Gospel Story Finder

I’m no dummy—or at least that’s what I thought. I knew that after a mission the next really important thing is marriage. That’s scary—so a year before I returned, I made a list of what I wanted in a wife.
Everyone knows that a couple with both partners completely committed to the gospel is more likely to be happy and stay married, so I planned to look for a girl with a solid foundation in the Church. I named the trait “unshakable gospel stability” and put it number one on my list. Smart, attractive, and talented were on the list too, but the cute stuff is easy. I wasn’t sure how to tell if a girl was unshakable.
Humility aside, I was quite sure of my own unshakability. After all, I’m a fourth-generation Mormon from Manti, Utah. My family is active, and I’m descended from pioneer stock, so I figured my gospel foundation was on bedrock. Generations of tradition are bound to help a person keep close to the Church. With that in mind, I decided the safest thing I could do was find a girl with a background just like mine.
Now don’t get me wrong. I think converts are great. They have enthusiasm—fire, I guess you’d call it. But as a missionary I had worked in little branches of the Church with impressive membership lists and only a few active members. I didn’t want to risk marrying someone with a flame that might go out.
After my mission, I enrolled at BYU and dated a bit. I wasn’t really looking to get married, but I kept my list in my pocket just in case. Then I met Beverly at my family home evening group. What a fireball! She was so excited to be at BYU that she could hardly contain herself. She was smart and cute, too, and so much fun that I volunteered to help her with her Book of Mormon homework.
“So,” I said casually, “where are you from?”
“California,” she replied, looking me straight in the eye. “And yes, I am a convert.”
I winced to hear those two “C” words in the same sentence.
“Have you been a member long?” I asked.
“Not long,” she admitted.
I made a mental note not to get emotionally involved until I was sure about her. But then she started questioning me.
“What callings have you had in the Church?” she wanted to know.
We compared notes. She had taught Primary, been a pianist, conducted the ward choir, directed a ward play, and been on the stake youth council. I had been LDSSA president—I was pretty proud of that because almost everyone in my high school was enrolled in released-time seminary. Bev didn’t seem impressed. There were only ten or fifteen students in her early-morning seminary class, and they took turns being president.
“I got up every morning at 5:30 to go to class,” she told me. I ducked my head and wondered if I would have done that.
By the time general conference came around we were seeing each other nearly every day. It was just as friends, you understand. I didn’t want to get serious. We went to church together every Sunday, but when she invited me to take her to the Tabernacle to see the prophet in person, I was a little reluctant.
“It’s awfully crowded,” I complained. “Why don’t we watch the sessions on television?”
“It’s a promise I made to myself,” she said in her determined way. “I may not be in Utah for very long, and I’m not going to miss seeing general conference in person.”
We went to conference. One thing led to another, and I invited her to drive to Manti to meet my mother.
The Manti Temple is a beautiful white limestone building that stands on a hill so you can see it from one end of the valley to the other. The pageant on the temple grounds is our summer youth program. Everyone has a chance to participate, and loudspeakers broadcast the sound all over town so that anyone who cares to listen soon has the script memorized.
I pointed out the temple as soon as we drove into the valley. Bev caught her breath when she saw it. “Oh,” she said, “it glows. I’d love to feel that influence every day.”
The Manti cemetery is beside the temple hill. I showed Bev the grave of my great-grandfather who helped build the temple.
“This is wonderful,” Bev said.
Bev won my mother over immediately. While they were chatting, I took out my list and read it again. I realized I was getting a little attached and began to panic. Was Beverly unshakable? I was going to have to decide.
“It must have been great to raise your family here where the Church is so strong,” I heard Bev tell my mother. “I wish my family were members.”
After dinner, Mom showed Beverly her collection of genealogy pictures. She stopped at the photo of her Grandmother Hansen and told her how Grandma’s family disowned her when she joined the Church in Denmark.
“We’re very proud of these pioneers,” Mom remarked. “They all made great sacrifices for the gospel.” Then she looked directly at me. “Each of them was a convert to the Church.”
“You know,” I said to Bev as we left town. “One of the things I really love about you is your enthusiasm for the gospel.”
“And I’m impressed with your family’s strong gospel traditions,” she replied. “You ought to be proud of your pioneer ancestors.”
“I am,” I said truthfully. But my thoughts were elsewhere. Unshakability doesn’t come from other people; it’s a personal choice. Being descended from pioneers is good, I decided. But wouldn’t it be great to be married to one?

There are other ways the Lord uses miracles to answer our prayers. Sometimes, for instance, he seems to manipulate our temporal world to our benefit, as one sister related in testimony meeting:
“We knew when we were preparing to send Roger on his mission that we would have to change our lifestyle to afford it. But when we sat down and figured out exactly what our new budget would be—to the penny—we discovered that we wouldn’t have enough even for must items. We worried and prayed about it; we were going to trust the Lord and send Roger anyway, but we didn’t know how we were going to do it.
“Then, the day before Roger left, my husband’s boss called him into his office and said they were giving him a raise effective immediately. He then wrote the amount of the raise on a slip of paper and handed it to my husband. It was the exact amount—to the penny—that it was going to cost to support Roger on his mission.”

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.
As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.
As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.
When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

It had been only a few months since Peter’s father, Dr. Mattias Koteles, a professor at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, had attended an important scientific conference in Austria. On his return, he had told his family an exciting story that had nothing to do with the conference but that he had heard from one of the American doctors. It was about a young boy named Joseph Smith who had been visited by God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ. And it was claimed that the Church that Joseph Smith had organized was God’s true Church.
What if it’s true? Peter had hoped, excitedly. Only a few weeks before, his teacher at school had told the class that there was no God and that the worth of religion was just something that people imagined. While he was listening to his teacher, it had seemed to Peter that a voice in his mind was telling him that his teacher was wrong. That night he had knelt beside his bed and prayed that he would know for sure. Afterward, he had been filled with a warm and happy feeling, and he knew that God lives.
Dr. Koteles had brought back a pamphlet that explained about Joseph Smith, and Peter had read it over and over with growing excitement. He wanted with all his heart to find out more about Joseph Smith and this church. The pamphlet said that an angel had given Joseph some ancient records and that the translation he had made of them with the help of God was published in a book of scriptures called the Book of Mormon. If he could get a copy of this book to read, he would be able to find out if Joseph Smith’s story was true. He thought of the promise that he had read in the pamphlet: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moro. 10:4).
Peter’s mother had listened to Papa with tight lips, and Peter could tell that she was angry. He heard his parents talking that night when they thought that he was asleep. Peter felt ashamed to be listening, but he was anxious to hear more about the Church …
“Mattias, how could you do this, filling Peter’s head with this nonsense? He’s only ten years old. It’s not only useless, but it could be dangerous for him as well as for us. The government is being very understanding right now, but things could change any moment. Remember that we are Hungarians. Such things are discouraged. Have you forgotten the revolution and the foreign tanks in the streets? You must know that this American church would never be approved by the State Office of Church Affairs.”
“Mama, I am a patriotic Hungarian. My father gave his life for Hungary. But above every man’s duty to his country is his duty to God.”
“But, Mattias,” protested Mama, “an American church? Everyone would think the same. How could you favor an American church and be a loyal Hungarian? It could only mean trouble.”
“There are members of this church all over the world. It is not an American church. I listened to Dr. Jensen talk about its teachings far into the night. I asked many questions. What he told me is just what the Bible teaches. If the story is true, and I feel in my heart that it is, then this is God’s church. Would you have me turn away from God?”
“Mattias, it is only an impossible dream, this idea of yours about a true church. I refuse to hear any more about it. When the State Office of Church Affairs recognizes this church of yours, then I will discuss it. Until then I want you to promise that you will say no more about it to me or to Peter.”
“All right, Mama,” replied Peter’s father, but his voice was filled with sadness.
Neither of his parents mentioned the matter the next day. Peter knew that his mother had not read the pamphlet and that she did not intend to read it. After supper, when he was helping his mother put away the dishes, he asked, “Do you believe that there is a God, Mama?”
“When I was a little girl, my mother taught me about God. I felt that He was very near. As I grew older, I saw much that was wrong in the churches, but this feeling of God’s closeness was something apart from going to any church. Nothing has changed for me since then. But even if this church that your father has found is God’s church, it would be better for us not to know. We could never be a part of it. It would take a miracle. We are Hungarians, and it is no use.”
Perhaps she’s right, Peter thought, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He decided that if there was a true church, God would want him to find it, and only God could help him. He began to pray every night to know if the church described in the pamphlet was true and, if it was, to be able to become a member of it.
Then the miracle happened! It was the end of June, and the streets of Budapest were filled with people enjoying the warm summer sunshine. After school Peter lingered on the bank of the Danube River for a long time. The river seemed especially beautiful that day, and he had been late getting home from school. His mother said nothing about it, though, and all through supper she was strangely silent, her cheeks glowing pink with excitement.
Papa watched her curiously and finally asked, “Mama, what is it? Tell us.”
Silently she left the table, returning with the strudel for dessert and a page of the government’s daily newspaper. She handed the paper to her husband, and he read silently, then passed it to Peter.
Mama had circled a small article in the middle of the page that said: “The State Office of Church Affairs has concluded its investigation and announces full recognition of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a legal institution and authorizes citizens of the Hungarian People’s Republic to be members and attend meetings of this religious organization.” The article went on to say that the Church was holding a meeting that night and another on Sunday and that representatives of the First Presidency of the Church would be there.
“I checked your pamphlet,” Mama said, “and it is the same church. I thought that I would never see it happen. Even now I do not understand how such a thing came to be. Surely God must be with this church.”
“What does it mean, Papa?”
“It means that the State Office of Church Affairs has said that it will allow this church to have meetings in Hungary. It is allowed to teach people about Joseph Smith and the gospel and to baptize people who wish to be members.”
“The miracle,” breathed Peter, staring at his mother.
“Yes, the miracle,” she said.
“Now we will talk of this!” exclaimed Dr. Koteles, and his eyes shone with excitement.
“Yes,” said Mama simply. She took the pamphlet out of her apron pocket and began to read it aloud. As she read, Peter felt as if he would burst.
They went to the meeting on Sunday and were surprised at how many attended—almost sixty people. Peter listened to all that was said, but it was hard for him to understand everything. After the meeting, Dr. Koteles and Peter shook hands with some of the Church officials, and one of them wrote down the Koteles’s name and address. He said that he would send some elders to visit them and bring them a copy of the Book of Mormon.
A couple of days later Peter heard their doorbell ring and ran to answer it. How he hoped that the Latter-day Saint elders had come so that he could know for sure that they represented God’s true church!
Peter’s heart was pounding as he opened the door and saw two men in dark suits. They introduced themselves, and as they smiled and shook hands with Peter, he suddenly realized that he already knew the truth: These elders were members of the true Church; they had been sent by a prophet of God, and he, Peter, was going to be a member too.

During the time my parents were serving in the Arizona Holbrook Mission, I joined them for a few days at Christmastime. Christmas morning we delivered treats and greetings to some of the families with whom they worked. As I stood in the center of one of the hogans surveying the surroundings and the people, I was overwhelmed with a sense of my richness in terms of material possessions and awed by the sense of peace, happiness, and contentment that radiated from the faces of the extended-family members who were present. “Could I be this content in these circumstances?” I asked myself. “What did I do to deserve what I have? What are my responsibilities? What are my values? What really matters?”

Am I rich? The answer depends on the comparative basis I choose to use—but in my heart I know that I have enough of this world’s material blessings and that I will be accountable for my use of them. Are you rich? Do you have enough and to spare? How can that determination be made? When we use more than our share of the earth’s resources, are we rich or are we greedy, or are we both rich and greedy? Are we greedy in our demands? Are we accountable?

Elder Robert L. Simpson was impressed by the faith of an old Maori brother in New Zealand.
As the missionaries came to his humble little fishing shack located off the beaten track, he hurried to find an envelope in which he had stuffed a sizable sum of hard-earned money. He promptly handed the envelope containing the money to the missionaries.
Inside the envelope was a letter from the mission office addressed to the man. He could not read English, but he could recognize the figures contained in the letter. He thought the mission needed the cash amount mentioned for some special purpose, and he had it all ready.
After the missionaries translated the letter for him, he was surprised to learn that the letter was a receipt for last year’s tithing. His faith was so strong that he was ready and willing to pay the same amount all over again if the Lord’s servants needed it for His work.

As the years go by, I continue to reflect on the Sabbath days of my youth and young adulthood. I still remember the first day I passed the sacrament as a deacon and the little glass cups I passed to the members of our ward. A few years ago a Church building in my hometown was remodeled. A compartment in the pulpit had been sealed. When it was opened, there were some of these little glass cups that had remained hidden for years. One of them was presented to me as a memento.
As I think about those sacrament cups from my youth, one in the sheltered valley of my boyhood home and the other thousands of miles away in the Pacific, I am filled with gratitude that the Savior of the world was willing to drink from the “bitter cup”17 for my sake. And because He did, I can say with the Psalmist, “My cup runneth over”18 with the blessings of His infinite and eternal Atonement.

Recently my husband, Greg, received a diagnosis that would require an intensive surgery and months of chemotherapy. Like many of you who have faced a similar situation, we immediately began praying for heaven’s help and God’s power. The Sunday following Greg’s surgery, the sacrament was delivered to our hospital room.
On this occasion, I was the only one taking the sacrament. One piece of bread. One cup of water. At church, my mind often focuses on the delivery system of the sacrament—the preparing, the blessing, and the passing. But on that afternoon, I pondered the gift of God’s power available to me through the sacred ordinance itself and the covenant promise I was making as I took that piece of bread and that cup of water. This was a time when I needed power from heaven. In the midst of great heartache, exhaustion, and uncertainty, I wondered about this gift that would allow me to draw upon the power from Him that I so desperately needed. Partaking of the sacrament would increase my companionship with the Spirit of the Lord, allowing me to draw upon the gift of God’s power, including the ministering of angels and the Savior’s enabling strength to overcome.
I don’t think I had ever realized with this much clarity before that it’s not only who officiates in the ordinance that matters—what the ordinance and our covenant promise unlock also deserves the focus of our attention. Priesthood ordinances and covenant promises allow God to sanctify us and then work wonders in our lives. But how does this happen?
First, in order for an ordinance to manifest the power of God in our lives, it must be done with authority from the Son of God. The delivery system is important. The Father entrusted Jesus Christ with the keys and authority to oversee the delivery of His priesthood ordinances. Under His direction, within the order of His priesthood, the sons of God have been ordained to stand in place of the Son of God.
Second, we don’t just make covenant promises—we must keep them. In many gospel ordinances, we make sacred covenants with God; He promises to bless us as we keep those covenants. Do we realize it is the combination of priesthood ordinances along with the keeping of covenant promises that allows us to draw upon God’s power?
That afternoon I wondered if I, a covenant daughter of God, fully understood how to access the gift of God’s power through priesthood ordinances and if I truly recognized how God’s power works within me.
In 2019 a prophetic invitation was extended to the women of the Church, teaching us how to draw the Savior’s power into our lives. President Russell M. Nelson invited us to study Doctrine and Covenants 25, a revelation given to Emma Smith in Harmony, Pennsylvania. Accepting that invitation changed my life.
Last month I had an unexpected opportunity to visit Harmony. There, under the maple trees, the priesthood was restored to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. Close to those trees is the front door of Joseph and Emma’s home. Across from the fireplace in that home there is a window. I stood at that window and wondered what Emma might have thought as she looked out across the trees.
In July of 1830, Emma was 26 years old; she was so young. She was three and a half years into her marriage. She had lost a baby boy—her first. His little grave is just down the lane from her home. As I stood at that window, it was not hard for me to imagine what might have filled her thoughts. Surely she worried about their finances, about the increasing persecution that threatened their safety, about their future. And yet the work of God was everywhere around her. Did she also wonder about her place in the plan, her purpose in His kingdom, and her potential in the eyes of God?
I think she may have.
Just across the way, the gift of God’s priesthood authority and keys had been restored to the earth. This was a time when Emma actually needed power from heaven. In the midst of great heartache, exhaustion, and uncertainty, I imagine Emma wondered about this gift of God’s priesthood that could unlock the power from Him that she so desperately needed.
But Emma didn’t just stand at that window and wonder.
While the Prophet Joseph was being tutored in keys, offices, ordinances, and how to assist in the service of the priesthood, the Lord Himself, through His prophet, gave a revelation to Emma. Not Nauvoo-Relief-Society-president Emma—this revelation was given to 26-year-old Emma in Harmony. Through revelation, Emma would learn about the inward sanctification and covenant connection that would increase the ability of those priesthood ordinances to work in her life.
First, the Lord reminded Emma of her place in His plan, including who she was and whose she was—a daughter in His kingdom. She was invited to “walk in the paths of virtue,” a path that included ordinances that would unlock God’s power if Emma held on to her covenants.
Second, in her season of deep mourning, the Lord gave her purpose. Emma didn’t just have a front-row seat to the Restoration; she was an essential participant in the work taking place. She would be set apart “to expound scriptures, and to exhort the church.” Her time would “be given to writing, and to learning much.” Emma was given a sacred role to help prepare the Saints to worship; their songs unto the Lord would be received as prayers and “answered with a blessing upon their heads.”
Last, the Lord outlined a process of inward sanctification that would prepare Emma for exaltation. “Except thou do this,” the Lord explained to her, “where I am you cannot come.”
If we read section 25 carefully, we discover an important progression taking place. Emma would go from being a daughter in the kingdom to “elect lady” to queen. Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood ordinances, combined with the keeping of her covenant promises, would increase her companionship with the Spirit and with angels, empowering her to navigate her life with divine guidance. Through His divine power, God would heal her heart, enlarge her capacity, and transform her into the version of herself He knew she could become. And through the ordinances of the Melchizedek Priesthood, “the power of godliness [would be] manifest” in her life, and the Lord would part the veil so she could receive understanding from Him. This is what it looks like for God’s power to work within us.
President Russell M. Nelson taught:
“Everything that happened in [Harmony] has profound implications for your lives. The restoration of the priesthood, along with the Lord’s counsel to Emma, can guide and bless each of you. …
“… Accessing the power of God in your life requires the same things that the Lord instructed Emma and each of [us] to do.”
There were important things happening on both sides of that window in Harmony, including the revelation given to the elect lady whom the Lord had called—a revelation that would strengthen, encourage, and instruct Emma Smith, God’s daughter.
When our granddaughter Isabelle was given a name and a blessing, her father blessed her with an understanding of the priesthood; that she would continue to grow in and learn about the blessing it would provide in her life; and that her faith in the priesthood would grow as she continued to grow in understanding.
It is not often a little girl is blessed to understand the priesthood and to learn how those priesthood ordinances and covenant promises will help her to access God’s power. But I remembered Emma and thought to myself, Why not? This tiny daughter has the potential to become an elect lady in His kingdom and eventually a queen. Through His priesthood ordinances and the keeping of her covenant promises, God’s power will work in and through her to help her overcome whatever life brings and become the woman God knows she can become. This is something I want each girl in the kingdom to understand.
“Live up to your privileges.”
Learn how priesthood ordinances and covenant promises will allow God’s power to flow into your life with greater efficacy, working in and through you, empowering and equipping you to reach your full purpose and potential.
Carefully study and ponder the Aaronic and the Melchizedek Priesthood ordinances, the covenant promises we make with each, and the power of God we access through those ordinances.
Remember, it’s not only who officiates in the ordinance that matters; what the ordinance and your covenant promise unlock also deserves the focus of your attention.
Partaking of the bread and water is a weekly reminder of His power working in you to help you overcome. Wearing the garment of the holy priesthood is a daily reminder of the gift of His power working in you to help you become.
We all have access to the gift of God’s power.
Every time we partake of the sacrament.
Every time we cross the threshold of a temple.
This is the highlight of my Sabbath. This is why I cherish my temple recommend.
“In the ordinances thereof, the power of godliness is manifest.”
Of this gift I bear witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I had the privilege as a general secretary of the Aaronic Priesthood one time of going to a home, and I thought about this visit. I wanted specific guidance. I didn’t want to shoot with a shotgun. I wanted this boy and he was the only one I was concerned about at this hour. And so as I walked up on the porch and knocked, here came a fine, sharp-looking fellow in a T-shirt. He was working in cement work and he was strong, a towhead in the sun, and as he stood there in the door, I said, “Duane, I have come to arm-wrestle you.” And he motioned to me to come in. And I want you to know I thought I had been had, but I went in anyway. He took everything off of the coffee table and we knelt down, and then we arm-wrestled. And I slowly put down his right arm, and he said, “Do you do it with the other arm?” And I said, “I do,” and so we arm-wrestled with the other arm, and I slowly edged him down. Then he said, “Do you Indian-leg wrestle?” I made a great mistake and said yes. We got down on the floor, and I don’t recall what happened after that. He rolled me over about three times to the fireplace. Then I made a second mistake and I said to him, “Do you do it with the other leg?” He said yes; then he rolled me back from the fireplace.

After this was over, I looked at him and said, “Duane, we need you over at church. We need your kind of person. Can you make it Sunday morning at priesthood meeting?” He looked at me for quite a while and said, “I will be there.”

The year I turned 12 years old, our family’s Easter celebration coincided with the April general conference. We adjusted accordingly. I remember joining my cousins in front of my grandparents’ big TV dutifully watching the Saturday morning and afternoon sessions. Shortly after the afternoon session, we had dinner, an Easter message, and then time came my favorite activity: the Easter egg hunt.
Just as my aunts slipped outside to start hiding the eggs, my mom grabbed me and reminded me that things were different since my last birthday. “Peter, you need to get changed for the priesthood session. Dad will take you with all the uncles.”
I frowned. “Will I have time to get some Easter eggs?”
“Maybe,” Mom said, “if you hurry. Your clothes are in the back room.”
I ran through the hall of my grandparents’ home to where Mom had stowed my change of clothes. As I changed, I could see my aunts—my mom had now joined them—hurriedly scattering Easter eggs and candy across the back lawn. I checked my watch. We only had about 15 minutes before the priesthood session started. I looked out the window again. Would there be time?
As I watched, my aunts disappeared from the yard. When they reappeared, all of my cousins and little brothers swarmed around them, baskets in hand, scooping up the eggs and chocolates. I started putting on my tie, hoping that if I hurried, there might be some left.
My mom came through the back door. “There won’t be time, Peter. Are you ready to go?” She had an Easter basket in her hand with some eggs and candy in it. “I saved you some.”
I looked in the basket. It wasn’t as much as I normally managed to grab. I probably sighed a little. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, as I took a few pieces out of the basket.
“You’d better hurry,” she said. “I think they’re all waiting for you.”
I was greeted with a mixture of smiles and compliments. “Hey, there’s my sharp nephew!” said one of my uncles. “Looking good!” said another.
I smiled. I was suddenly excited as we rushed out the front door and piled into a couple of cars to make the quick drive to the chapel. My dad’s joy in having his son with him for the first time was palpable. I sat down between my dad and my grandpa. With my uncles, we took up a good portion of the bench. I think I kept smiling through the entire session.
I don’t remember what any of the speakers said that night, but I do remember the difference between missing the Easter egg hunt and being with the rest of the priesthood. I was happy. I had been a deacon for only four months, but I could feel the love that my father and uncles had for me and the camaraderie we all had as brethren of the priesthood. I was lucky to have that experience when I was so young, but from it, I have developed an abiding love of the priesthood, general conference, and my family. Now, as each general conference approaches, I try to re-create those feelings that I first felt as a young deacon at my first priesthood session.

As a young missionary in Japan, I received a knock on our apartment door just before bedtime. I was surprised to see our mission president standing in the rain at the apartment’s threshold.
He said, “Elder Gilbert, get dressed. We are going to see Elder Matsuo.”
Elder Matsuo’s father was dying of cancer. I immediately assumed what had happened, but as I got into the mission vehicle, President Matsumori turned to me and explained that the missionary’s mother had been killed in an accident.
He then said, “Pray that we will be able to empathize and understand what will comfort this missionary.”
I felt overwhelmed and inadequate. I can still remember the windshield wipers going back and forth as we drove in silence. Suddenly the Spirit brought Alma 7:12 to my heart:
And he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people.
I knew that the Atonement of Jesus Christ allows us to overcome sin. I knew that through Christ we could overcome death. But that night, on the Osaka freeway, I learned that Christ could also comfort us in our struggles—in our ­suffering—when life isn’t fair. I didn’t know what that young missionary was facing, but through the miracle of the Atonement, there was One who did.
For any of you who are struggling with challenges that don’t seem fair, don’t turn to the world for answers. Please turn to the covenants that bind you to Jesus Christ. He can comfort you in a way no one else can.

Peace McBride, an apprentice seamstress, and her mistress, Mrs. Root, have heard the Prophet Joseph Smith preach, studied the Book of Mormon, and been baptized into the Church. Now Peace has received Sister Root’s permission and the necessary money to visit her family in a distant county to share her joy in the gospel with them.
On the eve of a brand new decade, December 31, 1839, Peace was bundled in a warm cloak and sitting on top of a coach. Only something as important as the gospel could make Peace take such a journey. Sister Root had tried for days to find someone who was traveling toward the town of Chester Springs, but there were few travelers this time of year. Even so, not a seat was left inside the coach, and no one had been willing to give up his seat to the young girl. I won’t think of the cold, Peace decided. I’ll think of how warm I was after my baptism, of Sister Root’s warm parlor, of anything but the cold.
Cheerfully she hugged a paper-wrapped parcel to her chest. It was Sister Root’s copy of the Book of Mormon. She had given it to Peace as the excited girl had boarded the stage. “I shouldn’t let you be doing this,” Sister Root had fretted. “But since you’re going, here, take the book. It won’t do you much good to just talk about it—your folks need a chance to read it.”
Feeling cold creep around her toes as the coach got farther and farther from Philadelphia, Peace wriggled them and thought about the past few weeks. There had been such a change in her employer! Peace could remember when sour words and slaps were served up regularly to her. Sister Root’s whole manner had changed from the time that she first listened to the Prophet.
Glancing around, Peace noticed that the slush in the road had frozen. She stomped her feet and moved her arms to keep warm. Finally she saw the inn up ahead. It was a two-day trip home, and whenever she made it, she always stayed there.
After a warm meal, Peace felt better and hurried to her room. She knew that the coach would leave shortly after dawn, and she needed all the sleep that she could get. Wrapping herself in the quilts, she drifted peacefully to sleep.
Several hours later she awoke as cold again gripped her. The cozy little room that she had enjoyed in the summer was far from any heat source. Seeing frost forming around the window and on the panes, Peace knew that it was frightfully cold. Reaching for her cloak, she hastily put it on over her nightclothes. Back under the covers, she shivered until she was warm enough to fall asleep again.
The frost was so thick on the panes when Peace awoke a second time that light from the feeble sunrise hardly penetrated the room. She dressed under the covers, then hurried to the gathering room. The other travelers were already huddled around the fire, so she had to stand behind them, where she could barely feel its warmth.
A warm breakfast and cheerful words from the inn-keeper helped. Bracing herself, Peace again took her seat on top of the coach. This time she wore all the clothes that she had brought with her. Yet, before noon, her throat was scratchy. By evening, she was really sick. As the coach approached Chester Springs, she was so ill that she hardly knew what was happening around her.
A kind farmer going her way agreed to take Peace to her family’s farm. It was only two miles outside of town, but to Peace the trip took forever. Each time the wagon hit a rut, her head seemed to explode with pain.
Hearing her mother’s voice was almost like being in heaven. Peace tried to rise from where she lay in the back of the farmer’s wagon, but she sank back weakly.
“Peace!” her mother cried. “Whatever are you doing here?” She bustled around and fussed as the farmer and Mr. McBride carried the girl into the house.
It was bliss for Peace to lie in a soft, warm bed in the safety of her home. Her mother helped undress her and started to take the paper-wrapped parcel from her.
“No!” Peace mumbled. “I need to keep this with me. It’s why I came here, and it’s very important.”
“Important or not,” her mother said firmly, “it’s going on the dresser. It will be there when you get better.”
It was a week before Peace felt well enough to even sit up. She had developed a fever and a deep cough and was able to do little but lie there and try to get well.
“You’re awake!” her mother said cheerfully one morning as she came into Peace’s room. “After breakfast and a wash, you’ll feel much better, I’m sure.”
Peace smiled at her mother. It was so good to be home. Looking over at the dresser, she noticed that the parcel was gone. “Where did my book go?”
“I have it, but not for long.”
Peace looked up in surprise at the angry tone of her mother’s voice.
“How did you come by such a book,” her mother asked.
“Sister Root gave it to me.”
“I should never have let you go off on your own.”
“But, Mother, you know I had to. It was an opportunity for the whole family for me to train with such a great dressmaker.”
“She promised to watch over you!”
Peace smiled at her mother and hoped to get her in a better mood. “She watched over me very well. Do you know anything about the Book of Mormon?”
“Reverend Thompson said that the book is of the devil. He told me to burn it!”
Peace sat up in bed. “You didn’t, did you?” she cried.
“Not yet.” Her mother’s face softened. “It seemed to mean so much to you. And you came so far to bring it to us. I’ll admit that I was a little curious about it, because you value it, so I read a little of it.”
“Did it sound like the devil wrote it?” Peace asked softly.
“Well, no,” her mother admitted and smiled back at Peace. “I read a beautiful story about the Savior visiting a strange people in a land that I never heard of.”
“Bountiful?”
“Yes, that’s it. I have to say that it was a beautiful tale!”
“Oh, Mother,” Peace said fervently, “it’s more than a tale. It’s true—every word of it! If you read about it and pray about it, you’ll know that too.”
“Reverend Thompson said that no God-loving person would get involved with this book. He’s a good man, and he’s been our minister since you were a baby.”
Peace didn’t know what to say. Reverend Thompson was a good man. He’d been more than kind to her over the years. “Have the Mormon elders been in this area?”
“Yes, they have,” her mother answered. “Why?”
“Did many people listen and join the Church?”
“Yes. In fact, the number of people in our church has dwindled. And Reverend Thompson is very unhappy about it.”
“There, Mother. That’s your answer. Reverend Thompson is afraid that he’ll lose his congregation.”
Now it was her mother’s turn to look thoughtful. “You may be right. …”
“Mother, will you and Father read the whole book—and pray sincerely about it? Then if you have any questions, we can ask the elders to come visit.”
“I’m still not sure.”
“Please? It means so much to me.”
Peace’s mother loved her oldest daughter very much. She had been parted from her for a long time, and she felt that it wouldn’t hurt to do as Peace asked.
“All right. I will read it, and I’ll ask your father if he will too. I can’t promise more than that.”
“I know,” Peace said understandingly. “Sister Root didn’t want to believe, either. She wouldn’t let me be baptized until she knew more about the Church.”
“Rightly so,” her mother agreed. “I guess that maybe she was caring for you well.”
With just a few days left till she had to go back, Peace spent all the time that she could with her two brothers and three little sisters. She talked to them about the big city and the things that she had seen. “Not long ago I went into a big church near Mistress Root’s shop. There was a man speaking there,” she told them. “His name is Joseph Smith. He’s a very great man, and he’s a prophet.”
“Like Moses?” Jimmy asked in wonder.
“Yes, like Moses. When he talked, I felt that he had great power. We all felt it, and it changed my life.” She told them all that had happened to her. She told them, too, about the Savior and His visit to the New World. They listened eagerly as she told them stories from the Book of Mormon.
Because it was winter, the McBrides spent most of their time indoors. Peace read the Book of Mormon to her father as he mended harnesses and to her mother while she knitted. They listened intently to what Peace read, and her brothers and sisters did too.
Peace attended sacrament meeting at the small branch. Afterward she invited the elders to visit her family. When they came, her father asked many questions. He didn’t say much but nodded his head as the elders answered him.
The time soon came when Peace had to leave. Her heart was heavy because her parents still had not committed themselves to joining the Church.
Her father took her in their wagon to the inn and placed her bag inside the boot of the coach. Peace had a seat inside this time. She also had a warm quilt that her mother made for her to wrap up in.
“Good-bye, Peace,” her father told her, giving her a big hug. “I know what you want from your mother and me. I’m proud of you for believing your religion enough to suffer hardship to try to bring it to us. We’re not ready yet. Don’t give up on us, though. Just give us time.”
Peace left with a warm feeling. She knew that no matter what happened, she had done what she could to teach her family. Now she would give time and the Holy Ghost a chance to finish the work.

Shortly after I was ordained a priest, Bishop Brooks came to me and said, “Our daughter, Linda, will soon be eight years old, and we would like to have you baptize her.” How proud I was to exercise my priesthood authority by baptizing my bishop’s daughter. Only in later years as a father myself did I really appreciate what Bishop Brooks had sacrificed—the privilege of baptizing his oldest child—so that one of his priests could have the opportunity to perform that sacred ordinance.

My little brother, Benjamin, is six years old. A sister in our stake who had cancer needed an operation but didn’t have enough money for it. Flyers reading, “Will you please help save a life?” were sent out asking for donations. When Ben read one, he got twenty dollars, which was all he had, and put it in an envelope to give to the sister. He only gets sixty cents a week for allowance, so twenty dollars was a lot of money for him.
Ben collects coins as a hobby, and I said, “Why don’t you give just part of your money, then you can buy some coins for yourself with the rest.”
“Which is more important, buying coins or saving a life?” he asked. That really impressed me, and I decided to donate some money, too.
My parents kept saying how good Benjamin was because he had given all the money he had. This made me a little jealous of my brother because although I hadn’t given all the money I had, I had donated more money than Ben!
Then I remembered a scripture story about a really poor woman who had only a little money. She gave it all to care for the poor. Some rich people came and gave lots of gold. They were proud of how much money they had given to the poor. But Jesus Christ said that the poor woman had given the most because she had given all that she had.
I was sorry for being jealous of my brother. I felt good knowing that we had been able to help raise the money for the operation. Most of all, I was glad that my little brother had helped me learn a very important lesson about giving.

Toward the end of World War II, my father was drafted into the German army and sent to the western front, leaving my mother alone to care for our family. Though I was only three years old, I can still remember this time of fear and hunger. We lived in Czechoslovakia, and with every passing day the war came nearer and the danger grew greater.
Finally, during the cold winter of 1944, my mother decided to flee to Germany, where her parents were living. She bundled us up and somehow managed to get us on one of the last refugee trains heading west. Traveling during that time was dangerous. Everywhere we went, the sound of explosions, the stressed faces, and ever-present hunger reminded us that we were in a war zone.
Along the way the train stopped occasionally to get supplies. One night during one of these stops, my mother hurried out of the train to search for some food for her four children. When she returned, to her great horror, the train and her children were gone!
She was weighed down with worry; desperate prayers filled her heart. She frantically searched the large and dark train station, urgently crisscrossing the numerous tracks while hoping against hope that the train had not already departed.
Perhaps I will never know all that went through my mother’s heart and mind on that black night as she searched through a grim railroad station for her lost children. That she was terrified, I have no doubt. I am certain it crossed her mind that if she did not find this train, she might never see her children again. I know with certainty: her faith overcame her fear, and her hope overcame her despair. She was not a woman who would sit and bemoan tragedy. She moved. She put her faith and hope into action.
And so she ran from track to track and from train to train until she finally found our train. It had been moved to a remote area of the station. There, at last, she found her children again.
I have often thought about that night and what my mother must have endured. If I could go back in time and sit by her side, I would ask her how she managed to go on in the face of her fears. I would ask about faith and hope and how she overcame despair.
While that is impossible, perhaps today I could sit by your side and by the side of any who might feel discouraged, worried, or lonely. Today I would like to speak with you about the infinite power of hope.

I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for a magazine that brought two of the best friends together. Twelve years ago I wrote to Feedback about a certain story in the New Era. Consequently I received a letter from a girl in Salt Lake City, and we have been writing ever since. The best news is that in May of 1992, Lori Wall and I met for the first time. I was a bit anxious about meeting her, but when we met it was as if we had known each other all our lives. We have been through a lot together and have grown spiritually stronger. She has seen me through the birth of my child, and I have seen her through her mission and marriage. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, our love stretched. And I have the New Era to thank for a special friend and an eternal sister.
Petra MillsOrange, New South Wales, Australia

Uncle Jack had been a policeman most of his life. His job was to help people who needed help. He used his radio to hear about people in trouble, his patrol car to get there in a hurry, and his badge to tell people he was a friend. He also used his fast legs, strong arms, and smart brain to come to the rescue.
Lots of people counted on Uncle Jack.
When Uncle Jack became a grandpa, he decided to put away his radio, his police car, and his badge and do something less dangerous. He didn’t like giving up the trusty aids that had helped him, but he decided that there were other ways to help people. So he began working as a security guard, making sure that the school buses were kept safe at night. He counted each bus as it came home after its long day of carrying children to and from school. Then he parked the buses all together in a huge building. Even though he didn’t need his radio, his fast car, or his badge to keep the buses safe, he did miss his old aids. Now the only aid he really needed was his big flashlight.
Because he cared about the children who would ride the buses the next morning, he walked around the building each night with his bright light, checking every door to make sure that no one could break in and cause problems.
One wintry night after Uncle Jack finished his job and got in his car to drive home, he heard the voice of the Holy Ghost whisper in his mind, “Go back into the building.” Uncle Jack thought, I have a long ride home. I’m hungry and tired, and I’d have to turn off the alarm before I could open the giant door.
He decided to keep driving.
About two blocks farther, the voice came again. This time it wasn’t a whisper. “Go back into the building.” But Uncle Jack just kept on driving.
About three blocks farther, he heard the voice for the third time. This time it was as loud as the crack of a baseball bat hitting a home run! Uncle Jack turned the car around, drove to the giant door, and left his car headlights shining on it. Then he turned off the alarm and began raising the heavy door.
As the door went up, the car lights shone brightly on a small boy standing alone in the darkness of the building. As Uncle Jack walked closer, he could see that the child’s face was streaked with tears.
He was a kindergartner who had fallen asleep in the back of the bus where no one had noticed. “I prayed that someone would help me,” the boy said. “I prayed and prayed.”
“Heavenly Father heard your prayer,” Uncle Jack told him. “I used to get messages over the police radio in my car, but this time Heavenly Father sent me a message through the Holy Ghost.”
Uncle Jack helped the lost boy find his parents, and everyone was safe and warm at home that night.
Even though he no longer had a fast car, a badge, or a radio to receive messages on, Uncle Jack was still in the business of helping people. Messages from the Holy Ghost had become his most important aid.

As the newly called homemaking leader in a ward in Highland Village, Texas, Margo Merrill faced the seemingly impossible task of turning scraps of donated fabric into quilts for charity. She knew she lacked the experience to piece a quilt, but she began with what she could do: she pressed the scraps, then cut them and sorted the colors. She then brought packets of fabric to homemaking meeting, where she asked help from other sisters to arrange and sew them into tops, then quilt and bind the coverlets. The sisters gladly shared their talents, and the results pleased them all.

I recently read the article titled “Last on the List” in the November 1997 issue. I especially love this article because I can relate to it. I have just been chosen to serve as the new Beehive president in our ward, and I faced the same challenges Lisa did in the story. It was a hard choice because everyone was so perfect for the spots. I prayed and asked my Heavenly Father to help me make the right choices. I was given the answer to call as my second counselor a girl who doesn’t have very many friends. Now I know that she is truly right for the position. Thank you once again for that wonderful message.
Name WithheldUtah

In conclusion, will you come with me into a classroom of 12- and 13-year-old young women. Listen as you hear the learners discover doctrine. Notice the experience the teacher provides for the learners so that they can connect the doctrine to the reality of their lives. Feel the accompanying witness of the Spirit:
Our teacher moves her chair closer into the semicircle of five girls. “We have a guest waiting outside,” she begins. “It is Sister Jonas. She has agreed to show us her tiny baby and tell us how she feels about being a new mother. As you watch this new little baby, would you also notice his mother—how she treats the baby, what she does, what she says. We’ll talk about her visit after she leaves.”
Sister Jonas comes in, spends seven or eight minutes talking about her baby and answering questions. The girls thank her, and she leaves the classroom.
“The baby was darling, wasn’t he?” our teacher responds to the delighted hum of the class. “But what did you notice about the mother?”
A minute of silence and then a response: “Well, she was happy.” Another: “She kind of rocked back and forth the whole time she was holding him.” A few more responses, and then Katie slowly begins, “She—ummm—she talked really quietly.”
“Could you say more about that?” the teacher coaxes.
“Well, her voice reminds me of my mother’s voice when she called from the hospital to tell us we had a new baby sister last year.”
The teacher, turning to the other girls: “What do you think? Did anyone else notice her voice?”
The girls become more thoughtful and begin to reply with words like “reverence,” “heaven,” “love.”
The teacher: “I think I understand. I believe those words come to our minds because we are recognizing a great gift from our Heavenly Father. He loves us and trusts us so much that He is willing to share His creative powers with us. We feel such gratitude and reverence for this trust. Motherhood is a divine role.”
After this clear statement of doctrine and testimony, our teacher moves on to an activity where the girls identify qualities their own mothers exhibit that show an understanding of the divinity of motherhood. “Could each of you prepare for motherhood right now by practicing one of these very virtues—maybe being more patient, kinder, or more positive this week?”
Each girl talks about her choice. Our teacher bears personal testimony. The closing prayer is offered.