Gospel Story Finder

Something that happened during a Book of Mormon class years ago has had a great impact on my life. Our teacher, Brother Fernando Aguilar, told us an experience that had happened to his father, Santiago Aguilar II, who had been working hard to find genealogical information about his ancestors. He had been successful in submitting many family names for temple ordinances. Nevertheless, on one of his family lines, the information he could find stopped with his grandmother. Despite many trips and continual research, he had not been able to find the necessary information about her. But the Spirit gave him a sense of urgency to keep looking.
Brother Fernando Aguilar, currently a part-time coordinator for the Church Educational System in Chile, recalled: “One day my father had an impression that he should return to a small village 90 kilometers east of the city of Osorno—some 500 kilometers from his home in Talcahuano—even though he had recently visited our relatives there and had received genealogical information. He knew of no reason to return, but the impression would not leave. So with a prayer for guidance, he returned to the village. When our relatives saw him, they were surprised he had returned so soon, and they assured him they had given him all the genealogical information they had. He simply explained that he felt an urgency to return, even though he didn’t know why.
“My father spent the following day seeking—but not finding—additional information. After a tiring day, as he was walking to an uncle’s home, he felt impressed to change his route. My father followed the impression, even though he didn’t know where he was going or why. His new route led him to a large vacant lot filled with trash, and he felt a strong impulse to take the path through the lot.
“After entering the lot, he stopped suddenly and began to look around, seeking the reason for being in that spot so far from home. Looking down at his feet, he saw a yellowed, dirty piece of paper and picked it up. After shaking the dirt off, he recognized it as his grandparents’ marriage certificate, which included the names and other family information he was missing. This certificate was the key he needed to bring to pass the temple work for our ancestors.”

Another day the young people decided to take a walk up to the skiing slopes. It was a four or five mile hike—not much of a challenge in most places on a relatively warm spring day, but Punta Arenas is not most places. Here it meant struggling up and down hills against a wind so stiff that every step was the slow-motion shuffle of a man in a diving suit. With each step the trailing foot was pulled out of quicksand, pushed forward through molasses, and put down again only halfway to its goal. Wind-whipped eyes wept freely, and conversation was impossible above the wolf-howl roar of the wind. As the city sank below them, the young men and women admired the streams and the starkly beautiful landscape, alternately lashed with rain, dusted with snow, and blinded by sunlight. But mostly they just struggled to finish one more step before the wind took it away from them.
Why did they go to the trouble? First of all, they were young, and it was something to do. But most important was the view from the top—dark hills cascading down to the bright city, the dazzling band of sea, distance-pale Tierra del Fuego, and shafts of sunlight searching for the South Pole.
Going back was a pleasure. The wind was at their back, carrying their happy songs down to the city. After a while a passing oxcart gave a lift to one of them. A pickup truck took aboard several others, carrying them down to the warm city by the cold sea. About that time, a thin rain caught a slice of sunshine and hung a rainbow right over the roofs of Punta Arenas, over the chapel and the people and the warmth of hearts and homes. And over the bronze Patagonian Indian whose shiny toe was pointing faithfully toward the end of the earth.

However, I warn you, a new name, new flexibility, and fewer reports won’t make an ounce of difference in our service unless we see this as an invitation to care for one another in a bold, new, holier way, as President Nelson has just said. As we lift our spiritual eyes toward living the law of love more universally, we pay tribute to the generations who have served that way for years. Let me note a recent example of such devotion in hopes that legions more will grasp the Lord’s commandment to “be with and strengthen” our brothers and sisters.
Last January 14, a Sunday, just a little after 5:00 p.m., my young friends Brett and Kristin Hamblin were chatting at their home in Tempe, Arizona, after Brett’s day serving in the bishopric and Kristin’s busy day caring for their five children.
Suddenly Kristin, a seemingly successful survivor of breast cancer the previous year, fell unresponsive. A call to 911 brought an emergency team trying desperately to revive her. As Brett prayed and pleaded, he quickly placed just two other telephone calls: one to his mother requesting her help with the children, the other to Edwin Potter, his home teacher. The latter conversation in its entirety went as follows:
Edwin, noting caller ID, said, “Hey, Brett, what’s up?”
Brett’s near-shouted response was “I need you here—now!”
In fewer minutes than Brett could count, his priesthood colleague was standing at his side, helping with the children and then driving Brother Hamblin to the hospital behind the ambulance carrying his wife. There, less than 40 minutes after she had first closed her eyes, the physicians pronounced Kristin dead.
As Brett sobbed, Edwin simply held him in his arms and cried with him—for a long, long time. Then, leaving Brett to grieve with other family members who had gathered, Edwin drove to the bishop’s home to tell him what had just transpired. A marvelous bishop started immediately for the hospital while Edwin drove on to the Hamblins’ home. There he and his wife, Charlotte, who had also come running, played with the five now-motherless Hamblin children, ages 12 down to 3. They fed them an evening meal, held an impromptu musical recital, and helped get them ready for bed.
Brett told me later, “The amazing part of this story isn’t that Edwin came when I called. In an emergency, there are always people willing to help. No, the amazing part of this story is that he was the one I thought of. There were other people around. Kristin has a brother and sister less than three miles away. We have a great bishop, the greatest. But the relationship between Edwin and me is such that I felt instinctively to call him when I needed help. The Church provides us a structured way to live the second commandment better—to love, serve, and develop relationships with our brothers and sisters that help us move closer to God.”
Edwin said about the experience, “Elder Holland, the irony in all of this is that Brett has been our family’s home teacher for longer than I have been theirs. Over that time, he has visited us more as a friend than by assignment. He has been a great example, the epitome of what an active and involved priesthood bearer should be. My wife, our boys—we don’t see him as one obligated to bring us a message at the end of each month; we think of him as a friend who lives just down the street and around the corner, who would do anything in this world to bless us. I am glad I could repay just a little bit of the debt I owe him.”

When a sister in our ward started coming to church again after six years, my mother told my brothers and sisters and me that we should be friends with the sister’s two children. Their dad had died just a year before, and they were still very sad. One of the children, Evelyn, was a little younger than I am.
Mama asked me, “Monahra, will you be Evelyn’s friend? Heavenly Father has asked you to be a member missionary. Be loving and friendly, and be sure that she is not left alone.”
I told Mama that I would, and since that day, I have tried to be a member missionary for Evelyn. Because I want to be a full-time missionary when I grow up, I am trying my best to be a missionary now.
Evelyn is a great friend, and she smiles a lot now. We play, go to Primary, and sing hymns together. Sometimes we have family home evening together at her house. I know that Heavenly Father is happy because I have tried to be a member missionary and a friend. I am grateful to have Evelyn as a friend.

Another couple from northern California served their mission in Bolivia. In one small Indian community the people had to carry water from a spring high on a slope some 1,400 meters away. It was very laborious to carry water so far day after day, and it presented serious sanitation problems.

The missionary couple was assigned to supervise a project to pipe water from the spring. The elder engineered the project and organized the members and nonmembers into work groups. Within weeks the community had dug a trench across the rocky Altiplano soil. Plastic pipe was then placed in the trench, connecting the spring to a simple water faucet in the center of the village—the only faucet in the entire community.

The whole community turned out for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. The nonmembers were very friendly toward the Church and grateful for the opportunity and resources to progress. And the missionary couple, who lost themselves in the work, commented, “This is the highlight of our mission.”

Originally, our plans called for my return to teaching at a school in the western United States after completing my studies at Cornell University, in New York. But, to our surprise, the opportunity came for me to use my wildlife management training in the Arabian Gulf countries—first in Bahrain, and later in Dubai.
The ancient sport of falconry—hunting of birds and small animals with trained falcons—is still practiced on the Arabian Peninsula. In 1976, His Highness Sheikh Hamed ben Isa Al Khalifa, the Crown Prince of Bahrain, was looking for ways to combine the captive breeding of falcons with modern management techniques. He learned of my doctoral work on falcons, and that led to the job offer I received.
Bahrain is not a large oil producer, but it was there, in 1932, that oil was first discovered in Arabia. Rulers of the country have wisely used the resulting wealth to improve the lives of their people. Still, the contrasts are dramatic. Stopped at a traffic light one day on my way to a church meeting, I inspected the luxurious automobile just ahead of me while a cart donkey scratched his head on the back of my car.
The Bahrainis are well-grounded in modern life, yet the teachings of Islam play a major role in all aspects of their daily living. They are a friendly and gentle people, convinced that God is close by and aware of their needs.
Amid all that seemed different to us in Bahrain—the veiled women, open-air markets, and richness and luxury contrasting with the ancient life-style of the desert—we found the warm familiarity of fellow Latter-day Saints. With three other western families, we were part of a group of eight adults and eight children who held Church weekly meetings. Services are held on Friday in Muslim countries because that day is their Sabbath; Sunday is simply the second day of a six-day work week.
The group in Bahrain was organized into a branch in 1978, with Brother Sidney MaGill, a native of New Mexico, as the first branch president. With the arrival of other Latter-day Saints, it has since grown to thirty-five members.
After more than five years in Bahrain, my wife and I felt I had accomplished all I could at the falcon breeding center I had established there. We were thinking of returning to the United States when a similar position opened up in Dubai, one of the United Arab Emirates farther down the Arabian Peninsula. My employer wished me well and told me warmly, “We will consider you a Bahraini export and send you to Dubai.”
The position at the Dubai Wildlife Research Centre, as wildlife consultant to His Highness Sheikh Mohamad bin Rashid Al Maktoum, has given me the professional opportunity to do research on a much broader range of animals.
Unlike Bahrain, Dubai has only recently grown rich on oil, and in amounts of money difficult to imagine. Streets that were not even paved in 1968 are now lined with palaces and bordered with miles of shrubs and flowers grown with water distilled from the sea.
But the old ways are not forgotten; the sheikhs are still in touch with the people. Several times a week, my employer hosts a luncheon for anywhere from twenty to fifty men who have need to see him. We sit on the floor and eat with our hands. Some of the guests are bedouin herdsmen; others are merchants owning millions. All dress alike, and all are shown the same great courtesy. The sheikh’s guests may come to ask for help with their problems, to ask a favor, or simply to express their loyalty.
In 1982, when we arrived in Dubai, no Latter-day Saint services were being held. We found three Latter-day Saints there: a sister from the United States and two Filipino brethren. Sacrament meetings began in our living room. Our children used to say that for a year they didn’t go to church—church came to us!
Within eighteen months, however, new move-ins helped our branch membership grow to twenty-four; and by 1985, the small branch had grown to thirty-six. We rent space in the American school for meetings. Our branch offers the full program of the Church for our age groups, including early morning seminary.
Leaders of the Arab countries in which we have lived recognize the need of workers from other nations to worship in their own way. But proselyting was not tolerated. There are occasional converts, however—nonmember spouses from western workers’ part-member families. The waters of the Persian Gulf, which welcomed the ships of Alexander the Great and other ancient mariners, are the baptismal font for these people and for the children in our branch.
Our two oldest children, Catharine and Andrew, moved with us to Bahrain in 1976 when they were small. We have since added to our family Eric Alkhalifa, born in Bahrain, and Sarah Elisabeth, born in the United Arab Emirates.
Socially, life on this peninsula has both drawbacks and advantages for our family. Women from other cultures feel fewer restrictions in Dubai than in some other countries on the peninsula, but, true to Muslim tradition, most native-born women do not mingle freely in mixed company. While this might seem restrictive in some western societies, it is not seen so by these women. The traditional Muslim family system is strong. It works very well for them, but it also limits the opportunity for foreigners to know Arab families well.
Members of the Church generally make friends with the many other foreign families in these Arab countries. (Only a small percentage of the workers in technical jobs are natives.) The ten children who attended our son Andrew’s last birthday party, for example, were citizens of eight different nations.
There are challenges to Church members here. Because of the six-day work week, for example, those who enjoy recreational opportunities—like diving in the gulf—must decide whether to give up their pleasures on our Sabbath.
For our children (and for us), there is the challenge of affluence among their associates. Catharine was one of eighty girls chosen to attend, at no cost, a private school on the palace grounds. It was built by the crown prince, who wanted his daughters to have a western education. It is staffed by teachers from England, and it operates much like any other private school—except for the month-long field trip to Europe by private jet.
In some ways, however, members here are sheltered from many evils of the world. Leaders of these Arab countries will not accept any activity that threatens Islam or the faith of its believers. For example, drug and alcohol abuse, pornography, and immodesty are strictly controlled because they are offensive to Muslim beliefs. While laws forbidding these things may seem restrictive to some, we enjoy the freedoms they provide. We adults do not have to contend with ugly influences, and we can feel confident that our children are not coming in contact with them in their schools.
Latter-day Saints and other foreign workers living in the countries of the Arabian Peninsula find their lives affected daily by the teachings of Islam. Television and other activities are interrupted during the afternoons and evenings for the call to prayers. Public gatherings begin with readings from the Koran. This book, believed by Muslims to be revelation given to the Prophet Muhammad, is the basis for all the laws in the countries of this region and contains specific guidelines for daily life.
Hospitality is one of the fundamental principles of Islam. In social or business contacts, an Arab will express sincere concern for his guests and expect them to share his proffered coffee or tea. This courtesy has allowed me to explain the Word of Wisdom to Arab men—from the king of Saudi Arabia in his palace to camel herdsmen around their camp fires. They accept my belief without offense because it is similar to their health code, which requires abstinence from pork and alcohol. Strict Muslims also do not smoke.
Once, at the request of my employer, I accompanied him on a visit to the ruler of another Muslim country. We were part of a small group of sheikhs and government officials. We dined at the palace and were flown to the ruler’s private retreat. During one of the meals, several of the Muslims ordered wine. When I declined, someone joked about my becoming a Muslim, so I explained that I don’t drink because of my religious beliefs. Their consciences pricked, two of the men urged me to join with them. His Highness, the crown prince of Bahrain—my employer at the time—silenced them, and, turning to me, said, “Joe, don’t ever change.” I have always been thankful for my employer’s appreciation of my faith.
Church members who find themselves living as guests in a foreign culture—a small minority of the population, far from the familiar things of home—might easily feel lost and alone. But the Church is almost always there. With or without a family, it will be comforting to remember that the love of our Father in Heaven, the effectiveness of gospel principles, and the ministrations of the Holy Ghost are not limited by the size of the group at worship or by the design of its surroundings. When you strive to make a chapel of your home, the Spirit will be there.

When I joined the Church, I was eager to get involved in family history work. I began visiting local archives to search for my ancestors’ information in public records.
I found the work fulfilling, but it was not always easy. The old handwriting was often difficult to read, and some of the books were moldy, which agitated my asthma. Still, I continued researching as best I could.
One day I was researching about my grandfather, looking for his date of birth. I found a 1,500-page book that might be helpful. But what if it didn’t have the answer I needed? I dreaded having to look through more big, dusty books.
I began skimming the book’s contents, hoping a familiar name would catch my eye. Suddenly, I thought I heard someone say, “The last page.” I looked around, but it did not appear that anyone had spoken to me. I continued and read several more pages. Then I heard the same words again: “The last page.” Somewhat hesitantly, I decided to check the last page. I found the text that is usually written there: a summary of children born and the total number of pages. Just in case, I checked the page that preceded the last one but found nothing helpful there, so I turned back to the page I had been reading before.
My thoughts were soon interrupted once more by the soft but persistent voice: “The last page!” I decided to try the last page again and read the now-familiar text several times.
Then I noticed something I had missed before: an extra page pasted inside the back cover. As I read the handwriting scribbled across the page, I saw the names of children born near the end of December. There I recognized my grandfather’s name and saw that it stated where and when he was born and baptized. I was astonished but filled with gratitude that I had been led to the information I needed.

A native of São Paulo, Brazil, Elder Soares and his wife, Rosana Fernanda Morgado Soares, traveled occasionally to the United States for training as director of temporal affairs for the Brazil South Area. Committed to attending church wherever they traveled, the Soareses remember one Sunday a good Samaritan friendshipped them at church. Grateful for this instant friendship, Elder and Sister Soares realized an additional blessing later that night when they needed his help again. An expectant mother, Sister Soares miscarried.
Elder Soares tearfully recalls: “I didn’t know anybody; I didn’t know the medical system. But the Lord protected us.” Their newfound friend proved to be the Lord’s answer to their prayers, helping them to obtain much-needed medical care. “We were protected,” Elder Soares testifies, “because we went to church that day.”

Consider, for example, the case of one Latter-day Saint couple I worked with, John and Susan.
Several years after they were married, John began to drink. Susan, because of her love for him, tried everything she could think of to make him stop. She would hide his liquor or his wallet and try to keep him away from drinking friends. Repeatedly when he came home drunk she explained away his unusual behavior to others. She would call his boss and make excuses: “John has a touch of the flu. I’m afraid he can’t come to work today.” She also began lying to the children, saying, “Dad’s just having trouble at work and is under a lot of pressure.”
The children soon realized what was going on. Because of the pressure at home they stopped bringing friends over, and they protected their father by hiding his behavior or making excuses for his behavior.
Susan was also ashamed to go to the bishop. How could she possibly tell him that John was drinking?
This story, or one similar to it, is re-enacted over and over. And a surprising number of people may get involved. The bishop may begin to provide meals and clothing when family resources are depleted. Friends at work may try to make it seem that his work is getting done or assume extra responsibilities so that men like John won’t lose their jobs. Employers may ignore shoddy performance or give the person repeated chances because they feel it would be unchristian to fire him: “What would happen to his family if I did?”
These behaviors usually prove to be destructive. They shield a person from the consequences of his behavior and make it convenient for him to continue drinking.
One of the first steps in helping families like John and Susan’s is to reach Susan and the others involved and help them eliminate those elements of their supportive behavior that make the problem worse. They have to learn how to exercise “tough love,” which I define as doing what has to be done even though it hurts, or not doing something for others that they should do for themselves.
“Tough love” isn’t always easy. It isn’t easy to break the silence and confront a loved one in a firm spirit of love and helpfulness. It can be extremely painful for a woman to leave her husband all night in the chair where he passed out, and to make him clean up after himself in the morning. It’s hard for children to say to their friends, “Mom’s drunk,” instead of making excuses for her.
And it’s hard to always be sure of yourself when you’re dealing with someone who has become an expert at shifting responsibility to others. As a matter of survival, drinkers become expert manipulators. John, for example, manipulated Susan into believing that it was her fault that he drank.
She was hurt inwardly and became more and more resentful—until she learned what he was actually doing. When it was impressed upon her that one person can’t make another become a problem drinker, she began to take control of her feelings and was thus able to avoid manipulation and the bitterness that sometimes follows such manipulation.
One way or another, a drinker must assume responsibility for (in other words, suffer the consequences of) his negative behavior before he or she can be motivated to change.
Unfortunately, the very teachings that instruct the Saints not to drink may cause us to develop harmful attitudes about those who fall into the alcohol trap. Harsh opinions, injudicious labeling of the drinker, and misunderstandings about alcohol and what it does to people commonly interfere with our ability to help.
Consider the rejection John felt when he attended a Church activity and a couple nearby got up and moved because they could smell liquor on his breath. This doesn’t always happen, of course; but when it does happen, the hurt felt by a person like John can be intense. He needs to be helped, not ignored.
I have discovered that we can be helpful to another when we view the drinker as a child of God with the same eternal worth as any other person, but one who has a disease and needs appropriate help. This is a time when love, concern, and acceptance are needed more than at any other time.
Let’s compare John’s experiences with those of a Latter-day Saint teenager named David.
In open defiance and rebellion against his father, David stole the family car. Succumbing to the excitement of high speed, he failed to negotiate a turn, rolled the car several times, and was critically injured. Fortunately, those who were riding with him received only minor injuries.
The family and ward members fasted and prayed for David’s recovery. He was given a special blessing by his home teachers and was visited often in the hospital. Even the other young men in the accident and their parents visited and expressed hope for his recovery. Although David was left somewhat crippled and scarred, he recovered and everyone thanked the Lord for preserving his life.
David had made a serious mistake, but he received the support he needed at a critical time in his life. John’s experience was much different, however. When John finally acknowledged that he needed help and was admitted to a local drug and alcohol treatment center, only his wife visited him. Ward members did not fast and pray for his recovery. He was not given a special priesthood blessing. And when returned from the center, he found that people around him were apprehensive, uncertain, and doubted that he could stay sober.
I have learned that pure love, personal fellowship, and increased understanding can bless the lives of those suffering the effects of alcohol as much as they can bless the lives of those suffering from other problems.
Perhaps the hardest part of being supportive to a problem drinker in his struggle to overcome alcoholism is learning to accept relapses without being upset or discouraged. Recovery takes time, and usually there are setbacks and disappointments. Often there is a great temptation to simply give up—to feel that all your hopes have been wasted and that all progress has been for naught.
The difficult thing is to maintain perspective—to be able to stand back mentally and view the problem from a position of control, instead of feeling mentally trapped in narrow confines with nowhere to turn. Family members must learn to relax and to accept small improvements, always maintaining hope that this family problem can be overcome, and sharing that hope with one another. Of course, they must continually seek divine help. The Lord can bless us with insight far beyond our own, and increased testimony of the gospel can give us strength to endure.
Patience and perseverance will help the family to continue in love and encouragement after a relapse instead of being demeaning and discouraging.
This does not mean that we will always be successful in influencing a loved one to stop drinking. The principles still apply, though. And if the problem drinker is unable to solve his problem, at least our own lives will be improved.
A great deal of heartache can be avoided if non-drinking family members will get early help. It is important that everyone involved take the initiative to learn all they can about alcohol, the process of addiction, and the ways in which family members and others unintentionally contribute to continued drinking.
For non-drinking family members, potential resources include home teachers, quorum leaders, the bishop, and other concerned priesthood and Relief Society leaders, and members who are reformed drinkers.
For the drinker, in addition to the above resources, there are groups who specialize in helping people with drinking problems such as Alcoholics Anonymous and other similar resources. It is vital to know that in many cases recovery without the help of professional programs to overcome drinking is virtually impossible. Help for alcohol-related problems is available in most communities if affected families seek assistance.
Application of the above guidelines, although challenging, has given many families a meaningful course to follow and has led to some beautiful experiences. Seeing a person overcome an alcohol problem and watching a family unite once again is a wonderful thing.
The Lord’s declaration that “the worth of souls is great” and that “great shall be (our) joy” if we bring “save it be one soul” (D&C 18:10, 15) is certainly true of our labors with those who have alcohol addiction. With the help of the Lord, we can bless the lives of those who are affected by alcohol, offering them real hope for recovery.

Success story number three is the inspiring story of Pygmalion and Galatea from Grecian mythology. Pygmalion was a sculptor from Cyprus, and, like all great artists, Pygmalion loved his work. Then the day came when he would create the great masterpiece of his life. In deathless ivory he would carve the statue of a beautiful woman and show the human form and human personality at its best. Week after week and month after month he labored until finally the statue was completed. And so great was the devotion and love that Pygmalion had lavished upon his work that the gods decreed that the statue would have the power to breathe and move and live. As she stepped down off the pedestal, Pygmalion called her name Galatea, and Pygmalion married his work.

But this is much more than just an idle myth, as the story of Pygmalion is the story of every person who ever lives. For God has decreed that for everyone who falls in love with his work, his work shall live.

I received just the other day a letter from a dear friend. Her name is Helen, and her husband’s name is Charlie. She writes as follows, among other things:
“Today Charlie and I spoke at our sacrament meeting. In my talk I related the advice you gave me when I graduated from Idaho Falls High School and had made plans to attend Ricks College. You told me that I should attend the Church College of Hawaii, where I would have a better chance to meet and marry a young man of Chinese ancestry.
“I took your advice and went to CCH, where I met Charlie and married him. We have been married 37 years and have five children. All of our five children have served missions. … Three of our children married in the Hawaiian temple. We have two single children, and we hope they will find worthy individuals to take to the temple soon. We have six adorable grandchildren and two more on the way.
“I have been blessed to have a faithful husband who honors his priesthood and has been worthy to serve the Lord as bishop, stake president, and mission president. It has been my privilege to support him in all his Church assignments. I have served as stake Relief Society president for almost five years.
“Today, as I count my many blessings, I could not help but think of what a great influence you have been in my life. I just want you to know that I followed your counsel, and because of that my life has been blessed abundantly. I thank you for taking the time to follow my progress when I left Hong Kong to come to America.”

Like many young women in Uganda, Sandra walks more than a mile to church, helps clean the meetinghouse on Fridays, and attends seminary on Saturdays. During the week, she rises before 5:00 a.m. to read schoolbooks, and then she walks to school, returning home after 6:00 p.m. She missed a year of school because of financial difficulties but faces her challenges with a positive attitude: “The gospel has really helped me to stay steadfast and immovable.”
Sandra is the only Church member in her home, but her parents support her Church service, such as helping when the ward cleaned the grounds of a local orphanage. Her family sees how the gospel has helped her be strong, even when facing unresolved problems. Reflecting on the source of that strength, Sandra says, “When I go to church, I feel like I am putting on the armor of God” (see Ephesians 6:11–17).

As a young man I was offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy. This was an honor and a real temptation. However, in my early life I had definitely decided that I would like to go on a mission, and I could now see that if I accepted the Naval Academy appointment I probably would not be able to serve as a missionary.
After prayerful consideration I declined the appointment, as I felt it was the will of the Lord that I go on a mission. Soon thereafter I received a call to serve in the Eastern States Mission.
I will be eternally grateful for the call I received, because it was in the mission field that I learned to love the gospel, learned the power of faith, and felt the happiness and peace that come when one is responsive to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. The pattern I set in the mission field has been a guide to me throughout my life.
My mission president, Brigham H. Roberts, in his letter of release to me, promised me that I would “find new beginnings from time to time … even more missions.” As I left the mission field I prayed fervently and at length that this promise might be fulfilled. Twenty-four years later it was partially fulfilled when I was called to be the stake mission president of the East Mill Creek Stake. At that time Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was president of that stake, and also at that time President Harold B. Lee gave me a beautiful blessing as he set me apart.
Four years later it was further realized when I was called to preside over the Northwestern States Mission. And one of the choicest and most inspiring experiences of our lives was when Sister Richards and I spent approximately ten days with President and Sister Lee in touring our mission.

An interesting experiment in social psychology investigates how much the judgments of others influence the way we see things. A psychologist built a small machine containing a bright light which could be switched on in pinpoint bursts. When one views a small burst of light in a dark room, the light appears to move, even though the machine producing the light is stable and doesn’t move at all. This is called the autokinetic (self-movement) effect, and it plays an important role in this experiment.
During the first stage of the experiment one person, let’s call him Bill, is led into a dark room and instructed to judge how far the tiny pinpoints of light move each time he sees a burst of light. His judgment is two centimeters the first time, three centimeters the second time, and four centimeters the third time. After several trials he settles on three centimeters as his average judgment.
Bill is then excused from the room, and Susan is invited to be seated several feet from the light machine. She then voices her judgments each time she sees a burst of light. She begins with three centimeters, then two centimeters, and she finally begins to repeat estimates of about one centimeter.
After her judgments have been recorded, Bill is then invited back into the room with Susan, and both of them are instructed to voice their individual estimates of another series of light bursts. After the first burst Bill says, “three centimeters,” and Susan counters with “one centimeter.” On the next trial Susan says, “one and a half,” and Bill replies, “two and a half.” After several subsequent trials, they concur that the light moves two centimeters each time.
The interesting conclusion to this experiment may appear, at first, to be trivial, but in many regards it is profound. The light never moves. It is only our perceptions of the light that change. As we associate with others whose opinions differ from our own, their judgments often influence how we view things, and we, in turn, influence their view of the world.

Leniel Gava was called to serve in the Mozambique Maputo Mission, but he began serving in his native Zimbabwe while awaiting the visa that would allow him to train and learn Portuguese at the Brazil Missionary Training Centre. After a four-month wait, Elder Gava finally made it to Brazil, and a few weeks later, he arrived in Maputo.
Elder Gava loved Mozambique and his opportunity to share the gospel. He had settled into the work and was starting to feel comfortable with Portuguese when the COVID-19 pandemic began in March 2020. Most missionaries in Africa were suddenly returned to their native countries. Back he went to Zimbabwe.
Elder Gava says that the missionaries felt constantly confused during the repatriation process. Where would they be sent? For how long? In what way would they serve while they were waiting for the pandemic to die down? It wasn’t until he finally met with his mission president, Tasara Makasi, that he was calmed. President Makasi told him, “The Lord’s work doesn’t stop, just adjust and continue to do His work.” So, Elder Gava did, even in lockdown conditions.
Missionaries, who were confined to their homes like everyone else, soon received smartphones and access to social media platforms that allowed them to connect with people responding to a Facebook ad published on the Africa South Area Facebook pages titled “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”
Very soon after the ad ran, Elder Gava and his companion were given a stack of names and phone numbers from people who had responded to the advert, indicating that they were interested in meeting with the missionaries and finding out more about the Church. They were asked to contact each person. As they looked through the names and numbers, both missionaries were impressed to call a particular woman. She answered in a very low voice, but after they had introduced themselves, she almost screamed with happiness. “Thank you so much for reaching out to me!” she said. “Thank you for calling at the right time.”
As the conversation progressed, the elders learned that this woman was then lying in a hospital bed having just suffered a stillbirth. “She was saying she was so hurt . . . like there was a deep hole in her heart,” he said. “At the time we called her, she needed someone to be there with her, but, unfortunately, she was alone. That sister became one of our good friends and we started teaching her online.”
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counsellor in the First Presidency, taught that the gift of the Holy Ghost helps us to lift others when they need it the most. “You are a covenant member of the Church of Jesus Christ. . . .
“That is why you have a feeling to want to help a person struggling to move forward under a load of grief and difficulty. You promised that you would help the Lord make their burdens light and be comforted. You were given the power to help lighten those loads when you received the gift of the Holy Ghost.”1
Elder Gava says this experience taught him how the Spirit works in our lives and how it can move us to talk to people who need us, at the time they need us. He also learnt another lesson: the importance of the proper use of technology in missionary work. He realised that technology can be used to reach out to our Heavenly Father’s children.
On Elder Gava’s mission he saw these two channels working together: the Holy Ghost was the heavenly channel, bringing a message from heaven to the missionaries; and technology was the earthly channel, bringing that message from the missionaries to their brothers and sisters.

“Xinia is always writing of her feelings,” says her mother. “When something happens to her, or if she gets offended, she will write about it. She can express her feelings better that way.”
For example, she has written about the day she mistakenly ate some medicine tablets, thinking they were candy: “After I ate my sweets, I dropped down. I was coughing. My eyes were closed. When I woke up [in the hospital], I saw my mom crying. I asked her, ‘Mom, why are you crying?’ She said, ‘I thought you were going to die.’ The next day, there was my family. They said, ‘We love you, Xinia.’ So I was happy. They each bought me a present. They said good-bye and left. The next day, they came to bring me home in a wheelchair. I couldn’t get out of our house for a long time. Finally my heart was okay. I was six years old. I had to get on with my life.”

While on a lecture tour some time ago, I noticed that one of the other lecturers had attended my discussion on adversity for three consecutive days. After the third lecture, she told me, “I’m concerned that I’ve never had a real trial or test in my life. It’s almost frightening to think about it.”

We talked for a while about the fact that we have no control over when trials come to us, only over how we respond to them. I said that we need not seek trials; over a lifetime, we will have our share of them. And although we have been assured that the Lord will not require more of us than we are capable of handling (see 1 Cor. 10:13), we need to prepare by gaining a good understanding of the Lord’s plan and develop a faith that can carry us through our crises.

Little did this good woman realize how soon she would be faced with a tremendous test. Only a few months later, she and her husband stood at the side of a small coffin containing the body of their only son. As her friends mourned the death of the infant, killed in an unexpected farm accident, this woman was the one who lifted their spirits. She and her husband sorrowed, but they did not blame God or others or react bitterly. Rather, they displayed a quiet strength born of the Spirit.

I learned an important lesson on giving and receiving mercy one winter when my son Rob was taking care of the neighbors’ rabbits. One night he forgot to empty the watering bottles—and the bottles were frozen solid the next morning. When he discovered his mistake, I had no mercy and became upset at his forgetfulness. I unjustly reproved him for forgetting and for making us both late that morning.
After I arrived at work, my conscience wouldn’t leave me alone. In a moment of truth I admitted to myself that Rob had made a simple human error similar to ones I frequently make. I admitted to myself that I had no justification in taking offense at his mistake, given my own weaknesses. The truth is, Rob is a conscientious boy who does many things well.
My sorrow for my own wrongdoing motivated me to find him at school and apologize. I found that he had taken the whole thing compassionately; even though I had been wrong, he had seen it from my point of view and had taken no offense.
The experience greatly humbled me. If my heart had been right in the first place, I never would have become upset by Rob’s simple mistake. If Rob hadn’t been merciful, he could have taken my behavior personally, which could have harmed his own self-esteem as well as our relationship. After I had apologized (part of my repentance), a peace of conscience came like that which came to King Benjamin’s people as they admitted their wrongdoing and called upon the Lord for forgiveness. (See Mosiah 4:3.)

My father’s a soldier and is fighting in a war a long way from us. But Mother and I get letters regularly that help bring him home for a while. First, we read my letter and laugh at the funny things he writes. When my mother opens her letter, however, she sits by the window and reads it alone. Once in a while she reads me part of it, but mostly she reads it silently, then stares out over the fields for a quiet time.
Once I even saw Mother cry, and I knew she must really be missing him. That was only for a minute, though, and I pretended not to see. Then she wiped her eyes on her apron, folded the letter, and put it into a box. When she stood up, she smiled. “We must keep busy, Carrie,” she said as she smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Would you like to pin the pattern for me so I can cut more material?”
I like to work with Mother. We talk about many things, like Father and the war or school; and before I even know it, time has passed, and I am hemming one apron as she is sewing the seams of the second.
One day as we worked, a heavy knock sounded at our door and I jumped up from my chair to see who it was. “Hello, Mr. Briggs,” I said as I swung the screen door wide. “Will you please come in? Mother is sewing, but I’ll get her for you.”
He nodded and stood with his hat in his hand, waiting.
“Mother!” I said excitedly. “Mr. Briggs has come to see you.”
She smiled and smoothed her hair, then untied and removed her apron. With her head held high, she went to greet our visitor. “May I offer you a lemonade, Mr. Briggs?” she asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied.
I left them alone and stood by the front door, looking at his motor truck parked beyond the front fence, with BRIGGS EMPORIUM emblazoned on the side of it in bold red letters. After only a few minutes, Mr. Briggs came out onto the porch with Mother.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying quietly. “If you’d like, I can keep the aprons and see how business is in Clarion County. The agreement will be the same, Mrs. Clancey. But with times as they are, well …” He shrugged and waited for my mother’s reply.
She nodded and folded her hands, then forced a halfhearted smile. “Yes, do that, Mr. Briggs. It’s the only way they’ll have a chance of being sold. And you did sell quite a few in Nelson last month. Maybe Clarion County will be a better territory.”
Mr. Briggs quickly nodded and said, “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Clancey, for both of us. But may I give you an advance?” he offered. “Just a little, to help you get by? I’m bound to sell some, you know.”
Mother raised her chin slightly and shook her head. “Thank you, but no,” she replied. “If they don’t sell, I’d only have to pay it back. I’ll just wait and see. Now, how much do I owe you for thread?”
After they settled their account, we stood on the porch and waved good-bye as Mr. Briggs and his traveling emporium drove down the dusty lane. Then Mother seemed to slump ever so slightly against the porch railing. She reached into her pocket and drew out some change.
“He could only sell three aprons, Carrie,” she said with a sigh. “It paid for the thread, and that’s about all. What’s left is for tithing. Would you please put it in the jar for me, dear?”
I took the change and frowned. “Maybe you should have taken the advance Mr. Briggs offered, Mother. We’re running out of a lot of things.”
“Mr. Briggs would not have minded, dear, but I would have,” she said with a smile. “Now do as I say. Put the money in the tithing jar, then fetch the pail. We’ll forget about aprons for a little and weed the strawberries.”
I knew we were out of flour and low on soap, but mother was always firm about God’s portion, so I did as I was told. Then I grabbed the pail and joined her on the back porch. She rolled up her sleeves and talked as we walked toward the strawberry patch. As we came closer, we could see white blossoms on the stems, but the nearer we got, the more red dots we saw among the lush green plants. The strawberries were ripe!
She clasped a hand to her mouth in surprise. “Oh, look, Carrie!” she gasped. “Aren’t they lovely? And they’ve gotten ripe without our noticing them at all.”
The aprons were gone from her mind as we knelt to pick the sweet ripe fruit. As I plunked them into the pail, I thought about the aprons, however, and how hard we had worked on them. Then, without considering, I asked, “Do you mind very much that we’re poor, Mother?”
She looked up in shock and quickly brushed back her hair. “Poor … ? Carrie, do you really think we’re poor?”
I was sorry I had spoken in such a thoughtless manner. “Well,” I stammered. “The aprons … I mean, Mr. Briggs sold only three.”
She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead, then threw back her head and laughed. “Darling, darling, daughter! Where did you ever get the idea that being without money means that we’re poor? Have I made you think that way? If I have,” she said with a smile, “let me explain something. Making and sewing aprons while your father’s away is useful. We make a little extra money and keep busy. But your father sends money home, and we have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our stomachs, and we owe no one anything!” Still smiling, she grabbed my hand. “Besides all that, how can you think we’re poor, when we’re sitting in the middle of God’s good strawberries with the juice staining your mouth?”
She pulled me closer and put her arms around me tightly. “Look at that blue sky, Carrie,” she said, pointing heavenward. “Feel the warm breeze. And don’t you realize the amount of love your father and I have for you? All of those are riches—not riches that can be spent—but they’re riches of a far deeper, more lasting kind. They’re blessings from God. What more in all the world could we possibly want—or need?”
I looked at the sky, then smiled and asked a playful question. “Well, how do we tithe our strawberries, Mother?”
She laughed again and replied, “That’s easy, Carrie. We simply find someone to share them with. In fact, after dinner when it’s cooler, we’ll walk down the lane to Mrs. Fremont’s and give her a basketful of strawberries!”
I not only loved mother—I liked her too. She had an answer for everything, and I learned many things at her side. Maybe one of the most important things I learned was what she told me that day. For I began to look for and appreciate all I received, because I finally realized that God’s blessings don’t always come in the way or manner we expect. But somehow they always come—just when they are needed most.

As a young BYU student, I learned a little something about staying on course when heading home. One Christmas Eve, my brother and I were driving home to Kansas, when we learned that a huge snowstorm was coming our way. We pulled out a map, found a detour, and headed into parts unknown. We ran right into the blizzard!
To make matters worse, late that night as we were creeping along an obscure highway in blinding snow, our old car quit. We were stranded. And we had absolutely no idea where we were.
Eventually we caught a ride to the nearest town, where we found that we were still hours from home and marooned in Last Chance, Colorado. There was only one thing to do. We called home for help, and our father left in the middle of the night to rescue us. By the next afternoon we were all safely home. Our father had done for us what we could not do for ourselves.