Gospel Story Finder

My grandparents run an orphanage in Guatemala. My family was going to visit them, so I put a service project together for my birthday. We fixed up dolls to give to the children. I also bought them cars, bubbles, and lollipops with my birthday money. When we handed out the toys, I felt peace and happiness. I knew God was proud of me. I can’t wait to serve others again!
Katie S., age 11, Connecticut, USA

In conclusion I want to encourage you to remember the importance of marriage and family and place them first in your priorities. I want to spare you an experience similar to one I had 15 years ago.

Our family was sharing a Christmas afternoon with another family, and at some point we started playing games like Trivial Pursuit. One game was based on Freudian psychology and involved identifying dominant personality traits. My wife and three sons independently wrote their estimation of my dominant personality trait on small pieces of paper. I was confident I would be labeled by my family as “kind,” “righteous,” “loving,” or similar positive traits.

Imagine my surprise when my wife’s paper said, “Bruce is a workaholic.” I thought to myself, “That ungrateful woman! The pleasant quality of life she enjoys is the fruit of my hard work.” But it was Christmas, and I did not want to spoil the day, so I did not respond.

My three boys confirmed her diagnosis! One son also used the hated workaholic word. The other two used similar words that made it clear that in their eyes my career, profession, or work was the most important aspect of my life. At this point, even though it was Christmas, I protested a little.

One of my sons replied, “Dad, we never went on a family vacation that did not involve your work.”

Again I wanted to reply: “True, but you—ungrateful son that you are—have been to Disneyland as well as to Walt Disney World, traveled to Central America, traveled Europe, visited the Holy Land, and lived two summers in a beach house on an island in the Pacific Northwest.” But it was Christmas, and I did not want to be a poor sport, so I remained silent.

In the days that followed I tried to justify how I lived my life to myself. But it did not do any good. No matter how I rationalized things, my dear family felt that my career was more important to me than they were. This is not and was not true. But the fact remained that that was the impression I had given by my actions. Since that time I have tried to make my priorities more visible. I occasionally say to Carolyn on Friday morning, “I will be done teaching at noon. Would you like to go to the temple this afternoon? Or go ride around the Alpine Loop, see a movie, or visit the gardens at Thanksgiving Point?” Or, if I am really feeling expansive, “Would you like to go shopping?”

I hope during the past 15 years that somehow I have altered the perceptions of my family. They are most important to me. I share this experience in the hope that you will be spared the anguish of confronting who you are at age 45 or 50 and being disappointed. I don’t want a list of my publications or administrative positions chiseled on my headstone. Rather, I hope that the following words reflect my life: “Bruce Chadwick, a devoted husband, loving father, and humble follower of Jesus Christ.”

Perhaps this true account from two missionaries serving in the Seoul Korea Mission, while I was mission president there, will help to illustrate. Elder Craig Drew writes,

I recall walking in the vicinity of the Seoul train station one bitterly cold evening, as we made our way to an investigator's home, located in the middle of a dilapidated shanty town. It gave new meaning to "the other side of the tracks." For a young nineteen year old, raised in a comfortable middle class home, in the isolated reaches of northern Ontario, Canada, without much exposure to the world, it truly was a wake up call.
Elder Richard Rife, my first senior companion, had met a young married man, Mr. Chang, a few weeks prior and had begun to teach him, his wife, and their little boy, Do Young.
As we arrived at their home, I was overcome by the cramped quarters of their humble house. It consisted of a room, no larger than five feet by ten feet, where the family lived, ate and slept. The February temperatures were bitterly cold. Thin rice paper covered the walls as the family sat in traditional Korean style, and draped a large comforter over us in an attempt to keep us warm.
The Chang family had a special spirit about them, filled with humility, and were wonderful hosts, as we began to teach them the discussions.
On one of our visits, a short time later, Mrs. Chang, who was holding her agitated son in her arms, met us in the small lane leading to their home. It appeared she had been crying for some time. She told us that a day or so prior, little Do Young had slipped and fallen, and landed on a large, burning charcoal briquette, searing his bare bottom with a major third degree burn. I clearly recall the blistered and pus- filled wound that marred his tiny body. At that time, the Korean health care system had nothing for its poor. A doctor's visit was out of the question for the financially strapped family.
Instead of teaching one of the prescribed lessons that evening, Elder Rife felt impressed to teach the family about the power of the priesthood and the different ways it can be used, including the blessing of the sick and afflicted. The Chang's agreed to fast and pray with us the following day, and then we would return that evening to give their little son, Do Young, a special blessing.
Not one to be considered a shining example of fasting prior to my mission, a day of fasting, combined with a full day of missionary work with a dedicated companion/trainer, was a taxing experience. I had been raised in a part member family where the priesthood was not in our home. This was my first experience with exercising the priesthood and giving a blessing of this magnitude.
The next evening, we arrived at the Chang home and found father, mother, and child anxiously waiting. Sister Chang smiled as she told us how hungry she was, and what a challenge fasting had been for her, yet how good she felt inside. After a short visit and further teaching, I had the opportunity to anoint Do Young with oil. I had been working hard all day to memorize the anointing prayer in Korean. Elder Rife and I then joined together as he sealed the anointing. The spirit was strong as we finished. The Chang's both had tears of gratitude running down their cheeks as they felt the special spirit that visited their humble home that evening.
As we departed, Elder Rife once again expressed the importance of faith and told the couple their child would be healed through their faithfulness. The following evening we paid another visit and were overjoyed to find little Do Young's burn had formed a scab and the infection had subsided. Within a week, all that was left was a red scar that had once been a third degree burn. I learned, by first hand experience, that our Heavenly Father loves all his children, especially the meek and humble Chang family in Seoul, Korea, and that through the power of the priesthood great things can and do happen.[2]

There is a particular challenge we face as Latter-day Saints in establishing and maintaining friendships. Because our commitment to marriage, family, and the Church is so strong, we often feel challenged by constraints of time and energy in reaching out in friendship to others beyond that core group. I experienced this dilemma personally in recent days as I tried to steal a few moments at home to prepare this talk. Twice, friends from my past, whom I love dearly but see only occasionally, dropped in to visit. During what ought to have been choice times of reunion and reminiscence, I ironically found myself growing inwardly impatient for the visits to end so that I could get back to writing my talk about friendship!

I have since felt ashamed. How selfish we can be. How unwilling to be inconvenienced, to give, to bless and be blessed. What kind of parents or neighbors or servants of the Lord Jesus Christ can we be without being a friend? In this information age, is not friendship still the best technology for sharing the truths and way of life we cherish? Is not our reluctance voluntarily to reach out to others in friendship a significant obstacle to helping God accomplish His eternal purposes?

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.

One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:

“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”

I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

Brothers and sisters, my message today is very simple: if we truly want to be tools in the hands of our Heavenly Father in bringing to pass His eternal purposes, we need only to be a friend. Consider the power of each one of us, 10 million strong, of our own free will and choice reaching out to those not yet of our faith in unconditional friendship. We would no longer be accused of offering warm bread and a cold shoulder. Imagine the consequences for good if each active family in the Church offered consistent concern and genuine friendship to a less-active family or a new-member family. The power is in each one of us to be a friend. Old and young, rich and poor, educated and humble, in every language and country, we all have the capacity to be a friend.

Our Savior, shortly before His Crucifixion, said to His disciples: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends.” Having been so richly blessed by Christ’s friendship, I pray that we will now be to others what He is to us: a true friend. At no time will we be more Christlike than when we are a friend. I testify of the inestimable value of friends in my own life and express my gratitude to all of them this morning. I know that when we offer ourselves in friendship, we make a most significant contribution to God’s work and to the happiness and progress of His children. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One day, after my husband, three daughters, and I had moved across the country and away from our large, extended family, we received in the mail a photograph of my husband’s brother. All three girls had known him well, so I was amazed to find that my three-year-old daughter did not recognize him. We had been away for only six months! This incident convinced me that we needed to spend time talking with our children about our family members if we wanted them to grow up feeling that they knew and belonged to an extended family unit. My husband and I decided to use some of our family home evenings to accomplish this goal.
We began with my husband’s grandmother, who was about to celebrate her eighty-first birthday. Following our home evening lesson the week before her birthday, we told the children that someone very special to us was about to have a birthday and that we were going to help her celebrate it. We began by showing several photos of Grandma while helping them remember some of the things they had enjoyed doing with her in the past. Next, my husband related some of his memories of her and of the experiences he had enjoyed as a boy on her farm.
We then got out the colored paper, crayons, and glue, and each girl made a birthday card for her great-grandmother. My husband wrote a letter telling Grandma of his love and appreciation for her. We mailed the greetings the next day.
The girls enjoyed this activity, but more important, they learned more about their great-grandmother. They learned that even though she is far away, she loves us. They learned that it is fun to do something nice for someone else.
We all learned that it is important to set aside time to build family relationships, and long-distance birthday parties have become a tradition in our home.

Well I am sure that there are ways and means. I want to mention a story I have told about Uncle Golden. You have heard about my Uncle J. Golden Kimball, who was a rather interesting person. I don’t think it is true, but it was told of him that his creditors kept coming and bothering him all the time and they wanted payments on their accounts. And he began to get a little tired of it, and he said, “Now listen here, fellows. You know the way I handle my accounts. I take all of the bills at the end of the month and I put them in the waste basket. Then I stir them around and if I see one that looks good and I can I’ll pay it. But,” he said, “if you don’t quit bothering me I won’t even put yours in the waste basket.”

Like many college freshmen away from home for the first time, I gained 20 pounds my first year at Dixie College in St. George, Utah. While my gym teachers affectionately called it the “Freshman 20,” my brothers and I just called it fat.
As spring approached I became determined that I would somehow make time to include daily exercise. I really love to run, and I decided this would be the way for me to get back down to my normal weight. I plotted my running course very carefully. It was a beautiful one-mile route which included the block around the St. George Temple.
My only obstacle was getting out of bed. Morning after morning I would just turn off the alarm, roll over, and go back to sleep. One morning, however, I felt unusually alert and awake as I turned off the alarm. I decided this would be the day I would begin my running program. I quickly dressed, stretched, and walked outside, only to find that a light fog had settled in the valley. It was still fairly dark, and I began to feel discouraged.
As I ran I could sometimes hear other joggers’ footsteps coming from the other direction, but I could not see them until they were right in front of me.
I expected to see the temple soon with its beautiful whiteness illuminated by lights, but block after block I couldn’t see the temple. I found myself wondering why I couldn’t see the temple and many questions entered my mind. “Am I on the right route?”
Finally, though, I could see a faint glow as soft as candlelight in the distance. I came upon the west side of the temple. I can’t express the excitement I felt in my heart as I circled the temple, rejoicing in its beauty, marveling that I had not been able to see it just seconds before.
After my experience that foggy morning, I knew without a doubt that just as the temple was still there, though I couldn’t see it, so is eternal life and exaltation. Though some of our long-range goals are not tangible, they can be reached if we will just keep going in the right direction, despite the clouds of doubt.

My nephew’s presents. Some years ago we were gathered as a family to commemorate Christmas. All the adults and teens were busy with preparations for the family dinner. Amid this Christmas activity, my youngest nephew, Fabinho, asked me for a paper, colored pencils, and colored markers. Busy with Christmas preparations, I gave them to him, hoping he would entertain himself.
The time for dinner arrived, and after a prayer of thanksgiving, five-year-old Fabinho asked for everyone’s attention and gave each of us a little slip of paper that expressed his love with a colored picture and imprecise handwriting.
Everyone received a little note, even the uncle we saw only at Christmastime. Fabinho felt everyone was worthy of his attention and his careful, childlike efforts. His simple presents and attitude caused me to think of the Savior and His teachings that we should love our neighbor and give our best.Ana F., Brazil

During the period 1959 to 1962, I had the privilege to preside over the Canadian Mission, with headquarters in Toronto, Canada. There Sister Monson and I had the wonderful opportunity of working with 450 of the finest young men and young women in all the world. From that particular experience I should like to relate an experience that came to Sister Monson that had far-reaching significance. One Sunday she was the only person in a usually very busy mission home. The telephone rang, and the person who was on the other end of the line spoke with a Dutch accent and asked the question, “Is this the headquarters of the Mormon Church?” Sister Monson assured her that it was as far as Toronto was concerned, and then she said, “May I help you?” The party on the line said: “Yes. We have come from our native Holland, where we’ve had an opportunity to learn something about the Mormons. We’d like to know more.” Sister Monson, being a good missionary, said, “We can help you.” Then the lovely lady who had called said, “We have chicken pox in our home; and if you could wait until the children are better, we’d love to have the missionaries call.” Sister Monson said that she would arrange this, and that terminated the conversation.
Excitedly she told the two missionaries on our staff, “Here is a golden referral,” and the missionaries agreed. Then, as some missionaries do, they procrastinated calling upon the family. Days became weeks, and the weeks became several. Sister Monson would say, “Are you going to call on that Dutch family tonight, elders?” And they would respond, “Well, we’re too busy tonight, but we’re going to get around to it.” After a few more days Sister Monson would say, “What about my Dutch family? Are you going to call on them tonight?” Again the reply, “Well, we’re too busy tonight, but we’re going to work it into our schedule.” Finally Sister Monson said, “If you aren’t able to call on the Dutch family tonight, my husband and I are going to call on the family,” and the elders replied, “Well, we’ll work it into our schedule tonight.”
And thus they called on a lovely family. They taught them the gospel. Each person in the family became a member of the Church. The family was the Jacob de Jager family. Brother de Jager became the president of an elders quorum. His employer, the gigantic Phillips Company, then transferred him to Mexico, where he served the Church with distinction. Later he became the counselor to several mission presidents in Holland; he then became a Regional Representative of the Twelve; he then became a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, serving as the executive administrator of the work in Southeast Asia.
I ask the question: Was it an important decision that was made on the part of the missionaries to call on the de Jagers? Was it an important decision for Sister Monson to say, “Tonight is the night or else!” Was it an important decision for the de Jagers to telephone mission headquarters in Toronto, Canada, and say, “Could we have the missionaries come to our home?” I bear testimony that these decisions had eternal consequences, not only for the de Jagers, but for many other people as well, for here is a man who can teach the gospel in English, in Dutch, in German, in Spanish, and in Indonesian, and he now is learning to preach the gospel in Chinese. I ask the question, “What will be our faith?”

As the anchor on the four-man 1,600-meter relay for his high school in Kansas City, Missouri, Adam Mack (center above) knew a lot was at stake. A good showing in the sectional meet, and his team would qualify for the state competition. After the first two legs, his team was in third place. Then during the third leg, a rival runner pushed Adam’s teammate off the track. He recovered, but the team finished seventh.
Things erupted. Everyone was angry. There was profanity, pushing, and threats, and the crowd was yelling. Adam’s team members were in tears.
Adam was an example of how Mormons conduct themselves in a bad situation. “How could we rid ourselves of that horrible feeling of contention?” said Adam. “I stopped my friends in the middle of the field and told them we needed to pray. I prayed to the Lord that we would have forgiveness in our hearts. I asked him to take away our sorrow and our feelings of contention. I asked for peace and that each of us would have understanding. I also prayed that the Holy Ghost would be with us through hard times.
“As I looked up, my friends were crying. They told me they had never felt a power like that before. They thanked me over and over again. The tension and the hurt of the loss were gone.”
Although most of the team members have gone to college, they are still close. The bond they formed went beyond teammates to true friends.

When I was five years old, I became very ill. It turned out that I had polio, a disease that was completely unknown to the small-town doctor. I lay for several weeks on a World War I army cot in our front room beside a coal stove. Afterward, I could not walk. I remember very clearly sliding around on the linoleum floor and pulling myself up on chairs, learning to walk again. I was more fortunate than some. A friend walked with crutches and steel leg braces all of his life.
As I moved into school, I found that my muscles were weak. I was very self-conscious. I knew that I could never be an athlete.
It did not help a lot when I read about the man who went to a doctor to find a cure for his inferiority complex. After a careful examination, the doctor told him, “You don’t have a complex. You really are inferior!”
With that for encouragement, I set about through life and determined to compensate in other ways.
I found hope in my patriarchal blessing. The patriarch, whom I had never met before, confirmed to me that patriarchs do have prophetic insight. He said that I had a desire to come to earth life and was willing to meet the tests that would accompany life in a mortal body. He said that I had been given a body of such physical proportion and fitness to enable my spirit to function through it unhampered by physical impediment. That encouraged me.

I am grateful for a teacher who encouraged his students to keep a journal of the whisperings or promptings of the Spirit in their lives. He directed us to note what we felt and what resulted. Little things became evident. One day I was frantically trying to complete some assignments and prepare for a trip. I had just been down to the laundry area of the dorm to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Unfortunately, all the dryers were in use, and they all had many minutes to go. I went back upstairs discouraged, knowing by the time those dryers finished, I had to be on the road. I had barely returned to my room when I felt prompted to go back downstairs and check the laundry again. Foolishness, I thought—I had just been there, and I didn’t have time. But because I was trying to listen, I went. Two of the dryers were empty—and I was able to meet all my commitments. Could the Lord possibly have been concerned about smoothing my way in such a small but, to me, important matter? I have learned since through many such experiences that the Lord will help us in every aspect of our lives when we are trying to serve Him and do His will.

I think of dear Sister Amy Gent, who I was privileged to visit for fifteen years as a branch president, home teacher, and friend. The first time I visited her, she was eighty-seven years of age, and I was later honored to speak at the funeral of this wonderful lady who stepped from this life at age one hundred and two. Widowed twice, she was the only member of the Church in her extended family. Was she lonely? Never!

She read the scriptures every day and once asked me to take her some missionary tracts, which I thought were to vary her reading. I gave them to her, saying, “You will enjoy reading these, Sister Gent.”

“Oh, they are not for me,” she replied. “I visit an old lady and I want to share the gospel with her!”

Reaching out, helping, serving—this is the way we overcome the fear of loneliness.

Karen
Karen, 18, has been a nanny for nine weeks. She has decided that the job is not what she is looking for and is planning to go to school when she returns home.
“I love kids, and I’ve been baby-sitting since I was 11. After graduated from high school, I couldn’t decide whether to go to college or what to do. I called a nanny agency and asked them to send me an application.
“My sister had a friend who had been a nanny and hated it. I avoided talking about the subject with her. I didn’t want to know about it from someone who hated it. Now I wish I had asked her more about it before I came out.
“I thought I would have to do the shopping, run small errands, take the kids to school, and such. I knew I would have to do the laundry, but I’ve never had to do laundry for six people before. I thought I’d have to make the kids’ beds and straighten their rooms, dust and vacuum, and clean the kitchen. I agreed to all of that. But when I got out here, I had to clean the parents’ bedroom too, change the sheets, and clean up after them. I felt like saying, ‘You’re 40 years old. Pick up after yourself.’
“They told me they had two guinea pigs and said I wouldn’t have to care for them. But I do. Anything else in the house that needs to be done I just do because it bothers me. When I’m cleaning her house, I keep thinking I should be home cleaning my mother’s house instead of working for this woman I don’t even know. Why am I here? A lot of girls are running away from something. I had everything at home. Every time I think about it, I ask myself, why did I come?
“I thought there would be lots of things to do here, but I don’t know the area. It’s hard to find your way around. It’s hard to think of things to do when you don’t know what is available. On my evenings off, I just go to bed, I’m so tired.
“If I were to give advice to a friend who was thinking about being a nanny, I would sit her down and explain that she would have a lot of responsibility for the kids. The family I work for seem to take parenting as a hobby. They are part-time parents. The kids are not well disciplined. They get anything they want. And there is housework to do all the time. I would tell her to go to college or get an apartment, but don’t jump out of the frying pan into the fire. You have to be very stable and ready to take on a lot of responsibility to be a nanny.
“I’m going home and going to college. I didn’t want to go to college, but education is so important. I realize now that I don’t want to clean someone else’s house. I want to be skilled in something.”

Doni hefted the shot easily in one hand and took her position at the end of the school’s playing field. She paused, balanced in her stance, the shot cradled against her neck. She pushed off, and with an explosion of air, released the shot. She watched it hit the turf and groaned in frustration. It wasn’t going anywhere.
It was Doni DeCory’s senior year, her last year of high school track. For two years she had held the South Dakota state championship in shot put. But during this, her senior year, when she was expected to take the title for the third consecutive year, she was falling apart.
“I wasn’t throwing anywhere near what I did in my junior year,” said Doni. “People were saying, ‘Come on, Doni, you’ve got to take the state record again.’ There was so much pressure. I just wanted to quit.”
Doni did quit—for a day. The next day, when she didn’t leave for practice, her mother asked why she wasn’t going. “Mom, it’s over with,” said Doni. “I can’t do anything. I’m not going.”
“Then I asked my mom what she thought about my quitting. She said, ‘It’s up to you. We’re not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to do. But think about it, Doni. Is this really you? Do you really want to quit?’ Then she left the room, and the decision was up to me.”
Doni thought about it, until an idea occurred to her. If she quit now, then she’d always want to quit when things got too hard. Her mother and dad had supported her since grade school in her schoolwork and in her sports. They came, not just to her games and meets, but to all her practices. They had always been there for her. Now when things were going so badly, she knew she could turn to them again for help.
Doni didn’t quit, but her throwing did not improve much. Her parents practiced with her, retrieving the shot over and over. It took time. Her mental composure returned; then her tosses lengthened. She peaked right when she was supposed to, at the state championships when she took the title for the third straight year.
Doni’s story could be like many others where a talented athlete overcomes discouragement and goes on to win. But Doni’s story is a little more complicated than that. No one in her little town of Pine Ridge, South Dakota, even knew how to coach her in shot put. Her mother and the running coach together would try to figure out suggestions for improvement by watching tapes. The odds of her doing well were very much against her. If Doni had said, “I can’t do it,” not too many people would have argued with her.
But Doni wanted to give it a try, and through her efforts and faith, the support of her family and friends, and her natural athletic ability she accomplished great things.

Illustration by Toby Newsome
I will never be able to think about Christmas without thinking about my dad. The two seem inherently connected after years of his meticulous gift giving, tree-chopping, music-playing, cookie-decorating, and utterly festive spirit. So when he died just a few months before last Christmas, I had a hard time feeling anything but sadness and resentment about the wonderful man I had lost. Nobody could parallel his spirit, his enthusiasm, his Christlike love. Or so I thought.
Eventually Christmas Day came around with what seemed to me to be insincere fanfare since my dad wasn’t there. I simply didn’t want to get up: I missed my dad, I missed my family, I missed those nostalgic, apparently perfect Christmas mornings filled with laughter and love and everything I couldn’t imagine feeling without him.
But over the next 12 hours, I discovered exactly how meaningful the holiday could be despite my loss. My entire family got gifts from anonymous members of our ward, everything clearly picked out intentionally. I experienced an outpouring of love from numerous friends and ward members wishing me a merry Christmas through texts or phone calls or surprise presents. I received a dozen assorted homemade gifts from my siblings. I spent time interacting with the family which I had somehow forgotten had experienced the exact same loss I had and which I had frankly ignored for too long.
And somehow every part of the day came together, not just materially but emotionally. I felt people thinking of me, praying that my day would be amazing, and somehow, it was. I felt like my dad was rooting for me, the closest connection I’d had with him since he passed. I felt Jesus Christ’s love permeating every moment of that afternoon. I felt joyful and grateful, and I felt good for the first time in weeks.
I know that my Heavenly Father was looking out for me on that day that initially brought such painful memories. I know my fellow Church members felt impressed to reach out to me because of Heavenly Father’s love. I know that though a crucial part of my family is now gone, it is only temporary, and I will see my dad again. I have a testimony of Jesus Christ that grows ever stronger because of those experiences. And I will never forget the gratitude and love I felt on that incredible Christmas day.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

I was not a member of the Church when my children were little—it took me 18 years to decide to be baptized—but my husband was. He helped our children build a relationship with Heavenly Father through family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening. We were far from perfect, but my husband was persistent and patient.
I believe that my husband’s example of living the gospel was the biggest influence on our children. They saw him read scriptures, pray, and attend church—even if on his own. This had an impact far more powerful than anything we formally taught.

Relaxed in their shirtsleeves on a warm spring day in 1897, the McKay brothers, David O. and Thomas E., sat at a table in their rented cottage, reading their mail.
For David O., this was a time of triumphant climax in his college career and of great expectations for a new world to conquer. His hopes and spirits were high.
After three years in the university’s normal school, he felt ready to resume his chosen career as a teacher, a career he had interrupted to complete his own schooling. Before coming to the university, he had graduated from the Weber Stake Academy in Ogden, Utah, and had returned to his beloved Huntsville, as principal and teacher in the town’s little school.
A year of teaching whetted his appetite for more training, and he again became a student, enrolling at the university. In those three years of college, he displayed qualities that would help carry him to the pinnacle of leadership in the Church.
He was elected president of his class and played on the university’s football team.
A highly prized employment opportunity had been offered him in Salt Lake County, through the recommendation of the university’s teacher training director.
Most important of all, he had found the most wonderful girl in the world, Emma Ray Riggs, and she was willing to become Mrs. McKay. The future, indeed, seemed full of promise for David O. McKay.
Then he read the letter. In a moment, all his hopes seemed dashed. He was called to serve for two years in the British Mission. Swallowing disappointment, he accepted the call. It proved to be a marvelous time of spiritual growth.
He never regretted his decision. Teaching opportunities and Emma Ray awaited him on his return.

In one of my classes in high school, some Buddhist monks came in to give a presentation on their religion. The class responded well and asked lots of questions, and as the presentation went on, I thought about how cool it would be to have Latter-day Saint missionaries teaching my classmates about the gospel.
The thought kept nudging me until I found myself in front of my teacher requesting to work on a presentation with the missionaries to present to the class. My teacher gave an enthusiastic yes!
As I worked with the missionaries to prepare for the class, I worried about how people would respond. I prayed hard that the students would ask questions, that I wouldn’t embarrass myself, and, most of all, that the presentation would help me teach about the gospel.
That day when I walked into class with the missionaries, my hands were shaking. But then the missionaries began to speak. The students in the class were actually interested in the discussion, and for many of them, this was their first introduction to the Church. I slowly began to feel the warm feeling of the Holy Ghost telling me that I had done the right thing in having this presentation.
Since that experience I’ve grown to trust in the Lord more. I now have more courage to stand up for my religion and even to seek out missionary experiences.
Grace M., Alaska, USA

Twenty-one years ago last April, I came for the first time to the Salt Lake Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the immensity of the building, but even more by the room-filling presence of the General Authorities who were assembled there.
In my growing-up years, many of them had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on an April day 21 years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was seated with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest heightened when President McKay arose and announced the next speaker. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over six feet tall. He was a man with a Ph.D., a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed serene and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. A little girl leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row, and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’?” Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply, “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed.
Many times since that day I have remembered that message—Pray for dad, the patriarch of the home. Pray for him as he serves as district president or home teacher. Pray for him when he becomes executive secretary of a civic group, when his business flourishes, or when he takes a cut in salary. Pray as he gives counsel in family home evening. Pray for dad who works long hours so that Jerold can go on a mission and Diane can go to college. Pray for him as he speaks in sacrament meeting or gives mother a blessing that she might be made well again. Pray as he baptizes William or gives a tiny, newborn baby a name and a father’s blessing. And in the evening, should he come home tired or discouraged, pray for him. Pray for dad in all that he might do—the small things and the great.
As years have passed, general conferences have come and gone, and each time President Benson has stood to speak, I have thought, “His children, who are scattered across the continent, are united now in prayer for their father.”
And I have come to believe that the brief message that passed along the row some 21 years ago is the most important message a family can share. What extraordinary power and faith any man can have to meet the daily challenge of his life if somewhere in the world his daughter or son is whispering, “Pray for dad.”