Gospel Story Finder

Anna Kate scuffed the toes of her sneakers into the dirt and watched a cloud of dust puff up around her ankles. Her wonderful week with Grandpa and Grandma was almost over. It had been great fun, especially the part here at Aunt Pru’s cabin. Just yesterday Grandpa had taken Anna Kate to his favorite fishing spot on the Provo River, and she had caught her very first fish!
But this morning had been a disaster. First, she had slept late, and Grandpa had gone fishing without her. Then Grandma and Aunt Pru just wanted to visit in the kitchen about dull, grown-up things. Anna Kate ended up sitting on the front porch by herself, feeling bored and lonely. Worse yet, tomorrow Mommy and Daddy were coming to take her home.
Suddenly she jumped to her feet. “I’m not going to spend my last day sitting around!” she thought. “I’ll find Grandpa by myself. I know the way.” She skipped across the front yard and walked down the lane to the canyon road, looking carefully both ways before crossing. Soon she came to a small bridge over the river and hurried across to the railroad tracks that ran between Heber City and Provo, Utah. This was the secret to finding Grandpa. Cross the river and turn left, then follow the railroad tracks to a huge rock. On the other side of the rock was the fishing spot.
Anna Kate walked a long time. Where was the rock? It hadn’t seemed so far with Grandpa, and somehow the railroad tracks seemed even lonelier than the front porch. Looking for a happier thought, she remembered her baptism day. How proud she had been when her parents told her she was old enough to make wise decisions and could spend a week away from home. Plodding along, she began to wonder if running off without asking Grandma had been a wise decision.
To cheer herself up, she started singing her favorite Primary songs. She was halfway through the first verse of “Give, Said the Little Stream” when she heard a noise in a bush by the side of the tracks. It sounded a bit like a loud cricket, and Anna Kate stopped singing to listen. She decided to look for the cricket, but before she could take a single step, a voice in her head said, “RUN!” She didn’t know who was talking to her, but she didn’t have to be told twice. She ran.
She was out of breath when she finally found Grandpa fishing by the river. He looked up in surprise. “Does Grandma know you’re here?”
Anna Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should have asked her.”
Grandpa smiled kindly and started putting away his fishing tackle. “Let’s hustle back to the cabin before she has a chance to worry.”
They hadn’t walked far when they saw Anna Kate’s older cousin William standing by the tracks. “There you are,” he said. “Grandma sent me to find you, and it’s a good thing.” He pointed to a bush a ways off. When Anna Kate and Grandpa got closer, they saw a huge rattlesnake with a diamond pattern down its back hiding there. “I didn’t dare let it out of my sight with you out here alone,” William said.
After that, Anna Kate always told someone where she was going. It was a long time, though, before she told anyone about the loud cricket or the voice that had saved her life. She would realize later that it had been the Holy Ghost. She already knew that it was a voice to be obeyed.

As time passed and we both matured, we started to talk to each other about school, teachers, friends, and all the other things that concerned us. Tommy and I actually became friends. In high school, Tommy was a senior when I was a sophomore, and it was nice to receive advice from an experienced student. We were both in the marching band, and even though we had our own friends, Tommy was always willing to talk to me or help me in any way. He had developed a real sense of humor, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
I remember nights when we would be the only ones up, doing our homework, and Tommy would serve us both some ice cream. We would talk late into the night. Tommy was a wonderful example to me, and I was always learning something from him. He chose good friends, and I never saw him hesitate to choose the right. I especially respected him for how well he treated my parents. Whenever we came home from school, Tommy would go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and we would sit down and chat with Mama about the day. Somehow, the conversation always drifted to things deeper than school. I will always cherish those times.

My mother picked me up in front of the high school, and we headed for home. She asked, “Well, how did tryouts go?” I had talked about trying out as a kicker for the football team.

“They don’t start until four o’clock,” I answered slowly. “I’ve decided not to try out. I wouldn’t make it. I’m not good enough.” As I continued to give my reasons, my mom stopped the car, quickly turned around, and drove back towards town.

“Why don’t we get something to eat and talk this over? The only way to know for sure if you could have done it is to try out,” Mom said.

Fortified with my favorite fast-food meal and Mom’s encouragement, we drove back to the school. I had played soccer since I was five and had been told I had a good leg and a “big foot.” I had learned to kick fairly well that summer at an Explorer Scout tournament. I was nervous as tryouts began, especially when I saw all my old soccer teammates who also had strong legs.

My time came to kick, and I did amazingly well. I found out later that my mom and sister had been watching and cheering me on from the other side of the field as I sent footballs soaring through the uprights. I ended up playing for three years of high school and felt good about my participation and improved talent.

I also learned that day the meaning of Doctrine and Covenants 38:30, [D&C 38:30] “… if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” It gave me the courage to try in other areas of my life. When I served my mission, I knew that if I prepared myself by studying and doing what I should, I need have no fear.

Realizing that adversity can include suffering, destitution, affliction, calamity, or disaster, how can we best use it as an opportunity for personal growth and development? For one answer, let me share with you an incident in the life of a special friend, which he tells in his own words at my request. I find his experience a powerful sermon.
“It was the third Saturday in January a few years ago. I was excited to attend a seminar that morning. It was an agricultural seminar at the Brigham Young University, where I had been attending school. I had been home from my Honolulu Hawaii Mission six months and was going through all the adjustments of a returned missionary. The challenge of family, girls, school, and the fact that there were twenty-five thousand other students who were bright and aggressive—some with plenty of money; others, like myself, who were pinching every nickel—didn’t make things easier.
“I landed a job running a hydraulic press earlier that week in a machine shop. We made seals for hydraulic equipment. Following the seminar that morning, I went to work. Kimball, my roommate and former missionary companion who had gone to work earlier that morning, instructed me in how to make a new seal. After approximately twenty minutes, one of the smallest seals stuck on the face of the plate. I struggled to get it off with my left hand. As I turned back to give it my full attention and use my right hand, the machine closed on my left hand, causing a horrible noise as it crushed my hand just below the wrist. After what seemed an eternity, the huge press finally opened. My first thought when looking at my hand was ‘What a mess!’ Then that inner voice which I had come to know, love, and appreciate, whispered, ‘Jerry, you won’t have your hand.’
“Four hours of surgery followed. The first thing I remember hearing was the surgeon’s voice in the recovery room.
“‘Jerry,’ he said, ‘Can you hear me?’
“‘Yes,’ I said.
“‘We had to take your hand off.’
“The following four days were filled with tears, aches, friends, cards, letters, and family. Concerned people made it so much easier for me, especially Kimball. He let my parents and others close to me know and helped in every way he could. Never did I have to ask for one thing. It was already done. By his example and support, he gave me courage to face this new challenge.
“The days in the hospital were filled with painful, sleepless hours and nights. Those nights gave me an opportunity to think about the Savior and Joseph Smith as I had never done before. I reviewed the Prophet Joseph’s life from everything I had learned. He faced physical, emotional, and spiritual trial upon trial. How I marveled at his well-won victories. At this difficult time I promised the Lord I would try to accept all of my challenges as the Prophet Joseph Smith had accepted his.
“Of course, during the first night there were thoughts of ‘Why me? Was it something in my past? What have I done to deserve this?’ Then I thought, ‘No more rodeo, football, or skiing,’ and I wondered what type of a woman would want a one-handed husband. I hadn’t developed a good self-image or a great deal of self-esteem, so these thoughts magnified my concerns.
“Mom came to school and drove me home for the weekend. One thing she said that made me again appreciate her greatness was, ‘Jerry, if I could only give you my left hand and make it work, I would.’
“Sunday was fast Sunday. As I stood favoring my bandaged, shortened arm, I thanked everyone for their thoughts, prayers, and cards. I realized as never before that good friends and faithful family members make challenges less difficult.
“After the testimony meeting, an admired friend gave me a special blessing. So many questions were answered during his blessing. He told me this accident was not punishment for anything I had done but, rather, an opportunity to help me become a better person and to amplify those particular traits which needed to be developed. He shared the thought that this challenge could make me more understanding of people, problems, and life. As I look back now, each point of his blessing and encouragement has helped in a very fulfilling way.
“One of my greatest fears was the constant thought of how people would accept me. Would they be afraid of me, question my ability, or write me off before I could prove myself? Would girls turn down dates because I was different? Would it make them feel uncomfortable to be seen with me?
“I had dated several girls since my mission but had only dated Julie a couple of times. When I awoke the day following the operation in the hospital, she was there with other friends. I asked everyone else to leave the room, and I then proceeded to give her what I thought was the perfect speech. I told her that they had to take my hand off. If she felt embarrassed or ashamed to be with me or be seen with me on future dates, she need not feel obligated to continue in any future courtship. At that moment I could see fire in her eyes. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she was not there out of pity or duty, but only because she cared for me. She indicated she would help me but never feel sorry for me. Six months later we were married in the Salt Lake Temple.
“There were many job interviews, prejudices, and rejections of employment; but with continued encouragement, the Lord blessed us in innumerable ways. When our first little girl, Bracken, arrived, it left us short of money to go to school. So after a major decision, we went into business, which proved to be another learning experience. After a couple of years—with many reverses—I was able to find a career in personnel management, which not only fulfilled my goals but also answered my prayers.
“Today as I look back, I see the challenge of adversity as something upon which to build. Of course, I cannot say the experience was pleasant; it was horrible. However, I hope I have used this adversity in a positive way. When I see others in trouble, in pain, when real adversity is knocking, I have an opportunity not only to feel something of what they feel but perhaps I can also help them because they can see that I have challenges of my own.”

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

Twenty months earlier, I had found myself asking parallel questions in a parallel situation, only in a place with all the peace and serenity that my stoplight moment lacked.
In the Sacred Grove, in Palmyra, New York, the leaves were barely budding on the brown branches surrounding me. The newly green shrubbery sprinkling the ground seemed to breathe life into the air. Only the rustles of a gentle breeze, our stroller, and my footsteps reached my ears—no cars, no roads, no loud conversations. Yet despite the serenity, my mind swayed with questions and uncertainty. My husband, Lance, and I had been waiting 72 painstaking hours for my doctor to call with results of a last-minute ultrasound and blood test. I was desperate for answers and consolation.
I found myself staring at the winter-worn flower beds outside the Palmyra New York Temple. My mind fully articulated the questions weighing on it: “If I lose this pregnancy, why? What then?” As gentle as the spring breeze around me, the Lord spoke to my mind the comfort I had been yearning for. I no longer needed the doctor to let me know; I knew I would lose this pregnancy, but I suddenly understood that this tiny soul was in the perfect, loving hands of Heavenly Father. All at once, the desperation that had consumed me was replaced with a reassuring peace that sustained me through the following weeks and months.
Several days after visiting Palmyra, I experienced a traumatic miscarriage. Although a sense of peace continued to sustain me, I felt physically and emotionally weak from the loss and unprepared for the waiting that followed. I first waited for lab results, which indicated a rare, partial molar pregnancy. I then waited for blood tests weekly, biweekly, and finally monthly to ensure no signs of a possible resultant cancer. Even through the long months of waiting, Lance and I could easily see the Lord’s hand comforting and reassuring us through that time. The partial molar pregnancy had no lasting effects, and after only six months my doctor said we could try to have another baby. I was back on the path to progress in my life; the light had finally changed from red to green.

It took me seven years to qualify to serve a full-time mission. When I first spoke with my bishop, Bishop Tapueluelu, about it, he gave me some guidelines to strive to live by. He said if I followed them and learned to be obedient, I would be blessed. The first few guidelines—daily scripture study and weekly church attendance—were pretty doable. “This is easy,” I thought. But I got offended when I was told to change certain “worldly” things in my life, and my pride and stubbornness got the best of me.
Hoping for an easier way out, I moved to four different wards and spoke with four different bishops. I even went back to school to pursue a medical degree. Then I felt prompted to drop everything and prepare once again to serve a mission. So I did. I went back to Bishop Tapueluelu and humbly asked for his help. I was told that there was a weight requirement for missionaries—and I realized that I weighed over the limit. Immediately, feelings of discouragement and embarrassment cluttered my mind, but my bishop encouraged me. He expressed his love and faith in me and said, “My door is always open. We can work on it together! One weakness, one week at a time.”
So I visited with my bishop every week, working out one weakness at a time. I had no idea that I’d have to wait another four years, just trying to qualify to serve a mission.
During those years, I strived to come closer to Christ and apply His teachings in my life. As challenges came, His Atonement became real to me. I relied on the power, comfort, and strength He gave me through His Atonement when my best friend passed away, when our family lost our home, and when I got into a car accident. When circumstances caused me to lose many of my friends, I fell into depression, but the Savior pulled me out. My Friday nights with friends were replaced with working out at the gym and studying about the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
I prayed every night for the people whom I would one day serve and even for my future companions!
I eventually qualified and was called to serve in the New Zealand Auckland Mission, Tongan-speaking.
When I entered the missionary training center, I realized that there was more to learn about Jesus Christ and His Atonement and myself. Even though I’m of Tongan descent, I had never been to the South Pacific islands, and I struggled with the Tongan language. When I got to New Zealand, I had no idea what people were saying to me in Tongan. I had so much to say, but because I couldn’t speak the language, my words were few, simple, and broken. I nodded my head when people asked me questions. They laughed at me, and I laughed with them, but behind closed doors the laughter turned into tears of frustration and discouragement. I thought to myself, “I worked seven years to come out here for this?”
So I prayed to Heavenly Father. In Ether 12:27 we learn that our weaknesses can become strengths if we trust in Him. I told Him about my weaknesses and my trust in Him, and I got back up again … and again … and again. I started to rely even more on Christ and also on my strengths.
I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.
Seven years of preparation for my mission helped me find myself. That time allowed me to gain a testimony of Christ’s Atonement and His power to help me overcome my weaknesses and use my strengths to share what I knew with others. In the end it was worth the seven years.

It was evening during the Christmas season, and a heavy blanket of snow lay on the ground. For months my companion and I had braved the cold German weather, knocked on doors, and handed out copies of the Book of Mormon. Even then, 15 years after World War II had ended, many Germans were wary of Americans.
But that night Ingeborg Bienmuller was to be baptized. On the long bus ride to the United States Air Force base, however, she was quiet. I sensed her growing feeling of distress.
As we approached the bus stop, Ingeborg turned to us and said, “Do you know how difficult this is for me? The Allied forces killed my husband in the war, and bombing raids killed many other family members.”
She touched her leg. “I was hit with shrapnel from a sulfur bomb. My leg will never heal. I don’t know if I can go in there.”
We sat silent as her words sunk in and the bus came to a stop. Ingeborg sat rigid. My heart pounded. I prayed she wouldn’t turn away in fear.
She then rose from her seat and declared, “Heavenly Father has given me a testimony of the truthfulness of the Restoration. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I can do this! Elder Atkin, please help me walk.”
We made the long walk to the gate, Ingeborg’s breath coming hard as we passed the guards. We changed into our white clothing and found the pool at the base. The pool became a sacred place, and peace settled over us. The distress on Ingeborg’s face changed to joy as she stepped into the water and was baptized a member of the Church.
That night Sister Bienmuller became a member of the Würzburg Branch and one of the many in Germany who eventually overcame their fears and joined the Church.

My journey to motherhood was a difficult road, full of opportunities to exercise faith and experience challenges that have helped me become the woman I am today. Six years into our marriage, we found out we were expecting our first child. It was the most wonderful news I had ever received! However, the pregnancy proved to be very challenging, and at thirty-one weeks, our baby was born. He weighed three pounds one ounce, and he was immediately admitted to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). By the end of his first day, he was nearing two-and-a-half pounds. He was so tiny and frail, and I feared that after all my hopes and prayers, I would lose this beloved child.

In those first hours and in the weeks to come, I experienced every doubt and fear imaginable. I doubted myself and agonized over my own worthiness as a mother and whether this had somehow been my fault. I grieved the potential of losing him and of God not providing us the blessings we were seeking. I was scared, and I was fighting to believe that Heavenly Father knew how this story would and needed to work out. When I look back, I can see Satan hard at work, and I can see God’s repeated comfort and patience with me as I learned to exercise faith.

It can be hard to “be not afraid, only believe.” We may do it imperfectly, in fact. Even then, Heavenly Father and our Savior work with us to increase our faith in ways that help us become who They know we can be! In Alma 32:27 we read:
But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.
You don’t have to be perfect to move forward into unknown places and difficult times. You just have to “exercise a particle of faith” and have a “desire to believe.” In those NICU days, when things looked grim, sometimes all I could do was have a desire to believe. But I found it to be a creative process—one that brought hope, joy, and peace. When I allowed myself to go to places of fear and despair, all I felt was the destruction of hope, joy, and peace. I testify that the Lord took those desires and helped to build my faith, which gave me courage to face challenges and to believe.

With my oldest child, things did turn out well, and he has been a tremendous blessing in my life. But over the next nine years, I gave birth to my second son, a sweet little boy, and lost seven other pregnancies. In those challenging moments, I felt incredible fear at times. I had to learn over and over again how to desire to believe, how to act on a particle of faith, and how to trust God, His love, and His plan for me.

Garrett felt a terrible fear in his heart when he watched the news. There was always something sad or scary in the stories that the reporters told each night. Somewhere in the world there was a war; there were children who didn’t have enough to eat or a place to sleep. Somewhere in the world someone had been killed, or there were tornadoes or earthquakes. All these things made him worry that something bad was going to happen to him or his family.
It was nighttime, but Garrett couldn’t sleep. Although it was dark outside, the moon shone through his window and he could see all the corners of his room. On the desk was a picture of his brother and him. He wished that he was Allen. Allen was older. He was stronger and smarter. Garrett knew that if he was Allen, he would not be afraid. He thought that if he shut his eyes tightly and wished hard enough, maybe he would be Allen.
When he opened his eyes, he was still Garrett. And he was still afraid. He tried to think of something else. It would be his birthday soon. He and his mother had looked through the toy catalog together just the other day so that he could show her some of the things that he really liked. He tried to think of them now. Still, the frightening thoughts would not leave his mind.
He tossed and turned until he could think of nothing else but being with his mother and father. He always felt safe with them. They were in the room right next to his. He could sleep on their floor, and they would protect him.
All was quiet in the house as he made his way to their bedroom.
Garrett’s dad rubbed his face sleepily as he awoke to Garrett’s nudges. “What is it, Son?”
“Dad, can you give me a blessing? I’m afraid.”
Mom was awake now, too. “Garrett, are you all right?”
“I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?” Mom asked.
“I can’t stop thinking about the news.”
“It’s all right,” Dad told him. “Of course, you can have a blessing.”
His father got out of bed and slipped on his robe. They sat quietly for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Then he placed his hands upon Garrett’s head to give him a father’s blessing.
Garrett listened carefully as his father told him that everything would be all right. He reminded Garrett that because he had been baptized, he was entitled to have the Holy Ghost, who is a comforter, with him. If he listened closely enough, his father explained, he would be able to feel the Spirit and feel peace and calm. And, his father added, Heavenly Father was aware of Garrett and was watching over him and would protect him.
Garrett remembered his baptism day. He remembered being confirmed a member of the Church. His father had said, “Receive the Holy Ghost.”
Garrett thought about the times when he had felt the Holy Ghost. There was always a good feeling in the chapel, and he usually felt the same way when he listened closely in Primary and when he prayed at home or read scripture stories with his family. He knew that what his father was saying in the blessing was true.
When his father had finished, Garrett kissed his parents good night.
“Do you want to sleep in here with us?” his mother asked.
“I think I’ll be all right now,” he replied. “Thanks, Dad. I love you both.”
Garrett’s room was still dark when he returned. He lay in bed, quietly trying very hard to listen. Then the still small voice came to him and he knew that everything would be all right. He was glad that he had chosen to be baptized so that he could have the Holy Ghost as a companion! He slipped into a peaceful sleep.

I had a man about my age come in to see me a few days ago. He told me a story about a 1947 Chevrolet. It was a little after the Second World War. He was a young elder, I guess, or priest—I’m not sure which. Anyway, he and his friend were called in to see the bishop one night after sacrament meeting, and they both knew what was coming up. The bishop said to the first young man, “We’d like you to prepare to go on a mission.”
The young man replied, “All right, I’ll do it.”
And then the man who came in to see me was next. He went in and the bishop said, “We’d like you to prepare to go on a mission.”
And he said, “Bishop, I can’t do it because I am paying for a 1947 Chevrolet.” He said that at that time of his life, this was the most important thing to him. He said, “I just don’t see how I can do it.” Well, one thing led to another, and he never did go. He came in to tell me how throughout his life he had regretted that decision so much that every time he sees a 1947 Chevrolet (and that is occasionally nowadays) he gets a sort of unhappy feeling in his heart. He relates it to something that he had an opportunity to do but didn’t do.
There is a 1947 Chevrolet in each of our lives. There is some material thing that sooner or later will stand between what the Lord expects of us and what we know we should do. Then we have to make a decision, and may the Lord bless us that we may make a proper decision when our 1947 Chevrolet confronts us.

I know exactly how you feel. A few months ago, my boyfriend and I did something wrong. After that, it seemed as if in every fireside the speaker was talking just to me. I felt terrible. I knew I needed to tell my bishop, but I just couldn’t.

I tried to tell myself that if I just forgot about it and never did it again, the Lord would forget too. Last week I had an interview with my bishop to get my patriarchal blessing. I knew I had to tell him. I prayed before I went in. Then with a prayer in my heart, I took a deep breath and told him. Now I feel so much better! It was so hard to do. But I thank the Lord for giving me the courage to confess. Now I can complete my repentance, and I won’t have to carry that burden for the rest of my life.

Name withheld

One rainy fall day, I went into my attic and noticed a leak. Water dripped off the ends of roofing nails between two sets of rafters. Years before, I had done many repairs to my home and wasn’t afraid to attempt new projects. But at this time I was facing personal struggles and lacked confidence. I didn’t feel like I had the emotional strength to deal with the leak, even though I knew something needed to be done before winter came.
A week or two later, I got on my roof with a utility knife, a putty knife, and a caulking gun loaded with roofing tar. I figured I just needed to find the source of the leak and cover it with gooey tar. But I had no idea where the source was. I felt discouraged. I paused and said a prayer, asking the Lord to direct me to the right spot so I could fix the leak. I expected Him to just show me the spot. Instead, one word came to my mind: investigate.
This wasn’t the answer I wanted, but I began to look around. My eyes focused on a vent. I tore off two small shingles by the vent and saw what looked like the source of a leak. I cut out old, dry tar and applied a liberal amount of new tar. I replaced the shingles, and in less than one hour I had completed the job. My depressed spirits were lifted, and I felt good about myself for what I had done to solve the problem. During the next rain, I looked in the attic for leaks and found it dry!
I thought of Oliver Cowdery, who had “[taken] no thought save it was to ask” (D&C 9:7). Like him, I had expected the Lord to simply give me a quick answer to my prayer with no effort on my part. And I thought about how much my spirits were lifted when I had to put forth my own effort to “study it out” (D&C 9:8)—to investigate. I learned that the Lord will not do everything for us. He will help and guide us, but we are also expected to do what we can on our own because this brings personal growth.

However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in New England is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time necessary to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their boots and snap them into their bindings. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence which comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.

Jerrison had made certain he read his English assignment: Ernest Hemingway’s “The Short, Happy Life of Francis Macomber.”
With any luck, Jerrison figured Mr. Hammel shouldn’t call on him to respond to the story about a man who wounded a lion in Africa, then ran from the beast’s charge—leaving guide and gun bearer to deal with it until later finding his courage again. There were over 30 students in the class. Three or four would be sufficient for enough discussion to do the Hemingway story justice, then move smoothly to the next author. At least that had been the pattern of Mr. Hammel’s literature challenges in past English classes here at Churchill High School.
But the law of averages wouldn’t prevail, Jer reasoned, because Mr. Hammel now suspected he was LDS. Jer was the only active Church member in his school, and his family was one of the few LDS families in the entire eastern Canada community. And hadn’t Jer just had the courage, or the gumption, or the gall, or whatever you call it, to disagree with the teacher just the week before? At issue was the presence or absence of deity in Mark Twain’s “The Mysterious Stranger” and whether there was any hope for an afterlife. Lars Hammel had been quite adamant about that. Jer had never seen his teacher so unyielding on any point. Perhaps Mr. Hammel deserved his reputation as an unrelenting atheist.
“Miss Cromar,” came Mr. Hammel’s inquisition, “What did you think of the lion incident in Hemingway’s Mr. Macomber?”
Dana smiled awkwardly. “He, well, he ran away from the lion. He was a coward.”
But Mr. Hammel would not let Dana off so easily. “Why is that being a coward, Miss Cromar? Wouldn’t any of us run from a lion suddenly charging directly at us from the tall grass? And wouldn’t we expect a professional guide who makes his living at this sort of thing to have the skills necessary for dispatching the creature?”
It wasn’t normal conversation, thought Jer. But then what English teacher speaks normally? Even a sympathetic one?
“I, I guess so, Mr. Hammel.”
“You’re easy to get along with, are you not?” The teacher looked down at her from his oak desk.
“Yes, yes,” she agreed.
“And Mr. Allred, do you concur with Dana here?”
“Macomber ran away. He was a nerd. Even his wife thought so.”
Mr. Hammel paused thoughtfully. “Well, let us see what Mr. Broman has to say about Mr. Macomber’s temporary lack of courage.”
Jerrison felt too tall in his seat now. He ran large hands through his dark hair. His mouth groped to synchronize with precisely the right words. “Relatively speaking, I don’t think the man was as much of a coward as some might think,” Jer heard himself say.
“Eh? Intriguing thought here. Why do you say that, Mr. Broman?”
“Well, he chose to go on the lion hunt. He didn’t have to go on a safari like that. And no one forced him to shoot at the lion, or wound it in the first place. And he did finally overcome his fears.”
Mr. Hammel waited. “And is that all there is to it, Mr. Broman?”
“It’s just that this is only an example of one-time courage. Physical courage.” Jer found that it came out easily. But then, “His greatest fault might have been talking so much about the whole thing.” Jer felt all eyes on him now, and he turned his heavy thumbs up above the desk. “I’ve seen greater examples of true courage in everyday life than shooting a lion, anyway.”
“An example, please?”
“Well, my aunt …” Did Jer have to go into all this?
“Your aunt?” It was true what they said about Mr. Hammel. Couldn’t he see that this matter was becoming more than Jer had intended it to be?
“I guess some would think she didn’t have much to live for each day. Robert, her husband, left her, and she has a Down’s Syndrome baby, and she has to work nights …”
“Is she not remarriageable?” Mr. Hammel said evenly. The class tittered.
“Not much chance of getting remarried right away. Not to just anyone, right now.” Jer squirmed.
“I see, Mr. Broman. And tell me, how would you compare this item of literature with what you read of Twain’s ‘Stranger’?”
“I liked Hemingway better. I like to read about courage.” Now he was warming up. “At least if it’s real courage. And if the author tries to honestly discover the full meaning of courage, not just an outside veneer.”
“Mm, Mr. Broman. Could you please see me after class? I’d like to talk with you privately if you don’t mind.”
When Jerrison appeared at the long oaken desk, Mr. Hammel was smiling only faintly. “I’m intrigued with your definition of courage,” he said. “Tell me more about your aunt, Aunt …”
“We call her Ren, Rennie.”
“Your Aunt Rennie. You say she has courage.”
“Every day. The child—and her job. They’re her lions.”
“And she handles this without lashing out at the world?”
“Ren … doesn’t usually talk about it.”
Mr. Hammel frowned. “Yet, what choice does she have?”
“She’s always smiling. But she knows Becky will always be dependent on her.” Jer felt an impatience stealing over himself now.
“Then there’s no reason to smile?”
“Some might say that.”
The teacher turned his head. For several minutes he did not speak.
Jer was about to say something, maybe “See you tomorrow” or now that he thought of it, a clever “Who’s next, Thoreau?” But then it didn’t seem so clever, and he heard Mr. Hammel speaking, low at first, then with more voice.
“Your aunt is a remarkable woman,” he said at last. “I know someone like her.”
“Who is that?” Jer said softly.
“Not really important. But you have not yet told me what it is that gives your aunt her courage.”
“First,” Jer said, “you must tell me your background. What is your feeling about God. Do you agree with Mr. Twain?”
“Yes, I see. That is a hard point. I don’t know. Jerrison, I would like to meet with you tomorrow, or the next day, after the last class.”
“Wednesday? I think I could do that. Right after school?”
The next day Jer thought he noticed a change in Mr. Hammel’s mood. The man appeared brisk and abrupt. He stood talking to another teacher, something about sophomores and assignments. “I’m in charge of the 10th graders’ get-acquainted party,” he was saying. “These kids are so glum these days about helping the new ones. Can’t get the haves to mix in and include the have-nots. No compassion.”
When the other teacher walked away, the two just stood there. Jerrison waited. Finally, Mr. Hammel looked directly into Jerrison’s eyes. “What is it that gives this woman the strength, as you say, to fight lions … every day?” He said it as a statement, not a question.
“Are you certain you want to know?” Jer asked.
“Yes, I would not have asked a year ago, or perhaps even a month ago. No, certainly, not even a month ago. Before I knew you. Now, go on, tell me.”
“The same thing which enabled Daniel to subdue his lions, the ones in the den.” Jer had not managed any eloquence. But he had said it.
Mr. Hammel studied him. “You are a Mormon, are you not?” he broke the silence.
“Yes.”
“And you … you’re saying …” he broke it off. “Yes, I see what you are saying. It is very clear.”
Two days later, Mr. Hammel again asked Jer to remain for a few minutes following class. “Mr. Broman.” His voice seemed again aloof and piercing. “I have a special assignment for you. For extra credit, of course. Would you write me a story about courage. What it means to have courage? Compare it with Mr. Macomber, if you will.”
That night, Jer struggled with the assignment. What did Mr. Hammel want from him? He had told him how he felt. What else could he say? He asked his father about it. “What do you regard as courage, Dad? True courage? It’s an English assignment.”
His father seemed slightly puzzled. Jer tried to help, without putting any words in his father’s mouth.
“Let’s put it like this. Is a man a coward for running away from a charging lion?”
“Yes, I think so. But wasn’t there anyone around to stand up to the lion?”
“The guide. An Englishman stopped the animal a few feet away. Stood there and pumped lead into a roaring lion.”
“I’d say that was an act requiring some courage. But who attacked whom in the first place?”
“The American. He shot the lion. Macomber. He hit it in the flank with a bad shot.”
“Oh. Sounds like the lion had a bit of courage himself, eh?”
“I told Mr. Hammel that there are many greater acts of courage, if an author wants to write about courage.”
“You said that?”
“Yes. I told him about Rennie.”
“You did?”
“I think she has courage.”
“You know what, Jer? I think you’ve got it. Courage.”
Later that night, on the assigned paper, Jer wrote:
“Many of us think of courage as a single act of dramatic proportions, with the world watching, reporters ready to describe in detail the slaying of the lion in our lives. But if the world was watching to give us a badge or a compliment, giving life our best wouldn’t be that difficult. The real test comes in rising to meet the challenge every day, and again, with no fanfare, when you are alone, and you know what you ought to do, and determine to do it with your full zeal and strength.”
On Friday Mr. Hammel asked Jerrison what grade he thought his paper deserved.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I wrote it because that’s the way I feel. Not for a grade. It’s the way my aunt is.”
“That’s why I’m giving you an A,” Mr. Hammel said. “For courage. And your aunt … I’m giving her an A, too.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
“Oh, and a … tell her I’d like to test her courage—helping me with the backward ones at the class get-together coming up. I haven’t reached them in a dozen years. Maybe your aunt can give me some clues. Anything.”
“And the baby?” Jer asked.
“My mother. Put up with me. I guess she’s got the courage to put up with your aunt’s baby for one afternoon.”

“I’m just so confused why I had a prompting to serve her when she didn’t even appreciate it.”
My friend Sarah (name has been changed) was tearfully explaining to me how she had heard that an old acquaintance had recently had a baby, and Sarah, who had been praying for service opportunities, had felt prompted to offer to bring her dinner. Her friend accepted the offer.
But things didn’t go as planned.
Things kept going wrong while preparing the meal, and when Sarah got to her friend’s house an hour later than planned, her acquaintance coldly told her that her family had already eaten and shut the door.
Sarah was devastated at how things had gone, but she mostly felt confused—she didn’t know if she had actually received a prompting from the Spirit to serve her friend or if it had just been her own idea.
Which brings us back to the conversation that Sarah and I had.
Sarah told me that when she returned home from her disastrous attempt to serve her friend, she asked Heavenly Father why she had felt the prompting when things went so badly. And as she quietly listened, she had a distinct thought: “The answer is bigger than you think.”
As I pondered what she was telling me, I suddenly thought of a general conference talk I had recently studied—“Infuriating Unfairness,” by Elder Renlund.
I felt prompted to share some of what he taught: “Jesus Christ both understands unfairness and has the power to provide a remedy. Nothing compares to the unfairness He endured. … He understands perfectly what we are experiencing.” 5
I offered the idea that maybe this prompting was meant to allow Sarah to increase her appreciation and love for the Savior. As I shared this thought, goosebumps erupted all over my arms, and I received confirmation that I was feeling the Spirit.
In that moment, I realized just how many ways the Holy Ghost had spoken to us:
Sarah had a good thought to serve someone.
A small voice in her mind answered her question after praying.
I had a sudden thought about Elder Renlund’s talk, and it turned out to be what Sarah needed to hear.
I felt a comforting feeling after sharing that confirmed my thought was from Him.
We finished our discussion feeling the Spirit and having more confidence that He does speak to us. It also renewed our faith that even if promptings don’t turn out the way we anticipate, they are still from the Holy Ghost.

Today is Eli’s birthday. He is four years old.
In four more years, you will be baptized.
And four years after that, you will be a deacon and you will be able to pass the sacrament.
Later, Mom helped Eli change from his pajamas into his church clothes.
Do deacons wear superhero pants to church?
No. Deacons wear nice pants.
Do deacons wear superhero shirts to church?
No. Deacons wear white shirts and ties.
I want to wear a white shirt and nice pants. I want to dress like a deacon.
Mom helped Eli put on his nice pants, a white shirt, and a tie.
At church, Eli folded his arms as he watched the deacons pass the sacrament.
When a deacon brought Eli the sacrament, Eli took a piece of bread and then handed the tray to Mom.
Mom smiled at Eli. He was happy to help. He felt just like a deacon.

This past holiday was pretty special for our family because it had been about 5 years since we were all together for Christmas. The one thing I wanted most was to take a family picture. Because of scheduling (people working or people returning to the mainland), we only had one morning to be able to do this. Imagine getting the grandchildren up early (one was 6 months and another was a 2 year old), everyone getting “nicely” dressed, and then everyone driving to Ho’omaluhia. Everything seemed to be under control…except, (Houston, we have a problem) it was raining! There was no blue on the ocean, mist/fog was all over the place, and the Ko’olau mountaintops were covered with dark gray clouds … We all started calling/texting each other from the different cars…“Okay. What are we doing? What are we going to do with this rain that does not look like it’s going to go away soon?” I get a phone call and one of our sons, Keola asked, “Do we have a backup plan or are we going on faith?” In the background, I could hear our 6 year old granddaughter (Riley) say, “Faith. Choose Faith.” Looking out the car window, I thought, “How do I pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to stop the rain?” “How do I explain to Riley this is an almost impossible request?” However, we continued to the end of Ho’omaluhia having faith that Heavenly Father is in charge. This picture is even more precious now because it’s a clear manifestation of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love for the Kaluhiokalani ‘ohana. The rain stopped, we took our pictures, and it started pouring again as we drove out of Ho’omaluhia. There is no doubt in our sons, their wives, and our grandchildren that we experienced a miracle that morning. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were aware of our circumstance that morning.

President Thomas S. Monson: “Many years ago I stood by the bedside of a young man, the father of two children, as he hovered between life and the great beyond. He took my hand in his, looked into my eyes and pleadingly asked, ‘Bishop, I know I am about to die. Tell me what happens to my spirit when I die.’

“I prayed for heavenly guidance before attempting to respond. My attention was directed to the Book of Mormon, which rested on the table beside his bed. I held the book in my hand, and, as I stand before you here today, that book opened to the fortieth chapter of Alma. I began to read aloud:

“‘Now my son, here is somewhat more I would say unto thee; for I perceive that thy mind is worried concerning the resurrection of the dead. …

“‘Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body … are taken home to that God who gave them life.

“‘And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow’ (Alma 40:1, 11–12).

“My young friend closed his eyes, expressed a sincere thank-you, and silently slipped away to that paradise about which we had spoken” (General Conference, October 1981).

A vital part of that loving is listening. I know what listening really is, because I have had the blessed experience.
I used to farm with my dad. I didn’t always enjoy it, but when lunchtime came we’d sit in the shade of the tall poplar trees, eat our lunch, and talk. My dad didn’t use this as a golden teaching moment to lay down the law and straighten out his daughter. We just talked—about anything and everything.
This was the time I could ask questions. I felt so safe I could even ask questions that might provoke him. I remember asking him, “Why did you embarrass me in front of my friends last week when I had stayed out too late and you came and got me?”
His answer leads to another aspect of love. He wasn’t being arbitrary. There were certain standards of behavior I was expected to live. He said, “Having you out late worried me. Above all, I want you safe.” I realized his love for me was stronger than his desire for sleep or the inconvenience of getting dressed and driving down the road looking for me.
Whether it is a hayfield or other casual places, those times together can fill the reservoir for other times that may not be as idyllic and serene. Relationships stay intact with this kind of investment—in spite of hard doctrine and correction—or maybe because of it.
Love is listening when they are ready to talk—midnight, 6 A.M. on their way to seminary, or when you’re busy with your urgencies. Have you seen the Church spot on television showing a darkened bedroom? The door opens, and in walks a little girl with a book under her arm. She goes over to where her dad is sound asleep and asks, “Daddy, will you read me a story?” The dad doesn’t open his eyes; he just mumbles in his sleep, “Oh, honey, Daddy is so tired. Ask Mommy.” The little girl patters over to where her mother is sleeping and asks, “Mommy, can Daddy read me a story?” You see the dad’s eyes pop open, and the next picture shows all three of them together, and Dad is reading a story.
Loving may come naturally, but leading is a polished skill that maybe we don’t take seriously enough. We lead by example more strongly than any other way. That is a heavy burden for parents and leaders of youth.
Can our young people tell by the way we live and talk and pray that we love the Lord? Do they know that their Father in Heaven is a God of love by the way they feel when they are with us? Can they feel secure that we will not be moved by every wind of doctrine or the craftiness of social pressure and worldly acceptance? (see Eph. 4:14).
If we are going to lead in righteousness, there can’t be any question where we stand. Small uncertainties on our part can produce large uncertainties in our youth.
I wonder sometimes if we as mothers are the ones who make our children feel the pressure to be popular and accepted. Educating our desires so our standards are the Lord’s standards sends a clear message that in the Lord’s kingdom there are no double standards.
Following President Hinckley’s talk to the youth last November, a young woman reported to her mother that her Young Women leader had removed her second set of earrings. These scrutinizing young people notice. They notice how short your shorts are or if you had to tuck and pin to wear that blouse; they notice what you wear (or don’t wear) when you are working in your yard; they notice which line you are standing in at the movie theater.
We have made covenants with the Lord, and leading often tests the level of our commitment to those covenants.
A young mother said, “It takes an enormous amount of time and energy to be a good parent. It is easier to let my children fall asleep in front of the television while I pick up the house and then put them to bed than it is to read the scriptures to them, have prayers and stories, and tuck them in. But they look forward to this evening ritual, and I know this investment, even when I’m too tired to move, will pay eternal dividends.” Consistent leading helps youth make wise choices, and our trust in them increases.
I remember when I was about 16 years old overhearing Mom talking to Dad. She was concerned about some choices I was making. I was not guilty of any sin more serious than the immaturity of youth, but Mom was worried. What Dad said seared into my heart. “Don’t worry,” he said to Mom. “I trust Sharon, and I know she’ll do the right thing.” Those hours in the hayfield paid off then and there. From that moment on I was bound to those loving, trusting parents.
One of the greatest tests for parents and leaders is to love the one who seems to be unlovable. This is tough duty. It stretches the heartstrings and wrenches the soul. When heartbroken parents pray for help, the help often comes in the form of angel aunts or uncles, grandmas or grandpas, good friends, and leaders surrounding our loved one. They can reinforce our very message that may put our child on the track we’ve been praying for.
Loving wisely and leading purposefully will help stem the tide of wickedness as we prepare the next generation for the exhilarating delights of parenthood. We never forget the joys of our 12-year-old when he first passes the sacrament or hearing the sacramental prayer given in the voice of our son. How do you explain the feeling of hearing your daughter bear her testimony of the Savior or watching her receive her Young Womanhood medallion?
We catch a glimpse of heaven when we are in the temple with our child who is kneeling across the altar with a worthy companion. They are prepared to start a life together of promise and accomplishments that we have helped to nurture. This is harvest time.
I close with my testimony that we are not alone in this sacred trust of parenting, loving, and leading. There is no greater joy. It is worth every sacrifice, every inconvenient minute, every ounce of patience, personal discipline, and endurance. “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.