Gospel Story Finder

I constantly pray for my family’s success and well-being. But some things haven’t yet worked out how I’d hoped. I started to wonder if God was hearing my prayers. As my uncertainty worsened, I prayed less often. I thought, “Why should I pray when I don’t feel anything?”

But then one day, I realized that I was doubting God. He has always been my Father in Heaven, my greatest support and strength. I started crying. When I got home that day, I knelt to pray because I felt spiritually and emotionally lost.

After praying, I felt comfort, warmth, and love. I knew He was with me. I know Heavenly Father sees our struggles and hears our cries. From that day on, I understood that He has big plans for my family—plans that require His timing and my patience.

I want to mention one other experience. Laurie said that I love being a grandfather, and that’s absolutely true. We just got back from a two-year stint at the Church Office Building at the Commissioner of Church Education office, and right after we relocated to Utah, our oldest daughter had her first child, which is our first grandchild. We were in the hospital, and after the baby was born, we were invited in. I had just finished four years as a young single adult ward bishop, so I had had a fair amount of experience with the issue that you might expect would come across the desk of a YSA ward bishop. As I walked into the room and saw my daughter and her husband holding this new baby, so fresh from our Heavenly Father’s presence in this perfect little body, ready to start her eternal journey here on the earth, the Spirit whispered to me, “This is why the Law of Chastity.”
It was a powerful experience for me. It’s so wonderful to watch two loving parents take a child and make efforts to teach them about the Gospel, the Savior, and Heavenly Father’s plan for them. Evie, our granddaughter, just turned two last week, and Erin told us that they were talking in Family Home Evening about the Savior. Evie stopped what she was doing for a moment and said, “Jesus. I like that guy.”
It’s wonderful to see you brothers and sisters making faithful decisions to have children and teach them the proper way so that they can return to their Heavenly Father. You will be so blessed, I promise, by making these sacrifices.

About ten years ago, when I was a Mission President in the Dominican Republic, I received a call from the second newspaper in importance in that country, named Hoy (meaning Today). They wondered whether I would agree to be interviewed about the Church and our mission, and I agreed.

The newspaper sent a reporter and a photographer to our mission office. The photographer took some pictures of the office and the missionaries, and then he left. The reporter came into my office for the interview. She was young, attractive, intelligent, aggressive and hostile. Her first question was: "Mr. Stone, you are building a great big building, a temple, in downtown Santo Domingo, how many millions of dollars does it cost?

I answered: "Senorita, I really don't know." "Well, it must cost many millions", she said. "I agree with you", I said; "I just don't happen to know the amount."

And then she came to the point. "What are you doing for the poor people in this country", she said. The Dominican Republic, as many of you know, is a very poor country, and there are many people living at a subsistence level.

It is at times like that that I am grateful for the inspiration of the Spirit.

"Senorita," I said; "The people who come to our Church are taught certain things. They are taught to be truthful and honest. They are taught to be dependable and trustworthy. They are taught to be reliable and punctual. They are taught to establish goals and objectives, and work to achieve them. They are taught to work cooperatively one with another. Now, Senorita, if you had a company ... "

She interrupted me and said: "If I had a company, I'd want someone like that working in my company." I said to her: "That's what we do for the poor people in your country."

From that moment on, the interview went like a dream. She wrote a full page article that appeared in the newspaper, with not a single negative comment about the Church. They told me it was the most positive thing that had ever been written about the Church in the Dominican Republic; above the full page article, about the Church and the missionaries, the headline read: "Preaching The Truth."

Now let me divert for just a moment to a modern story. Two of my colleagues in the Church Educational System were in the highlands of Guatemala training our seminary teachers. They happened upon a man very much like the one in the picture. He had a large bundle of firewood strapped on his back. They stopped and spoke with him for a time, then one asked if he would mind if they took his picture with the other. He was pleased to do so. As they stood for the photo, the photographer saw that the Guatemalan, who was quite a bit shorter than the America, had his face in shadow. “Ask him if he will raise his head a little,” he called.

What do you think happened next as this little man raised his head and smiled? That's right, he nearly fell over backwards. With a mecapal you always have to keep your head down, looking at the ground.

When you want to do a stakewide service project but your stake covers a 75-mile area, what’s a ward to do? The Auburn California Stake solved the problem recently with their “Day of Impact.”
Each ward and branch chose a local project that would be completed on the same day. Afterwards, they met at a centrally located park for a barbecue, games, and story swapping. They talked about things like how they painted bleachers at a high school, built a concession booth by the football field at another high school, and weeded and cleaned yards and cemeteries. They also repaired broken headstones. They sanded and painted picnic tables at an elementary school and even restored a historical landmark—an old caboose.
Later, at a stake fireside, everyone was able to catch a glimpse of their work via video—leaders had filmed each project. Even though they had spent the day working apart, they felt a spirit of pulling together.

Illustrations by Ben Simonsen
A couple of months ago in Young Women, we had a lesson on service where we learned about Mosiah 2:17, which says, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
I felt the Spirit so strong all that day, so I prayed all week for opportunities to make a difference and do something that someone truly needed. That week at school I found out that one of my friends was feeling sad and lonely and having difficulties with her school friends. I knew this could be an opportunity to serve.
So my other two friends and I decided to get her a little gift, leave it on her doorstep, and run. Then the next day as I was scrolling through my News Feed on Facebook, I noticed a post from the young woman we’d given the gift to, and my heart leaped in my chest. It read, “To the people who left the bag and card, thank you so much. It feels so good to know that three people love me for who I am and have got my back no matter what.”
Though it might have been a small act of kindness, what we did meant so much, not only to the girl but also to my friends and me as well. I’ve learned that the best way to find happiness is to bring happiness to those who need it.

Just minutes before, the fairgrounds were alive with the excitement of the rodeo. High school students were brushing, saddling, and warming up the horses. Cowboy music rang loud, reminding all to have a “good-ridin’, fun-timin’” rodeo. The lilting music, the country drawls, and the masses of cowboy hats created a nostalgic feeling of excitement, a feeling that causes a non-rodeo attender to feel as if he’s either been placed back in time 20 years to the old small-town get-together days or else placed in a Hollywood scene for the newest western. At any rate, the cowboy inside the slickest of city slickers comes alive.
Now, as the rodeo begins and the clouds begin to roll in, the lively atmosphere becomes more subdued. The setting sun silhouettes the announcing stand, the bleachers, and the rows of horse trailers. The announcer’s country drawl booms out from the loudspeaker and spills into the dusty haze that smells of horses and hay.
“And, ladies and gentlemen, our next team ropers are the brother and sister team from American Fork, Utah, Janice and Brent Ault!”
Bursting out of the chute, a calf turns, twists, and dodges, kicking up mud as he’s chased by Janice and Brent. Quickly Janice swings her coiled rope over the calf’s neck. Brent then throws his rope on the ground, pulling it up around the calf’s hind legs. The clock stops, and smiles replace the determined looks on the faces of the brother-sister team.
It’s not often that a brother and sister compete in team roping, yet team roping is only the beginning of the Janice-Brent team. Just last fall, serving the governor of Utah, his wife, and other judges a meal consisting of garlic lamb steaks, baked potatoes, tossed green salad, carrots, a melon-ball appetizer, braided yeast bread, and a raspberry cream dessert was—yes, the Janice-Brent team.
Adorned with aprons and hats, and reminded by 3-by-5 cards printed with such phrases as “Put plates in oven to heat,” “Cut green peppers,” “Set fruit on table,” “Change aprons,” and “Call guests,” the efficient team won first place in the state 4-H contest and a trip to Denver, Colorado.
Ah, but this team doesn’t stop at cooking together. As the early morning sun sparkles on the dew-kissed June grass and glistens on the auburn-colored horses, Janice and Brent can be seen together, buckets in hands, feeding the softly neighing animals.
Or one might see them on a winter-white afternoon riding snowmobiles, letting their laughter ring out above the snowmobiles’ hum. At evening time, one might find them doing homework, leatherwork, or making cookies—together—and the list goes on!
Why is it that Janice, who is 18, and Brent, who is 16, work so well together at an age when many teenagers, although secretly admiring their brothers and sisters, avoid and label them as “pests” or “bossy”?
“We do things together because we like the same things,” says Janice. “And by doing things together we learn more about each other and how to get along.”
“Also,” says Brent, “when we do things together, we’re happier.”
Janice enjoys cooking, being outdoors, camping, photography, traveling, and participating in rodeos. Brent enjoys riding horses, riding motorcycles, hunting, fishing, and snowmobiling—to name a few.
Together, they also enjoy photography. Janice has won the 4-H state competition two years in a row. Brent has won the Utah county title and “will soon win state,” Janice adds.
They both ride horses, and they both cook. They both ride motorcycles, and they both bake bread. And that’s the key! They are both totally involved in family and Church activities. They both enjoy the same things!
However, Brent and Janice aren’t just a twosome team. Most of the time it’s a family team, with the extended family often participating.
It’s a father-son team when it’s planting, plowing, and haying. Brent farms with his father, and whether it’s on the tractor, feeding the sheep, or riding the horses, Brent and his dad are having fun, and, Brent reminds, working hard.
But don’t overlook the mother-daughter team when it’s time for baking and keeping house. By participating in meal preparation, Janice has learned to be better organized in the kitchen. “And Janice,” according to her proud mother, “makes the best bread you’ve ever tasted!”
It’s a family team when it’s rodeo, vacation, or 4-H time. When dad needs help on the farm, everyone pitches in. With mother as 4-H leader, everyone joins 4-H! And when Brent and Janice are competing at the rodeo, huddled from the rain under umbrellas and blankets cheering them on are mom, dad, and sometimes even grandma!
Of course, Sundays, Monday evenings, and other times find the Aults attending their meetings and serving faithfully. Brent is a counselor in the teachers quorum, and Janice is a counselor in the Laurel class.
We feel that it’s important to be together as a family, so we’ve chosen interests and activities that involve the whole family,” Brother Ault remarks.
Instead of isolating themselves with their personal hobbies, the Aults participate in activities that everyone can join. Instead of becoming strangers, they become friends; instead of tolerance, there is love.
Yes, Brent and Janice do have their own interests and friends, but they’ve learned, by doing things together, how to love and respect their family. It’s not uncommon for Janice to go outside to saddle up her horse and find the horse all brushed and saddled. Standing close by with a shy smile is Brent. Of course, Janice quickly returns the kindness.
As the sun begins to set, casting shadows on the quiet ten acres backgrounded by mountains, the horses are fed and brushed, the chores are done, and mom has just served a big garden supper, complete with Janice’s hot homemade bread. Voices and laughter echo in the peaceful stillness because the Aults are together—again.

On the second night of my stake’s Young Women camp, we had a big rainstorm and tornado. My ward had about 24 young women attending the camp with two leaders, and we all had to fit into one small cabin for protection. The rain was falling hard, and the wind was getting worse. I had to continually remind myself of the prayer for safety our stake president had offered earlier. Our ward also said our own group prayer in our cabin, and I said my own personal prayers.
A lot of girls were scared, and it was easy to see why. Our cabin was not very sturdy, and we were right by a river. In about 20 minutes the storm got so bad that the whole stake had to run from their ward cabins to the counselors’ cabins, which were on higher ground. My stake president said another prayer, and we sang hymns, Primary songs, and camp songs in an attempt to comfort ourselves. Yes, we were scared, but we felt that everything would be all right. Half an hour later it was OK to go back to our ward cabins.
We later found out what had happened to the tornado that night. It had split into two storms. One of them went around us to the right and the other to the left. What we got wasn’t even the worst of it!
I know that God heard our prayers that night and that He protected us from the worst of the storm. Why would a tornado split unless God needed it to? I know that in the storms of life, we can always pray to Heavenly Father and He will hear and answer us, giving us the courage and protection we need to make it safely through.

It was December—a bright frozen day in the early morning. Far out in the country there was an old Negro woman with her head tied in a red rag, coming along a path through the pinewoods. Her name was Phoenix Jackson. She was very old and small, and she walked slowly in the dark pine shadows, moving a little from side to side in her steps, with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in an old grandfather clock. She carried a thin, small cane made from an umbrella, and with this she kept tapping the frozen earth in front of her. This made a kind of grave and persistent noise in the still air that seemed meditative like the chirping of a solitary little bird. . . .
Now and then there as a quivering in the thicket.
Old Phoenix said, “Out of my way, all you foxes, owls, beetles, jack rabbits, coons, and wild animals! Keep out from under these old feet, little bobwhites. . . . Keep the big wild hogs out of my path. Don’t let none of those come running in my direction. I got a long way.”
The story continues, the adventures unfold, in most pleasing and picturesque language. She goes up hard hills, and her aged feet feel like they’re bound in chains. Down through the oaks, past the little bushes that her old eyes think to be green, but are instead thorny and brambled and worrisome as she catches her skirt that must not be torn. And then she climbs over barbed wire past big, dead trees that look like black men with one arm, standing in the field of purple stalks of the withered corn and cotton. And through pathless cornfields then shaking the dry husks to whirl around her skirts, past snake pits, bull pens, alligator ponds, and scarecrows dancing and frightening. And then she comes to a terrible place in the path that she’s following to her destination to town, loses her step, and tumbles over and down into the ditch and she can’t get back up.
After a time a white man comes along, a young man, a hunter, with his dog on a chain.
He sees her lying there and he says,
“Well, Granny, what are you doing there?”
She gives this marvelous line:
“Lying on my back like a June bug waiting to be turned over, mister,” she said, reaching up her hand.
He lifted her up, gave her a swing in the air, and set her down. “Anything broken, Granny?”
“No sir, them old dead weeds is springy enough,” said Phoenix when she had got her breath. “I thank you for your trouble.” . . .
“On your way home?”
“No sir, I going to town.”
“Why, that’s too far! That’s as far as I walk when I come out myself. . . . Now you go on home, Granny!”
“I bound to go to town, mister,” said Phoenix. “The time come around.”
When the man leaves, she finds a nickel on the ground that apparently fell out of his pocket when he stooped to pull her up. She takes the nickel, puts it in her pocket, and goes the rest of the way to town. Finally, arriving at her destination where she sees the stone building, she climbs the tower of the steps until her feet know where to stop. She goes in and is greeted by a nurse there, and the nurse asks her about a grandson who apparently had swallowed some lye some two or three years before.
Granny Phoenix has made that long, perilous journey that I’ve spared you many of the details of to get the medicine for that little boy. The nurse asks Granny if the boy is dead, and Phoenix replies:
“No, missy, he not dead, he just the same. Every little while his throat begin to close up again, and he not able to swallow. He not get his breath, he not able to help himself. So the time come around, and I go on another trip for the soothing medicine.” . . .
“My little grandson, he sit up there in the house all wrapped up, waiting by himself. We is the only two left in the world. He suffer and it don’t seem to put him back at all. He got a sweet look. He going to last. He wear a little patch quilt and he peep out holding his mouth open like a little bird.”
She adds this important line:
“I could tell him from all others in creation.”
“All right,” the nurse says, trying to silence her. She doesn’t want the story to turn into one of those old-people recitations. She gives her the medicine, marks down, “Charity,” and then says:
“It’s Christmas time, Grandma, could I give you a few pennies out of my purse?”
“Five pennies is a nickel,” said Phoenix stiffly.
“Here’s a nickel,” said the attendant.
Phoenix rose carefully and held out her hand. She received the nickel and then fished out the other nickel out of her pocket and laid it beside the new one. She stared at her palm closely, with her head on one side.
Then she gave a tap with her cane on the floor.
“This is what come to me to do. I going to the store and buy my child a windmill they sells made out of paper. He going to find it hard to believe there such a thing in the world. I’ll march myself back there where he waiting, holding it straight up in this hand.”
She lifted her free hand, and gave a little nod, turned around, and walked out of the doctor’s office. Then her slow step began on the stairs, going down.

It is often through the process of learning what questions to ask, that Lord can help us transform our feelings. Once I was caught in a conflict with a dear friend who seemed to be moving away from Heavenly Father and in the process of that was doing things in our relationship that caused me great pain. I prayed that my friend would stop doing things that hurt me. However, this prayer never felt right. I shared my unease with another friend who knew both of us, and he suggested that my prayer centered too much on me and not the wellbeing of my friend. I then went home and experimented with my prayers. I found that if I prayed that my friend would feel God's love and return to Him, I had a completely different feeling. It was a feeling of light, of joy, and amazingly of great love. It was, as Alma said, a swelling motion that enlarged my soul, and it enlightened my understanding. It was delicious. This was a process where Heavenly Father tutored me on how to refi
ne my prayer. Ironically, at the very same time that my prayer became less about me, it became part of the process of my own healing. As I prayed for my friend in a better way, I experienced fi
rsthand the Lord's promise that love casts out fear.

Jane hurried out of the classroom to the front of the school building. Her big brother, Ronnie, was waiting for her. “Mum said we have to go straight home today because we mustn’t be late for my baptism,” Jane said excitedly. “After tonight I’ll be a real Church member. It’s the most important day of my life, so far!”
Ronnie smiled at his sister and teasingly messed up her hair. “Well, we can’t be late, then. Let’s go.”
When they got home, dinner was nearly ready and Dad was home from work early. When he saw Jane, he smiled and said, “I haven’t forgotten that today’s the big day.”
After dinner, Jane, Ronnie, Mum, and Dad all got in the car and set off for the chapel, twenty miles away.
As they arrived at the chapel, Mum looked at her watch. “We’re just in time—the service should start in ten minutes.”
Brother Jones, the custodian, hurried up to them. He looked worried. “I just arrived about half an hour ago. I had planned to come earlier to fill up the font, but we had an emergency at the station. I’m ever so sorry. The water is running now, but at this rate, it will take a couple more hours to fill the font. There are huge kettles of water heating in the kitchen, and I’ve a plan I’m working on. …”
Jane didn’t listen to what her dad and Brother Jones said next. She went outside and sat on the wall next to the car park. She knew she’d have to wait a long time before her baptismal service could start.
She looked down the road that led up to the chapel. The chapel was on a hill, so she had a good view. At the bottom of the hill was a big red fire engine coming up the road. I can’t see any smoke—I wonder where the fire is. She looked around her. As the fire engine came closer to the chapel, Jane ran inside to get Ronnie so that they could both watch it pass by. By the time they got back outside, the fire engine had stopped in front of the chapel and the firemen were unwinding the big hose on the side of the engine!
When Brother Jones came out of the chapel, Jane remembered that he worked at that station. He showed the firefighters where the font was, and Ronnie and Jane watched while they filled it. Soon the font was full and the fire engine was gone.
While the ward members poured the heated water into the font, Jane dressed in her white clothes and sat down next to her dad. After the opening hymn, Ronnie offered the opening prayer. Mum and the branch president gave talks; then Jane and Dad went to the font. Dad got in first. “Oh! It’s a bit cold,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” Jane said as she went into the water. She felt so wonderful that the cold water didn’t even bother her. After she changed her clothes, she was confirmed a member of the Church by her dad. The branch president, her dad and mum, Brother Jones, and Ronnie shook her hand and congratulated her.
“Now I’m a member of the true Church,” Jane said proudly. “I feel really good. Thank you, Brother Jones, for getting a fire engine to fill up the font, just for me!”

One Sunday morning a recently baptized member was introduced to the ward. Her name was Lydia. She won our hearts at once.
Lydia was older and blind from years of battling diabetes. She quickly came to know ward members by their voices and footsteps. She would say our names and shake our hands, and we never alluded to the fact that she was blind.
After the required year’s wait, Lydia met with the bishop and the stake president to receive her temple recommend. In Relief Society one Sunday, she pulled me down beside her and exclaimed, “The stake president told me I must go to the temple as soon as possible. Will you take me?”
It was the first week of December—busy times were upon all of us. I tried to make the usual excuses and said, “Couldn’t we wait until January?”
“No, we must go now!”
A group of women from the ward went to the temple every month, so I approached them about making the trip with Lydia. They were also very busy. But Lydia, with tears in her eyes, again told us the stake president had told her to go as soon as possible.
At that we all agreed to make the 150-mile (241 km) trip the following week. On the way, we filled the van with the chatter and friendship of eight women. Lydia was overjoyed by her temple experience and the blessing of receiving her endowment.
The first week of January, Lydia’s condition worsened and she entered the hospital for emergency care. A week later she was gone. But Lydia went with the eternal blessings she had received in the temple just a few weeks earlier.
Later I related to the stake president the story of our trip and told him how impressed I was that he had felt prompted to tell Lydia she must go to the temple immediately.
“I really didn’t mean she must go now,” he responded. “I always tell new recommend holders to go to the temple soon. The Spirit spoke to Lydia, not me!”
Lydia taught us all to listen to the Spirit and to act upon it immediately. I am thankful for her reminder to listen to the still, small voice.

I remember coming home from the hospital that day. My parents helped me out of the car, through the house, and onto my bed. I remember lying there, feeling helpless for the first time in my life.
I grew up playing sports. I even hoped to run track in college someday. But toward the end of high school, I tore my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my knee—for the second time. This required several surgeries and over a year of rehab to fix. My first surgery was right before I graduated, and I had to stay home while my friends started the next chapter of their lives studying at new colleges, serving missions, and moving to exciting cities. My future, once secure, was now full of uncertainty.
Admittedly, I knew these challenges were not unique or extraordinary, but they were my challenges—and they were hard! My immediate reaction was to reach out for any sense of certainty and create plans for my future. But in that process of striving for personal assurance or security, a process that is still continuing today, I’ve learned a few things.
Education has played an important role in helping me understand uncertainty. While I was recovering from surgery, I began taking Brigham Young University–Idaho courses online. I initially wasn’t sure if online learning was right for me, but the incredible experiences I had quickly changed my opinion.
I learned a lot from my classmates who were in different circumstances. My education helped me to think differently about myself and the world around me, and my priorities started changing. I began to enjoy learning rather than passively going through the motions, and the gospel of Jesus Christ had more significance in my life.
Without my education, I would not be who I am today. I believe that my decision to serve a full-time mission was because of those courses. I believe God was guiding me and will continue to work with me as I have faith in Him.
While the future is still filled with uncertainty, it isn’t as uncomfortable for me anymore. My experiences have strengthened my relationship with God and have helped me change my approach to life. Rather than overthinking everything (something I’m a master of), I’ve realized that sometimes I just need to act. This is not a carefree attitude, but confidence that I now know Heavenly Father will help me, inspire me, and open doors of opportunity for me as I step forward in faith.
President Russell M. Nelson recently said, “Positive spiritual momentum will keep us moving forward amid … fear and uncertainty.”3 With the momentum I’ve gained, the cloud of uncertainty has been replaced with a bright hope for the future. Looking back, I’ve realized that God has been with me—maybe not in the ways I’d expected, but He’s always been there in the way I needed Him most.

She was a convert of three years—a recently returned missionary who was never as happy as when she was firing up others with the story of her conversion. When I read the neatly typed version of her story, written at the request of her mission president’s wife, I was awed. And a little envious. Her testimony had developed intensively as she had studied the Book of Mormon, taught the gospel, and sought spiritual confirmation of truth. She hadn’t seen angels, but she had seen quiet miracles. The Lord had touched her life. She, in turn, had touched mine through sharing her story. I was raised in the Church; I admire the enthusiasm of converts.
Such experiences, I told her, ought to be reciprocal. “And so I ought to give you something of equal value in return,” I said. “But I don’t know what.” She tactfully declined my offer to let her read my poetry. (“I never touch the stuff,” she said.) “Why don’t you write your conversion story?” she suggested.
“But I’m not a convert.”
“So? Aren’t you converted?”
I sat down that night to start, dubiously. I reread her story and despaired of ever piecing together a conversion story from my lifetime of attending meetings and teaching Sunday School lessons. The pattern of my conversion wasn’t obvious, but the material was certainly handy—I had kept diaries and journals for years. But a conversion story? A look back through the journals showed that I had always been aware of the Church in my life. My ancestors were baptized in England and New England in the early decades of the Restoration and later crossed the plains. I remembered always being a Mormon.
Which was how I decided to start my story: I remember always being a Mormon. I told of growing up in the Church, of going to corn-feeds and Primary, of singing solos and telling my school friends about the Church. I told how no one needed to tell me when my grandmother died because I knew in my eight-year-old heart that it had happened. I told how all the relatives and seemingly half the town gathered for her funeral in the Rexburg, Idaho, Fourth Ward chapel.
As I reminisced, a theme began to emerge: as a child, I had learned the gospel by living it. Family and teachers had taught me to look to the Lord for strength. I had prayed since I was a child. This seemed ironic, because during my adolescence I had wondered if my prayers were correct and effective. Other people told of dramatic answers to prayers and of lengthy sessions of pleading with the Lord. My prayers, in contrast, were simple, short, and sometimes quite demanding and to the point. Yet I saw, by looking back through journals and memory, that I had always prayed, and that my prayers had always been heartfelt. When grandma died, I prayed. When I lost control of a horse I was riding, I prayed. When I was scared no one would dance with me, I prayed. When I was too terrified to play a piano solo in public, I prayed. Though not every prayer was answered immediately, all were answered.
I realized that looking to the Lord was a pattern of my life, part of me since I was a toddler. I recognized a strength I had questioned before, and I recognized the Lord’s hand in my life as never before.
As I wrote of my intense involvement in Church while I was in high school, I recalled that many of my friends had wanted to know what made my life different from theirs. Why did I spend so much time at church? Why were the Mormon kids so close? What was our 6:30 A.M. religion class about, anyway? I had told some friends about the gospel. One girl friend and her family were baptized a few weeks after I had timidly asked them, “What do you know about the Mormon church?” one night as we sat around their kitchen table after an orchestra excursion. Another friend gained a testimony of the Book of Mormon but did not have the faith at 15 to be baptized. Other friends went to Young Women meetings and to Church dances with me. A young man I met at a high school journalism conference joined the Church after we corresponded philosophically for three years. I had not converted him, but I had introduced him to the truth, and he had recognized it.
Before reviewing these incidents in my journals and writing them out for my conversion story, I had wondered if I were capable of being an effective member-missionary. “Every member a missionary” had rung guilty notes in my ears for years. Now I realized that I was a missionary—in my own way, with my own friends. Now, that knowledge gives me confidence in continuing to share the gospel gladly and openly.
I wrote next of times I had sought help from the Lord through his servants. I wrote of my high regard for one bishop in particular, of the blessing of knowing worthy men who regarded themselves as “the servant of all” (D&C 50:26). I had forgotten those men and the impact of their leadership. I had forgotten that from them came my first motivation to study the scriptures until the Lord’s words became a pattern for my thoughts.
I wrote how one morning while I was attending Brigham Young University I awoke feeling a need to know that my life had purpose. I prayed that as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve spoke at a devotional assembly that morning, his words would give me direction and motivation. The prayer was undeniably answered only hours later. That incident, too, I had not thought of for some time.
Throughout those events, I know the Lord was involved in my life. But, curiously, I had underestimated my ability to successfully live my religion. Writing my conversion story out—all eight typed pages of it—made me more appreciative of me. By reading my journal and writing my story, I understood myself better, and I saw my growth more clearly. I saw that even when I did not yet understand or accept all the principles of the gospel, I accepted the Lord. I wrote: Because I learned to pray as a child—taught by my grandmother, my mother, and uncounted teachers at church—I had a faith in prayer that carried me through periods of doubt. It was my prayers as a youngster that I recalled in my greatest need.
An even greater benefit has come since writing out my own Church history. “And when thou art converted,” Luke wrote, “strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32). I gave a copy of my story to the friend who first shared her conversion story with me. (“It was pretty good,” she said. “You didn’t know you had it in you, did you?”) I have judiciously given it to a few other friends since, as we have shared experiences and encouragement. I share it with nonmember friends who want to learn more about the gospel. I wouldn’t give it to just anybody—too much in it is too private. The friends I share it with are strengthened, and that strengthens me. And now, with my conversion story written, signed, and dated, I am more than strengthened; I am a convert.

At age 25, I felt ready for marriage. I had already served a mission and felt that marriage was the next step for me. Marriage was promised to me in my patriarchal blessing, and a recent priesthood blessing had told me that it would happen “soon.” Not long after that, I started a new semester at school and quickly began dating someone. I’ll spare you all the details, but right before we were going to get engaged, he broke up with me. On my birthday.
I was devastated. This was the only thing I had prayed for consistently and so deeply for the past five years. And I felt like not only were my prayers not answered, but the very thing I had longed for was intentionally taken away from me.
I was so confused. I had felt spiritual feelings during the relationship that this was the right decision. But it just felt like God was being cruel and merciless—like He was intentionally taking good things out of my life. It seemed like the things He was doing were contrary to what I knew about His nature.
I had a bit of a faith crisis because there was no way I could look at what I was told about God and what He had done in not answering my prayers and reconcile the two logically. But my only choice was to go to Him with my broken heart—broken from both my unanswered prayers and my failed relationship. I felt like I had nothing left.
In trying to draw closer to Him, I began reading the Book of Mormon every day with a sincerity I hadn’t been capable of before. And little by little, as I expressed what tiny acts of faith I could to keep my broken heart soft and close to Him, answers started coming.
Eventually I realized that there had been some red flags and unhealthy patterns in the relationship that I had been unwilling to see. I began to understand that God had approved of my agency to move forward in the relationship. I started to see all my unanswered prayers in a different light. And I realized that God had been merciful all along.
Because I felt so broken and vulnerable after this experience, I looked for the most uplifting and wholesome friends I could find. I eventually began dating one of those friends. I learned to take this new relationship very slowly, and we laid a great foundation of friendship and selfless love that eventually took us to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. God answered my prayers, over time and after I had exercised faith in Him.

Several years ago as I was preparing for further graduate studies, I chose to audit a math class. Given that I was still taking other classes and finishing my thesis, I thought this would be a great opportunity to learn, without the pressures of worrying about a grade. I did great for the first few weeks, but as time became scarcer, I focused on those things for which I would be graded on, and gave less attention and attendance to the math class. Without the risk of a grade and a commitment to do the homework, I soon fell behind and quickly found that I was so far behind it did not justify attending the class.
As with education, life is not a spectator sport to be watched as we sit on the sidelines. It requires that we are active participants and exposed to the great joys and disappointments that come throughout life. In every activity of life, we will at times fall short and make mistakes, but enduring the trial makes the joy of success that much sweeter.

As we cultivate the Spirit in our own hearts, we become more able to teach, to reach other hearts by the Spirit. (See 2 Ne. 33:1.) On the other hand, if we lack the Spirit, our children may perceive insincerity, even though we say all the right words. They may feel that we are trying to force them into obedience, and they may resist us. One six-year-old, for example, caused a disturbance in a supermarket, demanding candy and pulling cans off a shelf when she didn’t get it. Instead of disciplining her more kindly, her exasperated mother gripped the little girl by the shoulders and harshly told her to sit down. “I’ll be sitting down on the outside,” her daughter responded, “but I’ll be standing up on the inside!”

When we teach through the Spirit—“and the Spirit shall be given unto you by the prayer of faith” (D&C 42:14)—there are a number of things we can do consciously to help our children learn to recognize, seek, and be guided by their own spiritual feelings.
1. Help them learn to pray. We need to start when they are very young, kneeling with them morning and night. In this setting, we can express love for each other and for Heavenly Father. By participating in this sacred experience over and over, children can form the habit of returning frequently to the reverence, love, security, and peace associated with prayer.
Personal prayer can become their private spiritual haven, but family prayer also provides important opportunities to experience spiritual feelings. Even tiny children are able to sense its reverential tones and worshipful peace. Of course, children can sometimes be disruptive and parents impatient, but the repeated experience of praying together can soften and strengthen everyone involved. One of our older children once said of a younger sister, “When I hear Jenny talk to Heavenly Father, I catch a glimpse of heaven.” We also have a son who, as a rambunctious three-year-old, was often subdued when he heard his name spoken in family prayer.
2. Keep the peace. A consistently serene atmosphere is essential for teaching spiritual things. Because the Spirit speaks in “a still small voice” (1 Ne. 17:45), it is difficult to discern spiritual feelings amid commotion, especially contention. We parents need to start with ourselves in this matter. By repentance and faith, we should strive always to be peacemakers in our families. We should speak softly and respectfully, express love and appreciation, apologize and forgive readily, and be cheerful. Success in these efforts may not come quickly, but home is the perfect place for practicing a better way again and again. Success will come more easily if we rid our homes of worldly influences, including television programs, videos, music, and reading materials that offend the Lord’s Spirit.
3. Teach the gospel at their level. The doctrines of the kingdom, taught in their simplicity and purity, have an everlasting impact on children as the Spirit bears confirming witness. In some respects, our children are like investigators in the gospel, inquiring and learning. When they ask questions and express thoughts that seem only remotely connected to the subject during family home evening, we should take their comments seriously and encourage thinking on their part, even though taking time to handle their concerns may keep us from getting through the lesson just as we planned. Supporting them in this way teaches children to trust their own feelings.
4. Lead them in wholesome family activities. Carefully selected activities can remove the family from worldly influences into a circle of peace and loving mutual support. The sense of belonging to an eternal family, which is a spiritual feeling, will serve children as a divine reference point by which to measure other relationships. Gangs and other damaging groups would have far less appeal if youth were spiritually bonded to their families.
One of our daughters has told us that the most meaningful times of her childhood and youth came “when the family was all together and no one was upset, and we sat around and talked and sang and felt the Spirit of the Lord. I was completely happy.”
5. Talk to them at every opportunity. Some of our favorite recollections are of heart-to-heart conversations when our children were eager to delay bedtime. We listened, asking just enough questions to encourage a child to recount the joys and disappointments of the day. Never have we found better opportunities to initiate talk about feelings and to point out, in terms of the child’s daily experiences, how the Spirit may have been heeded or ignored. These opportunities for sharing spiritual feelings with a child can also be found during ordinary daily activities like working in the garden, cleaning up the dishes, and going on errands.
6. Listen for spiritual promptings. We can be alert for opportunities to help our children welcome the Spirit’s influence—opportunities for them to feel gratitude, to reflect on blessings, to receive inspiration. One mother shared a story that illustrates the way parents can give gentle guidance in situations like these.
After a school carnival, her younger sons, Richard and Joe, were excited that they each had won a twenty-five-cent balsa-wood airplane, and her oldest son, Sam, was elated at having won two of them. But as the boys climbed into bed, Richard accidentally knelt on his airplane and broke it into pieces. He seemed inconsolable. The mother suggested that Sam share one of his planes. “Mom,” he replied, “how could you ask me to do something so hard?”
Gently, she reminded him of the gift of the Holy Ghost he had received after baptism. “Listen to your heart,” she added. “You will be able to decide what to do.”
A few minutes later, Richard wiped away his tears as he thanked Sam for the gift. And Sam wrote in his journal: “When I was getting the airplane for Rich, I felt a smile and a warm feeling in my heart. It was so warm I was about to burst. I could barely sleep that night ‘cause I felt that super amazing burst in my heart.” He told his mother that he knew the Holy Ghost had helped him make the decision.
Teaching about the Spirit seems particularly difficult when things are going badly at home. Our first impulse may be to take harsh measures with our children, perhaps to criticize, belittle, or condemn. At times like these, it is more important than ever to seek the Spirit ourselves and to restore peace by its influence and guidance. When we respond to disobedience, contention, or rebelliousness in this way, we invite healing through the Spirit and teach our families of the peace it brings.
“You can’t force your boys, nor your girls into heaven. You may force them to hell by using harsh means in the efforts to make them good, when you yourselves are not as good as you should be. … You can only correct your children by love, in kindness, by love unfeigned, and reason” (Joseph F. Smith, Gospel Doctrine, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1971, page 317). This may require listening to children’s complaints or frustrations patiently while we fight the urge to force them to behave correctly. It may mean confessing our shortcomings to them and asking their forgiveness. It may cause us to weep with them over whatever has gone wrong. It may require that we leave what we are doing, however important we may think it is, and attend to our children’s needs.
When we faithfully do this sacred work of teaching our children, we do not do it alone. “Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (Hymns, 1985, number 27), and in no other endeavor do we need those blessings more than in nurturing our children’s spiritual sensitivity. The Lord has promised to help us. (See D&C 45:57–58.) The sacrifices we make, the tears we shed, and the prayers we offer are never wasted. The very fact that we try calls forth heavenly assistance.
“Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

This is a very scary time we’re in right now. Schools are shut down, Church meetings are suspended, and temples are closed. Getting used to this new routine of being in quarantine has been difficult. The load of homework I had seemed unmanageable at first. I’ve been scared about the safety of my extended family members, especially my grandparents. But I’ve had to remember that living on this earth means that we will go through hard things.
After being in quarantine a while, I’ve been able to see some good aspects, like getting to sleep in and make my own schedule. One thing that’s helped me stay positive during quarantine is doing things with my family, even though at first it was hard being with each other all the time and we sometimes had small fights. But now it’s great being all together. My 12-year-old sister and I have tried some cool new recipes and baked lots of cakes and cupcakes together during the last couple of weeks.

Back in November of 2003, I was attending a professional conference in Philadelphia. Between sessions, I took a walk to revisit some of the places I knew from my childhood. During my walk, I was surprised to witness the completion of the Philadelphia Marathon that was being held that day. I was drawn to the final mile or so of the marathon route where I witnessed thousands and thousands of spectators lined up on both sides of the street loudly cheering every runner that went by. It takes a long time to finish up a marathon. From the time the first place runner finishes to the time the last place runner comes in can be many hours. I spent a little more than an hour observing what was going on during that final mile or so. During that time, I saw thousands of people festively cheering as every runner struggled down the last few blocks gasping for breath. Every runner was made to feel that he or she was a hero, a man or woman of worth, accomplishment, and value. And I am sure that hardly anybody knew anybody. They just cheered unconditionally.

Sometimes I think that we worry too much about questions concerning others that no one should worry about at all, or at the very worst, should only be addressed by their good bishop, stake president or in other sacred situations. You see, as the runners in the marathon were passing by, nobody in the cheering crowd asked if they were worthy enough to be appreciated.
Nobody asked if on their missions they were Assistants to the President.
Nobody inquired if they came from a large family or a small one.
Nobody asked if they bought their clothes at The Gap or at D. I.
Nobody worried if they came from an active family or an inactive one.
Nobody asked if they got their Eagle or their Young Woman’s Medallion.
Nobody posed any questions concerning the political affiliations of their parents.
Nobody inquired if they could have gotten into BYU-Provo or what their ACT was.
Nobody asked if they had been in the popular group in high school. Nobody asked. . . . Yet the cheering went on and on.

Those people were celebrated for one simple reason. They were celebrated because they are our fellow human beings, our brothers and sisters here on this earth. Like the rest of us, they struggle, they worry, they do good deeds and bad ones. They ponder, plead and pray. And right then as they were finishing the marathon, right then they were successful in at least one thing, at least one very difficult endeavor. At least one success in the midst of their many failures and insecurities. At least one. That’s why they were celebrated.

“FIRE! Fire!” Frantic pleas for help broke the stillness of the quiet afternoon in Nauvoo. But it wasn’t a barn or a shed that was in flames that February 9, 1846.
Eleven-year-old Aurelia Spencer was nearby and could see men on top of the temple, swinging their hats and calling for assistance. Many members of the Church were busy preparing to leave Illinois for Utah, but when the alarm sounded everyone left whatever they were doing to help save the temple.
Willard Richards, a leader in the community, was on the temple grounds when the fire started and he immediately took charge. He shouted for everyone, including women and children, to rush to the closest wells to fill buckets with water. Two rows of men were formed on the stairs leading up to the attic roof of the temple where the fire had started. They passed full buckets of water up one row of fire fighters and returned them empty down another. Aurelia ran back and forth carrying pails of water to the men in the bucket brigade. But the wells were soon emptied, and teams of horses were driven to the river to obtain water.
There were a few moments of confusion when another alarm called some of the Saints to help rescue the victims of an accident nearby involving two riverboats. But in spite of this interruption, the temple fire was put out after about half an hour.
Hosea Stout, one of the fire fighters, said that a hole about 3 1/2 meters square had been burned in the roof. Later it was found that the temple fire had been caused by a red-hot stovepipe that ignited some clothes drying in an attic room.
When the fire was completely extinguished, Aurelia joined with the Saints as they rejoiced with loud shouts of Hosannah. Brigham Young, President of the Council of the Twelve, had seen the smoke from some distance and arrived just as the crowd began to celebrate. The Nauvoo band then climbed to the top of the roof and began to play for those gathered below.
Aurelia felt privileged to be able to help put out the fire that could easily have destroyed the Saints’ beloved temple. She later wrote, “Child as I was, I could not help noticing the order that prevailed and the calmness of the men that superintended the work.”
Aurelia grew up to become the president of the first Primary organized in the Church.