Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes Heavenly Father provides us an opportunity to avoid challenges—if we are willing to listen and learn. Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once faced this very dilemma.

“Years ago when I was in business, I learned a very expensive lesson because I did not listen carefully to the counsel of my father, nor did I heed the promptings of the Spirit giving me guidance from my Heavenly Father. My father and I were in the automobile business, and the Ford Motor Company was looking for dealers to sell their new line of cars. Ford executives invited my father and me to a preview showing of what they thought would be a spectacularly successful product. When we saw the cars, my father, who had over 35 years’ experience in the business, cautioned me about becoming a dealer. However, the Ford sales personnel were very persuasive, and I chose to become Salt Lake City’s first—and actually last—Edsel dealer. And if you don’t know what an Edsel is, ask your grandpa. He will tell you that the Edsel was a spectacular failure.

“Now, there’s a powerful lesson for all of you in this experience. When you are willing to listen and learn, some of life’s most meaningful teachings come from those who have gone before you. They have walked where you are walking and have experienced many of the things you are experiencing. If you listen and respond to their counsel, they can help guide you toward choices that will be for your benefit and blessing and steer you away from decisions that can destroy you. As you look to your parents and others who have gone before you, you will find examples of faith, commitment, hard work, dedication, and sacrifice that you should strive to duplicate.”2

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

The teens from the different wards in the Ipswich stake enjoy being around each other. They really like going to youth conferences—or conventions as they are sometimes called—where something as simple as singing together can bring the Spirit. Rebecca Fagg remembers attending her first youth convention as a 14-year-old. “I was struggling a bit and finding attending church to be quite a lot of effort. Then I went to the youth convention. The power of all the youth together made me realize how great it is to be able to go to meetings like that. When we sang, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit. I just burst into tears.”

When I was 30 years old, I was visiting the Nagoya mission as part of my work. After the meeting, the mission president kindly arranged for the elders to drive me to the airport. However, as we reached the intersection at the bottom of a long hill, a large truck came barreling down from behind us at great speed. It rammed into the rear of our car and propelled it forward more than 70 feet (20 m). The terrifying part of all of this was there was no driver. The rear of our car was compacted to half its original size. Fortunately, both the elders and I survived.
However, on the following day, I began experiencing pain in my neck and shoulders and developed a severe headache. From that day, I couldn’t sleep and I was forced to live each day with both physical and mental pain. I prayed to God to please heal my pain, but these symptoms lingered on for about 10 years.
At this time, feelings of doubt also began creeping into my mind, and I wondered, “Why do I have to suffer this much pain?” However, even though the kind of healing I sought was not granted, I strove to be faithful in keeping God’s commandments. I continued to pray that I would be able to resolve the questions I had about my trials.
There came a time when I found myself struggling with a few additional personal issues, and I was agitated because I did not know how to cope with this new trial. I was praying for an answer. But I didn’t receive an answer right away. So I went and talked with a trusted Church leader.
As we were talking, with love in his voice, he said, “Brother Aoyagi, isn’t your purpose for being on this earth to experience this trial? Isn’t it to accept all the trials of this life for what they are and then leave the rest up to the Lord? Don’t you think that this problem will be resolved when we are resurrected?”
When I heard these words, I felt the Spirit of the Lord very strongly. I had heard this doctrine countless times, but the eyes of my understanding had never been opened to the extent they were at this time. I understood this was the answer that I had been seeking from the Lord in my prayers. I was able to clearly comprehend our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and understand anew this important principle.
Let’s now consider that rear-end collision in Nagoya. I could have died in that accident. Nevertheless, through the Lord’s grace, I miraculously survived. And I know that my sufferings were for my learning and for my growth.5 Heavenly Father schooled me to temper my impatience, to develop empathy, and to comfort those who are suffering. When I realized this, my heart was filled with feelings of thankfulness toward my Heavenly Father for this trial.

After I was called as the family history consultant for our branch in Ushuaia, Argentina, I came to feel a deep need to search for my ancestors. The task was difficult, and scarcely a day went by that I did not try a new strategy to discover who they were and where they had come from in Italy.
In 2006 I was called to oversee the family history center. I continued to feel frustrated, however, by my failure to find information about my family. My frustration grew after my husband’s search for his ancestors paid off. That year, Ruben identified the names of more than 5,000 of his ancestors who had lived in San Ginesio, Macerata, Italy.
One afternoon in the family history center as Ruben found ancestor after ancestor on microfilm, he joyfully and repeatedly cried out, “Another one!” Feeling discouraged, and with tears in my eyes, I expressed my sadness, adding that I didn’t know what to do to find my family members. Seeing my pain, he suggested that we pray. We did so, pleading for the Holy Ghost to enlighten us so that we could accelerate the work on behalf of my family.
During our prayer, Ruben suddenly remembered a certain website that featured Italian surnames. Immediately after our prayer, we checked it out. Within minutes we had found four people with my maiden name, Gos, in the telephone directory of the small Italian town of Iutizzo, in northern Italy.
Immediately I sent letters to each of them. One wrote back, saying that her husband had the same surname, but he didn’t belong to the family. However, she had known one of my grandfather’s deceased sisters, and she offered to put me in touch with another relative, still living.
A few months later, in December 2006, we received a long-distance telephone call.
“Is this Susana Gos?” a distant male voice asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“This is your cousin from Italy,” he said.
The caller, Giovanni Battista Tubaro, was the son of my grandfather’s sister Maria!
In March 2008, Giovanni and his wife, Miriam, came to visit us in Argentina. We introduced them to the gospel and family history work, and for several days we talked of those who had preceded us. Now each of their names going back to six generations had a face and a history.
Family history has allowed me to contribute to an important part of the Lord’s work. It has also brought me closer to my ancestors—children of our Heavenly Father whom I never would have known of had it not been for a prayer of faith in the family history center.

Few feelings compare with the tender emotions of becoming a parent. There is nothing sweeter than receiving a precious baby, direct from heaven. One of my brothers experienced this feeling in an especially poignant way. His first little son was born prematurely and weighed only 2 pounds 14 ounces (1.3 kg). Hunter spent his first two months of life in the neonatal intensive care unit of the hospital. Those months were a tender time for all the family as we hoped and petitioned the Lord for His help.
Little Hunter was so dependent. He struggled to gain the strength necessary to live. The strong hand of his loving father often reached for his son’s tiny hand to encourage his vulnerable little child.
And so it is for all of God’s children. Our Father in Heaven reaches out for each of us with His infinite love. He has power over all things and desires to help us learn, grow, and return to Him. This defines our Father’s purpose: “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”
As we develop greater faith and trust in the Lord, we can access His power to bless and deliver us.
The Book of Mormon weaves this beautiful theme of the Lord’s power to deliver His children throughout its pages. Nephi introduced it in the very first chapter of the book. In verse 20, we read, “Behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.”
Many years ago I came to know in a very personal way the truths expressed in this verse. I came to know just how near our Father in Heaven really is and just how much He desires to help us.
One evening as night was falling, I was driving with my children when I noticed a boy walking along a lonely road. After passing him, I had a distinct impression I should go back and help him. But worried it could frighten him to have a stranger pull up beside him at night, I continued driving. The strong impression came again with the words in my mind: “Go help that boy!”
I drove back to him and asked, “Do you need some help? I had a feeling I should help you.”
He turned toward us and with tears streaming down his cheeks said, “Would you? I’ve been praying someone would help me.”
His prayer for help was answered with the inspiration that came to me. This experience of receiving such clear direction from the Spirit left an unforgettable imprint that is still in my heart.
And now after 25 years and through a tender mercy, I connected again with this boy for the first time just a few months ago. I discovered that the experience isn’t just my story—it is his story too. Deric Nance is now a father with a family of his own. He too has never forgotten this experience. It helped us lay a foundation of faith that God hears and answers our prayers. Both of us have used it to teach our children that God is watching over us. We are not alone.
On that night, Deric had stayed after school for an activity and had missed the last bus. As a young teenager, he felt confident he could make it home, so he started walking.
An hour and a half had passed as he walked the lonely road. Still miles from home and with no houses in sight, he was scared. In despair, he walked behind a pile of gravel, got on his knees, and asked Heavenly Father for help. Just minutes after Deric returned to the road, I stopped to provide the help he prayed for.
And now these many years later, Deric reflects: “The Lord was mindful of me, a skinny, shortsighted boy. And despite everything else going on in the world, He was aware of my situation and loved me enough to send help. The Lord has answered my prayers many times since that abandoned roadside. His answers aren’t always as immediate and clear, but His awareness of me is just as evident today as it was that lonely night. Whenever the dark shadows of life blanket my world, I know He always has a plan to see me safely home again.”
As Deric expressed, not every prayer is answered so quickly. But truly our Father knows us and hears the pleadings of our hearts. He accomplishes His miracles one prayer at a time, one person at a time.
We can trust that He will help us, not necessarily in the way we want but in the way that will best help us to grow. Submitting our will to His may be difficult, but it is essential to becoming like Him and finding the peace He offers us.
We can come to feel, as C. S. Lewis described: “I pray because I can’t help myself. … I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God. It changes me.”
There are many accounts in the scriptures of those who have put their trust in the Lord and who have been helped and delivered by Him. Think of young David, who escaped certain death at the hand of the mighty Goliath by relying on the Lord. Consider Nephi, whose pleadings to God in faith brought deliverance from his brothers who sought to take his life. Remember young Joseph Smith, who prayerfully sought the Lord’s help. He was delivered from the power of darkness and received a miraculous answer. Each faced real and difficult challenges. Each acted in faith and put his trust in the Lord. Each received His help. And still in our day, God’s power and love are manifest in the lives of His children.
I have seen it recently in the lives of faith-filled Saints in Zimbabwe and Botswana. In a fast and testimony meeting in a small branch, I was humbled and inspired by the testimonies shared by many—children, youth, and adults alike. Each conveyed a powerful expression of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. With challenges and difficult circumstances surrounding them, they live each day by putting their trust in God. They acknowledge His hand in their lives and often express it with the phrase “I am so much grateful to God.”
A few years ago a faithful family exemplified for members of our ward that same trust in the Lord. Arn and Venita Gatrell were living a happy life when Arn was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. The prognosis was devastating—he had just a few weeks to live. The family wanted to be together one last time. So all the children gathered, some from distant locations. They had only 48 precious hours to spend together. The Gatrells carefully chose what mattered most to them—a family picture, a family dinner, and a session in the Salt Lake Temple. Venita said, “When we walked out of the temple doors, it was the last time we would ever be together in this life.”
But they left with the assurance that there is so much more for them than just this life. Because of sacred temple covenants, they have hope in God’s promises. They can be together forever.
The next two months were filled with blessings too numerous to recount. Arn and Venita’s faith and trust in the Lord were growing, as evidenced in Venita’s words: “I was carried. I learned that you can feel peace in the midst of turmoil. I knew the Lord was watching over us. If you trust in the Lord, truly you can overcome any of life’s challenges.”
One of their daughters added: “We watched our parents and saw their example. We saw their faith and how they handled it. I would never have asked for this trial, but I would never give it away. We were surrounded with God’s love.”
Of course, Arn’s passing was not the outcome the Gatrells had hoped for. But their crisis was not a crisis of faith. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not a checklist of things to do; rather, it lives in our hearts. The gospel “is not weight; it is wings.” It carries us. It carried the Gatrells. They felt peace in the midst of the storm. They held fast to each other and to temple covenants they had made and kept. They grew in their ability to trust in the Lord and were strengthened by their faith in Jesus Christ and in His atoning power.
Wherever we find ourselves on the path of discipleship, whatever our worries and challenges may be, we are not alone. You are not forgotten. Like Deric, the Saints of Africa, and the Gatrell family, we can choose to reach for God’s hand in our need. We can face our challenges with prayer and trust in the Lord. And in the process we become more like Him.
Speaking to each of us, the Lord says, “Fear … not; … I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; … I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”
I share my humble but certain witness that God our Father knows us personally and reaches out to help us. Through His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, we may overcome the challenges of this world and be safely delivered home. May we have faith to trust in Him, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Although we were very busy, my husband, Daniil, and I decided we should visit the Preston England Temple one more time before the end of 2009. It takes two buses and almost six hours to get to the temple from the small Scottish town where we live.
The morning we planned to leave dawned cloudy and rainy, but we were happy to be going to the temple. While we waited an extra hour to catch the second bus at the transfer point, it began pouring rain and getting cold.
However, the hope that we would soon be in the temple warmed our hearts. When we arrived in Preston, we felt a strong impression to go immediately to the temple. We were hungry and dripping wet, but we listened to the Holy Ghost.
When we entered the temple, a friendly temple worker asked for our temple recommends. He took off his glasses and looked again at the names on our recommends.
“Are you from Russia?” he asked in astonishment.
“Yes,” we answered, a bit surprised at his reaction.
“So you speak Russian?” he asked.
“Of course,” we said.
He then picked up the telephone and called someone.
Soon the temple president approached us. Through his glasses, we could see he had tears in his eyes. “You are angels from God!” he said with a smile, asking that we follow him. We followed him and soon saw a confused young missionary with temple workers standing around him.
It turned out that this missionary was from Armenia and spoke Russian. He had been called to serve in the England London Mission but had not yet learned English. There was not a single Russian-speaking person in the missionary training center adjacent to the temple. On that day he was supposed to receive his endowment, but temple workers had been unable to communicate with him—that is, until a thoroughly soaked Russian couple walked in.
Daniil immediately asked to accompany the young missionary. The missionary was overjoyed and later said he had felt a special spirit when we arrived.
I am grateful that despite our busy schedules and the rainy weather, my husband and I still decided to visit the temple that day so we could help a Russian-speaking son of God in Great Britain. I am grateful for temple blessings, which brighten our lives with a special light and purpose. I know that if we will heed the promptings of the Holy Ghost, He will lead us back to our heavenly home—just as He led my husband and me to the house of the Lord that day.

Here’s a little math equation for you: What’s 270 x 2? If you answered 540, you’d be right. But if you answered 5,000 you’d be even more right—just maybe not on your next math test.
This rather incredible math refers to what happened after strangers around the globe decided to show a bit of kindness. Thanks to the Giving Machines in the Light the World campaign, 90 women from a small village received 270 baby chicks. In only 2 years (there’s that 270 x 2 math!) these women turned those chicks into 5,000 chickens—and counting. In fact, those same women are now supplying baby chicks through the same Giving Machine program.

My friends and I take turns inviting a friend of ours to church. She really likes going to Primary. I thought it would be neat if my friend could be in the Primary sacrament meeting program. My mom talked with a counselor in the Primary presidency, and the presidency wrote a part for my friend. She worked hard to memorize her part, and her parents came to see her in the program. It was so neat to share this with her and see her family at church. Maybe one day I can go on a mission and share the gospel with lots of people.
Bailey S., age 10, Arizona

Years later, in junior high, I found myself in a hard situation. I had a bad habit I was trying to get rid of. I knew it wasn’t so serious that I had to talk to my bishop, but it was still really bothering me.
I was embarrassed and didn’t want to ask anyone for help. Not even my parents. Not even Heavenly Father. I determined I could overcome this challenge on my own.
Weeks went by. I tried so hard to be better but without result. I was still struggling. I knew the Sabbath should be the focus of my week because of the sacrament. I had also been taught that the sacrament was a tool I could use to access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
After trying and failing for so long, I finally decided to turn to the Lord. At last I set aside my pride, opened my heart, and prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked for help, strength, and forgiveness. I stopped waiting for change to happen to me and started focusing on taking small steps toward improvement, with faith that the Lord would bless my efforts.
For the first time I focused on preparing for the sacrament all through the week. The sacrament became something I looked forward to. I began to see it as an opportunity rather than a routine because it brought the power of the Savior’s Atonement into my life.
I felt change in my life. The things I was struggling with faded. I became more confident in myself. I was able to open up to my parents and seek more assistance. I felt grateful to the Lord for all of the help I had received. I felt forgiven. I felt clean.
I grew to understand what that speaker meant all those years ago. When I centered my life around being ready for the Sabbath, I came closer to Jesus Christ in a way that purified me and made me stronger.
Through prayer and guidance from Heavenly Father, I learned that I could not walk through this life alone, but that the Savior and Heavenly Father truly had to be a part of my life. I learned that when I spent my whole week preparing to partake of the sacrament, I was better able to fully access the power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I learned that Heavenly Father loves us and has created a way for us to be forgiven and receive blessings, but we need to do our part to make it more meaningful. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for all that He has done for me and continues to do for me when I remember to prepare for the Sabbath.

Julie and Karen looked at the old clock and compared it with the other clocks on the wall. It looked about the same with its glass windows and ornately painted face, but it seemed to Julie that there was something special about this clock.
“Where did you get this one?” Karen asked.
“The Thompsons found it in the attic of the old house they just bought, and gave the clock to Mother. Isn’t it pretty?”
Karen looked at the old, old clock and reluctantly nodded her head. “I guess so,” she said.
“Someday I’m going to collect clocks too,” Julie explained.
Karen stepped a little closer. “I’d rather have something newer,” she said, still puzzled over Julie’s excitement.
“But just imagine the life this old clock must have had. It must be one hundred years old!”
Karen still couldn’t see why Julie was so excited. “It’s just an old clock,” she said.
“Oh, but listen to the music of the constant ticktock!”
“It’s just an old clock,” Karen repeated.
“Here,” Julie said, determined to make Karen see her point, “now listen to its beautiful chime.”
Carefully she opened the door and pulled the lever to sound the chimes. “Bong, bong, bong, thud!”
“Oh, no!” Julie cried. “What’s wrong?”
“Look!” Karen pointed to a paper caught in the bars.
Julie pulled the paper out and quickly unfolded it. The paper was old and greasy from the clock works. Mehn sind im kutschen haus was written there.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Karen said after trying to read it.
“Mother,” Julie called. “Look what we found in this clock.”
Mother took the paper. “This is written in German.”
“German? Do you think Dad could read it?” Julie asked.
“Well, he used to speak German.”
Julie waited impatiently for her father to come home.
“Dad,” she called, running out the door when his car pulled into the driveway, “can you translate this for me?”
“What is it?” her father asked as he took the paper.
“I found it in the clock Mother got from the Thompsons.”
“German, hmmmmm …” Father looked surprised. “It’s been a long time since I’ve used my German. Come in the house and I’ll see what I can do.”
Julie followed him into the house. “I just know it’s something exciting,” she said.
“Maybe it’s just a shopping list,” Father teased with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, Dad,” Julie sighed. “It’s more than that. Someone had to put that paper in the clock for a special reason.”
“Well, let’s see.” Father sat down at the kitchen table and smoothed out the paper. “Hmmmm, this is interesting.”
“What does it say?” Julie could hardly stand still.
“It says, ‘More are in the carriage house.’”
“More what?” Julie asked.
“Maybe more clocks. That’s all it says.”
“It doesn’t say what carriage house either?” Julie asked hopefully.
“No,” he answered. “Not even a clue.”
“More are in the carriage house!” Julie repeated. “It really is a mystery!”
All night Julie wondered about the strange message, and by morning she had an idea. Hurriedly she dressed, ate her breakfast, and did her chores; then she went to Karen’s house.
“Come on!” she shouted when Karen answered the door. “We have a mystery to solve today!” Quickly she tumbled out the words to explain.
Karen was soon ready and they both were off to the Thompsons. They knocked on the huge wooden door and impatiently waited for someone to answer. Finally Mrs. Thompson opened the door.
Julie pulled the paper from her pocket and explained, “Yesterday we found this note in the old clock you gave Mother, and we want to ask you about it.”
Mrs. Thompson took the paper. “What does it say?”
“It’s German, and it means, ‘More are in the carriage house.’”
Mrs. Thompson explained, “We bought this house from a man named Schiller. His mother immigrated to the United States from Germany when she was only twenty. She learned to speak English, but she never could read or write it.”
Julie listened intently to what Mrs. Thompson said. “Do you think she wrote this?”
“Could be,” Mrs. Thompson agreed.
“What about a carriage house?” Julie asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Thompson began; then she stopped. “Wait, I’ll bet it’s that old building out back. Mr. Schiller said it had been damaged in a windstorm ten years ago, and no one has bothered to restore it.”
Julie and Karen jumped with excitement. “Come on!” they shouted.
Mrs. Thompson led them down a hall and out the back door to a building with only two walls standing. A little piece of roof was stretched between them.
If there were anything stored in there, it’s probably ruined now! Karen thought.
Cautiously the girls climbed through the rubble looking for a clue. They removed some of the fallen roof and pulled away the huge weeds that had grown up through the wood.
“Look!” Karen shouted.
Julie and Mrs. Thompson ran to where Karen had picked up a piece of fallen roof that revealed a trap door in the floor of the old carriage house.
“If you’ll hold that a little higher,” Julie said, “I’ll see if I can open the door.”
Mrs. Thompson helped Karen hold the piece of roof as Julie climbed under and lifted the trap door.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Here’s a huge old trunk!”
“This must be it!” Karen whispered in amazement.
Cautiously Julie lowered herself into the hole and tried to open the trunk, but it was stuck.
“Dad’s home today. I’ll go get him to help us!” she said.
In a few minutes Julie was back with her father. Mrs. Thompson and Karen had moved the piece of roofing off the door. Julie’s father jumped into the hole and began to pry open the trunk with some tools he had brought with him.
Slowly the lid began to give, and then suddenly it flipped up. Julie’s eyes opened wide as she looked at four beautiful box clocks!
“Here’s another note in German,” her father said, pulling a yellowed paper from between the clocks.
“What does it say?” Julie asked excitedly.
Slowly Father translated. “When I came to this country, I brought many things that were strange to people here. My sons wanted me to throw them out, but I loved these old clocks far too much to throw away. They were my grandmother’s and my mother’s.
“I reasoned that whoever restored my brown box clock would find my message. It would undoubtedly be someone who loves clocks and will take care of them. So to whoever learns my secret, please give these clocks loving and tender care. Frau Schiller.”
“Well,” Mrs. Thompson said, “I guess this means you, Julie.”
“But it’s your …” Julie began.
“Oh,” Mrs. Thompson interrupted, “I never liked old clocks, and Karen has told me she doesn’t either. You are the one Frau Schiller meant.”
“Oh, thank you,” Julie almost shouted. “What a wonderful mystery this has turned out to be!”

Years ago, while serving as a stake president, I submitted a recommendation for a brother to serve as an ordinance worker in the temple. After explaining what a wonderful ordinance worker he would be, I inadvertently pressed “Do not endorse,” which submitted the recommendation. After unsuccessfully trying to recall the message, I called the temple president and said, “I have made a horrible mistake.” Without hesitation, this good temple president said, “President Eyre, there is nothing that you have done that can’t be forgiven and ultimately corrected.” What a great truth. Indeed, Jesus Christ is “mighty to save.”

My mom gave a family home evening lesson on loving our enemies. She taught me and my brothers and sisters what it means to love those who “despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matt. 5:44).
I remembered that lesson the next day at school when I noticed that a bigger boy who was always trying to bully or tease me didn’t have a lunch. My sister had helped me pack a huge lunch the night before, and I had two sandwiches. So I took my extra sandwich and some other things in my lunch and offered them to the boy. I was happy that he took the extra food, and he seemed glad that I had offered it to him. He is not mean to me anymore, and I am much happier at school.
I am glad that I listened to the family home evening lesson. My mom and dad are, too. They said that they are proud of me for listening to the Spirit and doing a kind and brave thing even though it seemed a little scary.

My own family, anticipating the celebration of this 90-year milestone in my life, started helping me remember and appreciate the experiences of my long life. For example, my niece gathered and shared with me several letters that I had written to my parents nearly 70 years ago from my marine outpost on the island of Saipan in the Pacific during World War II.
One of these letters particularly caught my eye. It was a letter I wrote to my mother for her to open and read on Mother’s Day 1945. I would like to share some excerpts with you in the hope you will see why I will ever be grateful to my loving father and mother for the lessons I learned from their teaching in the home. My parents are the defining example I retain of goodly parents who placed their marriage and the proper rearing of children as their highest priority.
My Mother’s Day 1945 letter began:
“Dear Mom,
“For the last four years I have had the great misfortune of spending Mother’s Day away from you. Each year I have wanted to be with you and tell you just how I love you and how much I think of you, but since it is once again impossible, I will have to do the next best thing and send my thoughts through the mail.
“This year more than any of the others I can see just what having a wonderful mother has done for me. First of all, I miss the little things you used to do for me. Whenever I got out of bed in the morning, I never had to worry about whether I’d find a clean shirt and clean socks. All that I had to do is open a drawer, and I would find them. At mealtime I always knew that I would find something I liked, prepared the best way possible. At night I always knew that I would find clean sheets on my bed and just the right amount of covers to keep me very comfortable. Living at home was really a great pleasure.”
When I read these first two paragraphs of the letter, I was shocked by how sentimental they sounded. Perhaps living in a tent and sleeping under a mosquito net on a camp cot had my thoughts returning to my very special home.
My letter to my mother continued:
“But deeper is the feeling for you because of the example you set for me. Life was made so enjoyable for us as a family that we wanted to follow in your footsteps, to continue on through experiencing the same joy that had been ours in our younger days. You always found time to take the family into the canyon, and we could count on you to do anything from climbing mountains to playing ball with us. You and Dad were never going on vacations alone. The family was always with you. Now that I am away from home, I always like to talk about my home life because it was so enjoyable. I couldn’t turn from your teachings now because my actions would reflect on your character. Life is a great challenge to me to be worthy to be called the son of Nora Sonne Perry. I am very proud of this title, and I hope that I will always be worthy of it.
“I hope that next year finds me with you to show you the good time I have been planning to show you on Mother’s Day for the past four years.
“May the Lord bless you for all the wonderful things you have done for this troubled world.
“All my love, Tom”1
As I reread my letter, I also reflected on the culture of the family, the ward, the stake, and the community in which I was raised.

Last year I went on a hike with my dad and brother. We hiked deep into the canyon. We soon started exploring a side trail. We found large caves and great lookout points. We climbed higher and higher over loose rocks and steep hills.
After a while we were completely lost. We didn’t know which way to go to get to the bottom of the canyon. We got stuck in thick brush, losing sight of both the top and bottom of the canyon. I started to get really frustrated. I did not know where to go, and neither did my dad!
It was getting dark and cold, and we were far from getting out of the canyon. I knew that Heavenly Father knew which way to go.
I said, “If we want to get out of here, we need to pray!” So the three of us knelt down in prayer, asking Heavenly Father to lead us out of the canyon.
As we started to walk, a feeling told me that when I saw a straight tall tree, we should turn left. After we turned left, I saw our car. I knew that Heavenly Father helped us get out of the canyon. Heavenly Father answered our prayer, and we made it out safely—just as the sun was setting.
I am so thankful for the power of prayer and for Heavenly Father’s listening ear.

I recently noticed my tendency to use electronics during church and youth activities. It had become a habit. Anytime I saw my phone, I immediately had to grab it and check to see if I had any new notifications or text messages. The solution? Hiding my phone from myself. Whether it was in a bag, under a chair, or even with a friend—if I couldn’t see my phone, I wouldn’t be tempted to use it.
Taryn M., 15, Florida, USA

“It’s time for family prayer!” Dad called.
Jessie raced down the stairs to join her family in the living room. Kneeling down between her sister, Kayla, and her brother, Aiden, she reverently folded her arms.
Dad looked over at her. “Jessie, could you say it tonight?” he asked.
Jessie nodded and bowed her head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, “we thank Thee for this day. We thank Thee for keeping us safe. Bless us to not have bad dreams tonight. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” the family echoed. But before anyone could stand, Dad stopped them. “Just a minute,” he said. “Mom and I want to talk to you about something.”
Mom looked around at them, smiling. “We love how reverent you all are during our family prayers,” she said. “But there’s more to prayer than just being reverent. The words we say are important too.”
Jessie wondered what Mom could mean. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
Mom pulled her into a hug. “Not at all, sweetie.” She thought for a moment. “When you kids come home from school, what do I have you do?”
“Tell you about our day,” Aiden said.
Mom nodded at him. “Prayers are like that. They’re a chance to tell Heavenly Father about the important parts of your day, like what you’re worried about or grateful for. That way you won’t have to say the same things over and over.”
“But the things I say over and over are the important parts,” Jessie said. “I’m always grateful for my day. And I’m always scared about bad dreams.”
“And that’s OK,” Mom said. “But I bet there are all sorts of other things Heavenly Father wants you to talk to Him about as well. Maybe you can try to think of some tonight.”
Later that night Jessie knelt by her bed. She folded her arms and bowed her head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, “I thank Thee for this day. I thank Thee for keeping me safe …”
Jessie stopped. What else would Heavenly Father want to hear about? What had happened today?
She thought a moment. First she had gotten up. Then she had eaten breakfast. “I’m grateful that Mom surprised us with pancakes,” she said.
And then what? She thought some more. After breakfast she had gone to school. “And I thank Thee that I did a good job on my spelling test. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t very nice to Rachel at recess,” she added. “I’ll invite her to play with me tomorrow.”
Jessie continued to go through the rest of her day, telling Heavenly Father everything that had happened. By the time she was done, it was past her bedtime. Jessie yawned. “And please bless me to not have bad dreams,” she said. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Crawling into bed, she fell right asleep.
The next morning Jessie was the last one downstairs for breakfast. “Did you sleep in?” Mom asked, pouring her a glass of orange juice.
Jessie shook her head. “No. I got up early to say my prayers.”
As Jessie started to eat breakfast, she smiled to herself.
There was just so much to talk about.

Scott* and Jeri* reaped the benefits of living among Saints who loved and comforted them. Scott had been excommunicated from the Church for 12 years when he and Jeri and their four children moved to another part of the country. They decided to go to church, they said, “for the sake of the kids.” Scott steadfastly maintained he would never rejoin, although he knew the Church was true.
From the moment they arrived, they were warmly welcomed. When ward members learned of Scott’s Church status, they didn’t gossip or expect him to give a long explanation of his past. No one judged him. “They liked me for who I was,” says Scott. “After that first Sunday, we never missed church again.”
About a year and a half later, Scott was rebaptized, and eventually his priesthood blessings were restored. A son and daughter born when he was not a member were sealed to Scott and Jeri in the temple. “We’ll never forget watching our two children walk into the sealing room dressed in white,” Jeri reminisces. “There must have been at least 70 members of the Church with us. Everyone there seemed to be part of our family! These people had loved us through our ups and downs and comforted us in our times of discouragement. Without our friends we wouldn’t have made it.”
Scott’s bishop at the time observes: “Knowing that a loving ward presents the best climate for individual growth and development, we worked hard as a ward at ‘having [our] hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another’ (Mosiah 18:21). As bishop, I saw the Lord direct many people like Scott to our ward because of the climate that existed there.”

“You can do it! You can do it!” fellow Scouts shouted as a 14-year-old comrade strained to complete one more pull-up within the time limit. Every muscle in his face grimaced with the effort; sweat glistened on his face and neck. As he brought his chin near the bar, his forearms and biceps started shaking—but he made his tenth try successful just as the whistle blew. Amid cheers, he dropped to the ground and the next patrol member hoisted himself into place.
The timed pull-up event was just one in a series of physical challenges Scouts faced as they moved from station to station during three days of competition. Broad jumping, rope climbing, push-ups, sit-ups, an obstacle course, three-legged bucket race, slingshot marksmanship, aquatics, frisbee golf, and travois building and racing (carrying an “injured” passenger), along with other races and relays, tested the athletic ability of individuals and patrols.

I never forgot Elder Lee’s advice. I came to Salt Lake City, Utah, on furlough and went to the Salt Lake Temple. After I left the military and went to college, I saved money for a mission. During my mission, I was able to open the Okinawa area, where my father was from, for missionary work. Later, serving as president of the Tokyo Temple, I had the wonderful blessing of seeing many of the Japanese Saints receive their temple endowments. Seeing the joy in the faces of those being sealed was a great blessing.