to them. No one saw a call that way, even though that is the biblical understanding of a call (see John 15:16).
As bishop, stake president, and now as a General Authority, I have participated in calling people. I have had remarkably inspiring experiences of joining with another, generally a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles or an Area Seventy, to interview men we did not know. Yet the Lord revealed whom to call. Through these experiences, I began to get an even more powerful witness that the Lord does inspire and reveal who should serve.

I live in Oklahoma, where there are many missionary opportunities. One such experience happened recently with my friend and my English teacher. Our English teacher assigns different journal topics every Monday, and we can choose to read them aloud on Friday.
One week, my teacher chose the topic “If you could have someone famous or well-known raise you, who would it be?” My friend chose Brigham Young, and I chose Thomas S. Monson. We are the only Mormons in our grade, so nobody else knew who we were talking about. My friend read hers aloud, but I had no intention of reading mine. Then, I felt the Spirit prompt me that I needed to read mine.
After we both read our journal entries, our teacher started asking us questions about our Church. We talked about our beliefs for about 20 minutes. Normally I would have been nervous, but I felt the Spirit so strongly. My teacher seemed interested.
The next week, I gave my teacher a copy of the Book of Mormon. I put a copy of the Articles of Faith inside, along with a brief summary of the Book of Mormon. She said that she felt ignorant because most kids can say what they believe, but they only know because their parents told them. “But you know what you believe,” she said, “and you know why.”
I felt the Spirit confirm that because I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I had had a missionary experience that I would not have had otherwise.

But when I returned home from my mission, I got a job and moved away from my family. I got an apartment in a different state, with roommates who had very different standards than mine.

My co-workers also lived very different lives than I did. They would get together every weekend to drink and party, and they invited me to join. Not wanting to be in an environment like that, I always turned down their invitations.

But, weekend after weekend, as I sat alone in my flat and woke up each Sunday to go to church on my own, I started to feel discouraged.

Although I said no to early invitations to go out with my co-workers, I felt jealous—they seemed like they were having fun. I noticed that the friendships they developed when they went out seemed to be helping them move forward in their careers.

I just felt like the quiet, boring co-worker no one knew.

One weekend I was tired of feeling lonely. So I decided to go with them when they asked. I justified the decision by deciding beforehand that I wouldn’t try any alcohol.

I told myself, “Even if I’m in an unholy place, just being there won’t hurt me if I’m not doing anything unholy, right?”

As I started going out with these co-workers, I gradually started to change. I stayed out late on Saturday nights, which resulted in me sleeping through church on Sundays.

Although I wasn’t drinking alcohol, I wasn’t standing in holy places. Physically, I wasn’t going to church. Spiritually, I didn’t think about the gospel or make time for Heavenly Father. I was trading my meetinghouse for parties. I didn’t leave room for the Spirit in my life.

One day, I woke up and realized how far I had let myself drift away from Heavenly Father. I felt like I finally understood the term “godly sorrow” (2 Corinthians 7:10). My mind and heart were full of anguish.

“What am I doing?” I thought. “This isn’t me.”

Despite going out on weekends, I didn’t feel happy.

I knew I needed to get back on track with my faith. I needed to repent.

I used to think that repentance was a painful, difficult process, full of guilt and shame. But through this experience, I have learned that repentance is the process of allowing Jesus Christ to change our natures and help us become “new creatures” (Mosiah 27:26).

Ultimately, it was the thought of Jesus Christ and His Atonement that helped me remember who I truly am, the choices I want to be making, and the environments I want to be in.

I started praying for the first time in months. I stopped going out with my co-workers. I went back to church. I opened my Book of Mormon more often.

As I returned to my consistent spiritual habits, I felt peace and renewed comfort. I gained a testimony that when God asks for space in my life and I give it to Him, He will bless me. I can choose to stand in holy places, and if I sometimes find myself in an environment that makes it hard to feel the Spirit, I can hold fast to my standards and faith and rely on Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to protect me (see 2 Kings 6:15–16).

This experience showed me that the world has such a strong, enticing pull, and we can easily be swept up in it if we aren’t making room for the Spirit in our lives.

Before, I was so worried about my career and loneliness. But after wandering away from the gospel, I realized that if I follow Jesus Christ, He will continue to prepare a way for me physically, socially, spiritually, and financially. As my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ has improved, I’ve found new ways to socialize while not putting myself in spiritually dangerous environments.

I know that Heavenly Father has provided a solution for me in Jesus Christ and that my life will be filled with blessings as I continue to follow Him. I feel so grateful for a Savior who was willing to suffer for me so I could choose to follow Him again.

When my wife, Blanca, and I were married, the laws of Guatemala required that we be married civilly first. I didn’t like that ceremony—it said that we were married only until death. The next day we left for Arizona, though we had to sell some of our possessions to afford the trip. Being sealed to my wife in the temple for eternity was one of the most joyful experiences of my life.
But we soon discovered that we didn’t have enough money to return to Guatemala. When we went to church, a man shook my hand and left a U.S. $20 bill in it. Another man did the same. I had said nothing of our problems. But we had told Heavenly Father.
I was a stake president when the temple in Guatemala was announced. It was my privilege to help raise funds for the temple and prepare the people to be worthy to enter it. We were asked to raise U.S. $10,000. Children, young people, and adults all participated. The people of the stake were so enthusiastic that we raised about $27,000—almost three times as much as our goal.
When our youngest child, Daniel, was 11 years old, he told us he wanted a special gift when he turned 12. He wanted to go to the temple and be baptized for some of his ancestors. The whole family got involved in family history. We grew closer to our living relatives and found several ancestors whose temple work had not been done. On my son’s 12th birthday, he was baptized for these people. I performed the ordinances. Daniel gained a greater testimony of temple work.
As you can see, many of the best moments of my life have been spent in the house of the Lord. It can be the same for each of you.
Always remember that our Lord Jesus Christ loves children. When we read about His visit to the Americas after His Resurrection, we learn that He called the children to Him and blessed each of them. There are not many times in the scriptures when the writer couldn’t record the things that were said, but this was one of them. The words and the blessings were so sacred they could not be written. (See 3 Ne. 17:12–23.) Jesus loves you just as He loved those children.
I believe that my testimony was just as firm when I was 12 years old as it is today. You do not have to be a grown-up to have a testimony of Jesus Christ or to make a difference. Perhaps sometimes you don’t realize how much good you are doing for your parents, for your relatives, and for the world.

“One woman wanted more than anything else to marry a righteous priesthood holder in the temple and be a mother and a wife. She had dreamed about this all her life, and oh, what a wonderful mother and loving wife she would be. Her home would be filled with loving-kindness. Never a bitter word would be spoken. The food would never burn. And her children, instead of hanging out with their friends, would prefer to spend their evenings and weekends with Mom and Dad.
“This was her golden ticket. It was the one thing upon which she felt her whole existence depended. It was the one thing in all the world for which she most desperately yearned.
“But it never happened. And, as the years went on, she became more and more withdrawn, bitter, and even angry. She could not understand why God would not grant her this righteous desire.
“She worked as an elementary school teacher, and being around children all day long simply reminded her that her golden ticket had never appeared. As the years passed she became more disappointed and withdrawn. People didn’t like being around her and avoided her whenever they could. She even took her frustration out on the children at school. …
“The tragedy of this story is that this dear woman, in all her disappointment about her golden ticket, failed to notice the blessings she did have. She did not have children in her home, but she was surrounded by them in her classroom. She was not blessed with a family, but the Lord had given her an opportunity few people have—the chance to influence for good the lives of hundreds of children and families as a teacher.
“The lesson here is that if we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.”

As my testimony grew while I was young, so did my love of music. That love began when I entered a Latter-day Saint chapel and saw a piano for the first time. I feel that the Lord had a plan for me because I felt drawn to the piano. I opened the piano bench, found a book on how to play piano, and began teaching myself.
Soon, I was playing the piano in my ward every Sunday and singing in the ward youth choir. When I turned 16, I began attending the National Conservatory of Music in Guatemala. The conservatory’s choir conductor, Beto Echeverria, urged me to become a professional. Since then, I have played the piano and conducted many choirs at Church events. Eventually, I became the Church’s music coordinator for the Central America Area. Today, I work as a piano technician and music teacher.
Carlos, singing with his daughter, Rocio, discovered his love of music after he entered a Latter-day Saint chapel, saw a piano for the first time, and taught himself to play.

Kelsie Belanger says the theme of being a beacon in the night reinforced an experience she had at young women’s camp. “We were identifying constellations,” she explains. “One of our leaders pointed out the North Star. I thought it would be brighter than it actually is. But she said the great thing about the North Star is that it is constant. It is always where it should be. That left an impression on me. I realized that even if you don’t feel your light is very bright, as long as you keep up your efforts, that makes a difference.”

“Then there was the time on the bus going to play in a soccer match. (The girls and boys teams ride together.) I was reading the Book of Mormon. I have a big quadruple combination, and it was rather conspicuous. One of the boys who had been living in Utah said he’d never seen a Book of Mormon before and wanted to see it. He started looking through it and asking me questions about it. Before long, the whole back of the bus was involved in a discussion about the Book of Mormon. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between the front of the bus and the back, because up in front they were telling inappropriate jokes.”

After we were baptized in 1992, my family did everything together, including attending Sunday meetings, Church conferences, and other activities. But time passed, things changed, and I eventually found myself alone at church—the rest of my family having become less active. Thereafter, whenever I heard someone in church teach about eternal families, my heart ached and a profound sadness overcame me.
In 1995 I decided to receive my patriarchal blessing to learn more of what the Lord expected of me and to receive strength. My blessing contained the following promise: through fasting, prayer, and family home evening, I would have my family “in the gospel.” I constantly prayed and fasted for my family, but I didn’t follow the counsel to hold family home evening.
“If this can happen to families in my mission,” I wondered, “why not to my own family?”
After my mission I was determined to hold family home evening with my family. At first, all participated grudgingly, and I had trouble finishing my lessons as planned. But I knew the Lord wouldn’t counsel me to do something that wouldn’t be a blessing, so I didn’t give up. Eventually, the promise in my patriarchal blessing was fulfilled.
If I didn’t hold family home evening, I heard about it. Family members all participated with opinions, ideas, and counsel, and they listened attentively to the message. Even though we were older then, when game time came, we had a party!
As a result, members of my family once again began obeying commandments they had ignored, and they became more active in the Church.
I can truly say that my home was transformed into a little bit of heaven, thanks to an inspired program that should be a tradition in every home: family home evening.

When my wife and I were first married, my parents lived in another state. During a break in our university schedule, we decided to go visit them.
We made sandwiches, packed the car, prepared a bed in the backseat for our young son so that he could rest during the 10-hour trip. After a full day in the car, we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. The preschooler never slept and seemed to gather energy as the day wore on. We knew that if he would just close his eyes and be quiet for a while, he would fall asleep.
After sundown, with two hours of travel still to go, we decided to play a game. The purpose of the game was to try to get an exhausted youngster to sleep. We called it hide-and-seek. Have you ever tried to play hide-and-seek in a car? Let me tell you how we did it. We said to the small boy in back, “Let’s play hide-and-seek.” He enthusiastically agreed. We said, “Close your eyes and don’t open them until we call you. We need time to hide.”
The game started. A front-seat passenger would crouch down in the seat and 10 or 15 seconds later would call, “OK.” Our son would bound over the seat and say, “Aha, I found you!” We would say, “Next time we will hide better. Close your eyes again.” A minute or more would go by. Then we would call, and again he would energetically climb over the seat to find us. Finally we said, “We have a really good place to hide this time. It will take longer. Close your eyes and we will call you.”
A minute, two minutes, five minutes went by. We drove along in silence. The tranquillity was marvelous. We must have traveled 15 miles before we began to whisper quiet congratulations to ourselves on the success of our devious game. Then, from out of the backseat, came the sobbing voice of a heartbroken little boy. “You didn’t call me, and you said you would.”
“You didn’t do what you agreed to do.” What a terrible accusation. It was a defining moment in our lives. We knew that we could never play that game again.

And a woman said this of her experience in the class: “I think I was a real frustration to my neighbor, even though she didn’t say so. I sat through eight lessons without feeling like there was anything there that I could or should really commit myself to. But I kept going back with her. One Sunday when I got home, though, I sat down and thought for a while, and I suddenly realized that I had learned a lot more than I had thought. I was surprised at how much my views about life had changed little by little, and how hopeful things now seemed. She was really surprised when I called and said, ‘Well, what do I do now?’” Her member friend introduced her to the missionaries, and she was baptized in just a few weeks.

Lucas L., age 9, Argentina
The booklet Faith in God has helped me progress in keeping the commandments of Heavenly Father. I encourage all children to complete the booklet and develop their talents by serving in the Church. I set a goal and played the violin in a duet with my brother at church. I have a brother who is serving a mission—he is a great example for me, as are all the members of my family!