Gospel Story Finder

Tylor dressed and ate his breakfast as fast as he could. Today was Friday, and he had a very special mission.

Of all the things in the world that a boy could want, a tree house was what Tylor wanted most. He had wanted one as long as he could remember, but something had always stood in the way. One summer, his parents told him that he was too young. Another summer, they just couldn’t afford it. The next year looked good, but time ran out—his father had been too busy with work that summer.

But now, the summer of his ninth birthday, everything was arranged: Grandpa would supply all the wood. Mother had already helped Tylor save his pennies all year to buy the bright red paint for it. Father and he would build it tomorrow. And Cousin Hank would help paint it.

Only one thing still needed to be done. Tylor had to find some way to haul the wood from Grandpa’s lumberyard on the outskirts of town to Tylor’s house on Elm Street.

This was Tylor’s project today. He had received a wagon for a Christmas present a few years back and hadn’t played with it for at least a year. It had been put in the garage some time ago, and now it was loaded with old newspapers and magazines. Today Tylor would clean it out and use it to haul the wood from Grandpa’s lumberyard.

In no time, the wagon and Tylor were ready to depart. The only thing left to do was tell Mother that he was going. He found her on the back porch with two laundry baskets and a pillowcase full of dirty clothes.

“Oh, Tylor,” she said, “I’m glad you’re still here! The washer isn’t working, and I need to take these clothes to the laundromat. I can’t carry all of them by myself. Would you mind helping me before you get your wood?”

“Sure, Mom. We can load them into my wagon, and I’ll pull it. That way your hands will be free for Damion and Leslie.” (They were Tylor’s younger brother and sister.)

It didn’t take long to get the laundry finished, and Tylor was glad to help his mother, who was always doing things for him and everyone else in the family. After helping her carry the clean clothes into the house, there was still plenty of time to get the lumber. Tylor took the handle of his wagon and started down the street in the direction of his grandpa’s lumberyard.

After walking a few blocks, Tylor met Mr. Harper, an elderly man who had no children but who had always been kind to the children in the neighborhood. He owned an old go-cart that he allowed Tylor to ride on the weekends in exchange for running errands for him. Tylor liked Mr. Harper very much.

“You are just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Harper told him. “I need a favor. Yesterday my fridge went on the blink and everything inside spoiled. I got it fixed this morning, but now I’m out of milk and I’m afraid my old cat won’t stand for that. Do you have time to run to the dairy for me?”

Although he was anxious to get to the lumberyard, Tylor had always been taught to help a friend in need, and Mr. Harper was a friend. “Sure thing, Mr. Harper. Can I leave my wagon here?”

“Of course.” The elderly man handed Tylor money for the milk.

When Tylor returned, he saw that Mr. Harper had filled his wagon with empty pop bottles. What a surprise!

“That’s for running to the dairy for me,” Mr. Harper told him. “I thought you could find some use for these.”

“Thanks a lot!” Tylor called as he turned the wagon around and headed for home. All the way, he imagined what he would buy with the money he’d get for turning the pop bottles in for cash.

He took the wagon into the garage and sat the bottles neatly on a shelf. Then he turned his wagon around and started off again.

He had only gone a few yards, when he noticed his little brother crying. For a moment he wanted to turn away. After all, it was getting late and he wanted to get to the lumberyard and back while he still had sunshine to play in. But he couldn’t go knowing that something was wrong with Damion. Tylor went over to him. “What’s wrong, Damion?”

Damion opened his hand to reveal several nickels. “All the kids are waiting for the ice-cream truck to buy an ice-cream treat, but I don’t have enough money.”

Tylor thought a moment. “I don’t have any money, either, but I know where we can get some. Come with me.”

Tylor and Damion reloaded the pop bottles into the wagon. After they had turned them in at the store, there was enough money for them and Leslie to all buy an ice-cream treat.

Tylor did not eat his right away. He put it into the freezer so that he could enjoy it later, after he was back with the lumber.

Pulling his wagon over cement, grass, dirt, and even railroad tracks, he finally arrived at the lumberyard. With Grandpa’s help, he loaded the lumber onto the wagon and tied it securely with a piece of old rope.

All the way home, he sang songs he had learned in Primary. He was very tired, and it was late. He knew that he wouldn’t have much time left for playing, but it didn’t matter. He was very happy. He had helped his mother, Mr. Harper, and his brother and still had time to get the lumber. As he smiled to himself, he realized that this feeling must be why Mother always had a smile on her face, too.

I was playing an online restaurant game late one night when my husband walked by and announced that he was going to bed.
“I’ll be right in,” I told him.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said.
I was playing a game in which I cooked virtual food in a virtual restaurant for virtual customers. I looked at the computer screen and said, “Actually, I have food coming up in 15 minutes.”
To pass the time while I waited, I picked up Daughters in My Kingdom: The History and Work of Relief Society, which had lain on the desk since I had received it in Relief Society. I began reading the preface. On the third page I found the following by Belle S. Spafford, ninth Relief Society general president.
“The average woman today, I believe,” she wrote, “would do well to appraise her interests, evaluate the activities in which she is engaged, and then take steps to simplify her life, putting things of first importance first, placing emphasis where the rewards will be greatest and most enduring, and ridding herself of the less rewarding activities” (2011, xiii).
Other than the scriptures, never has anything I have read touched me so deeply. This woman who died more than 30 years ago was speaking to me. Her words are likely more relevant today than when she said them.
I knew immediately that I would never play online games again. I turned off the computer, went to bed, and told my husband of my decision. The next day I did not even turn on the computer. Instead, I figured out how many hours I had wasted on those games every day.
I multiplied three hours a day by 365 (days in a year) and divided by 24 (hours in a day). I was stunned to learn that I had wasted 45.62 days per year. Those precious hours and days are gone forever. I could have spent them reading my scriptures, spending time with my husband and children, serving others, or magnifying my callings.
General Authorities often address this subject during general conference. Yet it had never hit home, and I thought it did not apply to me.
I am grateful that the Holy Ghost helped me recognize that the General Authorities—and Belle S. Spafford—were speaking to me.

If any of us thought we were the only “cultured” thing to hit Israel, we had another think coming. In an exchange with the Kibbutz Chamber Orchestra, we heard two pieces by Mozart, played as expertly as any orchestra we have come in contact with. These musicians are unusual in that they play not for money but for the sake of playing.

We also had an exchange with the Kibbutz Choir—40 vibrant singers whose sharp, crisp consonants danced in rhythm with their fervent enthusiasm. Their swaying shoulders and fiery eyes made them just as inspiring to watch as they were to hear. Though mostly farmers and small industry workers, both the members of the choir and the orchestra are exceptional artists.

The exchange was so successful and friendships became so strong that our conductor, Dr. Ralph Woodward, was invited to return next summer to conduct workshops with the music educators and musicians throughout Israel.

Skaidr?te married in 1969 but didn’t have children until her only child, a son, was born in 1981. By the time the boy was eight, Skaidr?te once again felt the need for religion in her life. Her mother-in-law often said, “You don’t laugh about God. Even if you don’t believe, you can respect.”
Skaidr?te still carried emotional scars inflicted by her mother’s alcoholism. She hated being around others at weddings and celebrations where they drank alcohol. Impressed by a relative of her mother-in-law who never drank, Skaidr?te started attending his church. “I was in church,” she says, “but I wasn’t getting to know God.” For 10 more years she floundered, but her desire to find her Heavenly Father persisted, even as her own husband and her son both slipped into alcoholism. She divorced and her husband and son moved far away. Again, dark thoughts arose. Was suicide an answer?
In 1999, Skaidr?te was looking for a church. She saw a building with a sign that said The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a weekday, but she opened the door and went inside.
“There was a sister missionary. When I walked in, she was smiling—a very open smile. I thought there was somebody behind me. Then I realized that smile was for me, and I smiled back. I felt like I was meeting a best friend, long not seen.
“She was the one who introduced me to the Church. I had never met anyone like the missionaries. I felt like they were angels, literally come from heaven to earth.
“Basically from that day, everything changed in my life.”
Skaidr?te stopped going to her previous church, even though people there warned her she would find bad things in this new Church. “I told them if there was something bad, I would stop going,” Skaidr?te says, “But there was nothing but good to find.” That was 17 years ago.
Today, Skaidr?te, age 71, is so happy and full of life that it’s hard to believe that hasn’t always been the case.
“When I first saw that sister missionary, when I found the Church for the first time, since that day all the thoughts of suicide were gone. There were no thoughts of life being dark. In spite of everything, I am positive. Life is beautiful to me.”

Moses Mahlangu, of Soweto, South Africa, patiently but persistently waited sixteen years for baptism. When he speaks of his long wait, Brother Mahlangu compares himself to Cornelius, who he says was “very good in waiting to receive the word of God or to be a member of the Church until the angels came and told him what to do.” (See Acts 10:1–7.) Today, at age sixty-seven, Moses is a groundskeeper at the Johannesburg South Africa Temple, which he regularly attends.

“You only get to be Annie once in your life,” said Candice Payne, emphasizing her statement with a shake of her short blond hair, now dyed red. “My mom dyed my hair for me for the play,” she said ruffling it with her fingers. “But I think I like it better blond.” Even while she’s sitting still, energy seems like a compressed spring in her slim frame. Someone bustles in with the message that the curtain goes up in ten minutes. Candice turns to the mirror. Even though she is just 11, she applies stage makeup to highlight her eyes and darken her lashes with the expert strokes of a professional. Her costume for the first act is the baggy dress and sweater of an orphan. The curly wig and distinctive red dress needed to create the character of Little Orphan Annie hang nearby.
Candice played the part of Annie six nights a week for more than a month before sold-out audiences in Salt Lake City. She gave up a lot for the chance to star in one of her favorite plays. She had to forego a chance for a movie and a television series, but it was worth it. She always wanted to play the little red-headed girl that sings about hope and looking forward to tomorrow.
Performing in public started when Candice was three in her hometown of Arcadia, California, where she and her family still live. The stake president called Sherma, Candice’s mother, to ask if three-year-old Candice would speak in stake conference. It was to be a tribute to grandparents. Her mother wondered if she had heard right. Surely the stake president didn’t want Candice. He must have meant nine-year-old Tasha who was well-known for her public speaking abilities. But no, he asked for three-year-old Candice.
Sherma remembers Candice’s first public performance. “She learned her talk and prepared to sing ‘In My Grandmother’s Old-Fashioned Garden.’ She always had a good memory if she could sing it. The day of stake conference came. It was a huge crowd stretching all the way to the back of the hall. Candice got scared. When it was her turn, she climbed onto the stool in front of the podium. She put her hands beside her eyes like blinders, so she wouldn’t see the people. She just froze. I stood beside her to help, but it was no use. Finally, I said, ‘Just sing your song.’ As soon as the music started, she put her hands down and sang.”
Candice soon got over any stage fright. She joined a group of little girls that performed in the stake. “I love dancing and singing,” said Candice. “It always came easy to me, and I like it.” And people love watching her perform.
For Candice, the sheer joy of dancing, moving, stretching, acting, performing, is something that motivates her life. She likes to do things well. “I remember going to a birthday party for one of my friends. They had hula hoops at the party, and the others were really good at it. They could keep the hoop twirling and could do some tricks with it.” Candice tried the hoop and it kept slipping off her hips and clattering around her feet on the ground. Frustrated but determined, she marched home and asked her mother if they could buy a hula hoop. “I was going to learn how to do it. I kept practicing until I was good at it.”
Candice has natural athletic ability which shows in her easy movements on stage and in dance. It also shows up in school activities. “Weren’t you one of just a few of your sixth grade that qualified for the Presidential Medal for Physical Fitness?” asks her dad, Barton. Candice grins and nods yes. “Wasn’t it just you and three other boys that qualified for the medal?” her dad asks again trying to remember the details. Again, Candice smiles and nods. This energy and ability also translate well into her performing routines.
“People kept telling us to get her in show business,” said Candice’s mother. “We’d hear that time after time. But no one told us how.” Candice joined a professional performing group, and the Paynes were introduced to an agent who accepted Candice as a client. She was featured in a dairy drink commercial. A television producer saw her perform and wanted her to try out for a part in a proposed television series. She got the part. She was approached about auditioning for a movie.
Then the opportunity to play Annie was offered to her. Candice had wanted to play the spunky orphan ever since she had seen the play. Shortly after attending the play, she had a bad case of flu, and while she was recuperating she would lie on the couch in the front room and listen to the tape of the music from Annie. “I listened to that tape over and over and learned all the songs,” said Candice. “I wanted to be Annie more than anything.”
Even though Candice can really belt out the melodic theme song of the play, her particular favorite is the opening number that she performs with the other girls in the orphanage. With the enthusiasm of a typical 11-year-old, Candice said, “I like the song ‘It’s a Hard Knock Life’ best because we get to jump on the beds and have pillow fights.”
Did Candice have any difficulties while playing Annie? “The worst time was when the dog that was playing Sandy was supposed to come to me. Instead it just ran off the stage, and I had to run after it and bring it back onstage for the rest of the scene,” she said. “Then there was the night that the dog thought the microphone was a mouse and started batting it with his paws.” Aside from the dog coming up with the unexpected, the play was a rousing success as the critics and nightly standing ovations acclaimed.
Candice’s parents wonder about where Candice’s talent may lead. Her mother said, “I don’t feel like we as parents have the right to deny her the opportunity to develop her talents. But on the other hand, we don’t want her talent to create false values and expose her to things in life that would be detrimental.”
Candice has already had to face a situation where she was asked to perform a song which had lyrics she objected to. In her performing group, her director told her to just not sing the objectionable part and join in later. Candice chose instead to sit out the entire number backstage. “It was completely her decision,” said her mother, Sherma. “I wasn’t even there when she made the choice to stay out of the number.”
Candice is the youngest of five children. Her older brother, Bart, and three sisters, Dawney, Julie, and Tasha, are proud of their little sister. She’s been performing for them since she was old enough to walk and talk. And as Candice finishes playing Annie, she is like the little heroine of the play, secure in the folds of a loving family, with a talent for entertaining others, and just thinking about tomorrow.

A maze, of course, is a puzzle made of lines through which a path from a point marked “beginning” to a point marked “end” can be traced. Richard has drawn hundreds of them and has even published a book of mazes. The book, which contains about 50 mazes of varying difficulty, was used as one source of income for financing Richard’s mission. (He is currently serving in the Texas San Antonio Mission.)
It was Richard’s father who first thought of using the maze book as a financial resource for a mission. “I promised the Lord that all the money would go into my mission fund,” Richard said. “The books weren’t selling too well to begin with, but last Christmas we had more orders than books and had to have some more printed.” They have now published more than 1,000 copies and hope to have more printed by this Christmas.

Sometimes we don’t do good things to the "least of these my brethren," because we judge them. We put a label on them and then rationalize our misbehavior or our non-behavior toward them. Years ago, we moved in next door to an older couple who yelled so loud at each other, I was first disturbed, then disgusted by what sounded like constant quarreling. My resentment of the couple for all this noise kept me from making their acquaintance. "Little wonder no one visits them," I thought. As time went on, however, I suspected that they must be lonely. I was not aware of any family coming to see them. After many months, I mentioned this to another neighbor and wondered if I should visit them. This neighbor said, "I think it would be a great idea, but when you visit them, you’ll have to yell because they are both nearly deaf."

The next few years were hard for a variety of reasons. I was exposed to many paths that were contrary to the teachings of the gospel. Even though my parents were supportive of our church attendance, they were not members of the Church and didn’t have the same standards. So I didn’t have a foundation at home for spiritual growth.
During that time, attending seminary and connecting with my youth leaders really helped me push through the hard times and stay committed to the gospel. I grew spiritually, thanks to the efforts of teachers and other members of the Church who loved me and cared about my growth.

Thanks for helping me study for that science test. I passed, thanks to you.
No problem!
Umm … how come you’ve been so nice to me after some of us were so mean when you first got here?
Well, after you failed that first science test you looked like you needed some help.
And we had a lesson in our family home evening about being kind to others.
What’s family home evening?
Family home evening is where we get together and have lessons, and games, and treats.
My family doesn’t do anything like that.
Hey! Does your family want to come to our home evening next Monday night?
Sounds fun. I’ll ask my mom.
Mom, can I be in charge of family home evening on Monday? I invited Audrey. I hope that’s OK.
… I’ll make brownies and …
To be continued …

A few months prior to the start of my service as a full-time missionary for the Church, I was diagnosed with vocal nodules. Nodules are calluses that develop on your vocal cords as a result of consistent and overwhelming friction. Fortunately, I was still able to start my mission.
Then, three months into my mission, I went in for a checkup. I learned there was a bleed on my vocal cord and that I would be on almost complete vocal rest for the next eight months.
I started my vocal rest immediately. I would avoid talking each day until about 3:00 p.m., using sign language to communicate with my companion. After that, I would talk only when absolutely necessary. We made social media missionary work a much bigger part of our daily schedule, and my companion took the lead in all contacts and teaching appointments.
But as the vocal rest continued, instead of feeling better, I felt even more intense burning in my throat nearly all the time. I had to save the few words I could speak for special occasions, and my world grew very lonely. I hardly felt like myself anymore. The outgoing, bubbly, 20-year-old girl I was just a few short weeks earlier was now quiet, reserved, and struggling to know how she fit in. I found myself crying multiple times a day. As each unspoken thought or feeling was swallowed in silence, I was losing myself.
On one particular occasion, I felt more darkness than usual and prayed for some glimmer of hope. It was then that the words to one of my favorite hymns came to mind:
There is music in my soul today,
A carol to my King,
And Jesus listening can hear
The songs I cannot sing.1
I was immediately struck by the last phrase and overwhelmed with the love my Savior has for me. I knew in that moment that I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t invisible. And I certainly wasn’t forgotten.
One of my favorite phrases from the scriptures is “song of the heart” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12). I realized I didn’t need my physical voice to be heard by Heavenly Father and by the Savior. They are always listening to every thought, prayer, heartache, and question, whether spoken out loud or not. I thought I was losing myself because I couldn’t speak, but without a word having ever been uttered, the songs sung by a silent, struggling young girl—the songs of my heart—rose to heaven and brought peace to my soul.
Although I have yet to receive my healing miracle, I have been empowered by the advice of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to “be patient, do your part, and express gratitude for the smallest improvement noted.”2 With every step in the right direction, I feel reassured that “this too shall pass.” In the last few months, I’ve been able to end my vocal rest earlier in the afternoon and talk with less pain.
I do not know when I will receive complete physical healing, but I have seen emotional healing come in many different ways. I’ve learned that the key to overcoming hardship is maintaining a close and direct relationship with God. This includes not only praying but also being quiet long enough to hear His voice. Instead of asking, “Why?” I started asking, “What did my trial give me today?” As I did, I began to see traces of God all around me.
Because of my trial, I have learned the importance of slowing down and connecting with my heavenly roots. I have also been blessed to appreciate more fully the musical gifts and abilities of others. Not being able to speak has allowed me to listen more to others and deepen my compassion for them. On the other hand, I have been reminded of the strength that comes from letting others help me.
Throughout my physical trials, I’ve come to learn that hope is not crossing our fingers or holding our breath for a desired outcome. Hope is not hanging on until we see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hope is the lantern we carry on our way through. It is what helps us move forward and shows us that we are not walking alone but with Heavenly Father and the Savior every step of the way.

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

As a youth, I wasn’t planning on serving a mission, but people constantly bugged me about going. They reminded me that the Lord expected me to go. Those telling me to go on a mission meant well, but the pressure made me not want to go.
One day, the local missionaries had an emergency. As a result, a missionary would be left alone for the day. I was asked to stay with him until his new companion arrived. That night, after we had prayed and prepared for bed, my “companion” asked me if I was thinking about serving a mission. I told him no.
He replied, “When you feel like you should do it, then do it.” In other words, if the Holy Ghost prompted me to serve, I should go. I didn’t feel any pressure when he spoke, but I did feel the Spirit. The missionary’s words stayed with me and eventually helped me to find a job and save money for a mission.
On my mission, I developed a special closeness with Heavenly Father. I learned that when the Holy Ghost tells us it’s time to do something, we need to do it.
Leonardo Z., Argentina

Some years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks told about a group of Boy Scouts who went cave exploring. The narrow trail was marked with white stones and lighted in sections as they went. After about an hour they came to a huge, high dome. Below it lay an area called the Bottomless Pit, so called because the floor of the cave had collapsed into a deep, gaping hole. It was hard not to jostle each other on that narrow path. Pretty soon, one of the bigger boys accidentally pushed a smaller boy into a muddy area away from the light. Terrified as he lost his footing, he screamed in the darkness. The ranger heard his cry of terror and came quickly. The boy let out another cry as the beam of the ranger’s light showed that he was right on the very edge of the pit. (See Improvement Era, June 1957, 444–51.)
In this story, the boy was rescued. But this does not always happen. So many times young people go to the very edge or even beyond it. With only a precarious toehold, it is easy to be seriously injured or even die.

When I was a mission president in Hamburg, Germany, a number of years ago, I had a thorny problem I was dealing with and didn’t know what to do. I was reading the scriptures when I came to 1 Nephi 18, where Nephi is building a ship. He says, “Now I, Nephi, did not work the timbers after the manner which was learned by men, neither did I build the ship after the manner of men; but I did build it after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me; wherefore it was not after the manner of men” (1 Ne. 18:2).

And then this great verse, “And I, Nephi, did go into the mount oft, and I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things” (1 Ne. 18:3).

As I read that, a wonderful feeling came over me. I knew I had to go to the mount if I was to receive the answer to that prayer. The problem was, there are no mountains in northern Germany. But the feeling was so strong I knew I needed to go someplace, so I went to the sea.

For two days I walked along the beach of the North Sea, even though it was late in the fall, and it was cold, rainy, and windy. I prayed and pondered, and because I went to the mount, the Lord whispered. I have a firm witness that the answers are in the scriptures if we take time to listen.

The Lord chose Three Witnesses who would see the Book of Mormon gold plates so they could “testify to the truth of the book and the things therein” (2 Nephi 27:12). One of these witnesses was David Whitmer.
David heard about the gold plates while visiting Oliver Cowdery, who was acting as scribe as Joseph Smith translated. Oliver later wrote to David, asking if he and Joseph could stay with him and finish the translation.
David traveled 100 miles (160 km) to Pennsylvania to bring Joseph and Oliver to his parents’ home in New York. David’s interest grew as he watched Joseph translate the Book of Mormon.
Along with Oliver Cowdery and Martin Harris, David was shown the plates by an angel and heard the voice of God command them to testify of what they had seen.
Unfortunately, David left the Church a few years later and never returned, but he never denied his testimony. Near the end of his life, David wrote: “I have never at any time denied that testimony or any part thereof, which has so long since been published with [the Book of Mormon], as one of the three witnesses. Those who know me best, well know that I have always adhered to that testimony. And that no man may be misled or doubt my present views in regard to the same, I do again affirm the truth of all of my statements, as then made and published” (An Address to All Believers in Christ [1887], 8–9).

Such was the case with a young man just two weeks ago. He came in; he was tall, he was dark, he was a nice-looking man, and as I looked at him I thought, “Here’s someone who could be without troubles.” He looked happy, he appeared strong and well kept, and he looked like he had the confidence of a man who knew where he was going. I asked him, “Will you please tell me about your life?” He did. He told me that he was a convert to the Church of just six years. He was twenty-three years of age. His introduction to the Church had come about after a life of some trouble and turmoil, but he met a special young lady—you know how that is; it changes your whole life, doesn’t it? Well, that is what happened to him. He met a young lady who had some standards that he had not been keeping himself but which he admired. The more he came to know her, the more he realized that the reason he so admired her was that she held to these standards of morality, of good conscience, of industry and concern. And the more he realized why he admired her, the more he wanted to find out about her source of strength. She told him that her source of strength was the gospel of Jesus Christ as taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He began to listen, and he began to change his life. He joined the Church.

After he had joined the Church, she left the town in which they lived and came to Brigham Young University. He decided that if she were going to come here he ought to, too, and so he followed. When he arrived here, he said he thought, “Oh, boy! Look at the field!” He could hardly believe what he saw. “I could see that I could date any one of thousands of young ladies and be perfectly safe.”

”Now, what do you mean, safe?” I asked.

”Well,” he said, “the young ladies I had been dating before were not safe for me to be with. Their standards were not what they should be and did not help me. Oh, how delighted I was to enter BYU!”

Well, for the first half of the semester his hopes and dreams were realized, and then he met a young lady on this campus who was seemingly a strong member of the Church. On the first date, though, he discovered that she was much like girls he had known before, and he found himself slipping, sliding, falling, until he had reverted to an earlier immoral behavior. He said, “Brother Pinegar, I couldn’t believe it; I couldn’t understand it. I thought everyone at BYU held to the standards of the gospel—why didn’t she? I felt I would be protected from my former self. Doesn’t everyone at BYU have the relationship with Christ that this first girl I knew had?”

”You’ll have to answer that,” I replied.

”Well,” he said, “I discovered that I could find on the campus what evil I was looking for, and so I left the campus to protect myself. I returned home. It took me two years before I felt strong enough to come back to Brigham Young University.”

I commented, “That’s really an indictment against a great and marvelous student body.”

”Oh, don’t get me wrong. I understand that they’re not all the way this girl was, but,” he said, “I had expected more.” Then he said something that I felt was very profound. “I expected my strength to come from others. I began to realize that if anyone was going to help me it would have to be myself. If I expected anyone to have a relationship with Christ that protected me from the sins of the world, it would have to be me. I discovered there were those on the BYU campus who could help me become strong and help me develop a personal relationship with Christ, such a relationship as would bring me strength of testimony, power of decision, and firmness of commitment.” He developed such a relationship here at BYU, and that was why he was in my office. He said, “I feel now that I am prepared; I am ready to go on a mission, if the Lord will have me.” Well, after our discussion and prayerful consideration, it was my feeling, even my knowledge, that the Lord would have him; and today he is awaiting his call.

Hearing stories got me excited to serve a mission. I couldn’t wait! I wanted to serve in Mexico, just like my grandpa. But the Lord called me to Guatemala. Years later I had the opportunity to serve as a mission president. I thought, “This time I’ll go to Mexico.” But the Lord wanted me to serve in Spain. When we serve where the Lord wants us, we’re blessed. I love the people of Guatemala and Spain.

While serving as a mission leader in Japan some years ago, I attended a weekend conference in a rural city in one of the far corners of our mission. The district president had arranged for me to conduct an interview with a man who had joined the Church a year earlier and was seeking to receive a temple recommend. He hoped to receive his own endowment on or close to the one-year anniversary of his baptism.
During our conversation, this new member described how deeply grateful he was for the bounteous blessings he had received in the year since he was baptized. He enjoyed attending weekly sacrament and other meetings. He became deeply involved in the activities of his branch. To me, he exuded a covenant confidence resulting from understanding his gospel purpose, which was now an integral part of him. He was a converted disciple of Christ who had experienced a mighty change of heart (see Mosiah 5:2).
The rest of our conversation followed a hopeful pattern. We discussed the ordinances and covenants that would be part of his temple experience. He affirmatively answered each of the standard questions associated with receiving a temple recommend.
Following the interview, I recall commenting to the district president how grateful I was to meet such an outstanding man. I told him how impressed I was that the missionaries and members had found, and spiritually nurtured, someone of such caliber and promise.
I was stunned when the district president shared that when this man began receiving lessons from the missionaries and attending church over a year earlier, he was homeless and in exceedingly difficult—near hopeless—circumstances. The district president then described how this brother’s study of the gospel and his conversion over a period of months led to his miraculous change, putting him on a path of both spiritual and temporal self-reliance and giving him a sense of purpose and joy.
I end where I began, recalling my experience years ago with a recent convert in Japan. Through his diligence and the diligence of missionaries and members, he found the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. In finding the gospel, he also discovered his purpose, which expanded his vision. He also found the great plan of happiness. Obedience to the plan’s gospel covenants brought him blessings and joy, lifting him temporally and spiritually.
His journey leading to membership in the Church of Jesus Christ allowed him to become a witness of Jesus Christ. Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has described the joy that follows:
“Because of the loving plan of our Heavenly Father for each of His children, and because of the redeeming life and mission of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, we can—and should—be the most joyful people on earth! Even as the storms of life in an often-troubled world pound upon us, we can cultivate a growing and abiding sense of joy and inner peace because of our hope in Christ and our understanding of our own place in the beautiful plan of happiness.”

A few years ago, my husband and I found a new pastime that we love. We purchased four-wheelers and decided to go on mini adventures and discover new places that are close by. Truthfully, this purchase was probably more about our midlife crisis and the passing of our youth than seeing the beauty of nature. The beautiful scenery in close proximity to this area is not only breathtaking but also inspiring. On one such day, after noticing several beautiful yellow sunflowers, I felt a strong prompting to stop and take this picture.

As you look at this flower, try to imagine what the surrounding area might look like. Consider how much care and nutrients this flower may require and what purpose it might serve as one of God's creations.

I knew very little about this flower and wondered why I would need to take a picture of it. Nevertheless, I have learned throughout my life that when the Lord is trying to teach us something, we may not understand it right away, but if we are patient and obedient in following the promptings, the lesson or teachings always comes.

In the days and weeks that followed, I started to notice this same flower everywhere. It was along roads, in random fields, and by riverbanks. I started to think I was going crazy, since I had never noticed it before and now it was everywhere I went. What was I supposed to learn from this flower?

At this same time, one of my ancestors' names kept popping into my head. I thought I had read everything about this ancestor, so I wondered why I needed to do anything more. I pulled up the Memories section in FamilySearch on this particular ancestor and, to my surprise, found a story that I had not seen before.

I had never heard of Jerusalem artichokes, so after a quick Google search, I learned although it looks nothing like an artichoke, it got its name from being a staple food for North American pilgrims and was thought of as a new feed in the "new Jerusalem." It can be harvested for human consumption and as livestock feed. However, the most amazing thing I learned is that it was the same exact flower I had been prompted to take a picture of earlier this summer. At that moment, I felt the burning power of the Holy Ghost and knew the Lord was trying to teach me important spiritual principles.