Gospel Story Finder

The following story may help those of you who might question if you have the talents we speak of.
The famed naturalist of the last century, Louis Agassiz, was lecturing in London and had done a marvelous job. An obviously bright little old lady, but one who did not seem to have all the advantages in life, came up and was spiteful. She was resentful and said that she had never had the chances that he had had and she hoped he appreciated it. He took that bit of a lacing very pleasantly and turned to the lady and, when she was through, said, “What do you do?”

She said, “I run a boarding house with my sister. I’m unmarried.”

“What do you do at the boarding house?”

“Well, I skin potatoes and chop onions for the stew. We have stew every day.”

“Where do you sit when you do that interesting but homely task?”

“I sit on the bottom step of the kitchen stairs.”

“Where do your feet rest when you sit there on the bottom step?”

“On a glazed brick.”

“What’s a glazed brick?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Fifteen years.”

Agassiz concluded, “Here’s my card. Would you write me a note when you get a moment about what a glazed brick is?”

Well, that made her mad enough to go home and do it. She went home and got the dictionary out and found out that a brick was a piece of baked clay. That didn’t seem enough to send to a Harvard professor, so she went to the encyclopedia and found out that a brick was made of vitrified kaolin and hydrous aluminum silicate, which didn’t mean a thing to her. She went to work and visited a brick factory and a tile maker. Then she went back in history and studied a little bit about geology and learned something about clay and clay beds and what hydrous meant and what vitrified meant. She began to soar out of the basement of a boarding house on the wings of words like vitrified kaoline and hydrous aluminum silicate. She finally decided that there were about 120 different kinds of glazed bricks and tiles. She could tell Agassiz that, so she wrote him a little note of thirty-six pages and said, “Here’s your glazed brick.”

He wrote back, “This is a fine piece of work. If you change this and that and the other, I’ll prepare it for publication and send you that which is due you from the publication.” She thought no more of it, made the changes, sent it back, and almost by return mail came a check for 250 dollars. His letter said, “I’ve published your piece. What was under the brick?”

And she said, “Ants.”

He replied (all of this by mail), “What’s an ant?”

She went to work and this time she was excited. She found 1,825 different kinds of ants. She found that there were ants that you could put three to the head of a pin and still have standing room left over. She found that there were ants an inch long that moved in armies half a mile wide and destroyed everything in their path. She found that some ants were blind; some ants lost their wings on the afternoon they died; some milked cows and took the milk to the aristocrats up the street. She found more ants than anybody had ever found, so she wrote Mr. Agassiz something of a treatise, numbering 360 pages. He published it and sent her the money and royalties, which continued to come in. She saw the lands and places of her dreams on a little carpet of vitrified kaolin and on the wings of flying ants that may lose their wings on the afternoon they die. [Jeffrey R. Holland, “Borne upon Eagles’ Wings,” in Speeches of the Year, 1974 (Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1975), pp. 402–3; see also Marion D. Hanks, The Gift of Self (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1974), pp. 151–53]

How do three lovely young ladies who are profoundly deaf speak fluently with confidence, joy, and Irish accents?
The answer? With patient faith, hard work, and tender help from parents, sisters, teachers, and their Heavenly Father.
The Ferguson sisters, Deborah, 21, Julie-Ann, 16, and Heather, 13, are from Bangor Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, and were born with hearing impairments. Two more sisters, Amanda, 20, and Gail, 18, along with parents Peter and Lillian have normal hearing. The girls’ grandparents were also born deaf and mute.
But communication is no problem for this outstanding family. Trust in the Lord and determination are working miracles in their lives.
Proof of this is abundant in Deborah’s many achievements. Her bubbling personality and eagerness to live life to the fullest have bridged some hearing problems. Since graduating from seminary, she has participated in the Cub Scouting programme, serving in assistant leadership positions.
Among other hardearned awards are trophies of all shapes and sizes for numerous sports, including badminton, squash, swimming, and football.
“When we held the dance festival,” said Young Women president Sister Geddis, “Deborah was the best at keeping on the beat, moving perfectly with the music.” Deborah explains, “Although I can’t hear sound, I feel vibrations through the floor, and with care can dance like the rest.”
Whether dancing or studying, no obstacles will prevent Deborah from enjoying every programme of the Church has to offer. “I will be serving as a missionary,” she says. “I love to serve and have a great desire to spread the gospel amongst other people with hearing disabilities.”
Her younger sister Amanda feels the same way. Although able to hear perfectly herself, she has witnessed the aspirations of her family and is determined to open doors for others less blessed with opportunity. She is taking a university course in British Sign Language and after three years will be qualified to interpret and teach.
“I’d like to begin by sharing the gospel with my grandparents, aunt, and uncles who are also deaf,” Amanda explains. “I feel they’re missing so much. I’d love to help them learn the truth.”
Learning plays an important part in sister Gail’s life too—especially seminary. “It’s a great programme. I gain such a lot. Seeing things through the eyes of ancient people has helped me appreciate my own family and their present struggles.”
Gail has an outstanding talent for dealing with children. Acting as “ears” for younger sisters for many years, she has developed patience, kindness, and sensitivity to others’ needs.
Those listening ears are greatly missed by Julie-Ann and Heather for many months each year. These two leave home, family, and Irish stew behind and attend school at the renowned Mary Hare United Kingdom Grammar School for the Deaf in Newbury, England. Due to the rigorous academic requirements, for one pupil to be accepted at this outstanding school is an accomplishment (a bit like being chosen for Oxford or Cambridge), but for two from the same family to attend is something of a miracle.
“Letting the children be educated so far away has been a traumatic experience for us all,” Brother Ferguson says. “But through prayer we found comfort and confirmation that our decision was right.”
“We all send letters once or twice a week,” says Julie-Ann, “and there’s a special telephone at school which allows three-way conversations between pupil, interpreter, and parent, so we don’t have to go too long without help from home on any problem.”
“Brother and Sister Williams from Newbury Branch pick us up for church each Sunday,” says Heather. “We enjoy that. There’s a lovely feeling among the members.”
“I love learning everything I can about the Saviour and his church,” says Julie-Ann. “I do home-study seminary, and it always helps me. I find sacrament meetings a bit frustrating sometimes, especially when I can’t keep up with the speakers. I want to understand every word of their message. People are kind and write things down for me, but often talks go too fast to get the full story.”
Both girls are excellent lip readers, however, and are equipped with the latest hearing aids. So skilled are they becoming that they are even learning another language. Both are coping well with French. “It’s difficult,” says Heather. “I have to concentrate much harder than students who hear.”
Reading music has been part of their lives since infancy. “Our mother used to point out how notes go up and down in hymnbooks at church,” says JulieAnn, “and if the congregation doesn’t drown out the piano, I can pick out the beat and sing hymns.”
“We play recorders the same way,” comments Heather. “I feel pulsation of sound through my feet and legs, and with plenty of practice, we get the tunes right. We have a good orchestra here.”
Although Julie-Ann, Heather, and Deborah use their talents to achieve results in life equal to, and often better than, those of people without hearing impairments, they are sometimes disappointed and hurt by the attitudes of many people towards their disability.
“I prefer to be treated just like everyone else,” Heather says. “It’s really embarrassing when I’m in a crowd and someone starts speaking to me very slowly, with wildly waving arms, acting like I’m stupid or something.”
“Yes,” agrees Julie-Ann, “it’s nice to be accepted as part of the group, spoken to normally, and not stared at as if we’re odd. I often feel like telling people, ‘I’m exactly the same inside as you are.’ It makes me heartbroken and depressed when they are afraid or don’t want to understand me.”
“That’s right,” Heather adds. “I don’t always get a question the first time, and if I ask ‘pardon?’ they often say, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and go away! I’d rather they try again and again, so we can learn about each other. I don’t much like tiny conversations with only ‘Hi!’ or ‘How are you doing?’ I’d prefer to talk properly, long discussions, not too fast or too slow, but real conversations with facial expression and feeling.
Perhaps because of a certain isolation that deafness creates for them, all three girls have developed a close, personal relationship with their Heavenly Father.
“I talk to the Lord in prayer much of the time,” says Julie-Ann. “I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit strongly and am constantly grateful for the promptings I receive. We watched a video of general conference. During remarks about keeping high standards and avoiding friendships with the wrong crowd, I felt so warm inside as the Spirit testified this was important advice. I could have cried. I didn’t want that wonderful feeling to go away.”
“I get a similar sensation when I think of my sister Deborah on her mission. I think she’ll be homesick for a while, leaving Northern Ireland. It’s such a lovely country. I remember how I felt. But we’re all excited for her. I look forward to hearing how she gets on. My patriarchal blessing tells me I’ll also go on a mission when I’m 21.”
The Fergusons seem to be a part of fulfilling prophecy. In Isaiah 29:18, the prophet wrote, “In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book.” [Isa. 29:18] Not only are the Fergusons hearing the truth of the gospel themselves, they are becoming well educated and prepared to share those words with all who care to listen with ears, eyes, hands, and hearts.

SGS: As my husband mentioned, we were in Australia on 9/11. We were attending a mission presidents’ seminar, and most of the attendees were U.S. citizens. When word was received of the tragedy, the thoughts of everyone there turned first to their own families and then to the many people from all over the world at Ground Zero; the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.; and that hallowed field in Pennsylvania. The schedule of the meetings we were attending was modified, and everyone attempted first to check on the safety of loved ones and then gathered around television sets to watch the events of the day unfold.

Through the miracle of the Internet and the ingenuity of one of the Area Office personnel, we were able to hear the quickly arranged special broadcast from the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. The music of the Tabernacle Choir was soothing, and the remarks and assurances from President Hinckley were comforting to us all.

Because it would have been impossible to travel home immediately, even had we wished to do so, we were able to complete the seminar and then spend a delightful day in the beautiful city of Sydney. We enjoyed the sights we visited but were especially touched by the people we saw. We observed long rows of Australians lining up before their public buildings to sign condolence books for their American friends and loved ones. We saw hastily crafted signs placed in store windows expressing sympathy for those who had suffered or lost their lives, and we saw people connecting with each other in loving, remarkable, and, we thought, atypical ways. Total strangers were courteous and expressed sentiments of compassion and concern to each other.

On our flight from Sydney to San Francisco several days later, we saw people not previously acquainted connecting with one another in sensitivity and kindness. The tragedy had identified for almost everyone an increased appreciation for each other and for the land of America. Seemingly this had nothing to do with politics or even nationality, but it had much to do with appreciation for the blessings of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” (see Declaration of Independence) we experience and too often underappreciate.

Anne C. Pingree, second counselor in the Relief Society general presidency: “My husband and I had traveled to one of the most remote locations in our mission so he could conduct temple recommend interviews. … After all the interviews were completed, as my husband and I drove back along that sandy jungle trail, we were stunned when we saw … two sisters still walking. We realized they had trekked from their village—a distance of 18 miles round trip—just to obtain a temple recommend they knew they would never have the privilege of using. These Nigerian Saints believed the counsel of President Howard W. Hunter: ‘It would please the Lord for every adult member to be worthy of—and to carry—a current temple recommend, even if proximity to a temple does not allow immediate or frequent use of it’” (“Seeing the Promises Afar Off,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2003, 13).

Have you ever wondered about this mantle which comes upon a bishop? He can sit in a sacrament meeting and look out at his flock and know who is in trouble, look at his Aaronic Priesthood—the deacons, the teachers, and the priests—and know which ones need his counsel. There is a hopeless feeling when you are released as a bishop to become a General Authority, and then return to your home ward where you have been serving and realize you have lost the power of discernment with the ward members. You can’t do what you did as a bishop.

We think of the disciples waiting outside the Garden of Gethsemane and not having the discerning nature to know what the Savior was going through. And yet, the Savior himself embodied that characteristic which a bishop and all of us should have. He said, “What, could ye not watch with me one hour?” (Matt. 26:40.) They did not understand.

Sometimes, experience is the best teacher of discernment. We are reminded of President Harold B. Lee having to lose his sweet companion so that he might understand the agony and anguish of a single person who has lost his or her companion, turning his attention as a prophet to the singles of the Church. It is in moments like this that we learn.

I remember, too, my mother as she went through eight years of being paralyzed. The last year and a half she needed care around the clock, and my dear father cared for her. One night, a few weeks before she passed away, I knelt at her bed after a word of prayer and she said, “I would like to go to heaven to see Papa.”
I said, “Mother, why have you gone through this pain?”
She said, “To learn patience.”
“Mother, have you learned enough patience?”
Then, with a mother’s kind way of teaching, she looked at me and said, “I have, but have you?”
At such moments we begin to understand that the difficulties and problems of others, if we will feel them, will make us grow, if we will but lend a hand.

There are many priesthood leaders here from all over the world. These stake presidents, Regional Representatives, and General Authorities know the truth of the counsel once given us by one of the Presiding Bishops of this dispensation, Elder LeGrand Richards. After a weighty discussion in the temple with all the General Authorities, he said, “Now, Brethren, I understand all that we discussed, but until the bishops move, nothing will happen. Everything above the bishop is all talk.” He taught a great lesson.

Each priesthood leader who is here this day must go home and make sure the bishops understand the messages which we have heard, for it is in their interviews with the youth, it is in their interviews in calling the people to positions, it is in their compassion for the needy and the widows that the important spiritual things happen in the lives of the Saints. The bishop who utilizes the resources at his hands—the auxiliaries, the priesthood—to fulfill the needs of his people, is a true bishop, not one who follows slavishly a handbook to the detriment of his people.

Having said this, I would like to ask the youth and adults who are here, and all within the sound of my voice, that every night and morning you pray for your bishop. He needs your help. He cannot carry the responsibilities on his shoulders without your help and prayers.

The story is told of the young child who misbehaved in sacrament meeting. Father and Mother were embarrassed by his actions. Finally, Father was a little disturbed and took the child out. As he went down the aisle, he gave the child a little squeeze. The child knew he was in trouble. As the father turned to go out of the chapel, the child, now up over his father’s shoulder, said, “Bishop, help me!”

All members of the Church can turn to their bishops when they are in need of help and can feel secure in his love for them and can have confidence in following his counsel. Bishops learn not to judge people against a standard of perfection. A bishop learns that he will rejoice with those over whom he presides in any progress they make.

Brian Taylor, a BYU player who served in the Spain Seville Mission, will never forget or regret his decision to serve a mission. “I had the great opportunity to go out and open up a new mission in the Canary Islands. I felt like the Apostle Paul. We’d walk down the street and people would ask, ‘What are you young men doing in white shirts and ties? Why aren’t you down at the beach in your swimsuits?’ When we explained what we were doing, they’d be impressed, and they’d listen to us, sometimes 150 people at once. We’d show movies like The First Vision and Families Are Forever on the sides of buildings, and the whole village would come out to watch. We would then bear our testimonies, and the people would weep.”
Brian smiled and shook his head as he remembered, “There is just no comparison between that and playing basketball. You win a game for your team, you feel great, but the feeling only lasts a short time. But just as I talk about being on that island and bearing my testimony to that many people, it makes me feel like cheering again. You just feel good about it, and it never leaves you. It’s that eternal kind of feeling.”

An example of this concept comes from F. Enzio Busche. He was working with a young man in the Young Men's program in post World-War II Europe. This seventeen-year-old boy was working in a foundry where hot iron was poured into molds. One of the older workers regularly picked on the boy, stealing his tools, teasing him, and occasionally beating him up. One day, he again stole his tools. The boy went to the restroom, knelt down, and prayed. He suddenly felt a great peace come into his soul. Calmly he went back to the man and apologized to him, saying, "I have accused you of things, for which I am sorry. I do not want to accuse you. I have so many reasons to be grateful that I am permitted to work with you. You are a good man, and I look up to you as an example, because I need to have an example in my life." These words were sincere, because the Lord had shown him the goodness hidden in that man.

The man broke down in tears. "I am not a good man. I am not a good example." He admitted to stealing the boy's tools and then said, "I am not worthy to be an example to you, but from now on, I will try." That was the beginning of a solid friendship.

The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”

More than a decade ago, I was assigned and invited to minister to a brother named Paul. One day Paul called and said he needed a ride to the hospital in Salt Lake City. The request came on a particularly busy day, and I was the only one available to take him.

On the drive home after Paul’s surgery, I realized I had been away for close to eight hours, and I started feeling anxious about falling behind in my work. Just as I felt this, Paul began opening up and talking about his life. He told me about his childhood—how his father had not been a part of his life and how his mother had physically abused him. This led to him being in foster care from the time he was around eight years old. Eventually my friend met the missionaries, was baptized, served a mission, and married in the temple.

Paul said that a few years later he decided to visit his mother before she passed away. He tried to speak to her, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. He felt sorry for her and told her that he had forgiven her, even though he still felt a lot of hurt in his heart.

As he shared his experiences on that car ride home, I felt more love for my friend Paul. I felt the Savior’s love for him, and I knew that the time I had spent with Paul had been significant and incredibly meaningful for me.

A few weeks later I heard a knock on the door of my office at work. It was Paul. He asked, “Would you help me do some family history?”

As we found some of his family names, he felt energized and more connected to his family. Then he said, “I feel like it’s time to do the work for my mother.”

We prepared the documents, and he was ready to take her name to the temple.

Later, Paul called me and asked if my wife, Robyn, would be willing to be baptized as proxy for his mother when he performed the ordinance of baptism for her. I will never forget that morning in the baptismal font at the temple and the Spirit we felt as Paul stood in the water with my wife and performed the baptism for his mom.

Recently, as I prepared to give this talk, I called Paul and discovered that minutes before my call he had been to his mother’s grave—which is far away—for the first time in decades. He said, “Darron, I now feel a love for my mom that I didn’t have for her for so long. After this life I’m going to meet her face-to-face, and I’m at peace with that now.”

It took Paul almost fifty years to get to the point where he felt comfortable taking his mother’s name to the temple. We each have an individual timetable when it comes to forgiveness and reconciliation. Robyn and I felt grateful to witness Paul’s beautiful discovery that the Lord could heal his relationship with his mom through temple service.

A grateful heart is an important ingredient in becoming more teachable. When I came to BYU in 1999, I was awestruck by the incredible beauty of the mountains, particularly Mount Timpanogos and the way morning’s light struck the edges and angles of the rocky cliffs. Each day as I drove to campus I breathed in a deep, satisfied breath and said a prayer of gratitude for the beauty of these mountains. One day I said to myself, “I will say a prayer of gratitude each day as I soak in the earth’s beauty.” Several months later I became preoccupied with my to-do list and my responsibilities. As I hurriedly pulled into BYU’s parking lot one day and gathered my things, I had a moment of clarity: It had been several days since I had even noticed the mountains, let alone said my prayer of gratitude for the beauty of those mountains. I had developed a spiritual callus. The mountains were still there, but, sadly, and to my detriment, other things clouded my attention. I resolved to daily take time to enjoy the beauty around me and to express my gratitude to Heavenly Father. Feelings of gratitude soften our hearts and open our minds to learning.

A Prayer in Paris
Now, brothers and sisters, sometimes circumstances will arise in our lives when we face an urgent need for divine guidance and have neither the time to study it out nor any possible way of learning more about what course we should take. In such circumstances the Lord will surely guide us if we are open to the promptings and impressions of the Spirit.

In the summer of 1976 I spent two months in the Soviet Union with 150 other American students studying Russian. When the program ended late in July, we were given a week free to travel at our own expense anywhere in Europe before catching a charter flight from Paris back to the United States. I spent that week on a shoestring budget visiting friends and converts in the Düsseldorf Germany Mission, where I had earlier served.

Unfortunately, after booking a second-class train ticket from Düsseldorf to Paris, I realized I was down to the equivalent of only $38 in cash. I had no traveler’s checks or credit cards. As the train sped toward Paris, I began to worry about how I would find a place to spend the night with so little money.

Arriving at the main train station in Paris, I got off the train with my luggage and looked around. I didn’t know anyone in France, and I didn’t speak the language. The sun was just setting, and I knew it would soon be dark. Suddenly I felt very lonely and somewhat anxious. I offered a simple, heartfelt prayer to the Lord: “Heavenly Father, please help me find a safe place to spend the night.”

An impression came to me as plain and clear as any I have ever felt:Walk two blocks forward and turn left, and there will be a hotel where you can spend the night. With a deep feeling of peace I walked the two blocks forward and turned left. About a hundred feet in front of me was a small sign: Hotel. I knew this was where the Lord had led me to spend the night. Entering the hotel lobby, I stepped forward to the front desk where a man was sitting. “One single room, please,” I said. The man hardly looked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Every room is booked. We have no vacancies.” He proceeded to ignore me.

I asked, “Are you sure that you have no rooms? Perhaps there’s been a change or a cancellation?”

He looked up at me and said firmly, “Young man, we have no rooms. It is the peak of the tourist season, and we have been booked solid for weeks. Every hotel around has been booked for weeks. You will not find a room anywhere in Paris.”

What could I do? I began to leave the hotel, but as I reached the door onto the street, I thought, I can’t just leave. The Lord led me here. I went back to the desk and said, “Sir, could you please at least look in your book and verify for sure that you have no rooms available this evening?”

Somewhat miffed, the clerk stood up, almost slammed his reservation book on the desk, and began flipping the pages quickly. “You see,” he said, “there is nothing. We have no rooms, we have no rooms, we have no . . .”

Suddenly he stopped and stared at the page in puzzlement for a long time. Then he became very businesslike and said, “Well, it appears after all that we do have one single room vacant. That will be $35.”

I do not remember much of that night, only that I felt safe and very blessed. The next morning I learned that the bus to Charles de Gaulle Airport stopped right in front of the hotel. To my great relief the fare was only $3. I arrived at the airport in time to catch my flight to JFK Airport, where, with only a few small coins left in my pocket, I was met by my beloved fiancée, Susan.

I have reflected on that experience many times. I was no one really—one of tens of thousands of students traveling through Europe that summer. The Lord could have said, “You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out.” I suppose I might have slept in the train station or just wandered the streets all night. But, instead, as a loving Father, He led me to a place of refuge when I sought it in humble prayer.

Now I have had many witnesses in my life of the reality of Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. I will share only one in conclusion. In December 1987, about two weeks before Christmas, I was asked by the federal agency where I worked to go to Israel on government business. I had been to Israel many times before, but never at the Christmas season. Unfortunately it was not a peaceful time in the Holy Land, as the first Palestinian intifada had begun—the revolt of the local Arab population against Israeli rule. There were riots in the West Bank, the streets of Old Jerusalem were deserted, and the shops were boarded up. There was political tension in the air, and, to make matters worse, a cold rain drizzled most of the week. The whole city bore a dreary aspect. Fearful of violence, the tourists stayed away in droves that year. Yet as I walked through Jerusalem, peace filled my heart to know that this was the city Christ loved so much; to know that this was the very place of His eternal sacrifice; to know that on these stone streets the Redeemer of all mankind had walked.

I returned to the United States late on a Friday evening, only six days before Christmas. When the Sabbath dawned two days later, my alarm woke me to the music of “O Holy Night,” and I heard these words:

The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend.
[“Cantique de Nol” (“O Holy Night”), Placide Cappeau and Adolphe Adam, 1847]

The music and message pierced me deeply, and tears flowed as I contemplated the glorious sacrifice and perfect life of the Redeemer of Israel—He who was born to be the friend of the lowly and the hope of the meek. I thought of my experience in Jerusalem, and love flooded through my whole being for Him who had come to earth and taken upon Himself the burdens of us all. I was overwhelmed to think that He might regard me as a friend. I have never forgotten the tender feelings of that early Sunday morning—as pure a witness as I ever received.

A few years ago, Rachel and Melissa were both at home on a Saturday afternoon. The doorbell rang, and Rachel greeted two nicely dressed young men at the door. She thought they were salesmen. Their dad, Gerry, agreed to chat with the young men, who were actually full-time missionaries. Life in the Clancy home changed forever when the girls and their father were baptized.
The Clancy girls soon discovered that living their new religion meant having most of their friendships with people of other faiths, a role that both missionary-minded girls embrace. But where does their strength come from? Some comes from a handful of LDS friends and leaders, but most of what makes these girls strong is what happens within the walls of their home.
This family knows how to work together. Rachel handles laundry, including ironing, while Melissa helps with some of the outside chores, like mowing the lawn. They both look after their younger brother and sister, Matt and Stefany, while their dad is at work or handling Church responsibilities.
The Clancys know how to play, too. In fact, both girls say that most of their best gospel learning experiences come from conversations during fun times with the family jumping on the trampoline, hiking, or swimming.
“This year Dad and Matt and I spent several days hiking at a place called Ayers Rock,” says Rachel. “I like hiking but I’m afraid of heights and this was a really steep hike. We stopped and said a prayer and I felt better. When we got to the top there was a beautiful view. My dad and I talked about how it was a lesson about enduring to the end. It’s my favorite memory from that hiking trip.”

It was the Friday night before at 9:25 P.M. I remember the exact time because I looked at the clock. It is still vivid in my mind. At 9:25 it was storming with a humdinger of an electrical storm like we get in North Carolina. It was lightning and thundering and raining. The trees were bent over, and it was dark. There came a knock on the door.
Mama, being a widow for so many years and very protective of her children, would never let strangers in the house. It was two young men in suits and trenchcoats, and she let them in. I remember it so distinctly, because I thought, “Who are these guys?” I thought Mama knew them.
She is very respectful of other people’s religions, so she made us come in and listen to them. I had never heard of Mormons before. I had never even heard the word. They started teaching us.
When I heard these two missionaries, I knew that what they were telling me was true. I had come to the conclusion that there was no true church and that’s why I was going to be baptized by the revival preacher. But after hearing the missionaries that Friday evening, I knew that they had something I was looking for, so I didn’t get baptized by the revival preacher the next day.
They taught us for a few weeks, and I really believed what they told me. But Mom was brought up in her religion and thought she was sinful thinking any other way. I don’t know if Mama asked them not to come back, or if the missionaries felt like they shouldn’t baptize an 11-year-old girl without her family, but they stopped coming.
I didn’t know where they had gone. I didn’t know where the church met or how to contact the missionaries. They had given me some books, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and The Doctrine and Covenants. I sat down and studied these books carefully.
By then I was in seventh grade. I remember my teacher wanted us to give a presentation on any subject we chose, and I picked Mormonism. I remember studying for it so hard. I then got up and gave my presentation in front of all the students and the faculty, and I wasn’t even a member of the Church. I think I answered every question correctly.
About a year and a half after the first missionaries visited us, another set of missionaries knocked on the door. My family wasn’t home, but they gave me a Book of Mormon. They said they would be back in a couple of days to see what I thought about it. I was baptized the next week and have hardly missed a Sunday since.
I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.
I don’t think it was coincidence that missionaries hocked on my door at 9:25 that night during a storm when missionaries are supposed to be in at 9:30. It was their last house, and with the storm they could have easily rationalized going home five minutes early. Those missionaries never knew that the 11-year-old girl listening in the background joined the Church and became a missionary herself.
That thought made me a better missionary. I would say to myself, “One more door. I was the last door, so one more door.”

My wife and I have discovered that Scandinavia is a beautiful land filled with people of great ability and promise. Our family has a special interest in Denmark. It is the ancestral home of my wife’s great-great-grandparents. These ancestors came from Aalborg, Veeborg, Vila, and Presta. One of her great-great-grandfathers was Jens Christian Johansen. He was born in Frederikssund in Jutland in 1832. We have been privileged to read his journal, and we have become more appreciative of the rich spiritual heritage we enjoy as a result of this righteous Danish ancestor.
Jens Johansen was an industrious man. He had grown up in poverty and had prayed that his children would not be required to go begging for food as he had done as a young man. He took a job at an early age. He worked as a stable boy. He learned to farm and to make wooden shoes. His integrity and ambition as a worker enabled him to purchase a farm in Hormesta in 1857. It was at this time that the missionaries came to Grandfather Johansen and his family. He accepted the restored gospel with the same enthusiasm and dedication that had characterized his working endeavors. He worked hard trying to help the Church increase in numbers and influence in his community. Church meetings were often held in his home. At that time there was the desire among many Scandinavians to immigrate to Utah. And Jens Johansen had this same desire. Since he couldn’t go himself, he sent his three daughters in advance. In one year they had earned enough money to help their parents to follow them. He called this a miracle.
Jens discovered that his Danish talents of thrift and industry were assets in his new homeland. It was not long before he bought a small farm and erected a home on it for his family. He located in Elsinore, Utah. Grandfather Johansen’s faith in the Lord enabled him to deal successfully with hardships and challenges. It allowed him to live an enjoyable life. He enjoyed music. He loved to sing and to play the accordion. He liked to speak in Church meetings. He records that his favorite meetings were the ones spoken in Danish. He stated that they were “spoken loud enough so we could all hear and say amen.” He couldn’t understand why those speaking English always mumbled so no one could understand. He took pride in the labor of his hands. His skills were often sought after by his associates. He would willingly provide help to those in need, and he gratefully acknowledged the contributions others made toward his own comfort and happiness.

Part of being worthy to enter the temple is obeying the Word of Wisdom. Seth Robinson, a teacher from Reno, Nevada, decided to share the benefits of the Word of Wisdom as part of his Eagle Scout project.
Seth—at left with fellow Scouts Greg Handlon and Caleb Sumrall—set up a display on the dangers of tobacco in a busy shopping mall near his home. He then talked specifically to teenagers walking through the mall, answering questions and distributing information.
“Meeting with the general public made me aware that many people think the use of tobacco will not harm them,” says Seth, who spent a lot of time telling people that nothing could be farther from the truth. “I think this project was a success.”

One day a dear little woman named Mary Bezjian came in with her granddaughter. She had written a simple version of her personal history. Modest and unassuming, she could not believe that anyone besides her family would be interested in her. Let me tell you her story.

The Bezjians were Christian Armenians living in Turkey. Then near the beginning of the twentieth century they heard the message of the restored gospel and joined the Church. A horrible episode occurred called the Armenian Massacres. Thousands of Armenians were killed. The Bezjians were persecuted because they were Armenians. They were also persecuted by other Armenians because they were Mormons. In order to save their lives, they gathered the few belonging they could carry and fled across the border into Syria.

In Syria they established a rug-making business. Their contact with the Church was irregular. Sometimes a traveling missionary would call on them. Sometimes a church magazine would come in the mail. One of the rugs made by this Armenian family living in Syria is now on display at the Church Museum of History and Art. It is decorated with pictures of temples and prophets, all taken from the magazines.

After World War II life became precarious in Syria. Once again, under cover of night, they crossed the border, this time into Lebanon. From Lebanon they wanted to emigrate to the United States, where they had relatives and could worship according to the dictates of their conscience. But the paperwork seemed overwhelming, funds were scarce, and it proved impossible to go where they wanted to go.

Somehow they managed to move to Switzerland. There they pulled themselves together and arranged the necessary financial support. Finally, they moved to Salt Lake City and were adjusting to the new environment.

This, I thought, is an epic story! It could be made into a movie. It can inspire others. At the very least it deserves to be preserved. Sister Bezjian is no longer alive. I am very glad to have helped preserve her story.I learned that there are people in the Church today whose lives are full of drama and courage and inspiration.

I know two men who started out in life in very much the same way. Both were born to active LDS parents who lived in the same community. They belonged to the same ward, they had the same teachers, the same bishop, the same friends, and they even went to the same school.
Today those men are as different as they can be, not only in their vocational pursuits, but in their philosophies of life and their degree of spirituality. They are both successful professional men and financially secure, but there the similarity ends. One of them holds a responsible position in the Church, and has a family of sons and daughters who have honored their parents and who themselves have lived in accordance with the teachings of the gospel, striving to be a credit to their noble parents, and to their Church and community.
The other man gradually drifted away from the Church, married a nonmember, and became the father of children, at least two of whom were a constant source of worry and concern because of influences in their lives which caused them to be in what seemed a never-ending series of law violations—driving too fast, driving when drunk, drug abuse, etc.
We see these contrasting lifestyles all around us, and it is not my intent to judge or to say who is responsible for such behavior. However, when the second man came to me for advice in his desperation, it caused me to reflect and to wonder about those influences which draw men away from their faith and beliefs. I pondered over the circumstances which brought each of these two men to his present station in life, and was reminded of Paul’s warning to the elders of the Church in Ephesus as he declared:
“Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to all the flock, over the which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers, to feed the church of God, which he hath purchased with his own blood.
“For I know this, that after my departing shall grievous wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock.
“Also of your own selves shall men arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away disciples after them.” (Acts 20:28–30.)
Later, after expressing thanks to God for the love, faithfulness, and hope of the Colossians as they accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ, Paul warned them as follows:
“Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of man, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.” (Col. 2:8.)
Why are some men deceived by the philosophies of men while others are able to accept the gospel and various teachings through faith? Some are like Thomas who was not with the Twelve when Jesus appeared to them following his resurrection. You will remember that Thomas said:
“Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.”
Eight days later, when Jesus appeared again and Thomas was with the others, Jesus said:
“Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.”
And then upon the acknowledgement by Thomas, the Savior said:
“Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:25, 27, 29.)
Sometimes I think we feel there is more disputation and uncertainty and anti-Christ sentiment in the world today than ever before. Perhaps this is true if we consider the increase in world population, but there have always been dissidents and persecutors and false prophets who would lead the people astray and destroy the divine plan of God the Father.
These are the words of President Joseph F. Smith in the October conference of 1909:
“There never was a time, perhaps, when there were more false prophets than there are today, when there were more visionary men or more false Christs than there are today. We get letters from them, and commands and threats from them, and admonitions and warnings and revelations from them, nearly every day. … There is no one that can get up some foolish idea, or start out proposing to organize a church of some kind, no matter what the inconsistency of his claims may be, but what he will find some one to follow him, somebody as foolish as he is, and who knows as little.
To the faithful Latter-day Saint is given the right to know the truth, as God knows it; and no power beneath the celestial kingdom can lead him astray, darken his understanding, becloud his mind or dim his faith or his knowledge of the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It can’t be done, for the light of God shines brighter than the illumination of falsehood and error, therefore, those who possess the light of Christ, the spirit of revelation and the knowledge of God, rise above all these vagaries in the world; they know of this doctrine, that it is of God and not of man.” (Conference Report, October 1909, pp. 8–9.)
We are so fortunate to understand the purpose of Christ’s mission, to have the gospel, to be led by a prophet of God, and to be encouraged by the testimonies of the General Authorities and others who bear witness of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We are encouraged to study and to gain a knowledge for ourselves that this work is true, and each individual can have this testimony through study and prayer.
In October 1935, Elder Stephen L. Richards, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, addressed the general conference as follows:
“I believe that as high an order of intelligence is required to understand and interpret the things of the spirit as is required to comprehend the truths of science and other secular matters. I believe that accomplishments and achievements in the field of religion are just as worthy and commendable and great as are accomplishments in the field of science, in the domain of business and commerce, and in all other worldly affairs.
“I also believe that a great many people in this world do not believe this thing. I am convinced that the people of the world have so deprecated, in their own estimation, the real place and value of the spiritual life and of religious activity that they have been weaned away from allegiance to religious institutions, spiritual concepts, and this great world that is out beyond the so-called natural world. To me it is the greatest misfortune that can overtake the human family, and I believe that the youth of our Church, unfortunately, are not free from the influence of this worldly philosophy that has so engulfed the minds and thinking of men.”
He expressed great concern for the youth of the land who were being subjected to worldly philosophies which deny the existence of the spiritual world, and stated:
Their education has contributed greatly to this situation, not purposely perhaps, but nevertheless truly, for I have but little doubt that there are to be found many young men and women who have lost faith and departed from the old practices and the old traditions, because those things have not only been omitted but they have been purposely ignored and of times deprecated by the educational systems and influences under whose tutelage the youth have come. …
“I believe that as I appeal to the teachers of the country to encourage their students to keep open minds on all these questions that affect the faith of their fathers, I not only speak the sentiment of our own Church but likewise the sentiment of all good religious people who seek to bring to the youth of their churches the spirit, the theology and the traditions which they foster.
“It is such an easy thing to discourage faith in this world of material things in this world of science, where we have laid so much emphasis on all the scientific processes and developments that have been so much in evidence the last few decades. It is so easy to say a word to undermine faith. I wish that those who have within their power the formation of the views of youth, the cultivation of their character, I do wish that they would be careful.
“As a tax-payer and a supporter of the public school system, which I admire, which I regard as one of the greatest factors for the civilization of the race, which I have always regarded as being an essential constituent of a democracy and on which my children are dependent for education, I have always entertained the view that there is no right on the part of those to whom that education is entrusted to in any way say one single word or promote one thought that will tear down the faith of my children and lead them from the philosophy of faith.
“Our youth are especially susceptible to influences that lead them away from faith because, in my opinion they do not always have an adequate and proper understanding of the Gospel of Christ. Sometimes I fear they seem to feel so much concerned about the injunctions and the inhibitions and the proscriptions, that they fail to appreciate the positive, beautiful, life-giving, joyful message of the Gospel of Jesus. …
“I wish that it were possible for us to teach our youth that all the enduring satisfactions they may ever hope for, all the real joys and pleasures of life, are to be had in pursuance of and not in opposition to Gospel principles.” (Conference Report, October 1935, pp. 94–96.)
There is no happiness or peace of mind except through obedience to the commandments of God. There is no salvation or eternal life except through acceptance of the gospel and living according to its teachings. There are no problems facing the nations of the world or individuals for which answers cannot be found in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He came to earth for that purpose—to give us a plan of life and salvation through which we could enjoy happiness and eternal life.
May I remind us of Paul’s message to the Ephesians:
“There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling;
“One Lord, one faith, one baptism,
“One God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all. …
“And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers;
“For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ:
“Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ:
“That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craziness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive;
“But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ.” (Eph. 4:4–6, 11–15.)

I decided to stay close to home for college. I was excited to play the sport I loved at the next level while knowing my family would be in the stands watching and supporting me. I came from an amazing family, and my parents taught us the values and standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
But as a 20-year-old student-athlete playing football and living “the college life,” I abandoned those principles I was taught. I went to class and played football on the weekdays and then partied on the weekends, believing I had found true happiness. How wrong I was! But that is what Satan does—he makes wrong things so enticing that after a while they look right.
My life spun out of control in my third year of college. I was making poor choices and found out I was pregnant. My whole perspective about life shifted. It was no longer just about me, but about the baby I was carrying. The words in Alma 36:17–21 spoke directly to my soul because I felt so much godly sorrow and guilt for my choices, similar to how Alma felt.
The road through repentance can be hard and trying. I found it hard to admit that I was wrong and had made a mistake. Facing those I love and telling them I was pregnant was one of the scariest moments of my life. I also met with my bishop and had to face a disciplinary council, which ended with me not being able to take the sacrament for quite a while. I just wanted to run away and pretend this wasn’t real life. But it was. This was my new reality. I had a hard road ahead of me no matter what.
My family was disappointed in my choices, but they also loved me and wanted the best for me, just like our Heavenly Father. Many times I asked myself how He could forgive me after I fell short so many times. The answer I received every time was, because He loves me and wants me to return to Him. I knew I had disappointed my earthly parents, but the thought of how much I disappointed my Father in Heaven was gut-wrenching.
Still, I felt so alone and lost those first couple months of my pregnancy, unsure of where to go from there. As I began to pray more sincerely to Heavenly Father for guidance and help, I learned that I was never really alone. He was always there just waiting for me to seek Him. I had a drastic change of heart. I wanted to live a different life. I wanted to live for Christ. I wanted to be worthy to take the sacrament again. I wanted to be worthy of marrying in the temple someday, something that I thought was so far out of reach due to my mistakes.
It was then that I learned the true power of Jesus Christ as my Savior. I saw so many tender mercies from the Lord during those short nine months. I gained more faith than I ever had before in my life. It was that faith in Jesus Christ that allowed me to choose adoption for my sweet baby girl. The pain of placing my daughter for adoption was immense. But the joy I felt in helping another daughter of God get to her eternal family was even greater. I was changed for the better from that experience, as we can all be if we are truly sorry and repent—allowing the Lord to make us whole again.

Now, with greater strength than my own, I finished my Masters Degree in educational administration. My focus became pursing a position as a public school administrator. One day, my husband said, "you know, Ricks College is changing to a 4-year university and they are in need of professors in the department of teacher education. Minimum requirements are a masters degree and teaching experience. You have both. You should apply."

I quickly rejected the idea and provided him with a series of reasons. First, I was not professor material and second who was I to think I could be hired at Brigham Young University- Idaho? I am a farm girl from Southeast Idaho. He replied, "Dana, you're better than you think you are. Just apply." To appease him, I applied and to my amazement was asked to interview. When I was offered the position as faculty, every doubt in my ability consumed me. My fear and lack of confidence overwhelmed me to the point I had decided I couldn't accept the job. Then the thought came to me: "You are right. You can't do this on your own. Especially if you don't ask for help." When would I learn to "lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help?" When would I realize that "my help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth?" With that reminder, and turning to the Lord, I accepted the position as faculty at Brigham Young University Idaho.