Gospel Story Finder

I decided that it was important to my growth to fast again soon, and not wait for a whole month. This time I fasted and prayed about a decision I was having difficulty making. The pros and cons of the major alternatives seemed nearly equal, and I had been puzzling about it for several weeks. After fasting and praying about it, I suddenly knew what to do, and there was never another moment of wondering if it was the best choice.

The greatest challenge came in 1983, when we moved. We lived outside of a city, and I commuted an hour each way to work. This meant that I had to leave home every morning before the children woke up.
We solved the problem by switching our scripture reading to evenings, just before bedtime. Reading then required much more discipline. Busy schedules, homework, television, and even Church activities competed for our time. But after a few weeks the routine was established, and we continued on our way.

Perhaps an oft-repeated scene will bring closer to home your personal opportunity to reach out to rescue. Let us look in on a family with a son named Jack. Throughout Jack’s early life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day when he was 17, they had a particularly agitated one. Jack said to his father, “This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m leaving home, and I will never return!” He went to his room and packed a bag. His mother begged him to stay, but he was too angry to listen. He left her crying in the doorway.

Leaving the yard, he was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him, “Jack, I know that a large share of the blame for your leaving rests with me. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I love you, and I’ll always love you.”

Jack said nothing but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant point. As he sat in the bus watching the miles go by, his thoughts turned to the words of his father. He began to realize how much courage, how much love had been required for his father to say what he had said. Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and had left the words ringing in the summer air, “I love you.”

Jack knew that the next move was up to him. He realized the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to demonstrate to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that Dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus. He bought a return ticket and began the journey home.

He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, and turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head bowed. As he looked up and saw Jack, he arose from the chair; they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack later said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”

Here was a father who, suppressing passion and bridling pride, reached out to rescue his son before he became one of that vast “lost battalion” resulting from fractured families and shattered homes. Love was the binding band, the healing balm; love so often felt, so seldom expressed.

Thump! went the backpack on the living room end table. “Put your bag in your room, Petey!” Mother said as she rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her smile faded as she noticed Peter’s somber face. “Are you OK?”
“I guess so.” Peter shrugged as he hung his coat on a hook by the door.
“Then why the glum face? Did you have a fight with Justin?”
“Well, no … It’s just that whenever I ask him to come to Primary with me, he says he’s too busy or has stuff to do or something. Why can’t I make him come? Primary is so cool!”
“Let’s sit down a minute,” Mother said, heading for the couch. She tossed the towel onto the end table next to Peter’s backpack. “Do you remember the eleventh article of faith?” she asked when they were seated. “I think that’s one you’ve already learned.”
“Hmmm, let me think.”
“‘We claim the privilege …’” she started him off.
“Oh, yeah! I remember now. That’s the one that says ‘how, where, or what they may.’”
“That’s right! It says, ‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship …’”
“‘how, where, or what they may!’” Peter finished proudly.
“That’s very good, Petey. But do you know what it means?”
Peter began to fidget on the couch.
Mother smiled thoughtfully. “Let me see if I can help. Remember last week, when Dad was out of town and we had that snowstorm?”
“Do I ever! We had to shovel the walks and driveway before school. It was a lot of work. And then the neighbor kids wanted to walk through the snow, so they tromped across our lawn, instead! What a waste of time!” Peter shook his head, remembering the footprints across the front lawn.
“Well, no it wasn’t,” Mother corrected gently. “Because our walks were clear, it was easy to get the car out to take you to school.”
“OK, OK.” Peter’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I still don’t get what that has to do with the eleventh article of faith—or Justin.”
“Well, we worked hard to clear a path in the snow—that’s what we wanted to do. It was important to us. But the neighborhood children chose to walk in the snow, instead—because that’s what was important to them. Right?”
“Right,” Peter said. “So what?”
“Well, you want Justin to go to Primary on Sunday because it’s important to you, right?”
“Oh. I think I get it,” Peter said slowly. “Even though I choose to go to Primary, that doesn’t mean that Justin has to, right?”
Mother smiled. “That’s right. Heavenly Father has given us a very precious gift called agency. It is the right to choose and act for ourselves. We can’t force someone to follow the same path we choose to follow. However, while you need to let Justin have his agency, it’s also very good for you to love him and be his friend. You can keep showing Justin the ‘clear path’ that’s important to you. And maybe—just maybe—he’ll want to follow it one day.”
As Peter grabbed his backpack and headed up the stairs, he turned and smiled. “I’m glad I have my agency so I can choose to go to Primary.”

While serving as a mission president in Africa, I was forever taught this great truth. I was on my way to a meeting when I saw a young boy alone, crying hysterically on the side of the road. A voice within me said, “Stop and help that boy.” As quick as I heard this voice, in a split second, I rationalized: “You can’t stop. You will be late. You’re the presiding officer and can’t walk in late.”
When I arrived at the meetinghouse, I heard the same voice say again: “Go help that boy.” I then gave my car keys to a Church member named Afasi and asked him to bring the boy to me. About 20 minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. The young boy was outside.
He was about 10 years of age. We found out his father was dead and his mother was in jail. He lived in the slums of Accra with a caretaker, who gave him food and a place to sleep. To earn his board, he sold dried fish on the streets. But after this day of hawking, when he reached in his pocket, he found a hole in it. He had lost all his earnings. Afasi and I knew immediately that if he returned without the money, he would be called a liar, most likely beaten, and then cast out onto the street. It was in that moment of alarm when I first saw him. We calmed his fears, replaced his loss, and took him back home to his caretaker.
As I went home that evening, I realized two great truths. First, I knew as never before that God is mindful of each of us and will never forsake us; and second, I knew that we must always hearken to the voice of the Spirit within us and go “straightway”15 wherever it takes us, regardless of our fears or any inconvenience.

Long ago there lived a stonecutter who every morning took his mallet and chisel to hew slabs of rock from the mountainside. When he had hauled them home, he would polish the rocks and sell them. He was very good at his work, and so there was always plenty for him to do, and he was contented.
One day when he carried a finely polished block of stone to the house of a rich man, he saw all sorts of beautiful things that he had never seen before.
“Oh!” he cried. “I wish I might have a beautiful home like this one and sleep in a bed as soft as down.” Discontented, he picked up his tools and started home.
The spirit of the mountain heard the stonecutter’s wish. When he arrived home, instead of the poor little hut he had left in the morning, there stood a wonderful palace. Inside, it was as full of beautiful furniture as the rich man’s house. The stonecutter slept that night on a bed as soft as down.
When he awoke, he decided not to work anymore, and he looked out his window to see who was going by. As he watched, a fine carriage drawn by snow-white horses rolled along. There were servants running in front and behind, and a prince sat inside with a golden canopy over his head. The stonecutter was discontented again.
“Oh!” he declared. “I wish I were a prince with a carriage such as that and could ride under a golden canopy.”
No sooner had he made the wish than it came to pass! He was a prince, he had servants dressed in purple and gold, and he drove through the streets in a carriage with a golden canopy.
For a while he was happy. Then one day he noticed that the sun was wilting his grass and flowers, even though he had watered them. “The sun is mightier than I am,” he said. “I wish to be the sun.”
The spirit heard him, and the stonecutter was changed into the sun. He felt proud and mighty to be so great and bright in the sky. He burned the fields of rich and poor alike. Then one day a cloud covered his face, and he was again filled with discontent.
“The cloud is mightier than I. I would be the cloud!” he cried angrily.
So the mountain spirit changed him into a cloud, and he lay content for a while between the sun and the earth. He caught the sunbeams and would not let them go. He began pouring down rain until the rivers overflowed and the crops were spoiled. Whole towns were washed away. But he could not move the mountain.
“Is the mountain stronger than I am?” he asked the spirit. “If so, I will be the mountain.”
At once the spirit changed him into a rocky mountain. For years he proudly stood, raising his head high above the other cliffs. Neither the sun nor the rain harmed him. Then one day he heard a sharp tap-tapping, and he saw a stonecutter working with his sharp tools, cutting into the mountainside. He felt a trembling inside him.
“Who is this cutting into me? I would be that man,” he wished.
And he became a man once more, the same poor stonecutter he was before. Once again he lived in a hut and worked from morning to night. Yet he had never felt more content, for he had learned that it’s the steady tap-tapping that moves mountains.

Joe’s sister Sariah was sick. Not the kind of sick where you cough or have a stomachache. Mom and Dad said she might have diabetes.
Joe didn’t know what diabetes was, but it sounded scary. Then Mom and Dad explained that it’s when people’s bodies have trouble using sugar from the food they eat. Sariah had to spend a few days in the hospital to find out if she had diabetes.
Sometimes Sariah got on Joe’s nerves. She tried to play with his friends. Once she even lost his video-game controller. But he loved her so much. I don’t want her to be sick, he thought as tears came to his eyes.
Joe’s sisters helped Sariah get ready for the hospital. Mary got out Sariah’s backpack. Hannah helped pack her pajamas. Lilly added a fuzzy blanket. Joe wanted to help too, but he didn’t know how.
Soon Sariah was all packed.
“Let’s pray before we go,” Dad said. “Joe, would you say the prayer?”
Joe nodded. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he began. “Please bless Sariah to not have diabetes. Please bless her to be OK.” As he prayed, Joe felt a little better.
As the family came together for a hug, Joe had an idea.
He went to his room and grabbed the portable music player he got for his birthday. He checked to make sure Sariah’s favorite songs were on it.
“Here,” he said, handing it to Sariah. “You can take this to the hospital.” She smiled and held it tight as she walked to the car.
The next day, Mom took Joe and his sisters to the hospital to visit Sariah. Joe was nervous as they walked down the hall. Please bless her to not have diabetes, he prayed for what felt like the hundredth time.
When they got to Sariah’s room, she was sitting up in bed with tubes attached to her arms. She smiled a little when she saw everyone.
“We just got the tests back,” Dad said. “The doctors say Sariah has type 1 diabetes. We’ll have to help her with her medicine. But she’ll be OK.”
Joe’s stomach dropped. He went out into the hallway and sat down next to the door. He buried his face in his arms.
“What’s wrong, Joe?” Mom said as she looked out the doorway.
“I prayed that Sariah wouldn’t have diabetes,” Joe said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?”
Mom put her arm around him. “Heavenly Father always answers our prayers. But it’s not always in the way we want. Sometimes, instead of taking something hard away, He answers by giving us peace and helping us be strong. I know Heavenly Father will help Sariah.”
Joe nodded slowly. He didn’t feel peaceful or strong right now. But he remembered the good feeling he had during their family prayer.
Together they walked back into the room. Joe’s sisters were playing a card game, just like they did at home. And they all looked happy, even Sariah.
Then Joe noticed something. Sariah had headphones around her neck and his music player in her lap.
“She keeps listening to the music you brought her,” Mom said. “It really helps her feel calm.”
Joe felt warm inside. He knew that Heavenly Father was already helping his family.

[President Monson, reflecting on the teachings of President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), who served as a counselor in the First Presidency with three presidents of the Church:]
“It was my great privilege to know President Clark rather well. I was his printer. On occasion, he would share with me some of his most intimate thoughts, even those scriptures around which he tailored his teachings and lived his life. Late one evening I delivered some press proofs to his office situated in his home at 80 D Street here in Salt Lake City. President Clark was reading from Ecclesiastes. He was in a quiet and reflective mood. He sat back from his large desk, which was stacked with books and papers. He held the scriptures in his hand, lifted his eyes from the printed page, and read aloud to me: ‘Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.’ (Eccl. 12:13.) He exclaimed, ‘A treasured truth! A profound philosophy!’ Through the years that conversation has remained bright in my memory. I love, I cherish the noble word duty.”1

Another faithful family is that of Edwina Swartzberg, first counselor in the Sandton South Africa Stake Relief Society, a third-generation Latter-day Saint. Her explanations about Church temples to her future husband, Isaac, who was reared in an Orthodox Jewish home, assisted in his conversion. He had puzzled why the Lord, who, scripturally, always spoke to his people in temples, no longer had one on Earth. He recognized, too, prophecies of Christ in the Old Testament, especially in Psalm 22, and things fell into place for him. The Swartzbergs were later sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. They live in Pretoria where Brother Swartzberg is Church legal advisor and area director of Church public communications.

6. Listen for spiritual promptings. We can be alert for opportunities to help our children welcome the Spirit’s influence—opportunities for them to feel gratitude, to reflect on blessings, to receive inspiration. One mother shared a story that illustrates the way parents can give gentle guidance in situations like these.

After a school carnival, her younger sons, Richard and Joe, were excited that they each had won a twenty-five-cent balsa-wood airplane, and her oldest son, Sam, was elated at having won two of them. But as the boys climbed into bed, Richard accidentally knelt on his airplane and broke it into pieces. He seemed inconsolable. The mother suggested that Sam share one of his planes. “Mom,” he replied, “how could you ask me to do something so hard?”

Gently, she reminded him of the gift of the Holy Ghost he had received after baptism. “Listen to your heart,” she added. “You will be able to decide what to do.”

A few minutes later, Richard wiped away his tears as he thanked Sam for the gift. And Sam wrote in his journal: “When I was getting the airplane for Rich, I felt a smile and a warm feeling in my heart. It was so warm I was about to burst. I could barely sleep that night ‘cause I felt that super amazing burst in my heart.” He told his mother that he knew the Holy Ghost had helped him make the decision.

Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I entered the Provo Missionary Training Center on July 20. When I said good-bye to my family, I was confident, happy, and so excited to leave! I had heard that some people struggle in the MTC, and I was determined to not be one of those people.
However, only 10 minutes after entering the MTC, a wave of panic hit me. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, I couldn’t change the way I felt. The reality of being away from family and friends for 18 months struck me. Could I make it that long?
For three weeks I pleaded with the Lord for help, peace, and understanding. I talked to my leaders, received blessings, and tried to have faith and wait patiently for answers. I studied diligently and tried to be obedient. I was determined to stay.
One night at the end of my third week, I was praying—pleading still—for help. The words of Isaiah, which I knew from a song, came into my mind:
“For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee.
“In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer. …
“For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee” (Isaiah 54:7–8, 10).
At that moment, I felt Heavenly Father answer my prayer by lifting this huge burden I had carried for three weeks.
During my last week at the MTC, I was perfectly and completely at peace. I felt gratitude for my Heavenly Father and for the Savior and His Atonement. I was grateful for His love, His tender mercies, and all the faithful people I served with.
The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real and powerful to save. In Preach My Gospel it says, “As your understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ grows, your desire to share the gospel will increase” ([2004], 2). Although I still had to face challenges out in the field, I had a witness that the Savior’s Atonement was real and that the Lord was mindful of me. I learned that God will strengthen and guide all those who humble themselves, have faith, and ask for the things they need—even, and especially, His missionaries.

I would like to share an experience that illustrates the effort required to endure physically and then compare it to the effort required to endure spiritually. Upon returning from my mission, I had the opportunity to play basketball for a well-respected coach and author at a college in California. This coach was very serious about his players being in shape before the start of the basketball season. One of his training prerequisites before any of us could touch a basketball on the practice court was to run a cross-country course in the hills near the school in a specific and very aggressive time. I remember my very first attempt at running this cross-country course immediately upon my return from the mission field: I thought I was going to die.

It took weeks of serious training in order to finally beat the time that the coach set as a goal. It was a great feeling to not only be able to run the course but also to accelerate down the stretch to the finish line.

To play basketball successfully, you need to get into good shape. Being in good physical condition comes at a price, and that price is dedication, perseverance, and self-discipline. Spiritual endurance also comes at a price. It is the same price: dedication, perseverance, and self-discipline.

I want a cookie,” Emily said as Mom took cookies from the oven.
“Wait until they cool,” said Mom.
But Emily didn’t wait. She ate a hot cookie and burned her tongue.
“I want to play with it now,” she said while Dad glued a wheel back on her toy truck.
“Wait until the glue dries,” Dad said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She raced the truck across the rug, and the wheel came off again.
“I want to open my presents,” she said as Mom put bows on brightly wrapped boxes.
“Wait until your birthday tomorrow,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. As soon as Mom left the room, she opened her presents. Then she had no boxes to open on her birthday.
“Why didn’t you wait?” Dad asked.
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But now I wish I had.”
The next day, Dad took her to a garden shop. He picked out onion sets and seeds for peas and beans. “You may choose some seeds, too,” he told Emily.
“I love carrots,” she said, so Dad got a package of carrot seeds.
Emily helped Dad plant the onions, peas, and beans in the garden. Then she planted a row of carrots by herself. “We can have my carrots for dinner tomorrow,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said, “but you will have to wait a long time for your seeds to grow into carrots.”
Emily didn’t wait. Every day, she dug up a few seeds to see if they had grown into carrots. “My seeds aren’t growing,” she told Dad.
“How do you know,” asked Dad.
“I looked at them,” said Emily.
“If you dig up your seeds, they won’t ever grow. You’ll have to learn to wait.”
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But I love carrots, so I’ll try.”
Emily tried hard all summer. She didn’t dig up any more carrot seeds, even when the green tops popped up along the row. But she did weed the garden while she waited. And she swam and ran and played. She even learned to wait for other things—for homemade Popsicles to freeze in the freezer, for her turn to ride on the back of a camel at the zoo, and for lots of other things. She even learned to wait to talk to Mom or Dad when they were on the telephone.
While Emily waited, the plants grew in the garden. When it was time, she helped to pick pea pods, and yellow beans, and tall green onions. At last it was time for the carrots.
Dad showed her how to loosen the dirt around the carrots and then how to hold the green tops and pull out the carrots one by one. Emily filled her basket with long, fat carrots. Then she ran to the house to show Mom. “Look how big they grew!”
“Yes they did,” Mom said, “and so did you!”
“Did I get taller?” Emily asked.
“You grew taller and wiser.”
“Wiser?” Emily asked.
“Waiting made you wiser.”
“Waiting made me want to eat carrots,” Emily said, “so I’m going to eat one right now!”
“Wait until I wash one,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She took a big carrot and washed it herself. “Now I will eat the best carrot I have ever eaten,” she said. And she did.

Those who remain at home—parents and other family members—also sacrifice by forgoing the companionship and service of the missionaries they send forth. For example, a young Brazilian received a missionary call while he was working to support his brothers and sisters after his father and mother died. A General Authority described these children’s meeting in council and remembering that their deceased parents had taught them that they should always be prepared to serve the Lord. The young man accepted his missionary call, and a 16-year-old brother took over the responsibility of working to support the family.6 Most of us know of many other examples of sacrifice to serve a mission or to support a missionary. We know of no other voluntary service and sacrifice like this in any other organization in the world.

Long ago in the land of old Russia there lived a young and beautiful maiden named Tamara. She gathered mushrooms each day to earn enough money to buy food. One day she wandered very deep into the forest, and there she found an enchanted well. From the well a voice called out and asked her to be his wife, and so began a magical adventure for Tamara. She married the mysterious prince and then lost him because of her own foolishness. After she had faced great danger and learned not to look back, Tamara encountered the evil Sea Witch, and the magic spell was broken!

Years ago, in search of adventure, my two sons and I accompanied a Young Men group to the Moaning Cavern, so named for a sound that at one time echoed out of its mouth. The cavern is a chimney cave which opens into a 180-foot-deep (55 m) vertical chamber, the largest single-cave chamber in California.
There are only two ways down: the safe circular staircase or rappelling to the cavern’s floor; my sons and I chose to rappel. My older son went first, while my younger son and I purposely went last so that we would descend together.
After our guides instructed and secured us with harness and belay gear to a strong rope, we inched backward until we stood on a small ledge and gathered our confidence, as this was the last place to turn around and the last place we could see any sunlight from the mouth of the cave.
Our next step backwards plunged us into a cathedral cavern so tall and wide that it could swallow the Statue of Liberty. There we dangled in a slow spin as our eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. As we continued our descent, the glow of electric lights illuminated an amazing wall of glistening stalagmites and stalactites.
Without warning, the lights suddenly went completely out. Suspended above the abyss, we were engulfed in a darkness so profound that we could not even see our hands on the ropes in front of us. A voice instantly called out, “Dad, Dad, are you there?”
“I’m here, Son; I’m right here,” I responded.
The unexpected loss of light was designed to show that without electricity, the darkness of the cavern was impenetrable. It succeeded; we “felt” the darkness. When the lights did return, the darkness instantly surrendered, as darkness must always surrender, to even the faintest light. My sons and I have been left with a memory of a darkness we had never known, a greater appreciation for light we will never forget, and the assurance that we are never all alone in the dark.

Growing up in southern Utah, some of us sought employment at the many gasoline service stations that lined old Highway 91 as it made its way through downtown St. George. My younger brother Paul, then 18, worked at Tom’s Service, a station located about three blocks from our home.
One summer day, a car with New York license plates pulled in the station and asked for a fill-up. (For you brethren under the age of 30, in those days someone actually came out and filled your car with gas, washed your windows, and checked your oil.) While Paul was washing the windshield, the driver asked him how far it was to the Grand Canyon. Paul replied that it was 170 miles.
“I’ve waited all my life to see the Grand Canyon,” the man exclaimed. “What’s it like out there?”
“I don’t know,” Paul answered. “I’ve never been there.”
“You mean to tell me,” the man responded, “that you live two and a half hours from one of the seven wonders of the world and you’ve never been there!”
“That’s right,” Paul said.
After a moment, the man replied, “Well, I guess I can understand that. My wife and I have lived in Manhattan for over 20 years, and we’ve never visited the Statue of Liberty.”
“I’ve been there,” Paul said.
Isn’t it ironic, brethren, that we will often travel many miles to see the wonders of nature or the creations of man, but yet ignore the beauty in our own backyard?
It is human nature, I suppose, to seek elsewhere for our happiness. Pursuit of career goals, wealth, and material rewards can cloud our perspective and often leads to a lack of appreciation for the bounteous blessings of our present circumstances.
It is precarious to dwell on why we have not been given more. It is, however, beneficial and humbling to dwell on why we have been given so much.
An old proverb states, “The greater wealth is contentment with a little.”
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul wrote, “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content” (Philip. 4:11).
Alma instructed his son Helaman, giving him counsel that all fathers should teach their children: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day” (Alma 37:37).
Alma says, “Let thy heart be full of thanks unto God.” The Lord desires that we give thanks. In Thessalonians we read, “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you” (1 Thes. 5:18).
As holders of the priesthood we should constantly strive to increase our gratitude. Gratitude may be increased by constantly reflecting on our blessings and giving thanks for them in our daily prayers.
President David O. McKay has said: “The young man who closes the door behind him, who draws the curtains, and there in silence pleads with God for help, should first pour out his soul in gratitude for health, for friends, for loved ones, for the gospel, for the manifestations of God’s existence. He should first count his many blessings and name them one by one” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1961, 8).
A constant expression of gratitude should be included in all our prayers. Often prayers are given for specific blessings which we, in our incomplete understanding, believe we need. While the Lord does answer prayers according to His will, He certainly must be pleased when we offer humble prayers of gratitude.
Brethren, the next time we pray, instead of presenting the Lord petition after petition for some action in our behalf, give Him thoughtful thanks for all with which He has blessed us.
President Joseph F. Smith has instructed us that “the spirit of gratitude is always pleasant and satisfying because it carries with it a sense of helpfulness to others; it begets love and friendship, and engenders divine influence. Gratitude is said to be the memory of the heart” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 262).
In October of 1879 a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”
Brethren, I pray that we might keep our hearts full of thanks and appreciation for what we have and not dwell on what is not ours. As holders of the priesthood, let us adopt an attitude of gratitude in all we do is my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

There is someone else at school counting on Michelle to do what’s right. Her younger sister, Melissa, 15, also attends Manzanilla High, and she has seen what her big sister’s example can do.
“It helps me to have a sister who stands up for what she believes,” Melissa says. “It makes it easier for me to do what’s right.” They see each other during the day and talk about how they’re getting along, and that helps both of them to stay strong.
“For example,” Michelle recalls, “one day some other girls were making fun of Melissa, saying unkind things about our nationality.” At lunch they talked it over, and Michelle was able to reassure Melissa, reminding her that she is a daughter of God with divine nature and of infinite worth. “That helped me feel better,” Melissa says. “It helped me remember who I am.”

Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
I was raised in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but I left the Church as a teenager after my family moved from Alabama. Later, I moved to California, where I worked and studied. That’s where I met Patrick. Six weeks later, we were engaged.
Once we got married and started having children, we knew it was essential that they understand the importance of faith and religion. We wanted that to be part of our family.
We became what we called “vacation churchgoers,” visiting lots of churches. We’d try this one over here and that one over there, but nothing ever felt right.
In 2012 we traveled to Alabama so I could reconnect with family members. We fell in love with the area where I lived as a child. So, we moved there in 2014, bought some land and animals, and started growing and selling produce.
One morning our seven-year-old son, Jesse, came into our bedroom with an illustrated children’s Bible.
“Mom, look at this picture of Jesus,” he said. “He’s getting baptized. Why am I not baptized?”
All the children read and loved that Bible, and they all began asking similar questions: “Why don’t we have a church? When are we getting baptized?”
About this same time we began making caramels from goat’s milk and selling them at local farmers markets. People loved them, and our caramel business took off. By that fall, we were selling our caramels in about 30 stores. By June 2015, we went to a major international market in Atlanta and added about a hundred stores. Soon, we were on television and in a couple of magazines.
We were making caramels full time leading into that fall. That’s when things took a turn in our lives.
I had what I thought I always wanted in life—a farm-based business working with my family and teaching my children about life through a farm. People had this beautiful picture of our family working together, but we were struggling big time.
We were ignoring the kids in order to make the business work. Our marriage wasn’t getting any attention. We were trying to do too much. Our priorities weren’t straight. We didn’t have a spiritual base. We didn’t have Heavenly Father guiding our lives. We were just trying to do everything by ourselves.
That fall the children all came down with strep throat. We gave them antibiotics, and soon everybody was fine except for Jesse. His cough wouldn’t go away, and his neck became swollen. Pat took him to the pediatrician for what we thought would be a second antibiotic.
Two hours later Pat called from the hospital. The pediatrician had sent Jesse there for an X-ray to check for infection in his lungs. Instead, doctors found an 11-inch tumor in his chest.
“Go home, get your family packed up, head to Birmingham, and prepare for a lengthy stay,” the doctor said.
A few days after we arrived at the children’s hospital in Birmingham, we received Jesse’s diagnosis. He had pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a rare type of aggressive leukemia.
For the next three weeks, Pat and I lived at the hospital. While I zoned in on Jesse, Pat made the 90-minute drive back and forth from our home to the hospital. He tried to keep our business going and care for our goats. My mother-in-law came from California and stayed with our other children.
Jesse’s tumor had begun to cut off his airways, but it shrank after six weeks of chemotherapy. We thought that once the cancer went into remission, it would be an easy road ahead, but then Jesse got a blood clot in his brain. After doctors dealt with that, he got fungal pneumonia. He was in and out of the hospital seven times over the next several months.
In December 2015, while Jesse was back in the hospital, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I thought, “I left the Church, and I just want to rule it out like I’ve ruled out all the other churches.” But right away, it hit me like a ton of bricks—full peace. The book just spoke to me. I didn’t even have to pray to find out it was true. I knew in my heart it was true from the very beginning. I would read for hours sitting in that hospital room.
At one point, Jesse spiked a fever, which lasted for 10 days. It wouldn’t break, and doctors decided they needed to do a bone marrow biopsy to see if the leukemia had returned. I remember lying on the floor of the hospital. I had reached bottom. That’s when I decided to call Elaine Oborn, a member of our ward while I was growing up in Alabama.
I had been best friends with Sister Oborn’s daughter. Though I hadn’t spoken to the Oborn family for 20 years, I couldn’t get Elaine’s face out of my mind. I looked her up on Facebook, and there on the hospital floor, I called her.
“Do you even remember me?” I asked.
After explaining what our family was experiencing, I told Sister Oborn: “I don’t know what I need, but I need something. I’m not active in the Church. We don’t even have a church, but I keep thinking of you. Please, can you help me?”
“We can start by getting you and Jesse a blessing,” she said. She said her husband, Lynn, would come to the hospital that evening.
After the phone call, I told Pat, “I know you’re not a member of the Church, but can we have some guys come and give Jesse a blessing?”
“Whatever it takes for him to feel better,” he said.
That evening, in came Brother Oborn with two full-time missionaries, all dressed in white medical protective clothing because Jesse was so sick.
“The angels are coming for us,” I remember thinking as I opened the door.
They gave Jesse a blessing. Then Brother Oborn lined up all the kids and gave each of them a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. Then he gave Pat a blessing. That was one of the first experiences where we all felt the Spirit. It was powerful. The next day, Jesse’s fever broke. As soon as he was released from the hospital, we started attending church.
In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.
Living the gospel of Jesus Christ as members of His Church has strengthened our marriage. It has made me a better mom. It has given our kids a foundation they never would have had. We’re confident about their futures, now that they have the Church in their lives.
I’m so grateful for everything that has happened and for all the lessons I’ve learned. I think it was important for me to go through a lot of stuff, a lot of mental anguish. I needed to be humbled, feel desperate for God’s help and love and forgiveness, and forgive myself of wrongdoings earlier in my life.
Jesse completed chemotherapy and his last round of steroids in March 2019. We would be devastated if his cancer returned, but now we have an eternal perspective. Now we’re sealed as a family. I can’t imagine ever not having the Church as my go-to for everything. The gospel has changed us forever.
Whatever happens, it’s going to be OK. We’re not afraid anymore. Jesse’s illness led to the best thing that ever happened to us. It brought us to the Savior’s Church.

“Meaningful study and preparatory work experience were always at the top of my father’s recommended priorities. He appreciated that extracurricular activities like debate and student government might have a direct connection with some of my important goals. He was less certain about the extensive time I spent participating in football, basketball, baseball, and track. …
“… Our high school football coach informed me that the Stanford football coach wanted to have lunch with Merlin Olsen and me. Those of you who are younger may not know Merlin. He was an incredible all-American tackle on the Logan High School football team where I played quarterback and safety and returned kickoffs and punts. … Merlin was ultimately the third overall pick in the National Football League draft and played in an amazing 14 consecutive Pro Bowls. He was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1982.
“The lunch with the Stanford coach was at the Bluebird restaurant in Logan, Utah. After we shook hands, he never once made eye contact with me. He talked directly to Merlin but ignored me. At the end of the lunch, for the first time, he turned toward me, but he could not remember my name. He then informed Merlin, ‘If you choose Stanford and want to bring your friend with you, he has good enough grades and it could probably be arranged.’ This experience confirmed for me that I should follow my dad’s wise counsel. …
“My intent is not to discourage participation in sports. … When used wisely, they enrich our lives. …
“Our daily conduct and choices should be consistent with our goals.”