Gospel Story Finder

I grew up on a farm and worked nearly every day during the summer. I hoed beets, hauled hay, and worked with cattle and horses. Farm work was not my favorite summer activity. The days were very hot, and I had to work hard to get all my chores done.
One day when I was about 11 years old, I finished some of my chores early and had some time before I had to start my next task. It was hot, so I sat under a tree to rest. I don’t know why, but I had the Book of Mormon with me. I picked up the book and started to read. To my amazement, I couldn’t put it down. For the next three or four days I continued to have extra time during my workday. In those few days, I read the whole Book of Mormon. Every time I opened the book, I was filled with a warm, calm feeling. The presence of the Spirit was strong and bore witness to me that the book was true, and because it was true, everything else I knew about the gospel had to be true too.
Though I was baptized when I was eight, reading the Book of Mormon on the farm marked the moment of my true conversion. I do not know why I had the Book of Mormon with me on the farm that day. I often read books back then, but the Book of Mormon struck me like no other book ever did.
To this day I still remember the testimony I received of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. It has become an anchor in my life. Since that day, I have faced many challenges, but I have never forgotten the moment I knew for myself that the Book of Mormon was true.

She has seen this in her family. When she was 10, she was asked to give a testimony of baptism in the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. The only thing is, she hadn’t been baptized yet. Her mother had not given her permission. So Laysa wasn’t sure what she would say in her testimony, but she went ahead. Then a miracle happened. “My mother was in church that day,” says Laysa. “I didn’t expect her to be there. That day, I got her permission to be baptized.”

While growing up, I struggled with my mental health. I was eventually diagnosed with anxiety and depression, but I never told anyone the details. I never told anyone that I was often hearing voices and seeing things that nobody else did. I was worried about what they might think.
When I returned from my mission early because of my issues with mental health, I realized I needed to get help. So I set up an appointment with a psychiatrist. I made a plan to tell her only that I needed to get off the medication I had been taking for depression because it was making my symptoms worse.
But the Lord had different plans for that day.
When I stepped into the psychiatrist’s office, I felt the strongest sense of peace. My parents and I had been praying that the doctor would be inspired to help me and that I would be able to get things figured out. And I wasn’t sure why, but I felt that I was finally going to receive answers.
What I thought would be a quick appointment turned into a two-hour interview as the doctor asked me questions that struck me very personally. I was nervous, but the Spirit whispered, “This is the time to be honest. You can trust her.”
Taking deep breaths, I answered each question, feeling more and more comfortable with every answer. Finally, the doctor calmly said to me, “You have schizoaffective disorder.” She explained that it’s a cross between schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I could not believe it.
“Schizophrenia?” I thought. “No way!” I immediately thought of supervillains and people locked up in straitjackets—those were the only types of people I thought could have schizophrenia. Horrified, I thought, “How am I ever going to tell my parents?” and “What will people think of me if they find out?” But the peace I felt from the Spirit persisted, and I heard it whisper once again, “This is right. You can trust her.”
Initially, I was terrified of letting people know. Not only did I have these problems, but now I had this label—one that would probably make people think of insane criminals! But time passed, and gradually I learned to accept that I have this condition, just as someone diagnosed with cancer or diabetes must accept theirs.
I’ve come to realize that labels—even scary-sounding ones—don’t define me. I’m still the same Courtney I was before I was diagnosed. Now I just understand the problems I face a little better. Just because I have a name for my condition now doesn’t change the way I’ve lived my life. It doesn’t change my worth, and it doesn’t change everything I’ve accomplished.
Today I can honestly say that I’ve been blessed by this experience. I have seen miracles come about because of my willingness to be honest and thanks to the treatment I’ve received. My paranoia and panic attacks have significantly lessened. I don’t hear voices in my head anymore, and I can walk around my house at night without being haunted by hallucinations. I’d never trade the healing that I am experiencing for the secrecy I once had about these challenges.
I know that the Lord truly knows what we need and when we need it. Sometimes we just have to be brave enough to reach for the tools He has provided for us. I believe that the Lord extended His mercy to guide me to that specific doctor at that specific time. It was nothing short of a blessing.

In Funchal, Portugal, there lived a lady named Asencao Frango. A nun for twenty years, she was a Mother Superior at a home for poor children and orphans. When her church decided to close the children’s home, she maintained it herself for four years, using an inheritance she had received from her deceased parents, until the children there either were adopted or were raised and on their own.
Hearing of a new religion, she became curious and attended her first meeting of our Church with a friend. It was held on the dirt floor of a member’s garage, but the spirit of the meeting impressed her. The elders began teaching her the discussions and challenged her to be baptized. She declined, saying that she had already been baptized. The elders persisted, saying, “If this book [the Book of Mormon] is the true word of God, then Joseph Smith is a true prophet and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. If so, you need to be baptized into God’s true church by those who have the authority to baptize.”
Asencao Frango read the Book of Mormon and gained a strong testimony of its divinity and requested baptism. Just one year later she obtained her temple recommend and entered the Swiss Temple to make sacred covenants with her Heavenly Father.

Let me share with you a personal example. I was baptized when I was a young adult, the first one in my family to join the Church. After my conversion, the Holy Ghost helped me recognize some of my weaknesses. In response to my question "What lack I yet?" the Spirit told me I needed to overcome my fiery temper.

I was overly competitive when playing basketball or racquetball or anything where someone was keeping score. I had embarrassed myself a few times by losing my temper over a ballgame. I asked the Lord to help me overcome this weakness, and He heard my prayers.

Gradually, I was blessed with more patience in all areas of my life. I knew I was making progress when my mother said one day, "You have really changed ever since you joined the Mormon church. You won't even argue with me anymore." I considered that a great compliment. If you should find yourself challenged in the same way, if you find you could use more patience--why not ask? Patience is a spiritual gift.

On this occasion I would like to speak especially to the young people the world over. Somehow, I believe that they have a special ability to understand important things. May I illustrate with this little story?
Many years ago we sat as a family in our weekly home evening discussing the principle of the Resurrection. Attempting to explain in simple terms what is involved, I noticed our small children looking at me with puzzled expressions on their tiny faces. Apologetically, I mumbled something about it being very difficult to understand such things. Whereupon, Lezlee, our then five-year-old, with a look of loving concern for my discomfort, said, “Don’t feel badly, Daddy; I understand you.” And then she proceeded to demonstrate her new gospel knowledge. Lying down on the floor, straight and stiff, with her arms outstretched, she slowly raised herself and said, “It’s simple; you just sink up.”
So I want to talk to you about the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ, because on Easter Sunday we will celebrate His rising from the dead and all of us should know the wonderful story of that remarkable event.
It was early on Sunday morning. Deep darkness still hung over the holy city, Jerusalem. Mary of Magdala entered the garden and approached the tomb where the body of Jesus of Nazareth recently had been laid.
Just two days before, the humble Christ, hanging from a wooden cross, had given up the ghost, and mortality had ended for the Only Begotten Son of God in the flesh.
Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin but a loving disciple of Jesus, had gone to the Roman procurator, Pontius Pilate, and had asked that he be allowed to remove the body from the cross. Permission was granted. The body was taken from the cross, and Joseph, with the assistance of Nicodemus, who earlier had come to question Jesus by night, gently prepared the body for burial after the manner of the Jews. The kind, loving men placed the body of the deceased in a newly hewn tomb belonging to Joseph. Then a great stone was rolled across the entrance, and a Roman seal was placed upon it, “lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead” (Matt. 27:64).
Now Mary Magdalene approached the tomb, but to her utter amazement the huge stone had been rolled away. The body of her beloved Jesus was gone. Quickly she ran to advise the Apostles of this new tragedy, saying, “They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him” (John 20:2).
Peter, the chief Apostle, and John, the beloved Apostle, hurried to the place of burial. The account of Mary was confirmed. The tomb was indeed empty, except for the linens which had been used to wrap the body. Saddened, the two Apostles went away to their own homes.
“But Mary,” who had followed Peter and John back to the garden, “stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre” (v. 11). Two angels dressed in white sat within the tomb. Seeing her great grief they asked, “Woman, why weepest thou?” Sorrowfully, she answered them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him” (v. 13).
Still weeping, Mary turned from the tomb, and through her misty eyes she noticed someone standing close by. The person spoke to her, “Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?” Thinking that perhaps it was the gardener who addressed her, she replied, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away” (v. 15).
In a voice tinctured with pure love and the sweetest tenderness, he simply uttered one word, “Mary.” There was no mistaking the voice; it was Jesus Christ. And thrilled beyond any comprehension, the dear woman could only say, “Rabboni,” which means Master (see John 20:16).
There He stood—alive! Raised from the dead! Never to die again! His perfect body forever united with the spirit. The eternal Christ!
To the credit of gentle, loving women everywhere, our Redeemer chose as the first mortal witness of His resurrection from the dead a woman, Mary Magdalene.
As we contemplate the events leading to the death of Jesus Christ, we tend to grieve for the awful sufferings which He experienced at the hands of wicked men—the terrible rending by the lash, the dreadful nails placed in His hands and feet, the prolonged agony of the cross, and finally His tender heart breaking for the sins of all men.
But stop! He is not dead! He is risen! He is the first fruit of the resurrection. Without Him, life for all men would end at death. All would be consigned to the grave, their bodies to molder in the dust forever. But because of Him, our Savior, even Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, we, every one of us, will live again—freed from the everlasting chains of death.
To you sweet parents who have placed the mortal body of a dear son or a beautiful daughter in the grave, or to all who have lost a mother or father, husband or wife, to the relentless hand of death, I say, have hope. For if we ourselves are faithful to the end, they will not be lost to us save for a moment. And then, oh, the sweetness of that joyous reunion, for the tender mercy of the Lord will bring them forth triumphant from the grave.
And so, my wonderful young people everywhere, as we come to celebrate Easter, will you remember the story of Jesus coming out of the grave a perfect, glorified being? Will you remember that He made it possible for all of us to someday be resurrected and to come back and live with Him in the celestial kingdom of God throughout all eternity? Then if you will remember, you will understand His love for all of us, and your love for Him will grow deeper and deeper forever.
Such is my humble testimony of the glorious resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ, which I proclaim to you along with my profound love for Him and each one of you. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One day when Tommy was about eight years old, he and his grandfather were sitting on the front-porch swing. An elderly man from England lived on the same street. His name was Robert Dicks, but most of the neighbors just called him “Old Bob.” He was widowed and poor.
Old Bob came over and sat down on the porch swing with Tommy and his grandfather. He said that the small adobe house where he lived was going to be torn down. He had no family, no money, and nowhere to go.
Tommy wondered how his grandfather would respond to the sad story. His grandfather reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather change purse. He took out a key and put it in Old Bob’s hand. “Mr. Dicks,” he said kindly, “you can move your things into that empty house of mine next door. It won’t cost you a cent, and you can stay there as long as you like. And remember, nobody is ever going to put you out again.” Tears filled Old Bob’s eyes.

I knew of two soldiers on a fierce battlefront, when during a temporary armistice in the war, one young man crossed the battle line and asked his antagonist, “Is there a Mormon elder in your lines?”

The other answered, “Yes, I am a Mormon.”

He then asked, “Would you come behind our trench lines and help me administer to and bless a wounded buddy?” Across the “no-man’s land” they walked together, these two men, former enemies. One anointed and the other sealed the anointing, and the wounded chap was blessed. A great peace entered their souls. The other man returned to his front lines to his duty, and he also had a new feeling of peace.

When I came to BYU at the age of 18, I thought I had my life all figured out. I came on a football scholarship. My plan was simple: play one year, serve a mission, then return to have a great football career. I would marry my high school sweetheart, study premed, become an orthopedic surgeon, and have a large, happy family—maybe even one or two kids before graduation. I had it all mapped out.
At graduation six years later, nearly nothing had worked out the way I had planned. Gratefully, after my mission, I did marry Brooke, my amazing high school sweetheart! However, there were no football glory days. There was no premed degree. There was no future career in sports medicine. And, despite years of trying, there were no children.
From the outside, my life may have looked as if it had gone terribly off course. Inside, I felt moments of uncertainty and disappointment as plans unexpectedly and dramatically shifted. But now I can see that the Lord was redirecting my path. He was forging my character in ways I could not then understand. As painful as those times were—along with the trials that have come since—I am grateful for them. They have given me an unshakable trust in Jesus Christ and a deep love for Him and our Heavenly Father. That trust could not have come in any other way. And as I have stayed faithful to Him, Heavenly Father has opened opportunities that I simply could not have imagined.

Let me share with you an experience that happened when I was at Brigham Young University that embedded these truths deep into my heart. As I mentioned earlier, I did not become a star football player. (As evidence of that, raise your hand if you’ve heard of me as a former BYU player!) During the second day of practice during my sophomore year, I sustained an injury. Suddenly I was sidelined and unable to play—just as I felt I had been gaining momentum trying to crack into the rotation. I was distraught. That was not my plan!
Even more surprising, while recovering from surgery I started having repeated impressions that I should move forward without football to focus on academics. A passage of my patriarchal blessing kept coming to me. Never had I considered my life without football. This was deeply unsettling. Football had been a huge part of my life. I remember the day I went to speak to Coach LaVell Edwards about how I was feeling. He told me that he trusted me to make the right decision and that perhaps God had something else for me to do.
I decided to walk away from football. I stepped into the unknown. I believed God had shown me what not to do. But I did not know what I should do. I felt lost. I questioned my decision many times. What had I done? Over the months I often asked myself: “Was that my own head or the Spirit? Should I talk to Coach Edwards again and try playing?”
Thankfully I continued to pray, go to Church, and attend the temple. I didn’t turn bitter toward God. I felt as if I was dangling by my carabiners while searching for a path forward, but I stayed connected to the anchors.
Then, about a year later, still stumbling and “projecting” to find my way forward, I overheard a student talking about studying Russian. I knew very little about Russia, but I had a distinct feeling that I should investigate. I enrolled in Russian 101. I felt as if I had found a foothold.
One class led to a second. During winter semester I saw a notice on a wall on campus. It was about a small program from Florida that placed students in Russia for the summer. I had another impression.
The year was 1991. Russia was still part of the Soviet Union. It was not easy to live there. And I was newly married. Through prayer, my wife, Brooke, and I decided that I should go. Another handhold had appeared. And I took it.
We were poor students. I bought the cheapest flight to Europe and made my way to Leningrad (now St. Petersburg). I slept at night on trains. I had never been to Europe or traveled internationally alone. I knew my Russian host’s name but had no photo of him. When I got off the train, I was shocked at how chaotic and huge the station was. There were no cell phones then. I took my bags, said a prayer, and began walking.
Thankfully, after what seemed an eternity, I saw a person in the distance holding a cardboard sign with my name on it. It was Igor, an energetic 26-year-old. We greeted each other and made our way to his car with his two friends.
When we arrived at his apartment, I was surprised to find four women and a dinner waiting for us. I immediately pointed to my wedding ring to make it clear that I was married and not interested. Igor had this puzzled look that said, “So what!”
So I added quickly the only religious words I knew, which I had learned on the train: “M?? ????.” “My faith.”
Disappointed, Igor then pulled out a bottle of vodka to celebrate. I shook my head again and said, “No, thank you. M?? ????.” “My faith.”
Igor then pulled out a bottle of wine. Surely I drank that. Again I said what were now my two favorite words: “M?? ????.” Next came the coffee, then the tea. Again, “M?? ????.”
Exasperated, Igor turned on the faucet and filled up a glass of water. But I had been told the tap water wasn’t safe. I declined again.
In just 10 minutes, my host was completely befuddled. His friends looked at each other as if to say, “What planet did he come from?” But I knew I had stayed true to my covenants, anchored to the Rock, and I felt peaceful.
After dinner, Igor gave me his room. I walked in. There were pornographic posters on the wall. I pinned them backward to hide the images. When he saw this, he said, with a tinge of sarcasm: “T??? ????.” “Your faith.”
The next morning I woke up and ate breakfast with Igor and his female “friend.” That became a repeated experience, except with different “friends.” I didn’t waver.
Igor continued his barrages to get me to join his lifestyle. My environment became heavy and at times dark. I felt alone. Once again I found myself in a predicament that I had neither expected nor wanted.
Had I really received spiritual promptings and made the right decision to come? I turned to the Lord like never before. I read the Book of Mormon faithfully each day. I prayed to the Lord with an earnestness I had not known before. I would often lie in bed visualizing the temple ordinances, rehearsing the covenants, and seeing myself in the celestial room with Brooke. Each small act of obedience to my covenants helped me stay firmly anchored to Christ as I struggled upward. I felt His peace and strength.
I remember yearning to partake of the sacrament. I had heard there were a few missionaries in Leningrad, but I didn’t know how to find them or the branch. One day I felt so alone that I pled with the Lord for help. That very day I exited the subway at an unfamiliar stop. I felt prompted to enter a bookstore. There, in a city of 5 million, stood two missionaries.
I began attending church each week. The sacrament felt more sacred. As I renewed my covenants, I felt Christ’s love for me. I felt the reality of the promise of the sacrament—that His Spirit would be with me.6 My confidence grew. I had strength to reach the next handhold, gripping the Rock.
As the summer wore on, Igor and I had long talks about life. At first he mocked me. Here I was on the other side of the world where no one could see me. I could do whatever I wanted. No one would ever know. In his eyes, I couldn’t be more “free.” And yet I chose to live what he thought was a restrictive lifestyle. I chose to follow Jesus Christ and live by covenant.
When I had first met Igor, he had acted as if he was the happiest guy in the world. Over time, that facade crumbled. I could see that he wasn’t happy. He finally confided in me that he felt empty. He had no clear way, no covenant path to follow. He did not know the Rock of Heaven. I witnessed firsthand what an unfettered life of alcohol, sexual promiscuity, and “anything goes” really produced, despite what he outwardly portrayed.
Because I was engaging the Rock daily, Igor’s worldly lifestyle was not appealing to me. I literally felt what President Nelson promised: “Those who keep their covenants with God will become a strain of sin-resistant souls!”7
On the other hand, Igor realized over time that I was happy. Even during my hardest days, deep down I was truly happy. Again I experienced another promise from President Nelson: “When the focus of our lives is on . . . Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”8
The contrast between my happiness and his emptiness intrigued Igor. It led to deeper discussions with him and his friends about life’s purpose and how making and keeping sacred covenants with God brings joy. Eventually Igor and his friends began attending church. Some were baptized. Although Igor did not become a member of our Church, he recognized important truths of the gospel.
That summer changed me forever. It shaped my life in ways I could not have imagined. Because of my love for the Russian people, I returned the following year with Brooke to live and work in an orphanage. My experiences in Russia helped me get accepted to a good law school. They helped me, as a young lawyer, be chosen to live in Azerbaijan, then Ethiopia, Bosnia, and Belgium, and to work in the Middle East and other parts of the world. After years of infertility, things even worked out with our family. We were blessed to adopt two wonderful baby boys; five years later, Brooke gave birth to another son, followed by twin daughters.
These experiences deepened my love for and trust in our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Had I not followed spiritual promptings and stepped away from football into the unknown, at times dangling with no visible holds, I never would have gone to Russia. Many of my most meaningful experiences that this decision made possible would likely not have happened. Nor would they have happened if I had left the covenant path while in Russia or thereafter.
Being true to my covenants and clinging to the Rock through life’s challenges and disappointments made these things possible. While slipping and struggling, imperfect in my climb, my covenantal relationship with the Lord kept me safe from free-falling. Most importantly, I came to know my Savior in a very personal way. I felt Him in my life. I developed a special confidence because of Him—a confidence born of the Spirit through striving to be true to my covenants.

When the Livingston Branch of the Kingwood Texas Stake put on a dance, it was a new page in their history.
The branch, with a total membership of 59, had never sponsored a stake activity, so the Mutual decided to remedy the situation and sponsor the next stake dance. They decorated the multipurpose room, planned refreshments, and sent out invitations. When the night came, more than double the expected number attended. It was a good night for dancing in Livingston.

“I invited a brother to come to my office for an interview,” says President Marin. “When he arrived, we chatted for a few minutes, and then I asked him why he hadn’t been to church for some time. His excuses were just little things—it was hard to get up early; sometimes the talks were boring; he had just fallen into the habit of not coming. I asked him if he paid tithing. Yes. If he obeyed the Word of Wisdom. Yes. If he sustained his leaders. Yes. And so it went. ‘Come back to Christ,’ I told him. ‘Come and help us bring others back.’” The man responded well, and, since he was worthy, “we presented his name at stake conference the next day and ordained him an elder. He has been faithful ever since.”

One by one I turned the pages of the Brigham Young University catalog of courses. For the sixth or seventh time, I considered each subject major: accounting, agriculture, agronomy, air science, animal science, archaeology. … Even though I had one year of college behind me, I hadn’t yet decided upon a major. From accounting to zoology, nothing seemed right.
I had always loved math, but a C+ in high school trig discouraged me from pursuing mathematics. A major in elementary education leading to a career as a teacher offered three big bonuses—June, July, and August—but even the prospect of having my summers free didn’t override what was for me a lackluster curriculum. Child development and family relationships was a popular major—too popular; something inside me cried out to be different. But what?
My older sister Kathy spied me on the back lawn, soaking up rays. Thinking I was engrossed in a novel, she stopped to see what I was reading.
“Sobby love story?” she asked.
“Not hardly,” I replied, “but I’m just about in tears trying to decide on a major.”
“I have a friend who’s majoring in advertising,” Kathy said, “and he loves it. Why don’t you look into it?”
Advertising? BYU offered no such major. The catalog skipped from accounting to agriculture—I ought to know, I had it memorized.
“It’s an area of concentration under communications,” she continued, almost as though she had read my mind.
I turned to communications and read the class offerings. I was intrigued. “Advertising Media Planning and Budgeting,” “News Writing,” and “Public Relations” sounded more like fun than work.
A few months later, A’s in two introductory advertising classes encouraged me to enroll in “Advertising Copywriting and Production,” and “Communications Law.” Advertising felt right.
One day I ran into my uncle while I was visiting at my grandparent’s house. “How’s school?” he inquired. “Have you chosen a major?”
“Yep. Advertising.”
“Advertising? Never heard of such a major. Do you think that’s wise?” Then he made a statement I’ll never forget: “The Savior spent 30 years preparing for his brief three-year ministry. You have three years of college left. Don’t you think you should spend them preparing for your lifetime ministry?”
A sword pierced clear through me couldn’t have cut any deeper. I was given cause to ponder.
I thought about my mother. Had her education prepared her for her ministry as a wife and mother? She had graduated in dramatic arts. I’d never seen her on stage, but she annually directed the winning stake road show, and every Sunday School or sacrament meeting talk I ever gave was rehearsed to perfection under her tutelage. What if I married right out of college and never worked in my field? Could I use an advertising major to further the Lord’s work? Would it be of any benefit to my children?
The puzzlement persisted, but I continued in advertising. I had never fancied myself as much of a writer (high school English themes were killers!), but in college I found myself pulling A’s in the creative classes as well as in theory. A scholarship as “outstanding junior student in advertising” convinced me I had found my niche.
Fifteen years have passed since I received my diploma in advertising, and all of them have been spent working in my field. I now sit behind a desk at my own small advertising business. Until recently no husband awaited my return from the office, and no little ones call me mommy. I would gladly welcome the title. Creating advertising ideas has never seemed quite as fulfilling as creating little tabernacles, but life has not yet offered me that opportunity. My college studies really did prepare me for my lifetime calling.

Brother Walters’ supervisor, CES area director Chris Gollan, believes the challenge of distance is being met by both teachers and students.
He recalls that for eight years when he was coordinating the CES program in Adelaide some years ago, the Stirling Branch had the highest percentage of enrollment and the best completion rate for any unit in the Adelaide region. “The teacher traveled from Adelaide, fifty-five kilometers away, each day. Both the teacher and the branch president were thoroughly committed to seminary. If a student didn’t show up at class, the teacher would drive over to his or her home.
“This is a perfect example of right attitude affecting students. The teacher would walk into that class any day of the week and there would never be a discipline problem. Despite the challenge of distance, they made it work.”

Pa had always set great store in fasting and prayer. He never doubted that the Lord would answer a righteous prayer of faith. And my pa was a righteous man, so I never saw his faith go unanswered. But in the summer of 1876, during my twelfth year, his fasting and prayer brought about the most curious answer I’ve ever seen.
Whenever Pa was thinking hard about something, he would tug his left ear. He had been tugging that ear for three or four days, so I knew something important was on his mind.
He mentioned it to Ma that night at supper. “Emily, that upper five acres could mean the difference between meeting the payments at the bank and losing the farm.”
Ma stopped pouring the thick, frothy milk and looked at him. “What do you mean, Edward? You haven’t said anything before.”
“I can’t keep water on it, Em. No matter how I plot a course, the water either won’t flow across the field or it backs up and floods half the crop and leaves the other half dry. I don’t know what to do.”
Ma sat down heavily. “We could really lose the farm?”
“If we don’t get a good crop. And we won’t get a good crop unless I can figure out some way to irrigate that land.”
The next couple of days were really low ones for us. Pa would stand each morning, staring across those five acres, then tug his ear and walk off, glum-faced. Usually after supper he’d play with me and Baby Sam, read out loud from the big family Bible, or pick on his banjo. Now he just sat at the kitchen table, drawing figure after figure on pieces of paper—diagrams of an irrigation system.
It took me a minute to realize what was different that morning. There was no sound of sizzling bacon, no mouthwatering aroma almost lifting me out of bed. Then I remembered—we were going to fast today. I swallowed hard, wishing I had drunk one final glass of water before we had had prayer last night to start our fast.
The loft door lifted up, and Pa came in smiling and wrestled me out of bed. That kind of surprised me because Pa had been so quiet and preoccupied lately. I thought maybe he’d found a way to irrigate the cornfield, so I asked him.
“No,” he said, becoming serious again. “But we’re going to put it to Heavenly Father today during our fast. He knows how to get water to the crops. We just have to ask Him and have faith that He’ll give us the answer. I’ve done all I can.”
We knelt around the kitchen table for morning prayer, and I settled myself into a comfortable half-sleeping position, because Pa’s prayers can get pretty long sometimes. Suddenly my ears pricked up. Pa’s tone was different this morning, and his prayer was short and direct:
“Father, our crops are dying. I’ve tried everything I know to irrigate the land, but the water won’t flow on that hilly ground. We turn to Thee for help. We dedicate this fast to finding the answer we need. Please help us.”
After Pa finished, we knelt there quietly for a minute or two, then got up together. Pa looked relieved and ruffled my hair. I asked if he’d gotten an answer already. He smiled. “No, Son, not yet. But I will.” And much of that day he spent off by himself, praying.
The next morning Pa picked up a long stick as we walked out to the cornfield. Then he walked across the field, dragging that stick behind him! He didn’t turn to look until he was at the other end. And when he did turn to see that crazy wavy line, he stood a long time, tugging on his ear.
“Well, Son,” he said finally. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways, and this has to be one of His most mysterious.”
I couldn’t believe he meant what I thought he was saying! “You’re not going to follow that line to make the irrigation channel are you?” I asked.
Pa grinned. “If that’s what He wants me to do, then yes, I guess I am.” And he pulled the hand plow to the edge of the field. I stood at the side, watching his muscles bulge against his shirt as he plowed a deep, crooked furrow that looked more like a sidewinder’s track than an irrigation ditch.
This is one time, I thought, when Heavenly Father just hasn’t come through.
When Pa had finished plowing the furrows, he removed the board that held back the branch of the creek next to the field. The water rushed along his newly dug furrow, then slowed and found natural furrows that flowed throughout the corn patch and carried the life-giving water to every stalk of corn.
We had a successful crop that year, and I never again doubted the power of fasting and prayer. If ever my faith began to waver, all I had to do was remember my pa and the day that he plowed the crooked furrow.

I will use a personal experience to illustrate my message.
At the end of the 1980s, our young family was made up of my wife, Mônica, two of our four children, and me. We lived in São Paulo, Brazil, I worked for a good company, I had finished my university studies, and I had recently been released as bishop of the ward where we had lived. Life was good, and everything seemed to be as it should be—until one day an old friend came to visit us.
At the conclusion of his visit, he made a comment and asked a question that unsettled my convictions. He said, “Carlos, everything seems to be going well for you, your family, your career, and your service in the Church, but—” and then came the question, “if you continue to live as you are living, will the blessings promised in your patriarchal blessing be fulfilled?”
I had never thought about my patriarchal blessing in this way. I read it from time to time but never with the intent of looking toward the blessings promised in the future and evaluating how I was living in the present.
After his visit, I turned my attention to my patriarchal blessing, wondering, “If we continue to live as we are living, will the promised blessings be fulfilled?” After some pondering, I had the feeling that some changes were necessary, particularly in relation to my education and profession.
It was not a decision between what was right and wrong but between what was good and what was better, as Elder Dallin H. Oaks taught us when he said: “As we consider various choices, we should remember that it is not enough that something is good. Other choices are better, and still others are best” (“Good, Better, Best,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2007, 104–5).
How then can we ensure that we are making the best decision?
Here are some principles that I have learned.
Making decisions that can impact our lives and those we love without having the broader vision of their consequences can bring some risks. However, if we project the possible consequences of these decisions into the future, we can see with greater clarity the best path to take in the present.
Understanding who we are, why we are here, and what the Lord expects from us in this life will help give us the broader vision we need.
We can find examples in the scriptures in which having a broader vision gave clarity regarding which path to take.
Moses spoke with the Lord face-to-face, learned about the plan of salvation, and thereby better understood his role as the prophet of the gathering of Israel.
“And God spake unto Moses, saying: Behold, I am the Lord God Almighty. …
“… And I will show thee the workmanship of mine hands. …
“And I have a work for thee, Moses, my son” (Moses 1:3–4, 6).
With this understanding, Moses was able to endure many years of tribulation in the desert and lead Israel back to its home.
Lehi, the great prophet of the Book of Mormon, dreamed a dream, and in his visions he learned of his mission to lead his family to a promised land.
“And it came to pass that the Lord commanded my father, even in a dream, that he should take his family and depart into the wilderness.
“… And he left his house, and the land of his inheritance, and his gold, and his silver, and his precious things” (1 Nephi 2:2, 4).
Lehi remained faithful to this vision in spite of the difficulties of travel and having to leave behind a comfortable life in Jerusalem.
The Prophet Joseph Smith is another great example. Through many revelations, beginning with the First Vision, he was able to complete his mission of restoring all things (see Joseph Smith—History 1:1–26).
And what about us? What does the Lord expect from each of us?
We do not need to see an angel to obtain understanding. We have the scriptures, the temple, living prophets, our patriarchal blessings, inspired leaders, and, above all, the right to receive personal revelation to guide our decisions.
The best paths in life are rarely the easiest. Often, it is exactly the opposite. We can look to the examples of the prophets I have just mentioned.
Moses, Lehi, and Joseph Smith did not have easy journeys in spite of the fact that their decisions were correct.
Are we willing to pay the price for our decisions? Are we prepared to leave our comfort zones to reach a better place?
Returning to the experience with my patriarchal blessing, I came to the conclusion at that time that I should seek additional education and apply for a scholarship from an American university. If I were selected, I would have to leave my job, sell everything we had, and come to live in the United States as a scholarship student for two years.
Tests such as the TOEFL and GMAT became the first challenges to be overcome. It took three long years of preparation, many “nos,” and some “maybes” before I was accepted at a university. I still remember the telephone call I received at the end of the third year from the person responsible for scholarships.
He said, “Carlos, I have some good news and some bad news for you. The good news is that you are among the three finalists this year.” There was only one opening at that time. “The bad news is that one of the other candidates is the son of someone important, the other is the son of someone else important, and then there is you.”
I quickly responded, “And I … I am a son of God.”
Happily, earthly parentage was not a deciding factor, and I was accepted that year, in 1992.
We are children of Almighty God. He is our Father, He loves us, and He has a plan for us. We are not here in this life just to waste our time, grow old, and die. God wants us to grow and achieve our potential.
In the words of President Thomas S. Monson: “Each of you, single or married, regardless of age, has the opportunity to learn and to grow. Expand your knowledge, both intellectual and spiritual, to the full stature of your divine potential” (“The Mighty Strength of the Relief Society,” Ensign, Nov. 1997, 95).
Lehi made more than a few attempts to help Laman and Lemuel understand the importance of the change they were making. The fact that they did not share their father’s vision caused them to murmur during the journey. Nephi, on the other hand, sought the Lord in order to see what his father had seen.
“And it came to pass after I, Nephi, having heard all the words of my father, concerning the things which he saw in a vision, … I … was desirous also that I might see, and hear, and know of these things, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (1 Nephi 10:17).
With this vision, Nephi was able not only to overcome the challenges of the journey but also to lead his family when it became necessary.
It is very likely that when we decide to take a certain path, the people we love will be affected, and some will even share with us the results of this choice. Ideally, they should be able to see what we see and share our same convictions. This is not always possible, but when it occurs, the journey is much easier.
In the personal experience I have used as an illustration, I undoubtedly needed the support of my wife. The children were still young and did not have much of a say, but my wife’s support was essential. I remember that, at first, Mônica and I needed to carefully discuss the change in plans until she felt comfortable and also became committed. This shared vision caused her not only to support the change but also to become an essential part in its success.
I know that the Lord has a plan for us in this life. He knows us. He knows what is best for us. Just because things are going well does not mean that we should not from time to time consider whether there might be something better. If we continue to live as we are living, will the promised blessings be fulfilled?
God lives. He is our Father. The Savior Jesus Christ lives, and I know that through His atoning sacrifice we can find the strength to overcome our daily challenges. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Several years ago a friend of mine had a young daughter die in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he had been taught and what he had taught as a missionary. The mother of my friend wrote me a letter and asked if I would give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something that I had not thought about in exactly the same way before. The impression that came to me was: Faith is not only a feeling; it is a decision. He would need to choose faith.
My friend did not know everything, but he knew enough. He chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned.
It has been several years since that event. A short time ago I received a letter from his son who is now serving a mission. It was full of conviction and testimony. As I read his beautiful letter, I saw how a father’s choice of faith in a very difficult time had deeply blessed the next generation.

Feike jumped from the edge of the canal onto the deck of the boat where his family lived. His wooden shoes clunked loudly as he raced toward the white cabin at the back of the boat.
“Today is the day,” the 12-year-old boy thought excitedly. “Today Father will give the missionaries his answer.”
Latter-day Saint missionaries had begun preaching in the Netherlands a few years earlier, in the 1860s. Feike had seen them and brought them home, hoping they would teach him English. He soon learned, however, that the elders had greater things to teach him and his family.
At the door of the small cabin, Feike removed his wooden shoes, turning them upside down to keep out water. His classroom at school was larger than the small cabin that was his home, but Feike loved the tiny kitchen with its wood-burning stove. His parents and younger brothers and sisters slept on wall beds that folded up behind the cupboard doors at the back of the kitchen. Feike, the oldest, slept in the storage compartment at the front of the boat.
He slipped into the living room and sat down quietly. Elder Swensen was speaking, carefully reviewing the teachings he and Elder Lofgren had shared on so many winter nights in this very room. Feike had felt the warmth of the Spirit each time and wanted to be baptized right away. He thought his mother did too because she spoke often of going to the temple. But Father would not commit to something unless he knew he could do it, and so he wouldn’t be baptized until he was sure he could keep his baptismal promises. Today was the day Father would tell the missionaries his decision. Feike had been praying so sincerely for weeks that he was certain his father’s answer would be yes.
“Brother Wolthuis,” Elder Lofgren said to Father, “I feel you know the gospel is true.”
Father, looking at the floor, nodded his head.
“Are you willing to be baptized?” Elder Lofgren asked. “Can you make the necessary sacrifices?”
The room was silent. Even Feike’s younger brothers and sisters didn’t wiggle. Everyone stared at Father. Slowly he raised his weatherworn face.
“Yes, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I will be baptized.”
Feike beamed. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers. Mother was smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We will be ready to sail to America within the month,” Father promised.
“Sail to America?” Feike blurted out.
“Yes, Feike,” Father said. “Church leaders have asked all the Saints to come to Salt Lake City.” He paused. “Uncle Geert has agreed to buy our boat.”
“But the boat was to become mine one day! I was to become the skipper!” Feike desperately reminded his father.
“I know. I have not forgotten my promise,” Father said. “Uncle Geert has agreed to keep you on as his hired man if you choose not to go to America. Then when you are old enough, he will sell the boat to you.”
Anger washed over Feike’s whole body, erasing all the joy he’d felt about his father’s baptism.
“I thought this Church was true,” Feike exploded, “but to choose between the Church and your country, your relatives, and your boat—it is too much to ask!”
Feike stormed to his small room in the bow of the boat. Out of habit he banged on the side of the boat with a small hammer to signal he’d made it without falling overboard. Tonight he pounded again and again.
A long time passed as Feike lay on his mattress. He thought of the mules pulling the boat through the canals of the Dutch provinces. He thought of the small grocery boats that pulled up alongside their boat so Mother could do her shopping. But mostly Feike thought of the wind filling the tall sails of their boat as they crossed the open waters of the sea. One day he would sail on open waters as the skipper … if he said good-bye to his family when they went to America.
Just then he heard a knock at his door.
“Come in,” Feike mumbled.
His father sat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Feike. I thought you understood that if we were baptized we would go to America.”
“I knew others were going, but I didn’t think you would ever leave the boat. I thought you loved being a skipper.”
Father’s eyes filled with tears. “I do—more than you’ll ever know.”
“What will you do in America?”
“I don’t know. Sailing has been my life. But the Lord has called His people to Salt Lake City, and your mother and I have decided to go.”
“But to give up my dream of being skipper—to leave the boat?”
“It is a difficult decision that only you can make,” his father agreed. “A couple of nights ago as I struggled with the same questions, I found a scripture that helped me. When Jesus called James and John, they were fishermen. But the Bible says that ‘they immediately left the ship … and followed him’ (Matt. 4:22).”
The skipper and his son sat in silence for a long time. Feike looked into his father’s clear blue eyes. He sensed his father’s faith and courage, and he knew what he needed to do. Finally he spoke.
“Can we take the boat out once more before we sail to America together?”
The skipper pulled his son into a hug.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Women who have repented change the course of history. I have a friend who was in a car accident when she was young, and from that, she became addicted to pain medication. Later on, her parents divorced. She became pregnant from a brief relationship, and her addictions continued. But one night, she looked at the chaos and mess of her life and thought, “Enough.” She cried out to the Savior Jesus Christ to help her. She said she learned that Jesus Christ was stronger than even her terrible circumstances and that she could rely on His strength as she walked the road of repentance.
By coming back to the Lord and His ways, she changed the course of her history and her little boy’s history and her new husband’s. She is righteous; she has a wide-open heart for others who have made mistakes and want to change. And just like all of us, she isn’t perfect, but she knows how to repent and to keep trying.

“Last summer I complained to a non–Latter-day Saint friend that I was exhausted, having no fun, living like an automaton. Nonsympathetically, she countered, ‘What do you think this is? A dress rehearsal? This is your life, Carol. Fix it.’ I expected a pat and a kind word. Instead, I got a splash of reality square in the face. She was, of course, quite right. I wasn’t giving my life value, so I didn’t feel it had value. I went home, reread the parables of the sower and of the talents, and regrouped” (A Singular Life, ed. Carol L. Clark and Blythe Darlyn Thatcher [1987], 35–36).

Why do I say that? Here’s one reason: I knew a boy who faced an unexpected and challenging decision. He faced it at the end of the summer in the year he turned fifteen. He had just returned home after working all summer on his uncle’s farm in another part of the state.
It was the first sacrament meeting he had attended since returning home. For some reason, he was detained a few minutes after the meeting. When he found his friends, they were standing in a group just outside the church building. As he approached, he noticed that they were concluding some kind of agreement. When he joined them, he was met with a seemingly innocent question: “Are you going in with us on it or not?”
“On what?” was his reply.
“On a half gallon of beer.”
That answer really shook him. He was not ready for it. His group had always been good kids. This question was completely out of character, he thought. But things were not as he remembered them. He had spent his summer away from his pals, and this had kept him more or less as he was. Something, however, had happened to change his friends. They seemed more grown up and worldly. This surprise made him falter before answering their question. It’s strange how many things can go through your mind in a flash: These were his friends. They were not enemies. He knew each one well. He had sat in Primary and Sunday School classes with them. They had sung songs together. Some of them had been ordained deacons the same Sunday. They had passed the sacrament together scores of times. Their school activities had brought them close. With some of them he had built toy airplanes and scooters and played rubber guns. They had hiked and worked and played together. Why should this simple question threaten this choice association?
Pressure from friends and acquaintances our own age is tremendously powerful! There is a desire to want to be “one” with friends. Besides, who wants to be a sissy, afraid to join in the fun. What’s more, if he didn’t join them, he would be one against the crowd.
But even with all of these ideas running through his head, another idea impressed itself even harder on his mind. There was one reason that stood out against all that seemed so appealing: It was not right. From somewhere within him came the courage to say, “No, I don’t think I will.”
The group turned away and strode across the street toward the beer hall, intent on carrying out their plan. My friend was left standing—alone. I’m sure he did not think of the Lord’s statement, “It is not good for man to be alone,” but he certainly understood its meaning in a new and personal way. He came to understand the truth of that statement in the days that followed and to see why all of us need true and loyal friends who believe and live as they should.
Even though he was fifteen—going on sixteen—tears came to his eyes as he walked home. His mother, sensing that something was wrong, asked, “What has happened?”
He blurted out the short experience.
“You’ve done right, my son” she reassured him.
“I wish I were as sure as you are,” he answered.
“You made the right decision,” she repeated, “and you’ll see. You will be blessed.”
The days that followed this incident were not especially happy ones. It took readjustments to establish his equilibrium. There followed a process of establishing new friendships. There was the inevitable heartache at school when conversations would grind to a stop as he joined his former group. There were moments of loneliness as he walked between the high school and the adjacent industrial arts building. What was formerly spontaneous fun and youthful sport changed to a subdued good humor. There were some obvious moments in basketball practice, too, when he would be in the clear and call for the pass, only to be ignored while another person was sought out to receive the ball.
But that all passed as everyone knows it will. Time is the great eraser. It dulls the former sad moments. It smooths hurts and salves wounds.
It was not long until former friendships were reestablished, although on a different basis than before. In a little more than a year, this young man was elected seminary studentbody president. The next year he was elected high school studentbody president by his friends. Two years later he entered the mission field, the only one of his class to do so. One classmate went on a mission the following year, but his other friends never did.
This young man has since fulfilled many calls to service and responsibility in the Church. Other tests of his integrity and moral standards have come into his life—as they come into the lives of us all. But few such tests have been so well-remembered or have made so lasting an impression on his life.
In a rather undramatic situation, he chose the right. And his mother was right, as mothers generally are. Her promise was literally fulfilled: “You’ll see. You will be blessed.”