Gospel Story Finder

First and foremost, we must recognize we have become natural in some facet of our lives. It is easier said than done as the natural man himself is a self-deception, meaning we feel justified being in our natural man state. Our complaints appear legitimate to us. Let me introduce a recently married couple, Chuck and Savannah, to you. This couple does not exist, but is a composite of dozens of young people who seek help with their relationships. Savannah is often angry at her husband and holds him responsible for hurting her feelings. From her vantage point, it seems completely reasonable to blame him for her unhappiness. In response, she typically shuts him out. Then, Chuck too gets annoyed and openly puts the blame back on Savannah for making his life difficult. "Could this be the dark side of marriage no one warned us about?" They both wondered. In a sense, yes, because at that point, their marriage was dominated by two young and strong egos jousting, colliding and colluding with each other. A pattern of relationship defeat constitutes blatant signals that the natural man is in charge, and charging onto the battlefield. With help and humble prayer, Chuck and Savannah began looking inside themselves, something that is unnatural to the reactionary natural man. To their surprise, they each realized their animosity and hostility were only reflections of their own unresolved issues, unmet needs, and personal buried insecurities. They immediately began working on what was amiss in them and needed healing. Eventually, realizing their own and each other's humanness, their blaming stopped all together. Forgiveness budded, then blossomed and so did their love for one another.

I once asked Dad if I would see an angel. He said that he didn’t know, but he hoped so. “They’re all around us, you know.”
Well, I saw one last Sunday, I think.
Before I tell you about it, though, I need to explain something. Sometimes Sundays are hard for me. I don’t understand much of what happens in sacrament meetings, and since my feet don’t touch the floor, my legs hurt from hanging over the bench. I think that parents ought to sit on giant chairs every week, dangling their legs above the ground while listening to someone speaking in a foreign language, so that they understand what it’s like.
Last Sunday was hard. Sacrament meeting had seemed extra long, and the baby behind us cried a lot. By the time I got to Sharing Time, I just wanted to go home to my pet caterpillar, Zipper. Jimmy Pasko and Fred Grey didn’t help, either. They kept talking to me about the movie they had seen on Saturday. It sounded a lot more interesting than Sharing Time.
I kept moving around on my chair, trying to get my legs to quit hurting. Finally I leaned my chair back against the wall and stretched my arms. It was an accident, but I hit the light switch, and all the lights turned off. A lot of the kids laughed. I quickly turned them back on. Then, for some reason, I flipped them off again—but that time it was on purpose.
That’s when the angel came,
I didn’t think she was an angel at first. She looked more like an upset Sister Eisen of the Primary presidency. She came from the front of the room, staring at me with wide blue eyes. She looked like Mom does when she has a headache and I’m pestering her.
Sister Eisen bent down and whispered, “Dan, let’s go outside for a moment.”
I thought that she would talk to me about being reverent and threaten to get my parents if I didn’t behave. But instead, after we left the room, she calmly asked, “Dan, how are you doing?”
I didn’t feel safe, so I shrugged my shoulders.
“Having a hard time today?” she asked then, still calm.
Feeling safer, I said, “I hate it in there. Sometimes I just hate Primary.” After I said it, I thought I had made a mistake. I was sure that she would talk to me about my attitude.
But she surprised me. She said, “Tell me why you hate it.”
I thought for a moment, then decided to tell her the complete truth. “My legs hurt from dangling over the seat in sacrament meeting, I didn’t understand what the speakers said, my chair is hard, it’s hot and noisy in the Primary room, I’m tired of sitting, Jimmy and Fred keep talking to me, and I wish I were somewhere else.”
Then she said, half smiling, “I know. Sometimes I wish that I were somewhere else too. So, what do you need to do, Dan?”
“I just need to walk around.”
“Do you need a drink?”
I thought for a second, then said, “No, not now. Just a walk.”
“How far?”
“Just to the end of the hall.”
She said, “OK. May I walk with you?”
“Sure,” I said. We started walking, but I stopped. I looked at her and said, “Sometimes you hate it here too?”
“Well,” she answered, “let’s say that sometimes I have a hard time being here.”
“Then why are you here? You’re a grown-up. No one makes you come.”
“Because,” she said, “it’s OK to do something we don’t like, especially when we know that it’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a moment. “Dan, do you remember what happened at the end of Jesus’ life?”
“You mean when they nailed Him on the cross?”
“Yes. And even before that do you remember when He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and it was so painful that He bled from every pore?”
I told her I remembered that and also that they whipped Him and made fun of Him.
She then said, “You know, I don’t think that He liked doing any of those things. But He did it because He loved us and He knew that it was right. Did you know that He even asked Heavenly Father if there wasn’t another way?”
She paused, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So I figure that if He didn’t like doing hard things that were right, it’s OK if I don’t like doing hard things that are right. And it’s OK if you don’t like doing hard things, like being reverent in Sharing Time when you’re hot and tired.”
I noticed as she was talking that she kept putting her fingers on the side of her head. So I asked, “Is it hard for you today?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have a bad headache.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling very different than I had ever felt about Primary. I looked at Sister Eisen and said, “I don’t think I need to walk any farther. I can go back in now.”
She told me that she was glad, and we returned. Before we went in, she said, “You know, Dan, I really like you.”
I told her that most people did after they knew me.
She went to the front of the Primary room, and I sat down in my chair. After she sat down, she looked at me and smiled. Then she touched her fingers to both sides of her head, like Mom does when she has a headache, and winked.
Although my chair still felt hard, the room was still too hot, and Jimmy and Fred still kept trying to talk to me, I didn’t mind so much. I wondered as I watched Sister Eisen if Dad had been talking about her when he said that angels are all around us. I think I’ll tell him that I saw one last Sunday—and that she had a headache.

Let me conclude with this personal story to illustrate this final point.
I have a four-year-old granddaughter whose favorite activity is riding her bike, which still has her training wheels on it. Sometimes after work and on weekends, she and I will ride our bike throughout the community. We have traveled on our bikes to the shopping center, to the beach and throughout the streets of our community. Often we would spend hours on the bike and would return home when we were either hungry or it became dark. One day on our bike ride, I decided to bring her to this campus. This was her first trip on her bike to this campus. While riding, we stopped in the Little Circle and she turned to me and asked, “Tutuman whose school is this?” I was surprised that someone so young and who is only in pre-school would recognize that this represented an institution of learning. I replied with a simple answer that this was a school for big people to which she responded again with a child like curiosity, “so who goes to this school?” I thought for a moment then replied, “Well, your Tutuman and your Tutulady had gone here. And then I quickly remembered that there were others in our family as well. So I continued with great pride and gratitude, “Your mom came to this school, and all of your aunties. Your great grandparents also attended this school (that was when it was known as Church College of Hawaii). I then said to her, “Perhaps someday you and your sisters will come to this school.” Feeling satisfied with my answer and having no further questions, we hopped on our bikes and continued our ride.
I have often reflected on that day in the little circle with my granddaughter and our conversation. I was overcome with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and appreciation for the Lord’s direction in my life and for his influence upon my family and our special relationship to this University. I was a beneficiary of the passage, “behold, all things have been done in wisdom of him who knoweth all things” (2 Nephi 2:24).
The Lord knew what was best for my family and me. He had an eternal perspective, I had a limited view. I thought I was getting a college degree, which I did; but in addition to that he gave me a valuable treasure trove of life lessons learned that have helped me become whom I am today. From his eternal perspective, he always knows what is best. Of these things I know and testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Martin Harris. When the body of the Saints went west, Martin Harris remained in Ohio and continued his relationship with members of the unstable Kirtland branch. He was affiliated with several off shoots of the church but he was never satisfied with these counterfeits to the true gospel. He was rebaptized in 1842 by Nauvoo missionaries. Martin always contended that the church left him when the body of the saints departed from Ohio, and his second wife left him and immigrated to Utah. Prior to Martin’s own immigration to Utah in the last years of his life, missionaries and other members traveling east would stop in to see the aging Book of Mormon witness in Ohio. David B. Dille traveling to England stopped by to visit the ailing and aged Martin in the 72nd year of his life. He relates that when Martin bore his testimony it seemed to reinvigorate his weak frame. He then insisted on getting dressed and spending the rest of the day recounting the wonders of the restoration. Elder Dille stated the missionary spirit was very strong in BrotherHarris.

Martin proclaimed during their meeting, “Just let me go with you to England. You do the preaching, and I will bear testimony of the Book of Mormon, and we will convert all of England.”...

Sometimes our prayers are an urgent plea for help. I remember one such prayer I offered when my then three-year-old son was missing. He had been playing with the other children in our yard. I had taken my eyes off of him only momentarily to check on the baby. But suddenly he was gone.

Immediately I offered a desperate prayer for help. The thought came into my mind that he was at the swimming pool of an apartment complex about three blocks away.

Now he had never been to that pool. He had never even been to the apartments. The pool was enclosed in a building and was kept locked at all times. He didn’t even know that it was there. But the feeling was strong.

Running, I called to my 10-year-old son, who was on his bike, to go to the swimming pool as quickly as he could. When he got there he found his little brother and another little boy of the same age who had known about the pool just beginning to wade into the shallow end of the pool. They had all their clothes and shoes on—and even though the door had been open, there was no one else in the area.

Some prayers are intense, and we need answers right now! Thankfully not all prayers are like that. If we go before the Lord in prayer on a consistent basis, He will be there when we urgently need Him.

Several months ago, a stake president and I visited a sister in his stake and her young adult son. After years away from the Church, wandering difficult and unfriendly paths, she had returned. During our visit, we asked her why she had come back.

“I had made a mess of my life,” she said, “and I knew where I needed to be.”

I then asked her what she had learned in her journey.

With some emotion, she shared that she had learned that she needed to attend church long enough to break the habit of not coming and that she needed to stay until it was where she wanted to be. Her return was not easy, but as she exercised faith in the Father’s plan, she felt the Spirit return.

And then she added, “I have learned for myself that God is good and that His ways are better than mine.”

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she and her students had just crossed. The students were from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah. They were a variety of ages and sizes; some students were even older than she was. She was glad to see the older ones helping the younger ones along the tracks. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride.
Annie felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.
“Do we really get to walk through the tunnel?” he asked nervously.
Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They said no trains are scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening of the mountain tunnel ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie, and there are no lights inside. But on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”
Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”
Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Go slowly,” Annie said. Her voice echoed in the tunnel. “Stay on the tracks and hold hands so you don’t fall.”
At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew quiet as they concentrated on keeping their footing. Their footsteps grated on the gravel as they guided each other over the railroad ties.
Annie knew they were about halfway through the tunnel when she saw a small circle of light in the darkness ahead. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “Look at the light.”
As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise behind them, and then a sound that terrified them—a train whistle.
“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear?”
Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming very fast toward the bridge they had just crossed!
Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Should we run?”
The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.
“No!” Annie commanded. The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say you can. Now, go!”
She had to shout the last word over the sound of the approaching train. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack, and the smoke almost suffocated them. The train seemed to go on forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child she was holding, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.
When the train was finally gone, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and helping her students, who were also rushing to get out of the dark.
Once outside the tunnel, one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”
Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “He’s still lying facedown by the wall.”
Annie heard another boy comforting him. “It’s OK, Hughie. The train is gone. You can get up now.”
Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say I could?”
Annie hurried over and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said with tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”
Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. She silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped she would always live worthy of that trust.
Annie also knew her trust in Heavenly Father had been rewarded. Her prayer had been answered when she told the children what they needed to do to be safe. They were spared because they immediately obeyed those instructions. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson Hughie, the other students, and their teacher never forgot.

I wonder how many of you young men and men who are a little older have heard the story of the man in the brown leather jacket. A famous surgeon received a phone call one night from a doctor friend who said he had a young child on the operating table and needed the surgeon’s help in order to save the child. It was a long drive across town to the hospital and the surgeon drove as fast as he could with safety. As he pulled up to a stop sign, a man wearing a brown leather jacket opened the door and slid in beside him with his hand in his pocket as though he had a gun. The man was excited, demanded the surgeon’s car, and obviously was in no mood to discuss it. The surgeon stood helplessly on the highway as the man in the brown leather jacket sped away in his car.
By the time the surgeon finally arrived at the hospital, it was too late. The child had died only moments before. The other doctor asked the surgeon to come with him to meet the child’s father in the hope that together they might offer him words of comfort. As they entered the waiting room, the father came forward—he was the man in the brown leather jacket.

I had a really rough time when I didn’t have as strong a testimony as I wanted to. I was scared that I would fall away from the Church, and it sent me into a pattern where I did not want to come to church. However, at a baptism, somebody bore their testimony that they had followed the path that Church leaders and their parents had set out for them, and they eventually gained a testimony of their own. This helped me a lot, and now I love to go to church.
Kaden W., age, Utah, USA

Sister Paris said that just a couple of weeks before the hurricane, she had attended training workshops held by the Church in collaboration with the National Disaster Committee and the Red Cross. They were reminded to store water, food, and medicine and secure important documents in a safe place. Because she was prepared, she and her family had the necessary supplies to sustain themselves and also help others around them. She said, “Because of the teaching of the Church, I was prepared. My family was not hungry or without basic needs. I am grateful I had attended the workshop and also grateful my life was spared so that I could reach out to those in need, as my Savior would.”
When asked what she would do differently if ever faced with a disaster of this magnitude again, she said, “This was my first time experiencing anything like this, and I never expected to see such destruction. The most important lesson I learned from Hurricane Beryl is the importance of self-reliance. I will increase my food and water storage. My emergency supplies will be better organized. I will secure my home and seek safe shelter for my family. I will also reach out to others to make sure they are prepared.”

I was getting to know my new bishop when he said, “You said everything is fine, but something seems wrong.”
I explained that I was constantly behind in my coursework. I was depressed, lonely, and struggling with social anxiety.
“You are too hard on yourself,” he said. He taught me about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s patience and mercy. He also suggested that I talk to my parents and consider the possibility of therapy.
I started seeing a therapist. It didn’t solve everything at once. But because of my loving bishop, I got the help I needed.
Brenna H., Utah, USA

We had a powerful experience at the beginning of our mission. We were visiting in Samoa and met Brett Macdonald, who was the Country Director at the time. He has a strong bond with Samoa and was fascinated with the early history of the Church in that country. He had researched and found interesting information. He shared with us stories about the early missionaries and how so many suffered from disease and hardship. He took us to a cemetery where these good missionaries were buried.

As we always do each week, we wrote our journal entry, including this information, and sent it to our children and a few close friends. We received a phone call very soon after from our dear friend Greg Lambert. He said, my mother's great uncle went to Samoa on a mission in the early 1900's. He died there and no one ever really knew what happened to him. If you ever run across any information about this, would you let me know. His name was Judson Tomlinson.

We wrote to Brett and asked if he had ever heard of this young missionary. Well, as a matter of fact he had. Judson Tomlinson had become ill and they took him to the mission home. The mission president and his wife cared for him and nursed him. Elder Tomlinson suffered terribly and died in the loving care of his good mission president. He was buried in the Fagali'i Cemetery.

The next time we were in Samoa, we visited that Cemetery and took a picture of Judson Tomlinson's grave. We sent it to Greg Lambert. After all these years - 106 years, Elder Monson and I were the ones to bring closure to that family. It was our great blessing to be the ones to close that gap.

I still wonder about that experience. How did that happen? One hundred years later - what if Brett hadn't told us those stories, what if we hadn't written about it in our journal, what if we hadn't sent the journal to Greg? What if another couple had been called instead of us? It's really pretty amazing, don't you think?

Another lesson was learned from President Kimball as we visited a prison together.
One day a few years ago President Kimball said, “Marvin, I’d like you to take me to visit the Utah State Prison.” He remembered that when I was in charge of the Social Services programs for the Church I had had the responsibility for prisoners.
I said, “President Kimball, I don’t want you to go to the prison. I am afraid for your safety. There are some men confined there who would do anything to attract attention by embarrassing, injuring, or insulting you. I just don’t want you to go.”
That was once when I felt I couldn’t grant his request. He took my advice, and we didn’t go.
However, about two months later, D. Arthur Haycock, President Kimball’s personal secretary, phoned me and said, “Elder Ashton, President Kimball wants you to go to the Utah State Prison with him.” The next day we went. My delaying tactic had lasted only a few weeks.
I called Warden Morris and said, “May we come and visit you? We do not want anyone to know of our visit. Could we just meet in your office and not go through the minimum, medium, or maximum security places? Perhaps you could invite two inmates with whom President Kimball could visit in your office. Later we could look around the grounds and talk with others.” He agreeably made the arrangements.
We traveled to the institution, where about a thousand people are incarcerated. Soon into the warden’s office came two prisoners. I was impressed with how hard the convicts looked—how mean, how sullen. After they were introduced and sat down, I broke the silence by saying to President Kimball, “Would you like to say a few words to these two men?”
He said, “Yes.”
They both looked steadily down at the floor. President Kimball waited, and finally when one raised his head up a little, President Kimball looked directly into his eyes.
Let me just pause for a minute and set the stage. One prisoner had been convicted for murder and the other for manslaughter. Here is a prophet. Here were two hardened criminals. What do you say? What do you do? Do you say, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves? What a waste for you to be in such a place as this”? Those are things that might cross your mind and mine.
As I mentioned, as President Kimball caught the eye of one of them, he looked at him with a penetrating stare and said, “Tell me about your mother.”
This inmate looked up and told him about his mother. Tears came to his eyes as he talked in detail about his mother.
When that was over, President Kimball looked at the other one, who was now paying strict attention. He said, “Young man, tell me what your father does for a living.”
The prisoner said, “I do not know where my father is. I never hear from him.” And he went on and on talking openly about his family.
I won’t tell you the details, but what a lesson in counseling, interviewing, and kindness was being taught by this great prophet. I learned more about interviewing in those fifteen minutes than in any similar period in my life. No condemnation. No judging. Only displaying a real interest in the person and his circumstances.
Before our interview was over, somehow the press found out that President Kimball was there. They were at the door and wanted to get into the warden’s office for an interview and a picture. I remember one of the inmates said, “Mr. Kimball, could I have my picture taken with you?”
President Kimball responded with “Why don’t I stand between the two of you, and we will take all three of us at once.”
I did not feel very comfortable with President Kimball standing between those two men in this setting. I had the responsibility for his safety. I had tried to talk him out of it. But he is a disciple of Christ and holds on to the words of God: “I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: … Naked, and ye clothed me: … I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matt. 25:35–36.)
After the pictures were taken, President Kimball looked at one prisoner and then at the other and said, “Thank you for letting me have my picture taken with you.” Is there any doubt we love him? He loves everyone. He teaches us the real meaning of Matthew 22:37–40:
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
“On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

As the two sisters reminisce about experiences they are having as missionaries, it is obvious that they are being richly blessed by the Lord in their efforts. “When I went to my first city as a new missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás, “my companion and I looked in our planners and there was nothing scheduled. But we went out and worked hard. I learned that when there’s an empty day in our planners we can say, ‘No problem; we’re going to teach three or four discussions.’ I’ve learned that if we ask with real faith and real intent, the Lord will help us with it, as long as it’s according to his will.”

When Lindo and Annabelle decided to get married, he was making enough to support only himself. At first her parents, also members of the Church, were hesitant to permit the marriage, he says. “But I promised them that we would do our best to obey the commandments and that the Lord would bless us. They decided to trust me.”

Annabelle had a good job at a medical center. “But the prophet had said that, if possible, the mother should not work outside the home,” he says. “We trusted the counsel of our leaders for her not to work.” They were blessed with a baby boy, Kahivhan—and now Lindo has a good job, and they have a nice apartment.

One day, as I was traveling on a plane to New England, I entered into a conversation with a young stewardess sitting in the seat next to me. Most members of our Church know how to steer a conversation toward the gospel, and, before long, we were talking about religion. She told me that she had recently been converted from her former manner of living and was now “saved.” I congratulated her. Then she added that she was now a “born-again Christian.”
I asked her how she was born again, and she told me that she had accepted Jesus Christ as her personal Savior and now believed in him. I told her how wonderful that was, but explained that acceptance of and belief in Jesus Christ is normally called faith. She said, “But I have changed my former way of thinking and living. I am now on the path to eternal life.” Again I congratulated her and told her that change is normally called repentance. “But,” she said, “I have felt a marvelous spiritual change come over me which has purged all evil from my soul.” I then asked her if this were not a gift from the Holy Ghost. “I suppose it is,” she admitted, “but I mean I’ve had a sanctification experience, not through any work that I or any other person has done for me, but a work of grace whereby Jesus has pardoned my sins and promised me eternal life. I don’t need any formal church organization to accomplish this. A person needs only that wonderful, spiritual experience, or feeling of grace.” She added that she had truly been reborn spiritually. From her words, I knew she did not understand what is meant by being “born again” nor what is termed the second birth.
I have observed that few people who profess to be Christians—even many within The Church of Jesus Christ—really understand some of the most basic principles of the gospel. Today I want to teach you a little about one of these basic principles or what it actually means to be “born again.”
...
I only wish I had been able to teach these principles to that stewardess before our plane landed and we were separated. Perhaps, though, I sowed a seed which will someday sprout and grow when a missionary later on contacts her and has an opportunity to explain the true meaning of being a “born-again Christian.”

A little over a month ago, I received a message from a returned missionary who had served with us. He said: “The last while has been tough. Battling anxiety and depression every day has been weighing me down, and it is very difficult. I feel alone and just miserable. I have been praying for the guidance of our Heavenly Father for peace and comfort in what I can do to battle the hardship. … While I was praying, I felt the prompting of the Spirit tell me that I needed to be paying my tithing in full. … I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I immediately felt the urge to do so. With the desire to do so, I felt the prompting that ‘if you pay your tithing, everything will be OK.’ I am still struggling to find peace, but I do have a testimony in our Savior and that through my obedience, I can feel and find the peace I am looking for in my heart and mind. I have recently decided to come back to the Church and to seek the Spirit in all that I do.”

Now he is doing very well. You also may ask Heavenly Father for peace, but the answer may be different than what you anticipate it will be. As long as you seek to know of the Savior and pray to Heavenly Father, He will give you a customized answer for you.

Not long ago I was talking with my close friend Heather. She confided in me, through a flood of tears, that her parents had decided to get a divorce. She was hurt because she felt that God had abandoned her even though she’d lived a good life.
“Why do bad things happen to good people?” she asked.
I told her my cancer story and how my parents must have spent countless nights on their knees asking Heavenly Father that same question as their seven-year-old daughter lay in the next room with the chemicals from chemotherapy flowing through her body.
I then bore my testimony of trials and how Heavenly Father doesn’t give us trials that He knows we can’t overcome. He knew I could handle cancer. I shared my testimony of Christ—when Jesus was crucified for our sins, Heavenly Father knew Jesus could do it. I told Heather that Heavenly Father doesn’t enjoy watching us suffer. He is with us the entire time, and we can turn to Him for guidance and strength. I testified to Heather that once we overcome our challenge, we can feel His presence stronger than we’ve ever felt before.
Through her tears, Heather thanked me for sharing my feelings with her and told me that she would pray to God when she felt like she couldn’t go on.
I hope I planted a small testimony inside Heather that God is always there, no matter what. I know that Heavenly Father loves each of us and is always by our side during our hard times.

Elder Quentin L. Cook told about a life-changing role a stake Relief Society president had in Tonga. During a stake conference held while Elder Cook was there, the names of sixty-three prospective elders were sustained for ordination to the Melchizedek Priesthood. When Elder Cook asked how this “miracle” had been accomplished, the stake president told him that in a stake council meeting, the stake Relief Society president spoke of many men in their late twenties and early thirties who had not served missions and who were in various stages of activity. She suggested that the council focus on priesthood ordinations and temple ordinances for them as well as for their wives—some of whom were less active or not members.

“As she spoke, the Spirit confirmed to the [stake] president that what she was suggesting was true,” Elder Cook related.

It was decided that the men of the priesthood and the women of the Relief Society would reach out to rescue these men and their wives. . . . Those involved in the rescue focused primarily on preparing them for the priesthood, eternal marriage, and the saving ordinances of the temple. During the next two years, almost all of the 63 men who had been sustained to the Melchizedek Priesthood at the conference I attended were endowed in the temple and had their spouses sealed to them. This account is but one example of how critical our sisters are in the work of salvation. [“LDS Women Are Incredible!” Ensign, May 2011, 20–21]

Q. When did you first become involved in music?
A. My parents always had music around the house, and some of my relatives had been professional musicians. But I started taking legitimate piano lessons when I was seven.
Q. Did you immediately take to it?
A. No! I hated practicing. But taking lessons and practicing was something I was expected to do, with no other options. It turned out to be a smart thing.
Q. When and how did you make the switch from hating to play to loving to play?
A. I think it began when I started getting attention for playing. Aunt Violet would come over, and I’d be asked to play for her, and I enjoyed the attention. What kid doesn’t? Oh, and I started liking it better when I started creating.
Q. How did you start creating?
A. My teacher was great. She would give me a piece by Bach and have me learn it the way he meant it to be played, but then she’d let me improvise. I’d make it a bit jazzier here and there. I guess that was composition in embryo. She’d even let me play it both ways in recitals. That’s when piano started becoming fun.