Gospel Story Finder

In a high school in Utah, a young mentally handicapped student we will call Frank wanted so much to be accepted by the popular crowd. He would follow them around, always on the outside looking in, hoping to be included but never achieving it.
One day in the cafeteria, some of the more popular boys and girls encouraged Frank to get up on the table and dance. Thinking he would please them, he did it. In his awkward way, he twisted and twirled. The group yelled, clapped their hands, and laughed. They were laughing at him, and Frank thought they were laughing with him.
A few tables away, Dave was eating lunch with a friend and watching it all. He courageously leaped up, faced that crowd of tormentors, and through clenched teeth said, “I’ve had as much of this as I can stand!” He helped Frank down and said, “Frank, you come and have lunch with us.”
At a 20-year high school reunion, one of the graduates had a surprising conversation with one of her classmates that went something like this:
“I came to this reunion after all these years hoping you would be here so I could thank you. My high school experience was hard for me. You may not have known it, but you were the only friend I had in high school. I wondered if maybe the seminary teacher had assigned you to be nice to me. Did he?”
“No, he didn’t assign me.”
“Well, you didn’t know it, but every day I looked for you because I knew that you would talk to me. You made me feel better about myself. Now I am married and have a large family. During these past years I have thought many times of what you meant to me, and I wanted to tell you that.”

“I feel the Footprints have had a real missionary impact on the people around them,” said Jane Gardner. “After one show a boy who’d only been away from home a few months came up to me and told me our program had made him so proud it had brought tears to his eyes. He then said he’d met a Mormon once but had lost contact with him, and he asked me if I could please tell him a little about the Church.”
Jane bore her testimony and set up an appointment for the boy to receive the missionary lessons. “Any effort we put into that tour was worth it,” she added, “because we touched one person.”

At the age of 19, I was called to serve a mission in Tahiti, where I had to learn two foreign languages—French and Tahitian. Early in my mission, I became very discouraged at my lack of progress in either language. Every time I tried to speak French, people responded in Tahitian. When I tried to speak Tahitian, they answered in French. I was on the verge of giving up.

Then one day, as I was walking past the laundry room at the mission home, I heard a voice calling me. I turned around and saw a gray-haired Tahitian woman standing in the doorway motioning for me to come back. Her name was Tuputeata Moo. She spoke only Tahitian. And I spoke only English. I missed much of what she was trying to tell me, but I did understand that she wanted me to return to the laundry room every day so she could help me learn Tahitian.

I stopped by daily to practice with her while she ironed clothes. At first I wondered if our meetings would be of any help, but gradually I began to understand her. Each time we met, she communicated to me her complete confidence that I could learn both languages.

Sister Moo helped me learn Tahitian. But she helped me learn much more than that. She was really teaching me the first principle of the gospel—faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. She taught me that if I relied on the Lord, He would help me do something I thought was impossible. She not only helped save my mission—she helped save my life.

“Mom!” The high-pitched wail made me wince.
What now? I wondered. The children had gone to bed, and I was going about my evening activities. My husband was at a late meeting.
I went upstairs, bracing myself for what I thought was another argument between siblings, and found my youngest child, Michaella, with red-rimmed eyes. “My ear hurts, Mom.”
Oh, no, I thought. Why does this always happen at night? I couldn’t justify the expense of an emergency-room visit for an ear infection, so I used all the home remedies I knew and tucked her in. “Try to sleep now,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor as soon as her office opens in the morning.”
Downstairs again, I felt anxious and could not concentrate. I went to the kitchen and halfheartedly began to wipe the counters. Then with a sudden motion I threw down the cloth. I headed back upstairs to check on Michaella, moving softly in case she was asleep. I stopped halfway up. Through the open door at the top of the stairs, I could hear sobs.
I could not take it. I couldn’t just stand by, helpless, while my child suffered. I sank down on the stairs, tears running down my face. I prayed. I pleaded. I trembled as I told the Lord I would do everything I could to help my daughter and then I would leave the rest up to Him. After taking a few deep breaths, I climbed the rest of the stairs, sat on my daughter’s bed, and smoothed her damp hair.
“It hurts bad, Mom.” The usual dimple in her cheek wasn’t there. Her face was pale. Fatigue and pain had made dark smudges under her eyes.
I decided I would not wait until my husband returned; I would risk looking like an overanxious, overprotective, and overreacting mother. “I’m going to call our home teacher, OK?”
Michaella nodded.
I made the call, feeling somewhat awkward. When I asked our home teacher if he would give Michaella a blessing, his answer was, “Of course.” A short while later he arrived, smiling, as if driving out late at night was his favorite thing to do.
While he performed the blessing I felt hope lighten my heavy heart. I thanked him as he left, then put Michaella to bed again. She was asleep within minutes.
The next morning she seemed so much better, I was tempted to skip calling the pediatrician. But I had promised the Lord I would do everything I could.
Later that morning, I watched the doctor closely. She peered through her scope into Michaella’s ear and said, “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” It wasn’t really a question; it was a statement.
“She slept straight through the night,” I said.
I took a mental photograph of the doctor’s astonished face.
I knew then that we had had our own little miracle. No seas were parted, no lepers cleansed, no dead raised. It had simply been a night of peace, without pain, for a little girl.
For me, it was enough.

After my freshman year I returned home to Kentucky to continue my education. My Latter-day Saint friends soon left to serve missions, and I felt a profound loneliness at their absence. I wanted to have some of the conviction that had inspired them to offer two years of their lives. At the same time, I was continually bothered that I still had no answer to Matt’s question. I wanted to know truths for myself. At last, after many letters from my friends encouraging me to meet with the missionaries, I overcame my trepidation and accepted.
Nevertheless, I had reservations regarding the idea that the various principles of the gospel were interconnected into one unified whole. The missionaries believed that since their message, in its entirety, was either all true or all false, once I gained a testimony of one principle, I could naturally accept all their teachings.
I did not believe them. I thought it was acceptable to pick and choose what I wanted to believe from a sort of spiritual and doctrinal smorgasbord. At the same time, my logic demanded empirical evidence as proof, not faith-based conversion.
Unfortunately, my logic also left me unhappy and dissatisfied. All philosophical arguments I considered were competing postulates of pessimism that provided no real answers. I desired something more, something that would commune with my heart the way my friends and the missionaries described communing with the Holy Ghost. I participated in the missionary discussions in hopes that I might come to know what they said was true or, at the very least, gain some satisfaction in learning it was false.
The missionaries were patient yet bold. Over the course of several months, they taught me many discussions and invited me to be baptized a number of times, but I always said no. I was waiting for some obvious and miraculous event that would provide me with a witness before I was willing to accept their invitation. I didn’t receive that kind of witness, so I kept stonewalling their invitations.
One day the elders read a passage from the Book of Mormon: “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6). Then they said, “Josh, every time we invite you to be baptized, you say no. What you have to do is say yes, and then the Spirit will confirm it to you.”
In other words, I had not yet received a witness because I had not yet tried my faith. I had taken no thought but to ask, believing I would receive without trying (see D&C 9:7). I had effectively blocked the Spirit from being able to witness to me because I was unwilling to take the next step. What I needed to do was to take a leap of faith into the darkness before the light would shine. The confirming witness would come after I tried my faith, not before.
My first thought was that the missionaries were manipulating me to get me baptized. Then it occurred to me that at the precise moment when I answered no to the baptismal invitation, something faint left my heart. It was a still, soft, and subtle feeling of peace urging me to follow the missionaries’ counsel, but I had not recognized its presence until it was gone, leaving me confused, unhappy, and sorrowful.
I wondered if this faint feeling could be the Spirit leaving me and if the cause of my confusion was my own hard heart pushing Him away. With no other recourse, I decided to try the missionaries’ challenge. I would say yes to the inevitable invitation, and then if I felt the Spirit as they promised me, I would go through with the baptism. On the other hand, if I did not feel the Spirit, I was perfectly prepared to tell the missionaries I was just joking.
The evening of our next appointment we watched a new Church video, The Prodigal Son. There was a special feeling in the room; the missionaries were visibly touched, tears welling in their eyes.
After the movie ended, we read several passages in the scriptures. At last Elder Critchfield turned to me and asked, “Josh, will you be baptized on Saturday, November 10, at 4:00 in the afternoon?”
I hesitated and then answered, “Yes.”
The Spirit hit me with such an electrifying presence that the hairs on my arms rose, and I nearly cried. There could be no doubt that light had shone into the darkness. I had tested my faith, and I knew unequivocally that I had to be baptized.

I feel that I have been inspired to share with New Era readers an experience that has made a great impression on my mind and my heart. After I had turned on the radio that we had borrowed from one of our investigators, we, a group of elders, sat motionless, waiting for the broadcast to come on. We had some difficulty finding the station, but after a short but sincere prayer we heard the message we had all been waiting for. We listened to the words being spoken, and as the interpreter paused, we heard, loud and distinct, the voice of the living prophet of God speaking in the background. As I looked at the smiles on the faces of the elders and the warm glow in their eyes, I couldn’t help but feel the love and companionship of our Lord Jesus Christ. To hear the words of God through his mouthpiece, President Spencer W. Kimball, has been a great strength to my testimony. I’m very grateful for the opportunity I have to be a member of this Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Hal V. ProbstBrazil Porto Allegre Mission

When the Fayette Branch of the Church moved to Kirtland, Ohio, Porter went with them. However, his stay there was short. Porter was sent with the first group of Saints to Jackson County, Missouri, the intended central gathering place for members of the Church. The elders often met at Porter’s home to discuss ways of protecting the Saints from the lawless Missouri mobs who were persecuting them.
While he was in Missouri, Porter became a crack marksman with a gun. And he made several trips to Liberty Jail to take food and comfort to Joseph Smith and his counselors when they had been illegally jailed.

During the height of cross-country season, Heather Frushour, a two-time Utah state champion who graduated last June, used to be so busy that she barely had time to eat. She would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to run three miles with her teammates. After the 30-minute run, she rushed home to get ready for her first class that started at 7:40. Cross-country practice began at 1:00 P.M., and lasted for about three hours. Then it was time for the ice pack on sore muscles. Often Heather didn’t get home until 5:30. And by 7:00 on Mutual night, she was at the church. Then there was homework, and—finally—bedtime at 10:00 or 10:30.
“I may have been busy, but I felt incredibly organized. I definitely don’t feel like I wasted my day,” she says. “I would feel great.”

Although Elder Wilcox’s father had to work seven days a week, he still found time to do things with his family. “I remember well his taking us kids swimming. On the way back we’d always stop at a certain shop to get ice cream. He also took us fishing. Every summer he would drive us up to Cache Valley, where all four of our grandparents lived. We would stay for three or four weeks. My grandparents were very loving, and, as a result, we loved them very much.
“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was an open place called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. One of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The holler was truly a paradise for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”
A large irrigation canal flowed near Elder Wilcox’s home, and the children were forbidden to go near it. One day, disobeying this rule, Elder Wilcox was playing near the canal and fell in. Although he immediately grabbed some low-hanging branches, he still couldn’t get out because the banks of the canal were too steep. He was too far away for anyone to hear him yell, but his mother came to his rescue because she had heard a “voice,” the prompting of the Holy Ghost, telling her that her son Keith was in trouble and where he was.
“The thing I remember most about my mother when I was a youngster was that she was the Primary president.” Elder Wilcox also recalls that a favorite Primary teacher, Sister Jones, was a Ute Indian whose father was a tribal chief. “Every year my mother and her counselors planned a huge Primary production for the ward. As part of it one year the Trekker class did an Indian show, wearing authentic Indian clothing and feather headdresses. We had real tomahawks, and Sister Jones taught us how to do an Indian dance. I can still remember the Indian war song we sang as we danced.”
Elder Wilcox’s interest in art led him into the field of architecture. “Art must have been born in me,” he said. “My mother told me that even before I could walk or talk, I drew a picture of a house on her wallpaper. She was so proud of it that she didn’t wash it off.
“My parents provided great role models for us. They were kind and firm, and we knew what the rules were. Our parents were very understanding; they disciplined us with love.
“My message to young people is to never let a day go by without telling your father and mother that you love them. Sometimes it’s hard for children to go up to a brother or sister and say ‘I love you,’ but that’s important too.
“Also, be obedient. Accept direction from your parents. And remember to do only those things that will bring honor to your father and mother, just as we are commanded by the Lord. Remember that no one loves you more than your parents.”

Taking care of my physical and spiritual health made a large difference during the past 10 months. There were days, especially at the beginning, where I had no appetite. We were so blessed by the women of our ward who brought meals, so my family ate and I was presented with an easy solution to ensure I ate. Sleep was also very important so I was rested enough to deal with the stresses of the week. Spiritually, I was blessed to have friends and family watch our son so I could go to the temple. I remember the first time I went after the accident. My husband was in the ICU and unconscious. Two people I knew were at the temple that day. They were just the right people. I have returned to the temple almost weekly throughout this trial. It is a place of strength and healing. Attending reminds me to pray for the strength to carry the burdens that I encounter throughout the week, and God listens and answers those prayers. It gives me a wonderfully peaceful place to plead for the needs of my husband in his recovery.

One warm June day, a friend called and explained that her family was planning a week-long float trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, Idaho's pristine wilderness territory. In order to go on the trip, her family had applied and been selected for a permit for a group of about 25 people. A family that was scheduled to go had cancelled and, with just four weeks to prepare, my friend invited me and my family to join the group. The invitation excited me! I couldn't wait to go on such an adventure. I imagined forging large white water rapids, the sun shining on our faces as we smiled and whooped with joy. In my mind I could see my husband and daughters' delight, as we shared this incredible experience together.

That evening, I chatted with my husband about his day at work, making small talk as we prepared dinner. Just when he seemed most relaxed, I slipped in the offer to join our friend and her family in floating the Middle Fork. My husband looked shocked! He was surprised I would consider such a trip knowing I couldn't swim. And I wouldn't say we are a camping family. Our idea of camping involves indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and flattening irons. We had little time to prepare. My husband, always the cautious planner, wanted time to think about the trip before making a commitment.

Two days later I came home from work and there on our kitchen table were four new sleeping bags! Despite some reservations about my inability to swim and our overall lack of preparation, my husband agreed to the trip.

We began preparing for this unexpected adventure. My brother Marty, an experienced white water raftsman, talked to me about rafting safety. He told me that sometimes people just pop out of the boat. He explained that if I found myself in the water, I should pull my knees up close to my chest, placing my body in a sitting position, pull my elbows in close to my body, and use my hands to navigate my direction in the water. This whole idea seemed a bit preposterous to me. Why would someone just pop out of the boat? I asked. My brother carefully explained how that might happen, enjoying the naivety of the question. Our preparations continued. We purchased a tent, lanterns, clothing, and a map of the river. My family was given a large white cooler for food storage. I carefully organized our cooler, placing items that would be needed later in the week at the bottom of the cooler, with lunch and snack items that would be needed immediately on the top. The morning we were to depart, I checked the cooler one more time. It was perfect! In my mind's eye I could see my family asking for something; I would be able to find the desired item in seconds. My family would beam, knowing their wife and mom was the most efficient and organized woman on the trip!

My husband took the cooler to a central point to load on a trailer. When he returned he explained that the coolers had been reorganized. All our lunch food was placed in a cooler we would share with my friend and her family. The items that would be needed later in the week to prepare and serve dinner to the group were placed in another cooler and duct taped shut. Although this seemed like a logical decision to my husband, I felt my plan of perfection had been altered. We drove to an area near Stanley, Idaho, and spent the night. We were surrounded by majestic mountains and forests. The beauty that surrounded me filled my soul with peace. The next morning we launched our loaded boats down a long ramp. Once we were at the water's edge, we made final preparations to place our rafts in the water. My husband, youngest daughter, Ashlyn, and I were in the same boat. Our captain had floated the river several times, but had never oared a boat before. My oldest daughter, Karly, was placed in another boat with our Bishop, an experienced oarsman. We were finally ready! Everything was going just as planned. We floated through the splendors of the forest that enveloped us, cresting large whitewater rapids and enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly, our boat hit a very large boulder. The pressure of the water pushed against the raft, wrapping it around the rock. I remember seeing my daughter and husband catapulted out of the raft into the cold, rushing whitewater. And then I saw my own feet entering the same frigid water. Suddenly the current pulled me to the middle of the river. I looked back to see my husband reaching for Ashlyn and breathed a sigh of relief knowing they were safe. My journey, however, was far from over.

The current was so swift I had no control. At the mercy of the river. I was swirling around and couldn't see where I was going. Unable to control my course, I bashed into rocks. Within seconds I was thrust into whitewater. In the middle of the rapids I realized I was being pushed down into the water and my life jacket was floating up. I didn't know it at the time, but in order for a lifejacket to work correctly you must cinch it tight to your body. I prefer loose fitting clothing and so, I did not tighten my lifejacket. The end result was that the lifejacket floated and I was pushed under the water. So, I did what any reasonable woman would do in the same situation. I screamed, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" inhaling large amounts of river water in the process. At this point I realized I needed to follow the counsel I had received from my brother. I pulled my knees up to my chest and pulled my lifejacket down with my hands. With the lifejacket close to my body, I floated to the top of the water and could breathe. What a relief! That relief, however, was only momentary as I realized that holding on to the lifejacket meant I couldn't use my hands to navigate. The current continued to move me rapidly forward, throwing me against rocks as I spun, at times floating backward, with no ability to see where I was going.

As the current changed direction, I could see another section of large white water rapids looming ahead of me. I knew my only hope was to try to stop myself against one of the boulders I could see in the clear, cold water. I could see a rock ahead of me and decided to try to extend my legs in an effort to catch myself against the rock. Because the current was so strong, I was concerned I might break my leg, but knew I had to find a way to stop myself. I slowly stretched out my legs and caught myself against the rock. I used all my strength to push against the current that was relentlessly trying to force me off the rock. Exhaling with exhaustion, I examined my surroundings, noting more whitewater just downstream. I wasn't sure how long I could hold on before I would again be carried into the whitewater. I found comfort knowing my family was behind me somewhere, safe and sound.

The temporary safety of my rock shelter was shattered as I heard my youngest daughter, Ashlyn, call out, "Mom! Mom!" I turned to see Ashlyn in the middle of the current and realized she had just traversed the same frigid water and class three rapids I had. I yelled at Ashlyn to swim to the shore. As Ashlyn swam, I uttered a humble and sincere prayer, asking my Father in Heaven to protect my daughters and to keep my husband safe.

As soon as Ashlyn got to shore, she turned towards me and began to sob. She yelled, "Mom! Mom!" I could hear the terror in her voice and became frightened that she would try to swim to me. I told her to stay on the shore where she was safe. At that moment, I heard my husband's voice. I cannot begin to describe my joy when I saw my husband on a raft coming to my rescue. He was reassuring me and telling me to hang on. Inwardly I thought, "No problem! I'm not going anywhere, at least if I can help it." And then, he did what any great husband and father would do. He oared to the shore to check on Ashlyn, telling me that help was on the way.

I exhaled, looking down stream, unsure if my exhausted body could hold onto the safety of my rock much longer. As I began to mentally prepare myself to be carried away by the current, our bishop threw a line to me and pulled me into the safety of his boat. I later learned the current had pulled Ashlyn from her father's grasp, carrying her past the boat that held my oldest daughter, Karly.

One spring day I discovered that death can be closer than I ever expected. Until then, death seemed to be for people, old and ready, or for reckless people who knew death could come suddenly. That was what I thought before my day on Mount Timpanogos, near Provo, Utah.
There it was! Timpanogos peak in all its splendor towering above us. The streaked brown and gray of its steep cliffs drew dizzying contrast to the rolling snowfield of the basin below it. My friend and I had hiked a good portion of the day to conquer the peak, but we could see there was far too much snow to proceed to the summit. Nevertheless, the view was wonderful enough to make us feel the hike was worthwhile.
After savoring the moment, we started our descent, and it was a mutual decision that we should take a different, somewhat harder, route down. Then we saw a perfect place to do some sliding on the snow. We traversed the steep downhill slopes easily as we angled toward a large snowfield in the deep saddle between two rocky outcroppings.
As we came closer to the snowfield, we discovered we were not as close as we expected. We were 25 feet above it. We stood at the top of a sheer drop. At the base of the small cliff stretched acres of snow. The perfect ski run!
I looked at my friend. He smiled, sensing what I was thinking, and at that moment I knew what I was going to do. I sprinted from where I stood and jumped into space, straightening my body and spreading my arms. After endless seconds, I plunged into the snow, shoulder deep much to my surprise.
But my depth was only part of the problem. I discovered water was flowing underneath the snow, melting from above. Much to my dismay, I was being sucked underneath the crust of snow.
My friend, standing on top of the cliff, saw what was happening. He scurried down the hill to a much lower spot and hurled himself off the cliff. I watched him fall, praying he could avoid breaking through the snow’s crust.
He hit with a thud and immediately ran in my direction. My friend grasped my hand and began to haul me out. After he pulled me free, I lay on the snow breathing heavily.
He said to me, “Jon, that was stupid.” I knew he was right.
As I hiked the rest of the way down the mountain, wet from my knees down and a bit stunned by my close call, I was grateful my friend had saved me from the results of my stupidity. Because he was there, I did not have to pay the ultimate price for my unwise choice.
I know that in my life, I have another friend who has hiked alongside for as long as I can remember and is there to pull me out and rescue me from many pitfalls. Jesus Christ, my friend and Savior, is always willing to help when I reach out to him. Because his atonement made repentance possible, there is, through him, always a way out.

Limerick, Republic of Ireland—
Do you ever get really impatient with your parents? I suppose everyone does at some time in their life. But my friend Sharron Coyle and I learned that being patient and following the commandments is really the only way to go.
Our parents were responsible for our first encounter with the missionaries—they invited them into our homes. Although our parents weren’t interested in their messages, Sharron and I were, and we took the discussions from the sisters. We were so impressed and knew they had the happiness and peace we’d been looking for.
We’d been brought up Roman Catholic, but neither of our families were practicing, so we didn’t foresee any great difficulty in our joining the Church.
We were wrong. When we asked our parents for permission to be baptised, they refused, point blank, to even consider the thought.
For a while we fought with them continuously, but then we realized that fighting wasn’t going to get us anywhere. We stopped fighting and just went on living the gospel, hopefully changing our parents’ minds by example.
The church was about seven miles from our homes, and since we didn’t drive and Sharron didn’t have a bicycle, we walked to and from church for meetings and activities. Hail, rain, or snow, we walked. Our parents thought we were mad, but we didn’t give up.
Soon we noticed subtle changes in our parents. They were friendlier towards the missionaries, and the negative talk about the Church stopped. We believed that the missionaries and the members, with their persistence, good deeds, and polite attitudes of respect, were beginning to help turn our parents around.
Then one day, much to my surprise, just before the results from my final exams were due out, my mom said I could be baptised! It was several months before my 18th birthday. Not long after, Sharron’s mom gave her permission too.
Both of us now more fully understand 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7]. We believe that the Lord truly provided a way for us to do his will. We know that we developed strength from our trials, and we’re grateful for the support our parents ended up showing us. It just took time, following the commandments, and the patient support of the missionaries and members.
And now my little sister Sinead wants to join. Here we go again!

My husband had a lot of relatives that were in Nauvoo at that time. One of them was Zina Huntington who later became one of the general presidents of the Relief Society. She lived in upstate New York when the missionaries visited their home and left one copy of the Book of Mormon for the family to read. As a young woman, Zina held that book in her hands and said, "This is the truth, truth, truth."[15] She was converted to the gospel before she ever opened the book. She knew by the Spirit that the Book of Mormon was a true record and she made the transition from living in a beautiful two-story rock home on a farm in upstate New York, to going with the saints to Kirtland, Missouri, Nauvoo, and later traveling west. She had the confidence to leave her comfort zone, so to speak, because of her faith and testimony. As I go down Parley's Street and read those inscriptions, I weep because I feel the spirit of those men and women. I feel the sacrifices they made for us so we can be where we are now.

Zina Huntington married and while living in Nauvoo she was expecting a baby. It was in that condition that she left her home, crossed the Mississippi River, got just a little further west and had the baby on the banks of a river. The river was named Chariton. So the baby was named Chariton. I think about those kinds of things, and then I think about what we've been asked to do. And I think, "Oh, what we're doing is easy compared to them." But you know what? It's not. What we're doing now is pivotal and it's not easy. And it's not going to be easier. In fact, I think it may get harder for us. And I think that we are going to have to be very strong and firm, we're going to have to be like Zina and know-"It's the truth, truth, truth." So as we think about making transitions and moving out of our comfort zones, think about those men and women. How did they do it? What helped them make the transition? I believe it's all about having a testimony of Jesus Christ. And that if you have a testimony of Jesus Christ, and His restored Gospel, you will be able to make any of life's transitions. They had a testimony, and they had a temple. They had covenants - so they had a focus and they knew exactly where they were headed. Nothing else really mattered.

In Dortmund, Germany, during the last area conference on this trip, we stayed in an older, beautiful hotel. The manager was an austere, tall, straight, gray-haired Prussian gentleman. He looked as if he could have been an officer in the army. On the second day after arriving at the hotel, the manager commented, speaking of President Kimball, “Every time that man walks through this lobby, I feel goose bumps all over me.” He felt the spirit that radiates from President Kimball. After making that remark he was introduced to the prophet. President Kimball spoke with him briefly and gave him a family home evening manual. Arrangements were made for him to receive the missionary discussions.
The hotel manager was vividly influenced by that very brief contact with the living prophet. On the day we left, we boarded a bus in front of the hotel and drove around the block, passing the hotel again because of the one-way streets. As we passed the hotel, this handsome, stately gentleman was standing outside on the sidewalk waving good-bye to President Kimball with his white handkerchief. It was significant that the hotel manager could feel the Spirit of the Lord just by watching our prophet walk through the hotel lobby. You know, President Kimball looks like any one of the rest of us. Some may not think that there is anything unusual about his appearance—but there is an unusual spirit that he carries with him.

Not a month later, I felt impressed to look at careers that related to humanitarian and non-profit work. The job requirements led me to investigate a degree, a Master of Public Administration at BYU. I hadn’t been making plans to return to school after my receiving my bachelor’s degree. But He was showing me there was more ahead for me or, I should say, more in me than I knew.

The graduate school application deadline was just a few days away, but with His help I was somehow able to submit all the necessary paperwork, recommendations, and interviews. I was accepted to grad school and, just after, was hired as the manager of the Church’s animation team, another unexpected opportunity.

I was now looking at starting grad school, starting a new challenging job, and continuing to serve as my ward Young Women president of more than 50 young women. This didn’t look possible, but all three felt right. So I trusted in Him. Only He would show me how this was going to work, and He did.

Throughout my three years of grad school, I continually watched His hand strengthen me in ways that I didn’t think possible. He’d part the “Red Seas” (see Exodus 14) of my life, somehow making a way for things to happen and for my capacities to expand.

The Lord makes a way when we follow His promptings and commandments. The prophet Nephi declared that truth when he said, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).

The Lord will provide a way for us to accomplish the things that He has asked us to do. If you are struggling to make things work financially or otherwise for school, just know that if you feel prompted to attend school at this time, the Lord will provide a way just as Nephi declared. Trust Him. He loves you and desires to take care of you and will as you choose to exercise your faith in Him.

During that busy time as a student, I would find myself having to choose between things like helping the young women set up a ward activity or studying for my mid-terms. I chose to listen to the same Voice that had led me to that place and decided to be with the young women. I then prayed and did my best to study with what time I had left.

Time and again I would take a test and somehow do well—always better than expected. The Lord is so merciful and kind. That is an important lesson I took away from my education: the character of God and His love for me as His daughter.

The other learning from my education is that when we put the Lord first and keep our covenants with Him, all things fall into their proper place, and we receive the gift of His peace and help amidst the storm. We have peace because we know He is in it with us. When we choose Him, we will be blessed with all we stand in need of as we pass through the challenges He has placed before us.

I love the Lord. I testify that He leads this Church through our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer. Through His sacrifice we can have the peace which surpasseth all understanding (see Philippians 4:7). It is His peace and love that will sustain us amidst the impossible or unthinkable. He will provide, as we keep our covenants and trust in Him with all our hearts (see Proverbs 3:5). This is His restored Church upon the earth, and we have the fulness of His gospel. I know He lives and loves you! In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Dr. Neal Halfon, a physician who directs the UCLA Center for Healthier Children, Families, and Communities, refers to “parental benign neglect.” One example involved an 18-month-old and his parents:
“‘Their son seemed happy, active and engaged, clearly enjoying time and pizza with his parents. … At the end of dinner, Mom got up to run an errand, handing over care to Dad.’
“Dad … started reading phone messages while the toddler struggled to get his attention by throwing bits of pizza crust. Then the dad re-engaged, facing his child and playing with him. Soon, though, he substituted watching a video on his phone with the toddler until his wife returned.
“… [Dr.] Halfon observed a dimming of the child’s internal light, a lessening of the connection between parent and child.”5

I will never forget the day my mother taught me how to love a mean lady.
She was my neighbor, and I was afraid of her. She had long white hair that stuck out everywhere, and she was missing some teeth. Her name was Maggie.
We lived in a yard of seven little cottages. (In England, a yard is a tiny street.) Because there was only one way out of the yard, we had to pass Maggie’s cottage every day on the way to school. If she saw us, she would come to her door and shake her fists and shout. We couldn’t understand a word she said, but she seemed angry and scary. Everyone ran past Maggie’s house or tried to avoid it.
Everyone, that is, except my mother. She seemed to be the bravest person in the world because she wasn’t afraid of Maggie one bit. She even went into her cottage! If Maggie was sick, Mum took her dinner. If Maggie was lonely, Mum went and talked with her. Mum said that sometimes she even understood what Maggie was saying.
One day I was walking home from school when I saw Mum in the yard with Maggie. Maggie’s clothes were hanging on our washing line. As usual, Maggie was pointing and shouting. Then she stomped off.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Mother. “What was she saying?”
“Oh, I’ve done her washing for her, and she says it isn’t clean,” Mum said.
I gasped. Mother’s washing was always very clean. “How could she say that? She’s so ungrateful! You should never help her again!”
Mum turned to look at me, and I could tell that she was thinking carefully about what to say. Finally, she said something that I will always remember.
“Love, I don’t do things for her so that she’ll be grateful. I do them because she needs me to do them.”
Mum went on to explain that Maggie hadn’t enjoyed the same good things in life that we had. Sad things had happened to her that made it hard for her to think and act properly. She needed people to show her love and care, and not pay attention to how different she was.
I realized that Maggie was a very important person. She was one of the “least” that Jesus spoke about when He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … ye have done it unto me.”* Not only did Maggie need us to help her with everyday work, Heavenly Father also needed us to show her that she was loved. When we unselfishly served Maggie, we served Heavenly Father too. My mother understood this, and I’m glad she took the time to teach me.

I remember visiting South Vietnam some years ago. I talked individually with two or three hundred men—men who had waded through the blood and heat of battle, but men who were virtuous in their lives. I remember one of them, a boy who had just come down from the Rock Pile near the Demilitarized Zone, who said in response to a question on morality: “Not on your life—I couldn’t do that. I want to be worthy of a great girl some day.”

When we began dating, I learned how strongly Kathy felt about keeping the Sabbath Day holy. Because of her devotion, our family has always tried hard to make Sunday a special day. We don’t watch TV on Sunday or go to sporting events. We listen to sacred music, write letters, and spend lots of time talking together. Our younger children liked to read stories from the Friend and from scripture readers. As a result, we have enjoyed a spirit of peace in our home on the Sabbath.