Gospel Story Finder

I was in the hospital, waiting to have surgery the following day, and my husband stopped to check on me on his way home from work. He told me that Jackie, our favorite baby-sitter, had taken our three little girls to the ward picnic with her own family. Five minutes later, Jackie’s father was in the room to tell us that our youngest girl had fallen off the see-saw at the picnic and was downstairs in the emergency room having a badly cut chin sewn back together .
Meanwhile at the picnic, our six-year-old daughter looked around her and suddenly realized that most of the members of her family weren’t there. The only sister who remained at the picnic with her was playing with the children who attended her Sunday School class. The park was unfamiliar to her, and with every passing moment it grew darker. Many feelings filled her mind, and suddenly her cries were heard over all the festivities. She knew exactly what she needed: “I want my home teacher!” Within minutes, she was on Brother Braden’s kindly lap, and the crisis was over.

I was nine years old that summer of 1902, and I will always remember it as the “summer of the stack cake.”
Moist, rich stack cakes are flavored with ginger and sweetened with molasses or sometimes sugar. In those long-ago days they were rare in our home. Sugar and molasses were dear then and used only sparingly. Mother dressed up wheat cakes with currants, and sometimes she made blackberry pie, but they could not compare with a stack cake.
That summer there were no cakes of any kind at our house. In May Mama had lost the baby she had been carrying for four months. Although she tried not to show it, I knew she still grieved about losing the baby. Her smile never touched her eyes now, and her walk was slower. When I tried to tend my two younger brothers and to take over Mama’s outside work, she thanked me with her soft voice. But it, too, was sort of sad and tired.
I thought and thought, trying to find a way to make her feel better. Finally I remembered the stack cake. We had not had one for quite some time. I had never made one before, but I had watched Mama as she had measured and mixed. I knew I could do it—I had to. Surely a stack cake would cheer her up.
All day I planned excitedly, checking to make sure we had everything I would need. There was even a little sugar, saved for a special occasion. This, I decided, was a special occasion.
I hurried through my chores the next morning. Mama looked at me questioningly, but just smiled. The boys followed her to the stream, so I was alone. Mama would be outside washing clothes all morning.
I gathered together all that I would need, trying to remember the order in which Mama had added the ingredients. The batter was stiff, almost too thick to stir. I hadn’t remembered Mama having so much trouble. But I reasoned that since she was stronger than I was, the mixing had looked easier. I had lighted the big stove earlier, so now I only had to pour the batter into the pan.
I didn’t mind the washing and cleaning up as I usually did. Somehow even that was special now. I peeked into the oven only once.
Finally it was time. I carefully lifted the cake out and loosened its edges from the pan as I had seen Mama do. It was hard to wait while it cooled. At last I set out our best dishes and placed a wedge of cake on each plate. It looked a little different from Mama’s. I finished just in time—Mama and the boys were coming in.
“Caroline—”
Mama stopped. She looked at the cake, then at me.
My words came in a rush. “It’s a stack cake, Mama. I made it myself.”
“Thank you, Caroline.”
Her voice had a catch in it.
I waited for Mama to take the first bite. Then I took one. I took another. The cake was heavy and dry, not light as it should have been.
“Oh, Mama, I wanted to make you smile again. But it’s terrible. And I’ve used the last of our sugar!” I couldn’t keep the tears back.
“Caroline, it’s the best stack cake I’ve ever tasted. Thank you.” Even though she was crying, I could see that her eyes were smiling.
Mama helped me make some icing from syrup to pour over the rest of the cake, and it tasted better then.
After that day Mama still looked sad sometimes but not as often. And whenever we had a stack cake, Mama and I would smile at each other, a smile that Papa and the boys didn’t understand. Later Mama taught me how to make a stack cake properly, and I knew we had shared more than a recipe.

One morning as I watched TV, I came across a show about ghosts. Watching it unsettled me, and I switched off the TV. I’ve always had a hard time separating fact from fiction. I have a vivid imagination, and often I can’t help but conjure up images and situations in my mind that turn my blood cold.
That night, the memory of the ghost stories assaulted me, and I lay in my bed in wide-eyed terror. My imagination wouldn’t stop, and I was literally afraid for my life.
I turned on my lamp and prayed for peace.
Finishing my prayer, I opened my scriptures. As I read, my anxiety slowly faded. I felt the comforting impression that my Heavenly Father was aware of my fears. He would protect me. I read on, clinging to the growing feeling of comfort.
I read Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.”
I wasn’t really alone. I was reassured that Heavenly Father is aware of me and knows my fears. I closed my book and drifted off into peaceful sleep.
I know that Heavenly Father will always be there for me. In a world where apprehension and uncertainty threaten peace of mind, we can take refuge in the Lord.

It is my father who first taught me this truth. In fact, this statement “People Count, Things Don’t” has been part of our family mission statement since 1975. It is a saying I have heard all my life. I’ve heard family friends refer to it, we even had a framed cross-stitching of this saying in our living room. It sat right next to the “Do it” quote by President Kimball.

Ever since I can remember until I was a junior in college, my dad was serving in either the bishopric or the stake presidency.

My dad not only told me that people count, he showed me by making feel that I count. Despite all his responsibilities at work and at church, he never missed any of our sports games. We always held family home evening and he was available to take us on campouts, mud-sliding in the mountains, to cheer on the Red Raiders at football games, and to beat us at tennis or a game of Pit. It never dawned on me that he might be too busy for those things because he always made the time.

But most importantly, it is how he reacted to our mistakes that taught me he really lived and believed this principle. One of my earliest memories of this was the time my brother and I left the house after everyone was asleep so we could play in a yard down the street that was decorated for Christmas with large Sesame Street characters. I was 4 or 5 years old and my brother was 6 or 7. He woke me up and asked if I wanted to go to Sesame Street, and I couldn’t pass it up so we went!! Later we were startled to hear the voice of my father talking and laughing with others. He had been at mutual at the chapel and was walking home. My brother and I quickly hid behind the characters, but then I popped my head out and yelled, “Hi daddy!” revealing us. My dad was surprised to see his young children out alone, but I never knew that until much later. What I do remember is that he seemed so happy to see us and walk us home. I didn’t even realize that I should probably get in trouble for visiting Sesame Street that late at night without permission, because what my dad made me feel was loved. That’s what I remember.

A General Authority whose personal influence was felt far and wide was the late President Spencer W. Kimball. He really made a difference in the lives of countless individuals.

When I was a bishop, the telephone rang one day, and the caller identified himself as Elder Spencer W. Kimball. He said, “Bishop Monson, in your ward is a trailer court, and in a little trailer in that court—the smallest trailer of all—is a sweet Navajo widow, Margaret Bird. Would you have your Relief Society president visit her and invite her to come to Relief Society and to participate with the sisters?” We did. Margaret Bird came and found a warm welcome.
Elder Kimball called on another occasion. “Bishop Monson,” he said, “I have learned that there are two Samoan boys living in a downtown hotel. They’re going to get in trouble. Will you make them members of your ward?”
I found these two boys at midnight sitting on the steps of the hotel playing ukuleles and singing. They became members of our ward. Eventually each of them married in the temple and served valiantly. Their influence for good was widespread.
When I was first called as a bishop, I discovered that our record for subscriptions to the Relief Society Magazine in the Sixth-Seventh Ward had been at a low ebb. Prayerfully we analyzed the names of individuals whom we could call to be magazine representative. The inspiration dictated that Elizabeth Keachie should be given the assignment. As her bishop, I approached her with the task. She responded, “Bishop Monson, I’ll do it.”
Elizabeth Keachie was of Scottish descent, and when she replied, “I’ll do it,” one knew she indeed would. She and her sister-in-law, Helen Ivory—neither more than five feet tall—commenced to walk the ward, house by house, street by street, and block by block. The result was phenomenal. We had more subscriptions to the Relief Society Magazine than had been recorded by all the other units of the stake combined.
I congratulated Elizabeth Keachie one Sunday evening and said to her, “Your task is done.”
She replied, “Not yet, Bishop. There are two square blocks we have not yet covered.”
When she told me which blocks they were, I said, “Oh, Sister Keachie, no one lives on those blocks. They are totally industrial.”
“Just the same,” she said, “I’ll feel better if Nell and I go and check them ourselves.”
On a rainy day she and Nell covered those final two blocks. On the first one she found no home, nor did she on the second. She and Sister Ivory paused, however, at a driveway which was muddy from a recent storm. Sister Keachie gazed about 100 feet (30 m) down the driveway, which was adjacent to a machine shop, and there noticed a garage. This was not a normal garage, however, in that there was a curtain at the window.
She turned to her companion and said, “Nell, shall we go and investigate?”
The two sweet sisters then walked down the muddy driveway 40 feet (12 m) to a point where the entire view of the garage could be seen. Now they noticed a door which had been cut into the side of the garage, which door was unseen from the street. They also noticed that there was a chimney with smoke rising from it.
Elizabeth Keachie knocked at the door. A man 68 years of age, William Ringwood, answered. They then presented their story concerning the need of every home having the Relief Society Magazine. William Ringwood replied, “You’d better ask my father.”
Ninety-four-year-old Charles W. Ringwood then came to the door and also listened to the message. He subscribed.
Elizabeth Keachie reported to me the presence of these two men in our ward. When I requested their membership certificates from Church headquarters, I received a call from the Membership Department at the Presiding Bishopric’s Office. The clerk said, “Are you sure you have living in your ward Charles W. Ringwood?”
I replied that I did, whereupon she reported that the membership certificate for him had remained in the “lost and unknown” file of the Presiding Bishopric’s Office for the previous 16 years.
On Sunday morning Elizabeth Keachie and Nell Ivory brought to our priesthood meeting Charles and William Ringwood. This was the first time they had been inside a chapel for many years. Charles Ringwood was the oldest deacon I had ever met. His son was the oldest male member holding no priesthood I had ever met.
It became my opportunity to ordain Brother Charles Ringwood a teacher and then a priest and finally an elder. I shall never forget his interview with respect to seeking a temple recommend. He handed me a silver dollar, which he took from an old, worn leather coin purse, and said, “This is my fast offering.”
I said, “Brother Ringwood, you owe no fast offering. You need it yourself.”
“I want to receive the blessings, not retain the money,” he responded.
It was my opportunity to take Charles Ringwood to the Salt Lake Temple and to attend with him the endowment session.
Within a few months, Charles W. Ringwood passed away. At his funeral service I noticed his family sitting on the front rows in the mortuary chapel, but I noticed also two sweet women sitting near the rear of the chapel, Elizabeth Keachie and Helen Ivory.
As I gazed upon those two faithful and dedicated women and contemplated their personal influence for good, the promise of the Lord filled my very soul: “I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end. Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.”

When I reached the eligible age, I decided to serve a mission and was called to the Korea Seoul Mission. It was the best decision I’d ever made for my life. I now had the opportunity to help others find the same spiritual support I had discovered.

Some months into my mission, my companion and I met an American woman living in Seoul. We needed help teaching her in English, so we taught her with the help of a senior missionary couple, Elder Bill and Sister Renae White. This was hardly a coincidental meeting, as the Whites became my eternal friends. As I reached the end of my mission, they encouraged me to go to Ricks College and get an education. I had never thought of college before, let alone leaving Korea. After all, I was the first in my family to graduate from high school. But soon I was accepted to Ricks College. That missionary couple were my angels, parents, mentors, and sponsors until they recently passed away.

When I arrived in the United States, another life-altering experience came to me when Steven and Marjorie Bennion, president and First Lady of Ricks College at the time, invited me to stay with their lovely family. This was, without a doubt, a divine intervention and a tender mercy from the Lord. They took me in as a daughter, and I experienced life in a happy, loving family setting; I was able to see how to live the gospel in a family and as an individual under the direction of a loving father, who strived to lead his family righteously, and a saintly mother, who nurtured the family with her faith, wisdom, and grace. This experience became my guiding light throughout my adult life, and I am so grateful that they are here today.

Tired but happy after her soccer game, Gracie walked to the bleachers where her family sat. Her whole family, including her abuela (grandmother), had come to watch the game.
“You played with honor,” Gracie’s papá said as he put his arm around her shoulders.
Gracie grinned. “Gracias, Papá.”
The family piled into the car. When Papá suggested that they stop for lunch to celebrate the team’s victory, Gracie and her younger brother and sister cheered.
The restaurant was crowded, with only two empty booths available. Four players from the other team walked in after Gracie’s family and took the booth behind theirs. They began talking loudly, insulting the players on Gracie’s team.
Gracie looked at her parents and saw dismay on their faces. They were as uncomfortable as she was with the vulgar language they were hearing. She wondered what they would do.
Papá started to stand when Gracie’s abuela leaned over the back of the booth and started talking to the young people.
She didn’t say anything about their language but asked questions about their hobbies. One of the girls shyly said that she liked to knit.
“Come over to our table,” Abuela invited. “I’ll show you what I’m working on.”
The four players trooped over to join Gracie’s family at their booth. Everyone slid closer together to make room for them.
Abuela opened the knitting bag she always carried and pulled out a stocking hat. “I can make one of these in 30 minutes.”
“Could you show me how to do that sometime?” the girl asked.
“It would be my pleasure,” Abuela said.
“You’re pretty cool,” one of the boys said.
Abuela smiled. “For an old lady.”
“For anyone.” He hesitated, then looked around to Gracie’s family with an embarrassed expression. “I guess you’d like it if we didn’t talk like we did.”
Abuela patted the boy’s hand and smiled. “You are right.”
“Thanks for talking to us like we’re real people,” the girl said. “Most people ignore us.”
“You are real people. Even more important, you are each a child of God,” Abuela said. “Always remember that.”
Gracie watched a look of wonder come over the girl’s face.
The boys and girls returned to their booth and finished their meal. They left shortly after that.
Papá gave Abuela a hug. “Mamá, you are amazing. All I could think of was their bad language. I didn’t remember that they were also children of God.”
Later that night, Gracie asked Papá, “How did Abuela know what to say to those kids?”
“Your abuela treats everyone the same,” Papá said. “She knows that we’re all God’s children.”
Gracie hasn’t forgotten that lesson—nor her abuela’s example.

Last October the Bountiful Utah Stake Primary encouraged children to earn money to buy copies of the Book of Mormon—but to pay for the book with their own labor—money they would earn.
Each placed his picture and testimony inside the front cover. Six hundred and twenty copies of the Book of Mormon with pictures and testimonies were sent to missions.
A few days ago one of those Primary children, little Sarah Richards, received this letter from Mrs. Earl Mock of Tucson, Arizona:
“Dear Sarah, Thank you so much for sending us the Book of Mormon with your picture on the inside. You are a very pretty girl and a very nice one. I will treasure the book and your picture and testimony always.
“I have just finished reading all of it and I too believe it is true. I enjoyed it very much and will be reading it many more times.
“Thank you again and may God bless you.”

After my family and I moved to a new state, I prayed constantly to find friends with whom I could talk about the gospel. As I prayed, I felt comforted, and a few months later I made some incredible friends. I can count on their support, and they have helped me to develop an even greater love for the gospel. I know that friends are important and they can make it easier for us to live the gospel.
Sarah P., age 16, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

About four months into my mission, I began to experience pain—not only during physical activities like riding my bike or morning exercise but also when I was sleeping or doing personal study. I began rapidly losing weight. Even drinking water made me sick. Doctors’ tests could not determine what was wrong. I had no parasites or viruses. My mission president, my missionary companion, and I were all confused by my deteriorating health.

During the month that followed, I maintained faith that surprised even me. Although I felt frustrated, I was convinced that if I kept working harder, biking faster, and speaking my broken Chinese to everyone I saw, that God would miraculously heal me. I believed the stories of Christ’s healing the sick and raising the dead, and I believed wholeheartedly that He would do the same for me—a weak but enthusiastic missionary. Then one Sunday while my companion and I were biking to the Church meetinghouse to meet an investigator, the pain and convulsions throughout my body became unbearable. When we arrived at the meetinghouse, I asked the elders to give me a blessing, which helped. As the days passed, priesthood blessings became more frequent and so did prayers for healing.

It was the darkest day of my mission when I awoke one morning in the fiery Taiwanese heat and realized that I could not even move my body enough to get out of bed. At that moment I knew that I would not be able to be a missionary for much longer. My mission president came to visit me, and we counseled together. We talked of all the possibilities, and after much prayer and many tears, the Spirit confirmed that I needed to return home and focus on getting well.

One of the great men I know is Brother Dale Duffy from Boise, Idaho. Every young man who has ever come in contact with Dale will never forget his influence. It was Dale’s idea, as a Scoutmaster, to purchase boating equipment and float the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

The troop started river running about the time my three oldest sons were in Scout and Explorer troops in the Boise 15th Ward. I remember well how Dale involved the young troop leaders in planning. Few men know better the meaning of the phrase “preparation precedes power.” We started a year ahead. Every boy who wanted to go had to earn the swimming and lifesaving merit badges and be able to swim two-thirds of a mile.

The biggest challenge they had to meet was the “Duffy Battle.” This was hand-to-hand combat with Dale Duffy in water over their heads. He made it a real challenge to see what kind of substance the boys were made of under pressure. During this battle, I’m sure each boy found just how hard he could fight for his life if he had to.

There were also hours of classroom training prior to the first float trip, followed by the practical application of this training as the boys floated down the Boise River in preparation for the Middle Fork experience. Following are some of the things my boys remember and will never forget from this special training:
• You are never on the river without a life jacket.
• Every boy must have a razor-sharp knife in a scabbard on his hip, for use in case he falls in and gets tangled in the rope.
• When you fall in, you face downstream, your feet in front of you to parry off the rocks that are down river.
• When you fall in, always stay with the boat if possible.
• When you swim to shore, swim to the closest shore, diagonally downstream. This conserves strength, and once you are ashore you can be picked up by another boat.
• If someone in your boat falls in, the closest crewmen should immediately grab him and pull him back into the boat as quickly and with as much strength as possible.
• Never pass the lead boat.
• The rubber raft assigned to bring up the rear never passes other boats.
• Never panic, no matter what the condition. Think back on your training and you will recall a specific teaching point or principle that will pull you through.
• Whenever anyone is floating loose after being capsized, pick him up in your boat immediately.
Of course, this is only a small particle of the training the boys received from Dale Duffy. They listened because they respected him and knew that anything they did not understand might put their lives in jeopardy.

On every trip the boys would go to a point just below Dagger Falls and jump into the cold, chill water and float down about 50 yards. This was to take away the initial shock of falling into the water should they capsize. We assigned a crew to each raft, with one of the boys assigned as crew leader. This boy was given total authority while on the river. Usually we would have about six rafts, with three to five boys and their gear on each raft.

I well remember one trip when Scott, my fourth oldest son, was on the same raft with me and three other fellows. On the first or second day of our trip we capsized (which was very common), and the raft got caught in a backwash and was being pounded by tons of water. I came to the surface and watched for my crew members. I counted them. One boy came up, then another, and then a third—but no Scott. I started to feel real concern when I looked back and forth across the river and couldn’t see him anywhere. Fifteen or 20 seconds is an eternity when you are waiting for your son to come to the surface. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world. Finally I saw Scott come to the surface and heaved a great sigh of relief.
“What took you so long?” I yelled to him.
“My foot got caught in the rope, and I was being pounded around because the boat was caught in the backwash.” Then he said, “But I remembered Duffy’s instruction, reached on my hip, pulled my knife out of the scabbard, cut the rope tangled around my foot, and floated free.” I owe my son’s life to Dale Duffy’s training.
About three weeks after our trip another group of river runners went down. Their boat wrapped around a huge rock. All of the crew except one climbed onto the rock. The other crew member got caught in a 50-foot rope and couldn’t get loose. By the time those on the rock had pulled him upstream against the current and lifted him out of the water, he had drowned. This young man was 21 years old. Scott was 13. The whole difference was in training.
On a different trip, Joe, my third son, got caught in a huge backwash behind a giant boulder. Usually the body is heavy enough that you sink down below the waves and wash, and the current pulls you under the backwash and away from danger. However, in Joe’s case the water washed him into the backwash, which threw him like a top back into the hole. This happened over and over, and we feared for his life, but Joe did not panic. He remembered that Dale had told him he would wash through, and so Joe let himself drop down into the water and eventually washed through.
There is an element of physical danger when you go down any river. There is an element of danger rappelling down cliffs or water skiing. Yet I would ten times rather have my boys face physical danger on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River than I would have them drag the streets of the city where vile and filthy temptations lurk at every corner and where their spiritual lives are in danger.
Let me tell you some of the great, exciting things that happen on the river. There are bridges that span the Middle Fork. We like to stop and climb up on the railings of the bridges and dive or jump into the beautiful, sparkling-clear river 25 or 30 feet below. The water is clean enough to drink. It is absolutely beautiful. There are cascading waterfalls that we shower beneath. There are high cliffs, such as those at “Pool” or “Hospital Bar” campsites, that we dive from. The water must be 40 or 50 feet deep. The cliffs are anywhere from 15 to 40 feet high.

What a great experience for boys to feel that exhilarating challenge and accomplishment as they work up enough nerve to dive from these high cliffs. Then there are several hot springs that other travelers have turned into pools and tubs where one can lie and soak his aching muscles and relax. Fishing is great. We usually have several griddles of fish during the trip. I really never cared much for trout until I ate some of that solid pink and white meat cooked out in the open. Now, just thinking about it, I crave some.
As a rule the weather is excellent, with not more than one day of rain during a week’s trip; it is usually hot under a sunny, clear sky.
Among the exciting activities on the river is the water fighting that is carried on between crews of separate boats; they splash each other with bailing buckets, oars, and paddles.
In some places the water is absolutely calm, and one can just lean back, drop into the river, and float downstream in the cool, beautiful water. Occasionally we can even float through rapids in a life jacket or on an air mattress.
We watch for sandbars for overnight camping. These usually lead right out into deep pools, and we swim before and after dinner, and often again just before bedding down. There is a huge bonfire to stand around and warm up by in between dips. One of the most thrilling experiences is to awaken in the middle of the night and look up at the majesty of the heavens. The stars are breathtaking, and there is no smoke, fog, or cloud to obscure the view. Sometimes when there is a full moon, we float the river at night. Such a sight is seldom seen anywhere else in the world. The Milky Way appears almost as a cloud, stretching from one end of the sky to the other. All the constellations stand out, giving evidence that God is truly in his heaven, and these are his creations. He rules over the heavens and the earth. On some of these occasions I feel so near to God, I seem to feel his Spirit and know that he is willing to answer our prayers.
We read in the Book of Moses that Moses saw the beginning from the end and all the creations. And he said, “Now for this cause I know that man is nothing, which thing I never had supposed.” (Moses 1:10.) Under a star-filled sky on the river, I feel just the reverse. I feel the total importance of man in God’s plan.
Every bend in the river, every new tributary, every change of scenery brings a new and exciting challenge. Because of the varying water levels, the river changes every trip. It is never the same. There are always challenges to keep a young man excited and involved in maturing to his full manhood. We see all kinds of wildlife that can rarely be seen any other way—mountain goats, mountain sheep, moose, elk, eagles, hawks, and all kinds of wild bird life such as chuckers, field grouse, and so forth—all adding to the experience of floating the river.
If we spend more than one day on a sandbar, we organize track and field activities, high jumping, broad jumping, racing, shot putting, and underwater swimming—anything that the mind of a young man can conceive. Often we engage in a game of flag football. Frisbies are usually aboard, and sometimes chess boards are brought along to help a river runner relax with a good mate after a hard day of rowing. Underwater swimming with snorkels and fins can be exciting.
From the river we see Indian caves and Indian writings on high walls. At Veil Falls a beautiful, sheer waterfall drops some 300 feet, making a gentle shower of rain at the bottom. Underneath in the huge cavern are many authentic Indian writings. We’ve never visited Veil Falls without seeing mountain goats on the high ledges in the cavern.
Another exciting experience is to see the salmon going upstream to spawn. We always see several, and it affirms our testimony that Christ truly is the Creator. These salmon fight their way over tremendous waterfalls, obstacles, and powerful currents, returning to the spot where they were born that they might spawn and start the life cycle again.
We constantly see deer on these trips. They are gentle and fairly tame, with a sense of curiosity that brings them close to camp. Our young men are impressed with the gentleness of the deer in the high, primitive areas.
White water river running is exciting, but there is an element of danger there. One must be well prepared, in top physical condition, and must love a good challenge. He should love the out-of-doors and feel the exhilaration that comes from the cold night air and an invigorating swim, as well as the heat from the warm fire.
I have never known a young man who floated down the river who didn’t raise his spiritual level many degrees. There’s something highly inspiring about seeing the majesty of God’s creation in the primitive areas of Idaho. Almost every young man seems to be attracted to finding a secluded spot where he may kneel and communicate with the Lord. I’ve seen this happen again and again. My own experiences are the same. Early in the morning and late at night I find a peaceful place where I can kneel along the river and look up at the majesty of the heavens and the multitudinous creations of the Savior. I feel very close to him in that sacred setting, and it is during these hours that I pledge to the Lord every ounce of energy that I have—pledge to follow him at all costs—and have a desire to keep kindled in my bosom the powerful and holy feelings that come as I kneel before him.

“My older brother, Ron, has always been an inspiration to me. I recall one evening when he came home from a church youth meeting and announced to the family that his teacher had told him that he had to gain his own testimony and receive his own witness and to not rely on that of others. He said—almost prophetically—‘I’m going to gain that personal witness and testimony, no matter how long it takes or what the cost.’

“Ron began reading and studying the scriptures and fasting and praying. One morning a short time later, he was suddenly stricken by a paralysis. He could not move his body and his right side was in terrible pain. He was barely able to whisper to Dad that he wanted a blessing. No sooner had Dad finished blessing his son than Ron was miraculously cured! My brother uncoiled his tense body, straightened up, and was free of pain.

“When he was later examined by a doctor, the diagnosis was that he had had what appeared to be a ruptured appendix but that no trace of damaged tissue was found in his body. Later, my brother told me that during this experience he received his special witness from the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon and the gospel were true. He wanted me to know, however, that he had received this knowledge from the Spirit before Dad had blessed him and before his healing. He truly had shown faith before the miracle.”

I also think it’s essential that our spiritual side be developed along with our craftsmanship. Fifteen years ago I had a conversation with Elder Boyd K. Packer. He said, “As an artist what is your concern?” and I said, “My problem is that I watch the non-LDS artists paint 50 paintings a year and I paint 25 because I have made a commitment that I will seek first the kingdom of heaven. I will be active in the Church, and so I’ll be Young Men president and take my kids around to collect fast offerings and go to Mutual and go home teaching and all those things that eat up one’s time, while other artists can paint twice as much as I do. And because the more you paint the better you get, they just keep on outdistancing me.”

He said, “Why do you fail to recognize that with the help of the Spirit, which is what you’re spending all that time being active in the Church attempting to obtain, you can accomplish more in 10 paintings than another painter can in 30 or 40? It’s not the quantity of paintings, but the quality of the spirit within you that will move you to do good work.” And his words just went right to my heart.

You students particularly have problems sometimes being afraid, maybe fearing that you will not pass a class, like organic chemistry. I will tell you a little secret that occurred when I was in undergraduate school back in Lebanon Valley College in Pennsylvania.

Lebanon Valley is a small liberal art school, highly rated, on the East Coast. The chemistry department there is outstanding. I came from a high school thinking I was a hot shot. Then I get into Lebanon Valley and all of a sudden, I am average. I thought I was still a hot shot starting out. I can remember taking my general chemistry class, taking the first exam and flunking it. (Oh, I should not have told them that, President.) But I did. I flunked my first general chemistry exam. I can remember the department chair calling me in and saying to me. "What's going on?"I said, "Well, I did not study very much." He said, "I suggest you study a little more." I made up my mind that I was not going to be afraid of failing. I chose to not think of failing. It was not an option. And I did fine in the class.

Later on I had a calculus class. Same thing. I flunked the first two exams. I should not tell you that. But failing or dropping a class was not an option. I can remember spending hours and hours studying calculus, spending all weekend studying calculus. I passed the class. I just refused to fear or accept failure.

A few years ago, the missionaries held an activity and gave all the youth a challenge to go without their phones and social media for a few days so that they could be more centered on the gospel and be able to share it with others. I accepted the challenge and shared the gospel with a friend and told them about the missionaries’ challenge. That friend became interested and started meeting with the missionaries. He was baptized a few months later.

I wish you to know how much I’m thankful for this New Era magazine in watering the seed of the gospel to grow and be rooted in my heart.
I remember in the year 1978 being ten years old when two missionaries, laboring in love and understanding, patiently planted the seed of the gospel in our poor home. I was present at every discussion. I just sat observing them, because at that age I couldn’t fully comprehend their words. I hoped that through their actions I could better understand them.
I was baptized together with my family. True, I didn’t really understand why we were joining the Church, but as I went to church with my family I came to understand more and more.
The seed has grown, and yet at every turn there were temptations challenging me. I wondered whether I could truly follow all the commandments. Then one of the missionaries who taught us subscribed to the Church magazines for us. I then found the New Era which supplies my needs and helps me to stay close to the Church. It also gives me encouragement in such bitter trials, knowing that other members in other nations have overcome them. It strengthens my testimony.
So, Elder Hunter, wherever you are now, I would like to thank you for the New Era. Through this magazine you’ve truly helped to convert me. The Church is really true, and I am now preparing to serve a mission like my three brothers and sister.
Amor Q. YacapinCagayan de Oro City Philippines

In the April 2003 General Conference, Elder Russell M. Nelson related an experience he had regarding his work as a heart surgeon in pioneering a new surgical technique. He used the illustration as an example of the power of prayer (which it is). However, I commend it to you as an example of how proper academic and spiritual preparation can allow the Spirit to teach us.

Dr. Nelson's patient had two faulty heart valves. While one could be helped surgically, the other could not. An operation was not advised, but the patient persisted: "Dr. Nelson, I have prayed for help and have been directed to you. The Lord will not reveal to me how to repair that second valve, but He can reveal it to you. Your mind is so prepared. If you will operate upon me, the Lord will make it known to you what to do. Please perform the operation that I need, and pray for the help that you need."

After fervent prayer, Dr. Nelson agreed to operate, even without knowing what he would be able to do. However, during the surgery, impressions on how to solve the leaky valve were impressed upon his mind. Then a picture came to view, showing how stitches could be placed to accomplish the desired objective. The repair was completed according to the diagram shown to Elder Nelson's mind, and the operation was a success. Notice that Elder Nelson had prepared himself spiritually as well as academically, and then acted in faith. Then came the revelation on how to help his patient.[27]

Earlier this year my reading and writing buddy came to class feeling blue. She had made some mistakes on her math work. She said, “I’m useless.”
I was worried about my friend, so I told her all about Jesus and how He loves us. I told her how that means we are not useless! Then I sang “I Am a Child of God” to her. She loved it and asked me where I learned these things. I explained that my family goes to church every week and that I learn a lot about Jesus in Primary.
That night she told her mom about our conversation. She asked her mom if they could come to church with my family. Her mom said yes!
My friend sat next to me in sacrament meeting that very Sunday! Now she joins me at church almost every week. She and her parents are learning more and more about the gospel of Jesus Christ from the missionaries and other families in our ward.
I feel very happy that I was able to follow the Savior’s example and comfort a sad friend. Whether or not her family decides to get baptized, the best part is that now she knows that God and Jesus love her, no matter what!

I’m under pressure, like most British students—especially during exams. Since I’m LDS (East Grinstead Ward, Crawley England Stake), I’m supposed to take time for scripture study, too. It can seem like one thing too many. But this summer, as I was sitting A-levels (taking finals), I discovered how much scriptures mean to me. We had been building up to these exams the last five years, and studying specifically for them for the last two years. It was like life stopped almost. I spent all my time revising (studying), working really hard.
Art is my favorite subject, and I had lots and lots of assignments to submit by a certain date. I had 20 hours before they had to be handed in, and I still had a lot of work to do. I’d been ill for a week, so I was way behind. I was staying up all night, and at two o’clock in the morning, the work I was doing was deteriorating to the point that it was really bad. I had put a lot of work into the whole exam, and if I didn’t hand it in the next day, I would fail automatically.
Over the last week, I’d been reading the Book of Mormon every night. I’d never, of my own initiative, started reading the scriptures like that. For some reason I just thought it was about time I did. I’d reached the point where I really enjoyed them. They became easy to understand.
By now it was three in the morning. I was tired and couldn’t work anymore. I prayed that I would be able to finish the next morning, that I would have the strength and that my work would be to my best potential. I read my scriptures before I went to bed.
The next morning, after early-morning seminary, I spent the whole time painting. I should have been tired, but I wasn’t. I was amazed because the work I was doing was just so much higher than my normal standard.
I have a solid testimony now that if you make time for the spiritual things in life, it will help in all areas. I set a goal that throughout the exams, I’d read the scriptures as regularly as possible. Because of the work you have to do, you may be inclined to forget seminary, forget Mutual, forget everything because you have to study. I think keeping up with all your Church goals really helps more than you realize. I felt I had the Spirit with me constantly. It was a good experience for me.

Are there any toads where you live? We have lots of them around our house. My dad works at a laboratory where they try to learn how to help farmers grow food better. Sometimes he takes my brothers and me on Saturday mornings out to see the fields he studies. There are long ditches that bring water to irrigate the crops, and sometimes they are full of tadpoles. We usually catch a few of them and bring them home with us. The first time we did this, we put them in an aquarium in our family room. They really liked it there—except for one thing. Our fighting fish bit off their tails and then ate them up!