Gospel Story Finder

The sweet reward of adversity is illustrated in this story. As a young woman of eighteen, a pretty model found her dreams shattered by an automobile accident that confined her to a wheelchair with partially paralyzed legs. Because of the accident she learned to play the piano. Because of the accident she learned to develop a sense of humor and to find that there’s a funny viewpoint to almost every subject. In time her legs regained their strength and she became an actress, gifted with a sense of humor that made her one of the outstanding comediennes of our time. You’ve heard her on the radio. You’ve seen her in motion pictures and particularly on television. You know that Lucille Ball was not stopped by adversity. On the contrary, it was the plus sign that made the difference.

Carl swept back the curtain of his bedroom window and squinted out into the day. This was going to be great! Lots of sun. Lots of snow. And lots and lots of skiing.

Carl slipped out of bed, and his feet hit the floor with a thump. Pulling a pair of wool socks out of his dresser drawer, he imagined the exciting day ahead at a ski hill called Bear Gulch. Funny name, he thought as he slipped the socks over his feet and slid awkwardly across the hardwood floor, pretending to ski.

Whoosh! He could almost feel the snow under his skis, packed firm and cold in some places, fine and bouncy in others. And he loved the smell of the mountain air, cold from snowfall and scented with pine and fir. He loved the way the crisp wind whispered past his ears as he glided down the slope.

Carl’s family did not have a lot of money for things like skiing, and it had taken Carl three weeks of extra chores to earn enough for his ski pass. For three dollars, he could buy an all-day ticket for the rope-tow, a heavy motor-driven rope that pulled skiers to the top of the snowy hill. It seemed like a lot of money, but it sure beat hiking up with his skis.

His mother set a bowl of hot cereal in front of him, and Carl started on it hungrily.

“Are we in a hurry today?” she asked with a smile.

“You know, Mom—today’s the day I go with Joe and Marty to Bear Gulch. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember. What about your morning chores?”

“They’re finished. I worked on them last night so I would be ready.”

“All right, all right, Champ. I’ll pack you a lunch.”

Carl sat down and buckled on his old boots. They were hand-me-downs—an old pair his uncle had worn when he was a boy—but they were oiled up and in pretty good condition. Next, Carl picked up the wooden skis his father made for him and leaned them by the kitchen door. Let’s see, he thought. Hat, yes; mittens, yes. Everything was ready except for checking his money. Carl pulled a small leather pouch out of his pocket and carefully dumped the coins onto the kitchen table. He counted each coin. Three dollars—just enough for one ticket.

At that moment, Carl’s father walked into the room. “Son, did you remember to pay your tithing last Sunday?”

Carl hesitated. A long moment passed. “No,” he said sadly.

“Well,” said his father, “you choose what you want to do.”

Of course, Carl wanted to ski. He sat down at the table and stared at the coins. There weren’t that many of them. Did his father really expect him to pass up this opportunity after waiting and working and saving so long? Did the Lord really need these few meager coins for a tithe? His father had said to choose what he wanted to do. Carl wished it were that simple. It would be easy to do what he wanted to do. Then he thought about what his Heavenly Father might want him to do.

The two red-cheeked faces of Joe and Marty appeared in the front window. They were so close that their breath steamed the pane instantly and their faces were lost in the fog on the glass. Carl walked to the front door and opened it slowly.

“Hi, fellas. I can’t go.”

Joe and Marty exchanged glances. “But don’t you want to go?” asked Marty.

“Sure,” said Carl. “But I also want to do the right thing.”

He returned to the table and with one finger drew three dimes away from the rest of the pile. He stayed home that day and paid his tithing to the bishop the next day.

The following week, the ski resort lowered its ticket price to two dollars and fifty cents.

On the next Saturday morning, the sun was not shining, but the snow was crisp and bright. Carl’s wooden skis and his oiled leather boots were ready to go. His wool cap was pulled down snug over his ears. It was going to be a cold day, but a special excitement warmed him all over because he had done what Heavenly Father wanted him to do. As he handed his money over for the ski ticket, he thought about how glad he was that he had chosen to pay his tithing and how good he felt now, because he had.

In France, military service is obligatory. My 20-year-old younger brother, Loïc, decided to go to reserve officers’ school to become a lieutenant. At the end of his schooling, there was a swearing-in ceremony for new officers. Each in turn is to recite the regimental slogan. Then he is to drink a glass of champagne containing a rose—consuming both. This tradition started with Napoléon Bonaparte, and no officer since then had failed to participate.
Loïc told the colonel that his religious principles did not allow him to drink alcohol. An icy silence followed Loïc’s request for an exemption. The colonel stood up. Instead of forcing Loïc to drink the champagne, he congratulated him for keeping his principles despite the pressure, saying he was proud to welcome this man of integrity into his regiment. They replaced the champagne, and Loïc participated in the swearing-in ceremony.
Pierre Anthian, France

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.

“We walked the last half of the journey to Atexcac; it usually took an hour and a half when we were feeling well and two or more when we weren’t. On our arrival the people usually asked if we were tired. One Sunday they asked, and we said, ‘Not really,’ and so in sacrament meeting they gave talks on the body being a temple, and how the Word of Wisdom helped us from being tired. We made sure we weren’t tired from then on.”
Shirl Lee RoperCrownpoint, New Mexico

Now I have to tell you a little about Josh so you get a feel for his personality. He is our oldest son, and his temperament is fairly easy-going. He is somewhat introverted. He doesn't like a lot of fuss or attention, and he's pretty independent. Unlike some of our other children, he didn't require much discipline growing up.

I remember when he was around age three, that I could go play basketball and I could sit him on the stage at the church house with some treats, and he could sit there eating his snacks quietly for more than an hour as he watched me play. (That's pretty remarkable). That's just Josh. None of our other children could have done that, but he was blessed with a calm demeanor. His temperament would assist him in enduring the great trials that were ahead for him.

When my son was five years old he sort of trotted into the room one day and very casually said, "Dad, can you see out of this eye the same way you see out of the other eye?" Somewhat concerned, we had him cover his eye and did a little test on his sight. It was apparent that he could not see the same out of both eyes. So, we thought he might need glasses, and took him to an ophthalmologist that same week. As the doctor shined a light in Josh's eye, to examine the optic nerve, I will never forget the look of alarm on the doctor's face. He wouldn't tell us what was wrong, but he immediately scheduled us for an appointment at Primary Children's Hospital in Salt Lake City. (Not a good sign, right?).

Shortly thereafter Josh was diagnosed as having a large tumor directly behind his eyes, that was pressing on his optic nerve, and damaging his vision in one eye. Surgery was scheduled immediately. I'll always remember him being wheeled into the surgery room in a little car, with an angel nurse by his side. To us it was like our lamb was going to the slaughter. And, if you saw him afterward, you would think that he had gone to the slaughter.

Normally they would go through the nasal cavity to access this type of tumor, but because of his age, they had to cut an incision from ear to ear, and go in through his skull. In this picture you can see Josh shortly after he came out of surgery. We prayed hard, and hoped for the best. Within a day after surgery his eyes were completely swollen shut and everything was dark. He was all alone that first night after surgery, as we were not allowed in the room.

That was painfully difficult for all of us. While the surgery was successful in removing the tumor, in the process they destroyed his pituitary gland--the body's master gland. Josh would need to have all his hormones synthetically replaced for the rest of his life.

He received many blessings during this time, and afterward, including blessings that discussed his healing. That healing did not come in the form we expected. We, of course, wanted him to be healed to the extent that he would not be dependent on any more medicine. But instead, the blessing was that he responded miraculously well to all of the medicines he was required to take. It was also a miracle that all of his hormones could be synthetically replaced. 30 years earlier that would not have been possible.

Years passed. By the time he was in high school he was 6' 3" tall. We had one doctor tell us he had never seen someone as tall as Josh, who was entirely dependent on growth hormone from such a young age. We were grateful for that blessing. Josh learned to endure the health challenges that were an everyday part of his life, and our family gradually learned to adjust to his medical routines.

Billy was sad—almost sad enough to cry.
“What’s the matter, Billy?” asked Grandma. “Why are you so sad?”
“Because tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I don’t have a present to give Mommy,” Billy replied.
“Don’t be sad,” said Grandma. “Here’s a lovely card. It says Happy Mother’s Day and it has a picture of a beautiful bouquet of violets. Print your name inside, and that will make Mommy happy.”
Billy printed his name in his very best printing. But he still felt sad. He loved Mommy so much that he wanted to give her a very special present.
Grandma could see Billy was still unhappy. She thought and thought, but she couldn’t think of a single thing that Billy could give his mother.
While Grandma was thinking, Billy had an idea. “I know what I can give her!” he cried.
“What?” asked Grandma.
“A bouquet of violets!” Billy said. “Just like the one that’s on the card!”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Grandma agreed. “I’ll help you pick some violets.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” said Billy, “but I’d like to pick the violets all by myself.”
“All right, Billy,” said Grandma. “But if you decide you need help, just call me.”
Skippity-skop went Billy’s happy feet out the door, down the steps, and right to the spot in the garden where the violets grew. He stooped down and began to pick.
He picked and picked.
He picked violets from here,
Violets from there—
From here,
From there,
From everywhere!
Billy began to get a little tired. I’ve picked enough, he thought.
But when he looked at his bouquet, he decided, This is only a little bouquet. I want a big bouquet for Mommy!
So Billy began to pick violets again.
He picked and picked.
He picked violets from here,
Violets from there—
From here,
From there,
From everywhere!
Billy’s back began to ache and his knees began to hurt. “I’ve picked enough,” he said to himself.
But then Billy looked at his bouquet of violets. This is only a middle-sized bouquet, he thought. I want a big bouquet of violets for Mommy!
So Billy began to pick again.
He picked and picked.
He picked violets from here,
Violets from there—
From here,
From there,
From everywhere!
Oh, thought Billy, I’m really tired and my back hurts. I think I’ve picked enough!
When Billy looked at his bouquet of violets, he was very happy. “Now I have a big bouquet!” he exclaimed. “A beautiful big bouquet of violets for Mommy!”
Billy forgot he was tired. Skippity-skop went his happy feet up the path, up the steps, and right into the house.
“See my big bouquet,” Billy said to Grandma. “Will you please tie it with a big ribbon, just like the bouquet on the card?”
“Of course!” Grandma answered.
As Grandma tied a pretty ribbon around the violet stems, she said, “This is a beautiful big bouquet, Billy. Mommy will like it very much!”
And Mommy did! When Billy gave his big bouquet of violets to Mommy, she gave him a hug and a squeeze and a kiss. She said it was the most beautiful bouquet of violets she had ever seen!

Q: The psychology of the other player intrigues me. Do you study them and then change your style for different players?
Freed: Oh, yes. You always want to find your opponent’s weaknesses and play to them. I’ll admit that there’s a certain amount of gamesmanship in tennis. For instance, once I was playing a champion, a fine player. I knew only one thing about him: he was a stereotype player who never varied his style. So when he was serving to me, I would move around and leave a great big hole on my forehand or my backhand. Then just as he’d start to wind up, I’d jump over and close the hole. He didn’t like that; it got on his nerves and hurt his game, and I beat him. I think I beat him because I was a little more flexible. This is just part of tennis. If I play with an opponent who has a weak backhand, I hit everything I can to his backhand.

Ten days ago, I had a beautiful and touching experience in the Salt Lake Temple, the building immediately to the east of this tabernacle. There in that holy sanctuary I had the privilege of sealing in marriage, in two separate but consecutive ceremonies, two beautiful young women who are twins, each to a handsome and able young man of her choice. That evening, a double wedding reception was held where hundreds of friends came to express their love and good wishes.
Mothers often shed tears at a wedding ceremony. Sisters also, and sometimes fathers. Seldom do grandparents show any emotion. But these beautiful girls were my own granddaughters, and I must confess that this old grandfather choked up and had a difficult time. I don’t understand why. Certainly it was a happy occasion, a fulfillment of dreams and prayers. Perhaps my tears were really an expression of joy and of gratitude to God for these lovely brides and their handsome young husbands. In sacred promises, they pledged their love and loyalty one to another for time and all eternity.

I close with the example of a new friend, someone we met a few weeks ago while visiting the Zambia Lusaka Mission.
Elder Joseph Ssengooba is from Uganda. His father died when he was seven. At age nine, with his mother and relatives unable to care for him, he was on his own. At age 12, he met the missionaries and was baptized.
Joseph told me of his first day at church: “After sacrament meeting, I thought it was time to go home, but the missionaries introduced me to Joshua Walusimbi. Joshua told me that he was going to be my friend, and he handed me a Children’s Songbook so I wouldn’t have to go into Primary empty-handed. In Primary, Joshua put an extra chair right next to his. The Primary president invited me to the front and asked the whole Primary to sing for me ‘I Am a Child of God.’ I felt very special.”
The branch president took Joseph to the Pierre Mungoza family, and that became his home for the next four years.
Eight years later when Elder Joseph Ssengooba began his mission, to his great surprise his trainer was Elder Joshua Walusimbi, the boy who had made him feel so welcome on his first day in Primary. And his mission president? He is President Leif Erickson, the little boy who stayed away from Primary because he was terrified about giving a talk. God loves His children.

I may not have met him physically, but spiritually I feel I have. Whenever I read his inspired messages, I imagine him talking to me one-to-one with his hand on my shoulder. A First Presidency Message entitled “Life’s Obligations” (see Ensign, Feb. 1999, 2) helped me understand that although income is important, I do not need to be a multimillionaire to be happy. This message has brought me inner peace and satisfaction.
Encouraged also by the prophet’s counsel in that same message not to waste the great days of preparation for my future work, I decided to enroll in a computer engineering training college for one year. I was undertaking my one year of National Youth Service in Nigeria and resolved to use my time judiciously. At the end of the program, I knew how to repair and install computer systems. Now my first successful appointment after my year of service is based on my added knowledge of computer systems.

I have recently been given the challenge of teaching the teenagers in combined courses 17 and 18 in the Sunday School. The other day as I walked past my home business office, my eyes were drawn like a magnet to the January-February 1982 New Era atop my desk. I let myself be interrupted from what I was doing that Saturday morning and settled myself in a comfortable chair with the New Era.
Perhaps it’s a good thing that Feedback appears in the very front of this choice, choice magazine. I carefully read the contents of each letter. As my mind dwelled on the contents of Sister Lesley Burton’s letter, the words I was intended to find sprang from the printed page: “How important it is to prepare ourselves spiritually for the tests of life.” My theme sign for weekly use with my Sunday School class throughout the year will read “Prepare yourself spiritually for the tests of life.”
When I read Sister Burton’s words, I knew through the promptings of the Holy Ghost that I had discovered just what I needed for my teaching efforts. Needless to say, I shall make time to continue reading all the contents of this New Era in the very near future.
Sue H. BaileyOrangewood, California

I stood with my face pressed against the window, trying to see the shed next to our house. For three days, the whirling, howling wind had threatened to blow our house down. We were in the middle of a big blizzard. My family was living in Wisdom, Montana, where Dad was working on a large cattle ranch. He said I was his best cowhand, aside from Mom, of course.
“Danny, it’s time to go feed the cows,” Mom called as she walked into the room carrying my two-year-old sister Brenda. My other sister, June, trailed behind.
We bundled up in our coats, hats, and gloves, and climbed into the red pickup. “We should have a truck with four-wheel-drive in these conditions,” Dad said, shaking his head. Mom looked at Dad with concern. But she knew that the cattle must be fed, even in a fierce storm like this.
The raging wind yanked the truck from side to side as we drove to the haystack. A frozen snowdrift completely covered the fence. It was frozen so hard that the cows could walk right over it and eat the hay.
When Dad opened the truck door and jumped out, a cold blast of wind made us huddle in our coats. It took Dad a long time to dig the tractor out of the snow and load it with hay. It took even longer to move the hay to where the cows could eat it. The wind kept blowing it away.
Finally the cattle were fed, and we headed for home. The wind had picked up speed and was blowing snow from the open fields all around us, surrounding us with white. Snow had also blown across the road, creating huge snowdrifts. Dad had to speed up before each snowdrift. Without a running start, the truck couldn’t make it through them. It seemed like it took forever just to go a short distance.
About the time Mom said we were a mile from home, we hit a drift that stopped us in our tracks. Dad and Mom worked for some time to dig us out, but we stayed stuck. They climbed back into the truck and Dad thought for a moment.
“Danny,” he said, “you and I will walk to the house and come back for Mom and the girls on the snowmobiles.”
“Good idea, Dad!” I exclaimed. Excitement welled up inside me. I loved riding the snowmobiles! I slid out of the truck and walked in Dad’s footprints through the snowdrifts toward home. Even though the wind threatened to knock me down, and the snow blowing against my face felt like bundles of knives skinning me, I still felt like I was having a great adventure with Dad.
Anticipation kept my feet going until we arrived at the shed with the snowmobiles. I looked up at Dad. “Can I ride up over the hill?” I asked. “I’ll stay alongside the road and then go on down to the truck.”
“No, Son. Please stay on the road,” Dad said without hesitation. He turned and looked right at me. “Blizzards are very dangerous, Danny. You need to stay on the road and go straight to the truck. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
He started a snowmobile for me. “Can I go now?” I asked.
“OK, but remember to stay on the road. It will guide you back to the truck.”
I climbed on the snowmobile and headed out. “I’ll go over the hill. It will be faster. I can beat Dad back to the truck,” I thought once I was out of Dad’s sight. I quickly turned and drove up the hill. The wind swirled around me and I was having trouble seeing very far ahead. But I was having fun. Surely I could beat Dad to the truck.
I rode and rode in what I thought was the right direction. No truck. I rode further. Still no truck. Fear started to creep up inside me. “I should be to the truck by now.” I came to a large ravine, stopped, and looked around, trying to recognize my surroundings.
“Where am I?” This wasn’t fun anymore. My glorious adventure was gone, and I was freezing! The wind yanked at me. It was so loud I couldn’t think.
I was lost and plain scared. “What can I do?” I remembered Dad’s words and how I had disobeyed him. I closed my eyes tight, trying to hold back the tears. Suddenly I realized I could die in this blizzard!
“Oh please, someone help me.” My words were scattered by the wind just as the hay had been.
Then I felt a warm, tingling feeling spread over me like a blanket. I knew what I needed to do. I quickly climbed off the snowmobile and knelt beside it to offer a simple prayer. “Heavenly Father,” I said, “I’m lost. I’m sorry I disobeyed Dad. Please help me get home.”
As soon as I finished my prayer, a feeling inside me said, “Look up.” I looked up and saw the power lines. This was the way home and an answer to my prayer!
I hopped back on my snowmobile and carefully followed the power lines back to the house. Leaving my snowmobile running, I ran inside to see if Dad had made it back with Mom and the girls. No one was there. I turned and ran back outside, jumped on the snowmobile, and started for the truck, this time following the road. But I only made it a few yards when the snowmobile ran out of gas. I was so cold! I ran back inside and curled up in a sleeping bag to warm up.
Moments later, Dad, Mom, and my sisters arrived home on the other snowmobile.
“Danny!” Mom exclaimed as she rushed in, pulled me to her, and held me tight. “What happened? Why didn’t you make it to the truck?”
I looked up into her eyes and told the truth: I had disobeyed Dad and gotten lost. “Mom, I know Heavenly Father loves me because I made it home safe again. He answered my prayer today.”

Illustration by Dilleen Marsh
“Will you accept this challenge?” the missionaries asked.
The missionaries were focusing on me. After dinner with our family, they left us with a spiritual message and the challenge to read the Book of Mormon and pray to know if it was true. I accepted the challenge without thinking much of it.
I’m an ordinary girl, with an ordinary life, and I pray every night. But I had never actually prayed to find out for myself if the Church is true. I believed it with all my heart, but I had never known that what I believed was true. I thought about this for a while and then committed myself to take the missionaries’ challenge seriously.
On Monday night I read and I prayed, and I didn’t get any kind of confirmation. I began to think, “Be patient, Rachael, the Lord will reveal His answers when it is pleasing to Him.”
This went on for a week. Every night I would end my day by my bedside, where I read and prayed for an answer. By Saturday, I was worn out and could hardly keep my eyes open to read. I was trying so hard to live the gospel and to be an example, yet I was getting no answer.
These feelings began to weigh me down, so I did what I had always been taught. I knelt down and prayed. Nothing happened. So I continued praying, and I poured out my soul to my Heavenly Father. My heart began to ache because I wanted to know if all my efforts were worth it.
With tears streaming down my worried face, I opened up my Book of Mormon to the third chapter of Mosiah and began to read. As I read, the verses quickly caught my weary eyes. I put my name into the scriptures and read aloud, “My [Rachael], I would call your attention, for I have somewhat more to speak unto you. … And he said unto me: Awake, and hear the words which I shall tell thee.” By now my eyes were as big as apples. I was being told to awake and listen to the scriptures. I kept reading as my heart was filled with the Spirit. “For behold, I am come to declare unto you the glad tidings of great joy.
“For the Lord hath heard thy prayers, and hath judged of thy righteousness, and hath sent me to declare unto thee that thou mayest rejoice” (see Mosiah 3:1–4). The Spirit filled my entire room. I knew. I knew without a doubt that this Church was true, for the Lord had heard my prayers.
Some may call it coincidence, and others may call it luck, but I know my Heavenly Father was listening to His daughter here on earth. I know He knows my heart and what I feel. He wants all of us to return to Him. I know this Church is true. The missionaries’ challenge blessed my life.

When I was young, my two older sisters faced some very serious heart challenges. Julie Ann inherited hers at birth. Kimberly's developed later in her childhood. Their conditions were unrelated to each other, but both impacted the heart. Here is a picture of these two angel sisters.
Neither of them won their battles--but what a legacy of love they both left behind. Before long, doctors became concerned that some genetic tendencies may have been passed down to me and my younger sisters.
They felt it would be wise to do some testing on the siblings. I recall being pulled out of school and taken to a children's hospital about an hour's drive away. They conducted a series of extensive and rigorous tests on my heart. I was fascinated with all the equipment and monitors. The burning question on my young boy's mind was, "Doctor, how's my heart?" Fortunately, they found all to be well.

“Josh, what’s the matter? You’ve been muttering to yourself ever since you sat down for breakfast. It’s the first day of summer vacation. You should be jumping for joy.”
I sighed. “Money, Mom. I need a job to earn money.”
She laughed. “How much? Fifty cents?”
“No. Lots. Fifty dollars would be nice.”
“That’s a lot. I can’t give you that much.”
“That’s OK—I want to earn it. It’s really important.”
“But why, honey? What for?”
“Mrs. Emery said that if the class can earn enough money, we can help Jenny Wong. She has to go to Boston for eye tests and a special pair of glasses. They cost a lot, and Jenny really needs them.”
“That’s a super idea, Josh. But what do you think you might do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think of something all week. The whole project’s a secret. We want to surprise Jenny and her mother. Mrs. Wong’s been saving money for a year, Mrs. Emery told us, but still needs a lot more.”
“Is Jenny the girl you read aloud to sometimes?”
“Yes. We take turns. Her mother told the school nurse about these special glasses, and the nurse told Mrs. Emery. The class voted to make it our summer project.”
I went out and sat on the front steps to think. Across the street, Mr. Zelinsky was cutting his lawn. Back and forth he went, changing his lawn from a sea of dandelions to a smooth green carpet.
“These pesky weeds look like gold pieces from there, don’t they, Josh?” he called across to me. “My wife loves them. I hate them, but I’m teaching this bunch a lesson. The only trouble is that they’ll be right back up.”
Gold pieces, I thought idly. Up and down the street every lawn but ours shown brightly with “gold pieces.” My dad digs them out with a forked tool. “It’s the only way to beat a dandelion,” he tells my mother. “It’s tough on my back—but worth it.”
POW! The idea hit me. I scrambled to my feet and raced to my room, fished a big piece of cardboard from under my bed, grabbed a black marker, and began lettering like mad. In minutes it was done:
LION HUNTER WANTS WORK!
No lawn too big or too small
2¢ per lion dug
Call DIGGER JOSH, 555-3996
Now for a test. I carried my poster across the street and showed it to Mr. Zelinsky. “Will people hire me?” I asked. “I can do a good job.”
“Will they!” he snorted. “And I’m first. Josh, you’re hired right now. I want every pesky dandelion in this front lawn dug. Just tell me how many when you’re done.”
That was my start. Later that afternoon I finished—score: 187 dandelions, $3.74, an aching back, and joy in my heart! Zillions of dandelions to dig! All summer to work! I’d get all the other kids to go into business in their neighborhoods.
After a bit of R&R—rest and refreshments—I started out with my sign. By suppertime I’d helped seven classmates make their own signs and begin getting people lined up. Tomorrow I’ll tackle the biggest lawn on our street. It’s good for at least six dollars—if my back holds out.
Bed sure felt good when I tumbled in tonight. I know I’ll dream about dandelions, dollars, and eye glasses. Jenny’ll get her glasses for sure. How can a classful of lion hunters miss?

When I returned home from my mission, life moved fast. I was studying, playing soccer for BYU, enjoying friends and family—but something was missing. On my mission, my prayers had been focused on others and on asking for help to become a more effective disciple. Now here I was at BYU, and my greatest desire was that a water leak would shut down the Testing Center!

I realized that my spiritual desires had dulled somewhat. A few months into the fall semester, I still hadn’t received a calling and felt I needed to be more engaged. So one Sunday I approached my bishop and asked for a calling. Any calling. I just wanted to serve, reignite a spiritual fire, and find a deeper sense of purpose and direction. Soon after, I was called as an assistant ward clerk. I started attending the temple on a more regular basis and looked for more opportunities to share my testimony. I was starting to feel a bit more balanced.

I was learning that to educate and strengthen my righteous desires, I had to combine my own effort and intent with God’s grace. Elder Andersen taught that this process requires “sincerity, real intent, courage, and willpower” with “the added blessing of the gifts and grace that our Heavenly Father” sends when we are magnified by faith in Christ and love of God.37

There’s a boy at school who is teased behind his back and is lonely. I saw him sitting alone one day, so I went to talk with him. I found out that when he was a baby he had seizures and a stroke. The stroke injured his brain and makes certain things harder for him to do. I decided to invite him to my birthday party. His family was excited because he hasn’t been invited to very many parties. He doesn’t smile very often, but he smiled a lot at my party and had a great time!
Jason D., age 11, Arizona

When my family lived in Mesa, Arizona, our one-year-old daughter became ill with viral meningitis. When the doctor diagnosed the illness, he told us that we would know within the next twenty-four hours whether she would live or die. We began to fast and pray for her recovery. She lingered near death for a week, much longer than the doctor had expected in terms of seeing some kind of change.

After that week of struggling, we again fasted, and the ward joined us. When we prayed, fasted, and said to the Lord, “Thy will be done,” a peace as tangible and real as anything we have ever experienced came to our minds. We were not in turmoil, nor were we anxious about the matter. We did not know whether she would live or die, but we were at peace. Happily, she began to recover.

But it was the inspiring words of Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve, given at the Relief Society conference in Salt Lake City in the fall of 1971, that gave me the courage to tell my husband how I felt about him joining the Church. Among other things, Elder Packer said:
“I have often said that a man cannot resist membership if his wife really wants him to have it, and if she knows how to give him encouragement.
“If you have faith enough and desire enough, you will yet have at the head of your home a father and husband who is active and faithful in the Church.
“Some who have long since lost hope have said bitterly, ‘It would take a miracle!’ And so I say, Why not? Why not a miracle! Is there a purpose more worthy than that?
“And I repeat, if your husband doesn’t feel at home going to church, then do everything you can to make him feel at church while he’s at home.
“Sisters, make the gospel seem worthwhile to them, and then let them know that that is your purpose.
“He needs to know, he needs to be told that you care about the gospel and what it means to you.” (“Begin Where You Are—at Home,” International Magazines, July 1972.)
Now an apostle of the Lord had told me to tell my husband what it would mean to me for him to accept the gospel. What a task! In our home the gospel was never mentioned unless my husband started talking about it first. I wept, trying to figure out how I’d ever be able to do it. Then I remembered the scripture, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10). I decided once again to fast and pray and trust in the Lord. It took me until January 1972 to find the courage to speak.
Then, one night, I asked Norman if he felt he could ever accept the gospel. He gave me a firm, but not unkind, no. Taking a deep breath, I told him how much the boys and I loved him, what a fine father and husband he had been; but, I said, he was unable to give me the thing I wanted most of all. Well, I had done it! An apostle of the Lord had told me to do it. Within six months of that night, after thirty-seven years of marriage, Norman was baptized. It was indeed a miracle.
Looking back on the months following that January conversation, I can see that many things happened to bring this about. Some friends from Salt Lake City gave Norman the book, No More Strangers by Hartman and Connie Rector, and challenged Norman to take his place at the head of his family and bear the priesthood. After our younger boy’s missionary farewell, where Norman spoke briefly, Norman’s Sunday School teacher challenged him to be baptized. Steven wrote letters of encouragement and asked his dad to read the Book of Mormon. Douglas also bore testimony to him. Though Steven had left a nonmember father behind in 1972, he returned in 1974 to find his father sitting on the stand as second counselor in the bishopric.