Gospel Story Finder

Only five minutes into sacrament meeting, and we had already experienced a tantrum, two bathroom breaks, a diaper change, and multiple cries of “I’m hungry!”
As a mother of five children under the age of eight, and with a husband whose work allows him to be home only on the weekends, I usually feel exhausted when Sunday comes around. As our family walks into the chapel on Sundays, my husband and I prepare for an hour of what we like to call “long-suffering.”
Fifteen minutes into one meeting, our nine-month-old started to scream. I tried to console and quiet her. In defeat, I finally took her out of the chapel to calm her. As I sat down, my mind began to focus on my exhaustion and the demands of the new week. I felt overwhelmed.
Suddenly, I was startled by a young man holding a sacrament tray. “Do you need this?” he asked. It was a simple question, but it touched my soul. Immediately the Spirit filled me, and tears formed in my eyes. I thought to myself: “More than you know.”
Daily demands and responsibilities can drain us throughout the week, but the sacrament can fill us up. As I partook of the sacrament, I felt peace and healing flow through me. In that moment I realized that I needed the sacrament more than anything because I needed the Spirit to be with me.
My eyes focused on a painting in the foyer of the Savior holding His hands outstretched. Gratitude swelled in my heart as I pondered how He is always ready to heal and strengthen us. I am reminded of this each Sunday as I partake of the sacrament. I am grateful that the Spirit taught me through a simple question that in the midst of life’s challenges, the Savior is our source of strength and peace.

“I grew up in the city, but each summer I stayed with a farmer in our branch for two or three weeks, and I learned to enjoy farming. One day while we were working in a field and the cows needed to be brought up the hill to pasture, the farmer said, ‘I’ll take the wagon down to get the cows.’ I asked, ‘Can I do that?’ He replied, ‘Do you think that you can do it?’ I was small for my age, but I was happy that he thought that I could do the job.”

“Hans, Mein sohn, was machst du da?”
“Vater, Ich studiere.”
“Hans, Mein Sohn, das kannst du nicht.”
“Vater, Ich probiere.”
“Hans, my son, what are you doing?”
“Father, I’m studying.”
“Hans, my son, that you cannot.”
“Father, I am trying.”

“That was one of the first readings that I learned in school. Because it included my first name, Hans, it was very meaningful to me then, and it still is. I’m still trying today.”

I traveled the wonderful state of Idaho for eight years for the university. I went to every town and hamlet, and it was not uncommon for me to be away for two weeks. Then I’d go home and, as a stake officer, change clothes and be gone again. Once when this happened, one of my little girls came to the door, waved, and said, “Come again, Daddy.”
I used to miss my family, and one particular Sunday I found myself in Pocatello, Idaho. I got thinking about my family, so far away, and I thought, “Well, I’ll just run down to Whitney and see if I can attend sacrament service.” I arrived just as the meeting was about to start. The bishop invited me to sit with him on the stand.
The meeting started, and the counselor who was conducting called on me to say a few words. I had been sitting there thinking, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could be home every Sunday and go to church with my family? Just think what a joy it would be.” Well, as he introduced me, he said, “Brothers and sisters, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a job like Brother Benson? He’s always on a trip.” I thought, “Yes, how true to life. Distant pastures usually look greener.”
I hope we can be happy where we are, be grateful for our blessings—now, here—accept the challenge that is ours and make the most of it, and not be envious of others.

In closing let me share an experience that I had while still quite young. To the best of my recollection, it was while I was a student in the sixth grade at the Garland Elementary School. I had not quite turned twelve. It was spring, and I was anxious to join the scores of other boys who had signed up to compete in the Deseret News Pentathlon.

As you may know, penta comes from the Greek word meaning “five.” Thus, the pentathlon consisted of five track and field events that all of the boys in the state could compete in. The pentathlon, as I indicated, was sponsored by the Deseret News and was conducted throughout the grade schools across the state. The scores that you attained in the various events were computed by applying a factor for age and height and weight. They were then added together and sent to Salt Lake City, where winners in various categories were selected. Winners received recognition and, among other things, an expense-paid trip to Salt Lake City, where they spent a day as special guests of the newspaper.

The five events consisted of the high jump, broad jump, shot put, basketball free throw, and fifty-yard dash.

The pentathlon was the talk of the school. Most all of the boys who were old enough were suited up for the event. At age eleven I was a ninety-eight-pound weakling; but more troublesome than that, I had marginal coordination. But how I wanted to do well in that athletic event. I suppose in that respect I was not much different than anyone else as I imagined the thrill that would accompany one to the winner’s circle. I knew that I wasn’t what you would call a coach’s dream. But I had studied the rules carefully. I was hopeful that the factors for height, weight, and age might give me a chance.

Well, I really got into it. I found a round rock that weighed within an ounce or two of the regulation five-pound shot put. I spent considerable time in the evenings when the chores were done throwing the shot put around the backyard.

I also dug a broad-jump pit that I used to practice my broad jump and high jump. I nailed some old flooring boards together for a backboard, installed a hoop, and secured it to the end of the barn. Though it was not fancy, it provided a facility with which to practice my foul shots.

The big day finally came. All who were participating were excused from school for the afternoon. We began with the shot put. I did exceptionally well for my size. This was understandable because of my experience with the round rock at home. My practice shooting foul shots paid off, and I scored well in that event. The high jump didn’t go quite as well. Here again, my lack of coordination worked against me.

Then it was time for the fifty-yard dash. We lined up by the starter and were off. It almost instantly became obvious that I would view the race from the rear of the pack. But how I tried! I gave it all the effort I had. As I passed where the coach was standing, I noticed him turn and say something—then there was a burst of laughter from those who stood around him.

We crossed the finish line. I was fifth of five runners. I resigned myself to the fact that there would be no trip to Salt Lake for me that year. But the worst was yet to come. As I approached the place where the coach had been standing, one of the more arrogant boys couldn’t wait to call out, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.” And there was more laughter. As you picture that characterization in your mind, you’ll have to agree it was quite descriptive and probably an accurate evaluation of how I looked.

Well, of course, I laughed too, but many thoughts went through my mind. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was embarrassed. When I went to bed that night it was still on my mind. When I awakened the next morning, those pointed words came back, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.”

I struggled with that situation for quite some time. I admit I had thoughts of never getting on the athletic field again. But then some Danish determination must have come out in me. I resolved I would learn to run. And I was going to show the coach and my friends, but I suppose most of all myself, that I could do it.

From that moment forward, every time I had some distance to go, I ran. When coming in from the fields at noon, I ran. When the grain bin on the harvester was full and I had to get the truck to empty it, I ran. When I went to the pasture to get the horses, I ran. As I had spare time while on army duty in Korea, I practiced my running. And after returning home, I kept it up.

Though I realized I had made some substantial progress, it was not until a particular stake fathers and sons’ outing that I had a chance to evaluate those twenty-plus years of determination.

It was shortly after we had moved into our current stake. We were at a campground in the Uintas for the Saturday morning games. All of the youth had run their races, and then the call came for “everyone over twenty-one.” As I lined up with the dads and others, I noticed a young man in the group who had made a name for himself at East High School in the 440-yard run. I knew he would be the challenge.

Again the starting gun sounded, but this time, instead of bringing up the rear, I was in front. I remained there as we crossed the finish line. Of course, the coach wasn’t there to see it, neither were my grade school friends, and particularly the arrogant little guy with the loud voice. But this I know, winning the pentathlon could not have resulted in the self-satisfaction I felt as I shared the first prize—a giant candy bar—with my two little sons that day.

What a lesson in life I gained from that experience. I learned humility, as I was humbled. I learned tolerance, as I successfully fought back the urge to slug the boy who shouted out the characterization the coach had used to describe my athletic prowess. I learned patience, as I found that some things take several years of determination to accomplish. And I experienced the sweet feeling that comes from successfully accomplishing a goal.

From age 8 to age 18, I reflected a lot about getting baptized. But it took me a long time because I had a lot of things I needed to change in my life, even though I tried to live good principles.
At the age of 18, I met the missionaries in Cayo’s home. The missionaries taught me the lessons to prepare me for baptism. They helped me, and their message touched my heart. During this time, my mother and my little sister were introduced to the missionaries. They were baptized a few months before I was. I was baptized on March 10, 2007.
It took the time that it took, more than 10 years, but finally he was baptized.
“It’s interesting to see how the Lord does things,” Cayo says. It took more than 10 years for Anthony to be baptized, but in that time, Anthony gained a strong testimony.

Let me tell you of my struggles to learn the Law of Tithing. Growing up, I never thought much about tithing. I remember paying tithing, but how committed I was I can't remember. In 1958, I had graduated from High School and entered LDS Business College. I had enough money to pay my tuition for the first term and rent an apartment for two months. I needed to get a job or I'd have to drop out of school. I looked and looked for a job. I could not find one. Finally, after two months, I'm desperate. My money is running out. One afternoon, I come home from school and in my upstairs apartment I decide to kneel down and pour out my heart to Heavenly Father. It must have been a long prayer as my needs were great. During the prayer I make a promise, a covenant, "Father please help me, please help me to stay in school. Please help me get an education. Please help me find a job. And Father if you'll help me, I covenant, I promise that I'll pay a full and honest tithing for the rest of my life." It's a very emotional prayer. I'm praying with all my soul. The Lord hears my prayer. He makes a covenant with me. The next day I'm inspired to go to the Utah Genealogical Society and apply for a job. I interview. I get the job that day.
I am so grateful. I shed tears of gratitude. And all my life, I have kept that covenant.

Some weeks ago a bewildered father asked, “Why is it I seem to be able to communicate with everyone except my own son?”
I responded with, “What do you mean you can’t communicate with your son?”
“It’s just that whenever I try to tell him anything, he tunes me out,” he replied.
During our private discussion which followed, and very often since, I have concluded that perhaps one of the principal reasons we fail to relate appropriately with family members is because we fail to apply some basics of personal communications. In Hebrews 13:16 we read, “But to do good and to communicate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.” Communications in the family will often be a sacrifice because we are expected to use our time, our means, our talent, and our patience to impart, share, and understand. Too often we use communication periods as occasions to tell, dictate, plead, or threaten. Nowhere in the broadest sense should communication in the family be used to impose, command, or embarrass.
To be effective, family communication must be an exchange of feelings and information. Doors of communication will swing open in the home if members will realize time and participation on the part of all are necessary ingredients. In family discussions, differences should not be ignored, but should be weighed and evaluated calmly. One’s point or opinion usually is not as important as a healthy, continuing relationship. Courtesy and respect in listening and responding during discussions are basic in proper dialogue. As we learn to participate together in meaningful associations, we are able to convey our thoughts of love, dependence, and interest. When we are inclined to give up in despair in our efforts to communicate because other family members have failed to respond, perhaps we would do well not to give up, but rather to give and take in our conversations. How important it is to know how to disagree with another’s point of view without being disagreeable. How important it is to have discussion periods ahead of decisions. Jones Stephens wrote, “I have learned that the head does not hear anything until the heart has listened, and that what the heart knows today the head will understand tomorrow.”
Let me share with you seven basic suggestions for more effective family communication.
A willingness to sacrifice. Be the kind of a family member who is willing to take time to be available. Develop the ability and self-discipline to think of other family members and their communication needs ahead of your own—a willingness to prepare for the moment—the sharing moment, the teaching moment. Shed the very appearance of preoccupation in self, and learn the skill of penetrating a family member’s shield of preoccupation. Sad is the day when a daughter is heard to say, “My mother gives me everything except herself.”
Too early and too often we sow the seeds of “Can’t you see I’m busy? Don’t bother me now.” When we convey the attitude of “Go away, don’t bother me now,” family members are apt to go elsewhere or isolate themselves in silence. All family members on some occasion or other must be taken on their own terms so they will be willing to come, share, and ask.
It takes personal sacrifice to communicate when conditions are right for the other person—during the meal preparation, after a date, a hurt, a victory, a disappointment, or when someone wants to share a confidence. One must be willing to forego personal convenience to invest time in establishing a firm foundation for family communication. When communication in the family seems to be bogging down, each individual should look to himself for the remedy.
If we would know true love and understanding one for another, we must realize that communication is more than a sharing of words. It is the wise sharing of emotions, feelings, and concerns. It is the sharing of oneself totally. “Who is a wise man and endued with knowledge among you? let him shew out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom.” (James 3:13.)
A willingness to set the stage. The location, setting, or circumstances should be comfortable, private, and conversation-conducive. Effective communications have been shared in a grove of trees, on the mount, by the sea, in family home evening, during a walk, in a car, during a vacation, a hospital visit, on the way to school, during the game. When the stage is set, we must be willing to let the other family member be front and center as we appropriately respond.
Months and years after the score of a baseball game is long forgotten, the memory of having been there all alone with Dad will never dim. I’ll not soon forget a ten-year-old girl excitedly telling me she had just ridden in the car with her daddy all the way from Salt Lake to Provo and back. “Was the radio on?” I asked. “Oh, no,” she responded, “all Daddy did was listen and talk to me.” She had her daddy all to herself in a setting she’ll not soon forget. Let the stage be set whenever the need is there. Let the stage be set whenever the other person is ready.
A willingness to listen. Listening is more than being quiet. Listening is much more than silence. Listening requires undivided attention. The time to listen is when someone needs to be heard. The time to deal with a person with a problem is when he has the problem. The time to listen is the time when our interest and love are vital to the one who seeks our ear, our heart, our help, and our empathy.
We should all increase our ability to ask comfortable questions, and then listen—intently, naturally. Listening is a tied-in part of loving. How powerful are the words, “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath:
“For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.” (James 1:19–20.)
A willingness to vocalize feelings. How important it is to be willing to voice one’s thoughts and feelings. Yes, how important it is to be able to converse on the level of each family member. Too often we are inclined to let family members assume how we feel toward them. Often wrong conclusions are reached. Very often we could have performed better had we known how family members felt about us and what they expected.
John Powell shares this touching experience: “It was the day my father died. … In the small hospital room, I was supporting him in my arms, when … my father slumped back, and I lowered his head gently onto the pillow. I … told my mother … :
“‘It’s all over, Mom. Dad is dead.’
“She startled me. I will never know why these were her first words to me after his death. My mother said: ‘Oh, he was so proud of you. He loved you so much.’
“Somehow I knew … that these words were saying something very important to me. They were like a sudden shaft of light, like a startling thought I had never before absorbed. Yet there was a definite edge of pain, as though I were going to know my father better in death than I had ever known him in life.
“Later, while a doctor was verifying death, I was leaning against the wall in the far corner of the room, crying softly. A nurse came over to me and put a comforting arm around me. I couldn’t talk through my tears. I wanted to tell her:
“‘I’m not crying because my father is dead. I’m crying because my father never told me that he was proud of me. He never told me that he loved me. Of course, I was expected to know these things. I was expected to know the great part I played in his life and the great part I occupied of his heart, but he never told me.’” (The Secret of Staying in Love, Niles, Ill.: Argus, 1974, p. 68.)
How significant are God’s words when he took the time to vocalize his feelings with, “This is my beloved Son,” yes, even the powerful communication, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” (Matt. 3:17.)
Often parents communicate most effectively with their children by the way they listen to and address each other. Their conversations showing gentleness and love are heard by our ever-alert, impressionable children. We must learn to communicate effectively not only by voice, but by tone, feeling, glances, mannerisms, and total personality. Too often when we are not able to converse with a daughter or wife we wonder, “What is wrong with her?” when we should be wondering, “What is wrong with our methods?” A meaningful smile, an appropriate pat on the shoulder, and a warm handshake are all-important. Silence isolates. Strained silent periods cause wonderment, hurt, and, most often, wrong conclusions.
God knows the full impact of continuing communication as he admonishes us to pray constantly. He, too, has promised to respond as we relate to him effectively.
A willingness to avoid judgment. Try to be understanding and not critical. Don’t display shock, alarm, or disgust with others’ comments or observations. Don’t react violently. Work within the framework of a person’s free agency. Convey the bright and optimistic approach. There is hope. There is a way back. There is a possibility for better understanding.
Let a common ground for personal decision be developed. “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more” (John 8:11) are words that are just as gentle and effective today as when they were first uttered.
Avoid imposing your values on others. When we can learn to deal with issues without involving personalities and at the same time avoid bias and emotions, we are on our way to effective family communications. When a family member makes a decision which may be inadequate or improper, do we have the ability and patience to convey the attitude that we don’t agree with his decision but he has the right of choice and is still a loved member of the family?
It is easy to point out mistakes and pass judgment. Sincere compliments and praise come much harder from most of us. It takes real maturity for a parent to apologize to a child for an error. An honest apology often makes the son or daughter feel surprisingly warm toward the mother or father or brother or sister. “For in many things we offend all. If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body.” (James 3:2.)
A willingness to maintain confidences. Be worthy of trust even in trivial questions and observations. Weighty questions and observations will only follow if we have been trustworthy with the trivial. Treat innermost trusts and concerns with respect. Build on deserved trust. Individuals who are blessed to have a relationship with someone to whom they can confidently talk and trust are fortunate indeed. Who is to say a family trust is not greater than a community trust?
A willingness to practice patience. Patience in communication is that certain ingredient of conduct we hope others will exhibit toward us when we fail to measure up. Our own patience is developed when we are patient with others.
“Be patient; be sober; be temperate; have patience, faith, hope and charity.” (D&C 6:19.)
“I get sick and tired of listening to your complaints” and “I have told you a thousand times” are but two of many often-repeated family quotations that indicate patience is gone and channels of communication are plugged.
It takes courage to communicate patiently. We constantly need to express pride, hope, and love on a most sincere basis. Each of us needs to avoid coming through as one who has given up and has become totally weary in trying.
The correction of family members in front of others is to be avoided. Much more notice is taken in quiet, private conversation. Calm endurance is a priceless virtue in one’s relationship with all family members.
When family members tune each other out, communication is not taking place. Words spoken are unheard, unwanted, and resisted when we fail to understand the basics for proper interchange. Each must be willing to do his part to improve, since the family unit is the basic foundation of the Church. Proper communication will always be a main ingredient for building family solidarity and permanence.
I pray our Heavenly Father will help us to communicate more effectively in the home through a willingness to sacrifice, a willingness to listen, a willingness to vocalize feelings, a willingness to avoid judgment, a willingness to maintain confidences, and a willingness to practice patience. “How forcible are right words!” (Job 6:25.) Yes, how forcible are right words shared at the right moment with the right person.
May our gracious and kind Heavenly Father help us in our needs and desires for more effective family communication. Communication can help build family unity if we will work at it and sacrifice for it. For this goal, I pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Let me share a similar story:
More than a hundred years ago, a well-known Protestant preacher, Dwight L. Moody, shared a story of a ship trying to enter the Cleveland harbor on a very stormy night.
The ship’s captain could see the bright light of the Cleveland harbor lighthouse. However, the lower lights weren’t visible at all. The lower lights were the way that ships identified the centerline of the safe entry to a harbor.
Because the lower lights were not burning that night, the ship missed the entrance to the harbor and crashed into rocks. Many lives were lost.
At the end of his sermon, Moody said, “Brethren, the Master will take care of the great lighthouse; let us keep the lower lights burning.”27

Now let me close by personalizing this a little. On January 12, 1992, Jody Jorgensen Nichols, a neighbor of ours and one of the best friends of our daughter, Jani, left the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, and flew to Helsinki, Finland, with two elders and two other sisters to serve in the Finland Helsinki East Mission. All had been studying Russian and were preparing to preach to the Russian people. At that point there was no mission in Russia, but Gary Browning, president of the Finland Helsinki East Mission, was responsible for the members and missionaries in the former Soviet Union. Our good friends Gerald and Peggy Jorgensen, Jody’s parents, were a little apprehensive about sending Jody off to Russia. In fact, Peggy told me that she even wondered if she would ever see Jody again. Their understanding was that Jody would live in Helsinki but travel back and forth to different spots in Russia to teach the people.

When Jody arrived in Helsinki, she and her group were notified that they would all leave for Saint Petersburg the next day. However, one would continue on alone to Moscow. Little did they know what was going to be announced that weekend. The next morning, as they prepared to leave, Jody was told that she would be the lone missionary continuing on to Moscow. She sat down and wrote a short note to her parents explaining that she was the only missionary in her group of five who would travel on to Moscow. On Thursday, January 16, Jody arrived in Moscow, where she met up with her companion and began to work with a small group in the Church. At that time there was one main branch and three small groups in Moscow, all clustered around metro stops. On Saturday, Jody attended a zone conference where it was announced that two new missions were being created: the Russia Saint Petersburg and Russia Moscow Missions. So now she knew that she would be working in Russia for the remainder of her mission. Only a few days later, on Monday, her letter from Helsinki arrived in Orem, and the reality of the transfer began to set in for Gerald and Peggy. Would Peggy’s premonition come true? Needless to say, Monday was a very difficult day. All they knew was that Jody was leaving her companions behind and traveling alone to Moscow to begin her work.

At the same time, not knowing that Jody had left the MTC, I was preparing for a trip to Moscow. I had been invited to present a paper at a conference being hosted by Moscow State University, and I was having a difficult time getting a visa. In fact, I nearly canceled my trip because I knew that I would miss the plenary session where I was to present my paper. But I had my tickets, and I didn’t want to let down my host. So in the Dulles Airport I met a courier with my visa and then headed off to Moscow about the same time Jody was on the train leaving Helsinki. I knew I would be there on Sunday, so I asked my nonmember friend, Andrei Markov—then the vice dean of the College of Economics at Moscow State University—if he could find an LDS branch for me to attend. On Sunday, only a few days after Jody arrived in Moscow, I had a taxi take me to the building close to the university metro stop where the Church group was meeting. I was early—one of the few times that has happened in my life—so I sat in the cold foyer of the building and waited for the members to arrive. Who was one of the first people to walk through the door? Jody Jorgensen. We were both shocked. I told her to sit down during church and write a letter to her parents. And then it was so fun to listen to Jody bear her testimony in Russian, having only been in the country a few days. She had prepared herself well.

The next day I flew home. That happened to be the day that Gerald and Peggy received Jody’s letter from Helsinki. When I arrived home about 10 p.m. or so, I called Gerald to tell him that I had just come from Moscow, where I had gone to church with Jody, and that I had a letter for them. Needless to say, he came right over. Peggy has since told me that when they got my call that Monday night, she was lying in bed clutching her scriptures, worried to death about Jody. Once she got the letter I brought, she felt a feeling of peace come over her that never left her for the rest of Jody’s mission. She knew that everything would be all right.

Does the Lord care about these things? Of course he does. Was it a coincidence that I decided to go to Moscow, even though I missed part of the conference? Was it a coincidence that Jody and I ended up in the same building at the same time? Of course not. Sometimes, if we step back, we can see the Lord’s hand in his work.

A mission for us? My husband and I were past retirement age, yet President Spencer W. Kimball seemed to be looking right at us as he explained in a conference session that older couples were needed in the mission field. (“Let Us Move Forward and Upward,” General Conference April 1979.) The decision did not come easy to us, but come it did and we found ourselves being interviewed by our bishop, then by our stake president. Even at this early stage we began to experience blessings and surprises.
We had not advertised our house for rent, but suddenly there was a couple at our door who said they were looking for a large house. In calling a real-estate agent, they had somehow connected with a wrong number and the voice on the wire said that he didn’t deal in rentals but he knew of a couple who were going on a mission and perhaps their house would be available. He gave them our address.
When our call came for the Washington Seattle Mission, we were delighted. Our oldest son had served a mission in that area, and we felt well acquainted with it.
Some months later we were interviewed by our district leader, and he asked in what way our testimonies had grown since being in the mission field. My response was that I was surprised at the strength of the manifestations of the Holy Spirit. I remember so vividly the help, inspiration, and personal revelations I had received in fulfilling my church and vocational callings; but when we sat with investigators and bore witness of the truthfulness of this gospel, there was a power there that is impossible to describe. We saw men who had been engaged in rough work all their lives, and who confessed they had never prayed except with a quick, emergency prayer, get down on their knees and pour out their hearts to a loving Heavenly Father. We saw their lives change.
Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.
We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”
We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.
We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.
We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

On Friday, October 28, 1588, having lost its rudder to being governed solely by oar, the ship La Girona, belonging to the great Spanish Armada, collided with the rocks of Lacada Point in Northern Ireland.
The ship capsized. One of the castaways struggling to survive wore a gold ring given to him a few months earlier by his wife with the inscription, “I have nothing more to give you.”
“I have nothing more to give you”—a phrase and a ring with the design of a hand holding a heart, an expression of love from a wife to her husband.
Just as the ring was recovered from that shipwreck, when we give our hearts to God, we are rescued from the raging seas of this life, and in the process we are refined and purified through the Atonement of Christ and become “children of Christ,” being spiritually “born of Him.” Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

This story is about my little brother, Daniel. One day, when our family was driving through a storm, our big brothers told us that a car was a safe place to be during a thunder-and-lightning storm because it has rubber tires. Tyler, 10, trying to help Daniel not be afraid, told him that if the rubber tires would keep us safe, maybe the thick rubber on the bottom of Daniel’s shoes would also help him to be safe.
One night, Daniel, I, Mom, and two of Mom’s friends—Sister Bowen and Sister Eyring—were together when it suddenly started to rain. The rain got louder and louder, and there was lots of lightning outside. The thunder was booming very loud. The lights went out, and it was very dark. Mom went to find candles and flashlights. While she was gone, I said a prayer with Daniel to ask Heavenly Father to protect us.
After the prayer, Daniel must have been remembering what Tyler had told him about rubber shoes, because he looked to see if everyone was wearing some. He saw that he was barefoot and begged Mom to bring his rubber shoes. Sister Bowen sat by us and said that Daniel could wear her rubber shoes until Mom found his. Even though they were too big for him, he was glad to have them on. Then he started to cry. He said, “If I’m wearing Sister Bowen’s rubber shoes, then she won’t have any to protect her.” He gave them back to her so that she’d be safe. He told Mom later, “I wanted Sister Bowen to be safe. I had to give her shoes back, because if I was wearing her rubber shoes, she might have got hit by lightning. I didn’t want her to die.”
Mom told us that when we care and sacrifice for others, like Daniel did for Sister Bowen, we are showing that we really are trying to be like Jesus Christ. She said that the best way to be protected is to pray to Heavenly Father, just as Daniel and I had when the lights first went out. We are glad to know that we can pray anytime, anywhere.

When I was 14 years old, two missionaries knocked at our door. They began teaching my family about the true nature of God. In the visits that followed, they taught us how to pray. They also taught us about the Restoration and the plan of salvation. After the third or fourth visit, most of my family stopped listening to the missionaries, except for my 17-year-old sister, Dina, and me. We both felt the witness of the Holy Ghost in our hearts and received the spiritual confirmation that the message was true.
My sister and I obtained a copy of the Book of Mormon and began reading it. Every day after school, we raced home to get to the book first. While the first one home was reading, the other one impatiently waited until mealtime, ate in a hurry, and then took her turn reading until bedtime. Such was the excitement we felt.
We started attending church, and soon we asked to be baptized. Our father gave his permission, but our mother was hesitant. It took one more month before she signed the permission slip. On the day of our baptism, the rest of our family went to church for the first time. Mother felt the Spirit. After hearing our testimonies, she asked the missionaries to start teaching her again. A few weeks later, Mother and our younger sister and brothers were baptized.

What is it really like to be handicapped? What problems do the handicapped face every day? Helen Lesley Chick, 17, of the Hobart Australia Stake found out. She won regional, state, and national awards for her investigation of the problems of paraplegics.

For her first-hand investigation, Helen spent a week in a wheelchair (which she borrowed from her grandmother). Her week-long experience was a time of aching arms and shoulders as well as clashes with walls and people. Of her self-imposed confinement to a wheelchair, Helen says, “On the first day I wanted to give it up. It was so hard pushing along on the carpet.”

Sponsored by the Junior Chamber of Commerce, the award was presented to Helen in Canberra by the Governor-General of Australia, Sir Zelman Cowan.

Helen is the Laurel class president in her ward and her seminary class president. She is studying to be a math and science teacher. In her spare time, she enjoys playing hockey, bushwalking, and cycling.

At the rooster’s first call, Juan Carlos opened his eyes and peeked through the cracks in the wooden wall just above his head. The darkness was fading. Today was his first day to help Sister Fuentes make tortillas. Time to get ready, he thought. He slipped from his hammock to the dirt floor below and went outside to wash himself in the cool water from the pump.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.

The Prophet Joseph Smith exemplified kindness in his life to everyone, old and young. One child who benefited from the Prophet’s kindness remembered:
“My older brother and I were going to school, near to the building which was known as Joseph’s brick store. It had been raining the previous day, causing the ground to be very muddy, especially along that street. My brother Wallace and I both got [our feet] in the mud, and could not get out, and of course, child-like, we began to cry, for we thought we would have to stay there. But looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming to us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little, heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us, and sent us on our way to school rejoicing.”

One particular trial (that I’m still going through) started a few years ago, when I realized I needed to make a change in my career path. I decided to take the Church’s Find a Better Job self-reliance class and felt confident that I had the tools necessary to find a better job right away.
But as it turned out, that wasn’t what the Lord had in mind for me.
I did everything I could to find a new job. And I initially thought I was doing well with my search, until I got rejected from the first job I interviewed for, and the second too. And then another.
I received countless rejection emails. A few times I even made it to the final interview in the hiring process, but someone else was always chosen over me.
After all these crushing blows, I wasn’t sure if I’d recover my confidence. I started losing faith in myself. I felt like I was worthless and incapable, and I was convinced I would never experience the joy of working somewhere I truly loved.
One night during this time of soul-crushing agony, I realized that I hadn’t been counseling with Heavenly Father about my job search. Through tears, I apologized for not communicating with Him and pleaded to know what I was missing and why it wasn’t working out. In a quiet moment, the Spirit calmed my aching heart, soothed my nerves, and whispered in my mind, “Have faith; it’s not the right time yet.” That message equally calmed and broke my heart.
I was positive that I needed to be working elsewhere, but that soft impression from the Spirit helped me have faith that Heavenly Father would lead me to blessings at the right time.
So I halted my job search and focused on other things in order to prepare myself for a change. I focused on things I could control. I attended more training classes at work, began seeing a therapist, started studying my scriptures more fully, and began counseling with the Lord regularly about everything in my life.
Over the next few months, I still didn’t have the job I wanted, but I felt peace.
And then the COVID-19 pandemic hit.
Although I was devastated at first, I came to realize what a blessing it was that I hadn’t gotten a new job, because I probably would have been laid off and suddenly found myself unemployed, in a new city, and completely alone in the pandemic. So I took time during quarantine and social distancing to reflect, ponder, pray, and deepen my faith.
When the April 2020 general conference rolled around, a message from Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in which he compared the foundation of the Salt Lake Temple to our own testimonies resonated with my soul. He said that our earthly trials, “similar to an earthquake, are often difficult to predict and come in various levels of intensity—wrestling with questions or doubt, facing affliction or adversity, working through personal offenses with Church leaders, members, doctrine, or policy. The best defense against these lies in our spiritual foundation.” 1
The Spirit testified to me that if I worked on my spiritual foundation, Heavenly Father would guide me to the job I had been praying for. I committed to studying Come, Follow Me, reading the scriptures, serving more faithfully in my calling, and having weekly chats with a trusted friend.
As I worked on my spiritual foundation daily, I saw my faith grow. I felt greater hope, and my understanding of Heavenly Father’s timing developed as I began to see His hand in my life each day. And most importantly, I discovered how the Spirit speaks to me.
President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, once said, “The gospel of Jesus Christ is a plan that shows us how to become what our Heavenly Father desires us to become.” 2 I realized the Lord was sanctifying me through this trial and teaching me how to truly become who He needed me to be.
As I have looked back on this journey, I’ve realized that being sanctified through the power of the Savior is never going to be easy. It hasn’t been for me. But as I have relied on Him and also done my part to have faith and take steps like improving my professional skills, strengthening my spiritual foundation, applying for jobs, and waiting upon Him, I’ve witnessed how He can help us get through the difficult yet beautiful middle with faith.
I don’t know how long the middle of my trial of finding a steady, enjoyable career path will last, but I’ve grown so much through this experience. And I know Heavenly Father and the Savior want me to walk with Them so They can help me keep moving forward.

MELBOURNE—
Just a short time ago, I was really struggling to keep attending all my Church meetings. I’m sure almost everyone experiences the same sort of doubts I was having—about the gospel, about myself, about school. It was the time for year-12 students to start submitting the VTAC forms, our application to university. I was so confused! How, at the age of 16, was I supposed to decide what direction my entire life should take?
Of course, the questions I had about where I was going began to spread to other areas—like the gospel. A close friend of mine, a recent convert, was having a great deal of trouble with her own testimony, and I was finding that I was unable to answer some of her questions. I began asking questions of my own. Some of them could be answered by seminary and Young Women teachers, but the answer to perhaps the most important question I would ever ask had to come from the Lord. I needed to know that the Church is true.
All I could do was ask. I knew I was doing all the right things: I attended seminary every day, I read my scriptures and wrote in my journal each night, I hadn’t missed a Church meeting for years. So on a freezing June night, I closed my Book of Mormon and knelt to pray.
“Please, Father,” I whispered. “I need to know that I’m doing the right thing, that all of this effort isn’t just in vain.”
I had heard all the descriptions of the wonderful feelings that people experience when they ask in faith about the truthfulness of the gospel. I’d often thought them somewhat trite, almost predictable. But the warmth and the certainty that washed over me as my Father in Heaven answered my prayers was nothing that words could ever do justice to. I felt surrounded by a glow of love and peace, and within my soul I knew the perfect truth of the gospel principles I had taken for granted all my life. Now I know the Church is true.

Out on the field, Richard makes the game look simple. He feints, counterfeints, and passes. He sees an opening and sprints for it, waving his hand to let fellow players know he’s in the clear. On defense he shouts instructions and directs traffic as though he’s been playing all his life—which is just about the truth. His expertise, along with his scholarship in school, have qualified him for two trips abroad with soccer teams—one to Glenrothes, Scotland, another to Den Haag, Holland. While there, Richard lived with families and attended school, as well as playing exhibition soccer.
Of course, there have been embarrassing times, too. Like slipping and falling in the mud, or getting clobbered with a lopsided score, or losing every game during the season when Dad was the head coach. But some of that has to be expected.
How Richard plays in a particular match is determined by two things: which position he’s playing (he plays three), and which team he’s playing for at the time (he plays on four). On the ward team the ages vary significantly. So do the skill levels. But there, playing is mostly for fun. On the all-star team or in league competition, games are closely contested, and each move makes a difference.
Richard and John will talk for hours about their favorite sport. John plays forward, an offensive position that puts him on the front line of attack. Richard usually plays halfback, the midfield position, which challenges him by requiring both offensive and defensive skills. However, Richard has also played forward, as well as fullback (the last defender between the ball and the goalie).
They disagree about which is the ideal position to play. John says forwards have the most enjoyable job on the field because they go where they want. “It’s kind of like playing hide-and-seek with the defense,” he says. But he also notes that forwards often take the blame for missed goals. Richard counters that halfbacks have the fun of playing at both ends of the field, which, though it demands endurance, allows them power to control the tempo of the game.
John says fullbacks get the most rest, that their main task is to steal the ball and relay it to the opposite end of the field. Richard notes, however, that the defense is often outnumbered, and the fullback’s role is vital in preventing goals. Both agree, however, that the goalie may have the roughest assignment. He’s expected to analyze each shot-on-goal correctly and position himself properly to block or deflect it, often diving face down on the turf in the effort.
The two young men also discuss dreams, like playing on a professional or Olympic team, or even more immediate wishes, like attending a soccer clinic at BYU.
At a home evening recently, Richard brought out a scrapbook he keeps; it’s full of his souvenirs. He passed it around the family circle, describing photos he took himself and clippings from newspapers. The rest of the family joined in with other stories, laughter, and warmth. It was clear that they were all involved in learning lessons through their Church activity and through sports. They were learning about brotherhood by working together; they were learning to plan their time to be able to do things they enjoy and still meet school, Church, and household responsibilities; they were learning about family love, caring, and sharing; and they were learning about fixing goals for themselves. It was clear that they’re involved with soccer—and with each other—for more than just the kicks.

Ephraim Hanks learned this in 1856 when he responded to the voice of a messenger in his bedroom and then to the prophet Brigham Young and participated in one of the greatest rescue missions in the Church's history, coming to the aid of those stranded handcart companies who were caught in early, heavy snows. In addition to the temporal relief he brought in the form of meat from two recently slaughtered buffalo and the skill of hunting he employed on the way home to feed the starving Saints, he also brought the gift of healing, using his priesthood power to bless and heal dozens and bring comfort to many others.[6]