Gospel Story Finder

Isabelle loved to pray! In the morning she said a “good morning” prayer. She thanked Heavenly Father for the sunshine and a new day.
At lunchtime Isabelle told Heavenly Father about her day so far. She prayed for help to be nice to her sisters when they got home from school.
At bedtime Isabelle’s family prayed together. They always started by talking about people who might need extra blessings.
Tonight Daddy said, “Please pray for Uncle Dan. He lost his job.”
Isabelle felt sad. She didn’t know a lot about grown-up work, but she knew that losing a job was bad. She loved her uncle. He made yummy popcorn. And last time he came over, he had showed her how to do a cartwheel!
“I’ll pray for him to find a job,” Maria said. She was one of Isabelle’s older sisters. It was her turn to pray out loud for the family.
The next day, Isabelle asked Daddy if Uncle Dan found a job yet.
“Not yet,” Daddy said. “Sometimes prayers aren’t answered right away.”
“So should we keep praying for him?” Isabelle asked.
Daddy nodded. “That would mean a lot to Uncle Dan.”
Every day, Isabelle and her sisters kept praying for Uncle Dan. They prayed for him to find a job. They prayed for him to have enough money for what he needed. They prayed for him to feel loved.
Isabelle was glad she could help Uncle Dan with her prayers. Praying for him made her feel happy and strong.
They helped Uncle Dan in other ways too. One day they helped Uncle Dan clean his house. Another day, Isabelle and Mommy stopped by to watch a movie with Uncle Dan.
Weeks went by. Finally, Daddy had good news.
“Uncle Dan has two job interviews this week!” Daddy said.
Isabelle felt happy inside. She was glad she could pray for the people she loved.
Who can you pray for?

I had a wonderful summer job as a high school student. I worked for the Salt Lake City & County Parks and Recreation Department. My job, along with my fellow co-workers, was to drive around to all the parks in the Salt Lake Valley and play games with the children in the surrounding neighborhoods. Our games were very low-tech. We would bring along large parachutes, balls of all sizes, Frisbees and other such basic items. As I worked over the summer I began to notice some interesting patterns. When we would show up at a park located in a lower-income neighborhood, the kids would flock to our activities and a great time would be had by all. However, when we would show up in a high-income neighborhood, we were not very successful in enticing the children out of their homes and those who did show up soon became very bored with our planned activities. These children were very hard to engage, they proved more difficult to manage and were not easily entertained by our simple methods.

I came to learn that those who could afford the latest and greatest amusement devices were less inclined to be amused or drawn into simple play and interaction than those who could not afford such luxuries. This was an important lesson for me to learn as a teenager and something that I have not forgotten as I have raised my own children.

More than once I have heard priesthood leaders say that they had been inspired to go to someone in need, only to find the visiting teacher or the home teacher had already been there. My wife, who is here with me tonight, is an example. We had a bishop once who said to me, “You know, it bothers me—when I get an inspiration to go to someone, your wife has already been there.” Your faith will grow as you serve the Lord in caring for Heavenly Father’s children as the Lord’s teacher to their home. You will have your prayers answered. You will come to know for yourself that He lives, that He loves us, and that He sends inspiration to those with even the beginnings of faith in Him and with the desire to serve Him in His Church.

This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.

What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.

Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.

In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

When Elder Bednar moved away from Provo, he left with more than a degree. It was there that he met his future wife, Susan K. Robinson. She was at BYU studying to receive a degree in education, and they were in the same student ward. One Monday night their family home evening groups got together to play a game of flag football. Susan was on the receiving end of a long pass by Elder Bednar, who had been a quarterback for his high school team. He was very impressed by her catch, but he didn’t know that the pass reception was the only one she can remember ever catching (see “I’m a Teacher Who Is Now a College President,” Summit, 1997, 10). Still, there was a connection made, and the couple was sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1975. They now have three sons and three grandchildren.

Our family wasn’t especially gifted in music. Oh, yes, we loved music, but that didn’t mean we could sing. My mom couldn’t carry a tune even if she were singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I sort of played the piano, but it was hardly good enough to be called music. My dad had had piano lessons when he was a boy, but he never played anymore. At one time my mom played the accordion, but the poor instrument hadn’t been played for so long that its keys stuck. I’d had the usual Suzuki violin series in the third grade but all to no avail.
On family home evening nights we tried to sing something that slightly resembled a hymn while I plunked it out on the piano.
I thought it would be neat if our family could sing for the family presentation on fast Sunday, but we always ended up having the congregation sing a song pertaining to the theme.
I encouraged my family to sing in the car when long trips became boring. We tried, but it seemed like I was the only one who knew the words, and the only songs my little brother knew were “Book of Mormon Stories” and “We Are a Happy Family.”
I longed for a musical family. It seemed to me that families that sang together were so much closer.
My dream started coming true one day when I had an argument with my little brother. I got mad at him and left the room to finish my homework, which included typing practice. But as I began my homework, I started to feel quite bad about our disagreement, so I decided to type my brother a note. It read something like this:
Eric,You are very special to me.
I’m glad you’re my brother.
You have the cutest smile.
I love you,Becky
He was delighted and wrote a note back to me. The next day he wrote one to my mom and dad, and they wrote back to him. A few days later I wrote to Eric again, and my mom and dad wrote to me, and I wrote back to them. Soon it was not unusual to find a note almost every day—a sincere note that made you shiver with the spirit of love. They turned up everywhere. They were found in very unusual places like on your pillow, in the fridge, on your mirror, in your book, or in your lunchbox.
Our family had composed its own music. We had developed a very special harmony that can only abound where love is. I suddenly began to feel no need for a musical family. I came to understand that it isn’t the music that brings families closer, it is the love behind the music. Well, we have both—love and our special music, “love notes.”

A young sister with diabetes became blind during her pregnancy with her second child. Her loss was devastating—and irreversible. After a time of anguish and questioning, she turned to the Lord for comfort and answers about what was expected of her in these new circumstances. With patience she learned that the “pleasing word of God … healeth the wounded soul” (Jacob 2:8) and that she could use her disability to help others. Her cheerful, open attitude makes it easy for others to talk with her about her blindness and her long struggle to accept and benefit from it.

Another futile fear that I dispelled some years later was the fear of heights. We were building our new chapel in Nottingham, England, with all the members helping. My specialty was laying floor tile and placing acoustic ceiling tile, mainly in the corridors and classrooms. There was a call for someone to fix some ceiling tiles at the very apex of the chapel ceiling. I don’t know the height, but as I started to climb the ladder, it seemed like scaling Mount Everest. On reaching the top I had to measure exactly, then descend the ladder, cut the tiles to shape and size, climb once again and fit them in place. Certainly, the best way to overcome fear of heights is to “do it,” as President Kimball has challenged.

Before our baptism, the stake temple and family history consultant helped me prepare my mother’s name and the names of several other deceased ancestors to take to the temple for baptism.
Twenty-five days after our baptisms, on January 19, 2018, my mom’s birthday, we made our first trip to the Newport Beach California Temple. I was nervous and didn’t know what to expect, but when I walked into the temple, I felt so much serenity. It was like nowhere else I had ever been. Our group gathered at the baptismal font, where the temple president explained the importance of baptism for the dead and the blessing it holds. I sobbed for joy thinking of how these baptisms would bless our family.
After Navid was baptized for some of the male members of my family, he baptized me on behalf of some of the female family members. The first person I was baptized for was my dear, sweet mother. When I heard the words “who is dead,” I wept. Hearing it made her death so real that it hurt. But then I thought, what greater gift could I possibly give my mother on her birthday than the gift of baptism in the temple?
I look forward to many more trips to the temple. I am grateful to know that I can help provide blessings to those who have gone before me through the ordinances of the temple. What a wonderful gift!

One day a boy stopped at my office and for several moments talked very negatively and critically about the Church, suggesting several reasons why the Church just couldn’t be the Lord’s Church. When asked to search deeply within himself, to examine his conscience concerning the matter as to whether or not the Church was the Lord’s, he replied after some reflective thought, “I feel it is the Lord’s Church.”

In our family, we have always been taught to keep the Sabbath day holy. We attend church and try to do other things on Sunday that will help us think about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We write in our journals and read stories from the Church magazines. We avoid activities like going to the park or playing sports.
I was excited to get an invitation to my friend Gordon’s birthday party last year. But when I opened it, I saw that the party would be on Sunday. I showed it to my parents but didn’t even ask if I could go. I said, “I can’t go to his party because it’s on Sunday.” I was disappointed to miss it, but I knew I was making the right choice.
My mom telephoned Gordon’s mom and told her I couldn’t come. Gordon’s mom apologized for having the party on a Sunday. The very next day she wanted to talk to Mom while they were waiting to pick us up from school. She said that their family used to go to a church and that she still believed in prayer. This conversation led to lots of opportunities to share the gospel with Gordon’s family. They haven’t joined the Church, but they still show some interest and they understand more about what we believe.
My mom said if I had not made the right choice about keeping the Sabbath day holy, we probably never would have been able to talk to them so much about the gospel. They respect our values, and this year they had Gordon’s birthday party on Saturday rather than Sunday.

I saw that diligence and heard that laughter when, late on a Saturday, I visited with a group of Latter-day Saints in Florida. The volunteers stopped their cleanup labor long enough to let me shake some hands. They said that 90 members of their stake in Georgia had created a plan to join in the rescue in Florida just the night before.
They left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, drove for hours, worked through the day and into the night, and planned to labor again the next day.
They described it to me all with smiles and good humor. The only stress I sensed was that they wanted to stop being thanked so they could get back to work. The stake president had restarted his chain saw and was working on a downed tree and a bishop was moving tree limbs as we got into our vehicle to go to the next rescue team.

The story of a young man’s wrestle 30 years ago with whether to be honest helps to illustrate the point further. Brother Warren Johnson related this poignant experience in a June 1989 Ensign article:

My friend Bob had to do a lot of persuading in order to get another Marine to loan him his new camera to take to a servicemen’s conference in Japan. But Bob assured him that he would take good care of it, and the Marine consented.

We were stationed in Vietnam at the height of the war. For months the Latter-day Saints in our battalion had looked forward to this conference, and Bob wanted to take the camera along.

Our departure from Vietnam was hectic, with lots of red tape and much confusion. Two of the men in our small group could travel only if space was available, and we were all grateful for the two extra seats on the huge jet bound for Japan. The Spirit was mindful of us! At last we were on our way.

For three days we attended meetings, talent shows, dances, and other social activities at the conference, held at beautiful Mount Fuji. After months of exposure to the ugliness of war, we enjoyed the kindness of the members and appreciated the spiritual uplift of hearing a General Authority speak. Battle-hardened men shed tears in some of the meetings because of the great joy they felt in the fellowship of other Saints.

As we neared the end of one of our last meetings, Bob quietly excused himself to return to the hotel and get the camera, which he had left in the room we had shared.

When he returned, we could tell by his expression that something was very wrong. He said that he couldn’t find the camera. I reassured him that it had to be in our room and told him to look again.

He was even more visibly upset when he returned the second time. He knew where he had left the camera in the room, and he knew that it was gone. Locks to hotel room doors were not common then, and both of us realized the possibility of someone entering our room and taking the camera. We knew what a burden it would be to try to replace it on his corporal’s pay, especially with a wife and two small children to provide for. Our elation of the three previous days was gone, and our good feelings were replaced with regret and misgivings.

Bob said that he would pray about the matter and ask the kindly hotel manager if he had noticed anyone carrying that particular kind of camera.

The meeting was over when Bob returned again, this time smiling, with the camera in his hand. He related what the hotel manager, in his halting English, had told him he had seen: an American had come downstairs into the lobby carrying the camera. He had then sat down and looked at it for a long time, as if he were contemplating something or wrestling with himself. Suddenly he had stood up, placed the camera where the manager could retrieve it, and departed.

Since the only Americans in the hotel at the time were those attending the conference, the manager assumed the man was one of our group.

The servicemen’s conference had uplifted all who had attended it—including, quite possibly, a young man who, though tempted to steal a camera, had ultimately obeyed his conscience. [Warren Johnson, “The Camera and the Conscience,” Ensign, June 1989, pp. 69–70]

Coleman does a good job of reminding his parents when it is time for family home evening. At one recent family home evening, Coleman, his brother, and his mom and dad each took turns sharing things they liked about one another.
Coleman liked saying nice words about his family. When nice things were being said about him, he couldn’t hide his big smile. It made him feel good to hear his family say kind words about him.

Elizabeth was always first. She was the first of four children to be born. She was the first one up in the morning, picking the warmest spot by the big stove to get dressed in and warm her cold toes. She was the first one to dinner, the first one to church. She was even the first one to bed—so she could choose the best spot in the middle of the big feather mattress. And when the old cat at the farm had kittens, Elizabeth got first pick.
Anna was only a year younger than Elizabeth, but she wasn’t nearly so quick. When Elizabeth was first to the swing or the river, Anna sometimes stayed behind and rocked little Thomas, or peeled potatoes for Mother, or darned Father’s socks. Anna liked to do quiet things. She even liked to wait for the youngest sister, Sarah, when she tagged along.
After the Mormon missionaries taught her family the gospel, Elizabeth was the first one baptized—even before Father and Mother. The elders smiled at her eagerness.
When Father gathered the family together and told them that they were going to Zion, Elizabeth was the first to cry and to refuse to leave her friends. But when the time came to board the big ship, Elizabeth was the first one up the wide gangplank. She was the first person to get sick on the ship, and the first to get well. She was the first to walk the slippery, lopsided decks and the first to make friends with the grinning sailors. They gave her treats and sang songs for her.
After the ship docked, Elizabeth was the first one to run down the long plank and step onto land, the first one to dance on American soil. Mother and Anna were last. In fact, Anna went back to the ship three times to help Father carry all the family’s belongings off.
When it was time to load the wagon for the journey west, Elizabeth was the first to find a place for her own things: the sweater that her grandmother had knitted, her best blue bonnet, and her wooden doll, Belinda. There wasn’t room for everything the family wanted to take; but Elizabeth had settled her things in the wagon first, so she wasn’t worried.
Elizabeth was the first to give names to the oxen. They were tall, long-boned beasts with beautiful horns. Elizabeth named them Peter and Paul. Anna thought Buttercup might be a good name for the honey-colored one who was so gentle. But Elizabeth had already named them.
The trip was a long one. They crossed rivers and climbed mountains. Elizabeth was always first. She walked ahead of the wagon, never behind in the dust. She found good-natured men on horseback who didn’t mind letting a little girl ride across the swollen streams with them. She found the best spot beside the campfires. She found the best buffalo chips because she was first and picked the old, dry ones, which were easier to gather.
Elizabeth loved the journey. She loved the new things to see each day. She loved the nights when the children played games and the grown-ups danced and sang songs. She loved being first.
As they drew near to the valley, Elizabeth became so excited that she couldn’t hold still. Everyone knew how she felt. And everyone knew who would be the very first to set foot in the valley. Elizabeth was always first.
Early one morning on the last week of the journey, Anna slipped on the wagon tongue. She hit her head and cut her arm and twisted her ankle. She behaved very bravely for a girl of seven. Mother made up a bed in the crowded back of the wagon and laid her there. It was hot and bumpy, but Anna didn’t complain. Elizabeth did though. She didn’t like doing Anna’s work. She didn’t like hauling water or scouring the pans. She wasn’t very good at stirring the soup or feeding the baby. And she wasn’t nearly so patient with little Sarah, who constantly wanted something. Elizabeth was cross and tired. For the first time in her life she didn’t have enough energy to worry about being first. All she could think about was curling up under her mother’s soft quilt and falling asleep.
When they reached Pratt’s Pass, Elizabeth wanted to scamper ahead to be the first to stand on the ledge and look down over layer after layer of purple-blue mountains to the wide valley below. But little Thomas woke up and needed to be fed, and Sarah tugged at her skirts and whined to be taken. By the time Elizabeth reached the ledge, half the company had already seen the valley. Elizabeth hadn’t been first.
Elizabeth felt sorry for herself. Now there were only two days left of the journey. Father had bound Anna’s foot, but she couldn’t walk without help. Anna sat and peeked out from the wagon. Elizabeth scowled and worked and watched while someone else was always first!
The morning of the last day was beautiful. Elizabeth was the first one up, the first one to get water, the first one to bathe and get dressed. She fed the baby as fast as she could and helped with breakfast. She tied Sarah’s laces and told her that if they came undone, it was just too bad. Elizabeth had to be quick. Today was the day. Today they would reach the Salt Lake Valley. Today Elizabeth had to be first!
When the wagons began to creak down the last long descent, Elizabeth climbed into the wagon and crawled back to where her favorite things were. She wanted to wear her pretty blue bonnet when she entered the valley. As she crawled, she heard a strange sound. She stopped. The sound was Anna crying!
Elizabeth froze. She had seldom heard Anna cry. Anna was always calm, always content. Now she was crying as if her heart would break. Elizabeth’s stomach felt sick. She could feel the fast thump of her heartbeat. She crawled over to the bed. "Anna, what is it?"
Anna looked up and blinked wide, wet eyes at Elizabeth. A tear ran down her nose and dropped from the very tip.
"I can’t see anything from in here," Anna sobbed. "I want to see the valley." New tears welled up in Anna’s blue eyes. "I want to wear the dress I’ve been saving and walk into the valley, Elizabeth, just like everyone else."
Something inside Elizabeth started to ache. "You shall, Anna. You shall!"
Anna stared at her. "How, Elizabeth?"
"You’ll see." Elizabeth had already turned and was searching through the neat piles of store goods.
The sun was high in the sky when the wagons pulled to a stop on the valley floor. A crowd had gathered to meet the newcomers. Some of the young people ran ahead and were waiting, dancing and clapping their hands with glee while the wagons pulled up to them. The men from the wagon train took off their hats and wiped their foreheads. The women shaded their eyes and gazed over the lovely valley—their new home at last.
"Where is Elizabeth?" someone shouted. "Wasn’t Elizabeth first?"
"Of course she was first!" another replied with a laugh.
"Then where is she?" cried one of the children.
People began to look. People began to call for Elizabeth.
"Here we are!"
Everyone turned to see.
Down the long line of wagons came the two sisters. Elizabeth wore the blue bonnet, Anna her red dress with lace at the collar. With one hand she held Grandfather’s cane. Her other hand rested on Elizabeth’s sturdy arm. Anna’s steps were slow and painful. But she was walking! With Elizabeth’s arm round her waist, she walked past the wagons and into the Salt Lake Valley. Just like all the others.
"Mother," Elizabeth cried. "I was the last one into the valley, the very last one. But I’m so happy! I never felt this happy when I was first."

You, the children of the Lord’s church today, are following Jesus down into the waters of baptism and beyond. Nine-year-old Sandra Martinez of Lakeview, Oregon, says of her baptism: “My mom said that I should pray about whether or not to be baptized, so that night I prayed. The next day I got a warm feeling in my heart that I should be baptized. I felt very close to Jesus and felt that He wanted me to be baptized. The bishop baptized me in Spanish so that my family could understand.”

Answers sometimes came in the form of people who influenced our children’s lives. One time, a daughter at college was in grave spiritual and possibly physical danger. On the day following our temple visit, the bishop of her ward visited with her and then called us about the visit. He continued this each day for the next three days. A parent could have done no more than this great bishop did to comfort and guide our daughter.

When I was a freshman in high school, the weightlifting coach asked me to join weightlifting.
“Mmm … no thanks,” I said. “Not my thing.”
But he kept at it. For weeks.
Finally, I tried it out. He was right: I really liked weightlifting. It was definitely weird at first; my body had never done anything like it before. But I grew to love the feeling of working out. I also loved my teammates and the competitions. And I started doing really well!
Now weightlifting is a huge part of my life. I practice every day for at least two or three hours, doing back squats, clean and jerks, and snatches. (And if you don’t know what any of those things are, don’t worry—neither did I!)
Like many things, weightlifting takes time and patience, and sometimes that can be difficult. Luckily, my family is always right there encouraging me, even when I complain about how sore I am (which is often). My dad always has ice packs and pep talks ready for me when I get home from practice. And my mom always sacrifices so I can go to competitions.
A few years ago, I went to one of those competitions in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. I was excited to compete against weightlifters from all over the country, but I was a little worried about being so far away from my family. To make it easier, my mom promised to text me scriptures and thoughtful messages every day.
The night before the competition, some kids threw a party. I thought it would be cool to go, so my roommate and I went to check it out. But right away I knew it wasn’t my kind of party. There were teenagers drinking, smoking, saying bad words, and dancing inappropriately. I knew I shouldn’t be there, but I was worried what my roommate might think. Or what the other competitors might think.
But then something popped into my head:
“Stand ye in holy places.”
It was from my favorite scripture, and one my mom had sent me that morning: Doctrine and Covenants 87:8: “Wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved, until the day of the Lord come; for behold, it cometh quickly, saith the Lord. Amen.”
I don’t know why my mom sent me that scripture that day, but it’s one I’ve loved my entire life. I’ve had it memorized since I was eight, and again and again it has reminded me to have courage, be obedient, and stand for what I believe in.
“Stand ye in holy places.”
“I’m gonna go,” I said to my roommate. I explained about the scripture my mom had sent me that morning. “This is not a place I should be standing.”
My roommate told me she didn’t want to be there, either. She was uncomfortable too but hadn’t wanted to leave by herself and be seen as a loser. She thanked me for saying something, and we left.
The next morning, we found out that soon after we left, the kids who were at the party were caught and eliminated from the competition for drinking and doing drugs.
If I hadn’t been prompted to remember my mom’s verse, I might’ve been disqualified from the competition too. I ended up winning first place, so I’m really grateful I got to compete. (I think I thank my mom every single day for texting me.)
Winning a weightlifting competition is a pretty obvious and immediate blessing from keeping the commandments. But Doctrine and Covenants 87:8 doesn’t say, “Stand ye in holy places so you can win weightlifting competitions.” And John 14:15 doesn’t say, “If you want immediate blessings, keep my commandments.” It says, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” The Lord blesses us because He loves us. And we try to be holy and obedient because we trust and love the Lord.

Third, I wish I had known that beyond loving us, the Lord loves me, and that He is involved in the very details of my life, just as He is interested in and involved with your life and the life of each of His children.

Let me tell you about a former BYU–Idaho student. I have lost track of this young woman and could not contact her to ask permission to share her story, but I do not think she will mind my doing so. For today’s purposes I will call her Molly, although that is not her real name. I read from my personal writings—first, from a letter written to my son on October 20, 2002, and then from a second letter written two months later on December 15:

It was my privilege this past week to randomly contact students and offer them tickets to the dedication of the Gordon B. Hinckley Building. And not just any tickets, but GOOD tickets—like Chapel Center Section, Row 1 or Chapel Center Section, Row 2. Do you know how close these students will be to the Prophet?
What I came to realize as I visited with these students is that there was inspiration in how they were identified and then selected to receive a ticket. Certainly, the Lord is mindful of the tiniest sparrow. And He is mindful of the average, low-key, back-row student at BYU–Idaho who would never have expected or thought himself or herself important enough to be invited to a special gathering with the Prophet. I have been touched by their surprise at being selected. Most of all, I have been touched by their humility and gratitude for the opportunity.

And from the second letter written in December:

Molly was one of the students who received a ticket to the dedication of the Hinckley Building. She called this week and asked if she could come by the office to see me, which she did Thursday afternoon. I immediately sensed that she wasn’t comfortable visiting with me in the outer office, so I suggested we go into the conference room. I closed the door, we sat down, and then she began her story.

Molly said she had been dating a young man from her hometown who is not a member of the Church. Just prior to the dedication, he had asked her to marry him and she had accepted his proposal. She said she had not planned to go to the dedication as she had hardened her heart to counsel because she was tired of being told her decision was wrong. She wasn’t anxious or willing to go where she might have to once again sort through her feelings and justify to herself or others what she was planning to do. And then, out of the blue, she gets a call from me inviting her to have a front-row seat at a meeting where President Hinckley and President Monson are the featured speakers. She said she reluctantly came to the office, picked up her ticket, and almost begrudgingly went to the dedication.

Molly got all teary eyed and said to me, ‘Being there changed my life. Something President Hinckley said, something I felt that day softened my heart. I could see that I had been praying for the wrong things. I could see that I was placing myself and my posterity for generations to come in jeopardy of receiving eternal blessings. It has not been easy and it did not happen overnight, but I have broken off my engagement. Your offering me that ticket was the answer to my parents’ prayers. Thank you.’

All I could do was sit there and cry right along with Molly. I tried to help her understand that any thanks she had to express should be directed to Someone other than me. I was merely the vehicle through which invitations were extended. Truly, in each and every case, I felt prompted and guided as I decided which students to contact.

I continue to read from the second letter:

And now, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story: Molly is not a full-time student this semester. She stayed in Rexburg during her off-track time to work and pick up a few night classes. She should not have been on any list that was submitted to our office for the dedication. But her name was there, it caught my attention, and her life has been forever blessed. You can’t tell me that the Lord was not mindful of Molly and her precarious situation; of her parents’ prayers and concern; of her heart, which He knew could be touched.