Gospel Story Finder

My father, not a member of the Church, was actively involved in local business and community affairs. His motto was “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” As my siblings and I discovered the gospel and lived it to the best of our abilities, he noticed the changes for good in our lives. In 2000, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) stayed in my father’s home on his return from the dedication of the Suva Fiji Temple. During that visit, the Spirit touched my father’s heart, and I was privileged to baptize him when he was 82 years old. He found great joy in the gospel and was unashamed and bold in sharing it with others during the last days of his life.

A few years ago our teenage daughter was feeling quite unsettled, asking some very honest questions, such as “Why is life so hard?” As we talked over dinner one night, I prayed like a missionary for the right things to say. After all, our children are our most important investigators. In the very moment, I received a prompting about “gravitational pull.” I grabbed a paper napkin and drew a sketch I’d never thought of before. It sparked a lively discussion. I felt so close to her that night. She is the child of our covenant, and I want to be with her always.

Every morning when my mom drops us off at school, she tells us she loves us and then says, “Choose the right!” I always say, “Choose the right!” right back. It makes me feel good to know that my whole family is doing their best during the day to make Heavenly Father happy. A girl in my class is quiet and sometimes scared to talk. I always try to watch out for her at recess and make sure that nothing hurts her.

Grandpa paid us for our work on the farm; we earned ten cents for every row of beets we hoed. I always paid tithing on that money and carefully saved the rest, and it added up. When I was about ten or eleven, our family took a trip back east to visit Church historical sites. We also visited Danville, Pennsylvania, where my father had done an internship. We visited the town librarian, a good friend of my parents when they had lived there.
While we visited her, the librarian brought out a box of books that she thought we might be interested in. Inside the box was an 1830 copy of the Book of Mormon! Even though I was very young, I sensed that the book was very important. When the librarian mentioned she was interested in selling it, I told her I would give her practically all my savings, a whole fifty dollars! She accepted it, and to this day, that copy of the Book of Mormon is one of my most prized possessions.

I want to begin by sharing with you a story that was told of a baseball team. This baseball team had a manager who thought that if his players took turns playing all the positions, they would become a better team. So, during one game the manager called time out, walked onto the field, and told the third baseman and the first baseman to switch positions. The problem in this instance was that the third baseman had never played anything but third base. From the time he was a child, he had practiced scooping up ground balls and throwing them across the field to first base. And now he was playing in a professional game in a large stadium with a lot of fans and a lot of pressure, and he was asked to play a position he had never played.

The next hitter was a large, left-handed batter who hit a scorching ground ball to the newly appointed first baseman. The player’s years of experience kicked into gear, and he easily reached down and scooped up the ground ball. But reacting more than thinking, he raised his arm to throw the ball across the field—not remembering that first base was just a few steps away. As he did this, the runner, whose only option was to run to first base, stopped immediately in his tracks, thinking that the first baseman was about to throw the ball at him.

Everyone started yelling to the first baseman to just touch first base. But in all the confusion and noise, this young player was not thinking clearly. So when he saw the catcher throw off his mask and raise his arms, yelling something that he couldn’t understand, the first baseman decided to throw the ball to the catcher.

Now the runner was confused because the catcher and the first baseman began throwing the ball back and forth to each other. Even though a runner cannot return to home plate, he was trying not to be tagged out. So he made a break for the first open base he thought he could reach safely—home plate. As he dived into home, the catcher caught the ball and tagged him.

The umpire yelled, “You’re out!”

The catcher turned to the umpire and asked, “And what if he had been safe?”

It’s kind of an odd story. Those who understand baseball know that the first baseman should have clearly known what to do, and the runner should have known as well. But in all the noise and chaos, what seems so obvious and simple became very confusing.

Heber J. Grant was the first President of the Church I had the privilege of meeting. He was truly a great man. We admired him because part of his strength was his great determination for self-mastery. His father died when he was only a year old, and his widowed mother struggled to raise him. He was conscientious in helping her and trying to take care of her.
“When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, … the other [boys laughed] at him, … calling him a ‘sissy’ because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that … he … made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor’s old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly … sleep at night. He kept on practicing and … improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on] the team that won the territorial championship!”

Paolo trudged home from school.
Saturday was his tenth birthday. Back home in Mexico, his family had celebrated birthdays with a big party, inviting many of their friends and relatives. His mother would prepare a large meal of wonderful foods, and his father would give special presents.
Ever since his family had moved to a small town in Colorado last fall, money had been scarce.
It was not the big party he would miss or even the presents. It was the way of life—the traditions and customs—that tugged at the empty place in his heart. His family still practiced some of the old ways, but it was not the same.
He stopped at the bakery where his father worked. Though his father had been a professor at the university in Mexico City, he had not been able to find a teaching job in the United States. He’d taken a job as a doughnut and bread maker at the local bakery.
“No work is to be ashamed of if it is honest and helps people,” his father had said when Paolo asked him about it. He’d pointed to the loaves of freshly baked bread. A rich, yeasty smell filled the small shop. “I bake good bread. It helps the people who buy it, and Mr. Patterson, who owns the store. Someday, I might be able to teach in the United States, but until then, I am content.”
Paolo had nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.
He thought about that as he stepped into the small bakery. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of cinnamon and sugar.
His father smiled. “Paolo, I am glad you came.”
Paolo climbed on top of a tall stool and watched as his father wiped down the counters and polished the glass display cases until they gleamed.
“There.” His father hung up the towel. “Would you like to try my new creation?”
Paolo bit into the savory pastry his father handed him. “It is good.”
Paolo and his father walked home together. Someday, maybe, there’d be enough money to buy a car. For now they walked or took the bus.
Paolo waited until they were almost home when he said, “We do not live like we did in our country.”
“You will have a birthday party this year,” his father said, guessing Paolo’s thoughts.
“It won’t be the same,” Paolo muttered.
“Because we do not live in a big house?”
Paolo started to deny it and then hung his head. “I wish we had never left Mexico. That was our home.”
His father stopped and gestured to their modest one-story house. “This is our home now. It is a good place.”
Paolo looked at the rented house where his family lived. It was small and run-down. He had not invited any of his friends to visit because he was ashamed of it. In Mexico, their home had been much nicer, a place he could be proud of.
He hadn’t told his parents of his feelings. He knew they would be hurt.
“Paolo, you have not invited anyone to your birthday party,” his mother said as he set his books on the kitchen table.
He pretended to be very busy in making himself a snack, avoiding meeting his father’s gaze.
“What is it, Paolo?” his mother asked. “You do not laugh or smile as you once did. Are you so unhappy here?”
The worry in his mother’s voice caused him to flush with guilt. “I am happy. I just haven’t made friends yet.”
That was not true and his conscience nagged him. David, a boy at school, had invited Paolo to his home several times. David lived in a fine house. Paolo could not invite his friend to the shabby house where his family now lived.
His mother’s eyes were shadowed with pain. “You are ashamed of your papá and me. Of where we live.”
“No, Mamá. I could never be ashamed of you.”
“But you are embarrassed by our home, aren’t you?”
He wanted to deny it. A look at Mamá’s face convinced him she would not believe him. “I will invite someone,” he said.
The pain in her eyes eased. “Good. I will prepare a special meal.”
“Ten is an important age,” his father said, his dark eyes serious. “Two years ago you were baptized. In two more years, you will receive the priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”
The words of the blessing his father had given him at the time of his baptism sounded clearly in Paolo’s mind: “I bless you with the knowledge to choose your friends wisely. Remember that the friends you make can influence your choices. Be an example to them and let your light shine.”
At the time Paolo had thought the blessing was to warn him of those who might try to tempt him to forget his principles. Last year a boy in his class had dared Paolo to steal something from a store. Paolo had walked away and avoided the boy after that.
For the rest of the afternoon and evening, Paolo worked hard to help around the house. He polished the furniture, swept the kitchen floor, and washed the dinner dishes while his sisters dried.
“Thank you, Paolo,” his mother said, looking up from where she was rolling out pastry. “We will have a good party on Saturday. You will see.”
The following day at school Paolo asked David, “Would you like to come to my birthday party on Saturday?”
A smile creased David’s face. “Sure.” He punched his friend lightly on the arm. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me over to your house.”
When David arrived on Saturday afternoon, Paolo tried to see his home through the eyes of his friend. Richly woven rugs brightened the floor. Pillows, embroidered by his mother, covered the furniture. The house smelled of frijoles and spices and simmering meat. The old house no longer appeared so shabby as laughter and the aroma of good food filled it.
He introduced David to his parents and little sisters and was pleased when David joined in the fun of knocking down the piñata.
Once again Paolo recalled the blessing at the time of his baptism. Now he realized that, in addition to the warning, the blessing also encouraged him to make and appreciate good friends like David.
“Your family’s great,” David said between bites of frijoles.
“Yeah,” Paolo agreed. “You’re right.” The things he had worried over no longer seemed important. He had what really mattered.

“Sammy, it’s time to leave!” Mom called.
Sammy closed his book about spiders, put it in his backpack, and raced to the car. He had been waiting all week for his family’s camping trip. As they drove along, he could hear his parents talking in the front seat.
“The weather report said we might have a thunderstorm in the next day or two,” Dad said to Mom.
“Does that mean lightning?” Sammy asked. Suddenly he wasn’t so excited about camping.
“There might be a little rain,” Dad explained. “But we’ll be careful. We can always get in our car if there’s any lightning.”
Sammy didn’t feel much better. He loved reading about bugs, volcanoes, and even lightning, but all those things were much less scary on the pages of a book than in real life.
At the campsite, Sammy quickly forgot his fears. He played with his brothers, helped Dad set up the tent, and watched the campfire crackle to life. He went hiking, played games, and roasted lots of marshmallows.
On the last night of the camping trip, Sammy looked up at thousands of stars spread across the sky. A cold wind made him shiver, so he ran inside the tent, snuggled into his sleeping bag, and quickly fell asleep. A few hours later, a loud boom made him jump. Thunder! He ran to the tent door and tried to unzip it.
“Sammy, stay here!” Mom said.
“But, Mom, shouldn’t we go get in our car?” Sammy asked. His knees felt wobbly, and he let Mom pull him onto her lap.
“There are a lot of trees and a big open meadow between us and the car,” Mom said. “I think we’re safer here in the tent for now.”
Sammy started to cry. A bright flash lit up the tent, and then came the crashing thunder. Mom held Sammy close. “The storm will be over soon,” she said. “Let’s ask Heavenly Father to help you not be afraid.”
Sammy slid onto his knees on the hard, bumpy ground. The lightning flashed again, followed by more thunder. “Please help me feel better and not be afraid. Please bless the wind to blow the clouds away so the lightning will stop,” Sammy prayed.
He ended his prayer and got back into Mom’s arms. She held him while they listened to the wind and the rain. Slowly, his shivering and crying stopped.
He jumped when the lightning flared again, but the thunder was much quieter this time. “It’s farther away, Mom!” he whispered.
The raindrops were slowing down too. It was several minutes before lightning lit up the tent again, and it was already so far away that they couldn’t hear the thunder.
“Heavenly Father answered your prayer,” Mom said.
Sammy smiled in the dark. He still felt a little nervous about the lightning, but he was warm throughout his whole body. His prayer had been answered. The storm was blowing away, and he was safe. Best of all, he knew Heavenly Father loved him and was listening to his prayers, even in the middle of the night when he was far away from home.

We have some great experiences as General Authorities. We don’t feel worthy to have them; we wish everyone could have them. For example, one of the most delightful experiences of the Spirit, wherein we feel the guidance of our Heavenly Father, is every time we create a new stake or change a stake presidency. We know beforehand that the Lord has already picked the man and we have to find out through the spiritual guidance of the Holy Ghost who the man is that he has already chosen.

Some of us who have the blessing of working in Latin American countries have the opportunity to create new stakes frequently. You are worried, nervous, and tremble all of the time, knowing that you must pick the man that the Lord wants to preside over that stake. The Lord is so wise and we have such limited knowledge. He seems to tell us in a different way every time, so the nervousness and the trembling go on.

Sometimes you know the instant the man walks into the room. Sometimes you know before you even commence your interviews. And sometimes you don’t know until the very last second when you are offering the final prayer to receive his approval. Sometimes in the prayer you’ve entirely forgotten the name of the one you had chosen and the name of another man comes visibly before your mind. You then express it and feel his influence upon you.

I remember last week in Mexico City vividly. I had the pleasure of dividing a stake and forming the new Pachuca stake on the outskirts of the city. I remember all the men with whom we interviewed, and felt that it should be Brother so and so. The man who was chosen was right next in line, nearly equal to that man. But as to which one of these two or four was the very difficult question to answer. But, again, the Lord told us in his unique way who that man should be. Can you imagine the feeling of satisfaction you get to know that it seems to meet with his approval as unworthy as you are to be his instrument?

My call to the Eastern States Mission was another golden nugget. My family had little money, and I was never quite part of the “in-crowd” at school. But in the mission field, I realized that it didn’t matter what side of town I came from or what my father’s income was. We were all servants of the Lord and equal. I learned that through the principles of hard work, prayer, and seeking to follow the Spirit of the Lord, everyone could succeed.

Have you ever just looked at yourself and thought: “Wow! I would look amazing if only …”? Or have you ever compared yourself to every other girl on social media? I have. That was me all my teenage years and before I got married and then pregnant. Even when my husband would tell me that I looked perfect, I always thought, “If only this or that … ,” then I would look and feel better. But in all reality, would those “if onlys” make any of us feel better? In my case, I know that losing weight would only be the beginning, and then I would’ve found something else to “fix” on my body and the cycle would just go on and on.

When I was pregnant, I loved having a big round belly! That was when I realized that I’m perfect in my own way—we all are! I was growing a tiny human, and is there anything better than that? Let me tell you, there is! And that’s holding your baby in your arms.

My baby girl, Sofia, was born just a short time ago. I always planned and dreamed of having a natural birth, with no medication and with a quick recovery. However, there were some complications during labor, and I ended up needing a caesarean section. To be honest, I was afraid of the surgery for both me and my daughter. I was also scared of having a scar.

After the surgery, it took my body a long time to recover. During these weeks and months, I couldn’t really do much physical activity, but all I wanted was to exercise and go back to my pre-pregnancy size. Then one day, it just hit me—my body is not the same as it was before having my daughter, and neither am I. And neither my body nor I will ever be the same as before Sofia came into my life. And I’m grateful for that.

I’ve come to love the stretch marks and the scar that my pregnancy left behind, because every time I look at them, they remind me what an amazing journey I’ve been through. Those little marks are just a sweet reminder of the beautiful daughter Heavenly Father has trusted me with. These marks on my body fill me with gratitude, not just for my daughter, but also for my body that can do amazing things like create, carry, and deliver a human being. My scar also reminds me of how even during our darkest times or when things don’t go according to plan, the Savior is with us. When we are afraid or hurt, He is there, and He knows what’s best for us.

For many moms out there, think about it: you underwent a painful yet life-changing journey to bring Heavenly Father’s children to earth—your children! What an incredible and humbling experience that is to be able to play such a big part in the plan of happiness!

If you’re having trouble accepting and loving yourself, you can pray for help. The Lord wants us to be happy, and loving ourselves is vital to achieving that happiness. God will always help us with the little things, and the not-so-little-things—He knows what’s important to us. If you pray to know how to love and accept yourself, He will show you how.

I was a 13-year-old Latter-day Saint young woman living in Gilbert, Arizona, and each year our stake held its yearly girls’ camp in the mountains of Prescott, Arizona.
That year, at the beginning of camp, our leaders gave us each a small spiral notebook. On the inside cover of each was written our name, the name of the camp, and “Summer of ’76.” On the first page of the notebook was the heading, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
We were instructed to write in this notebook our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams for the future. We were also told to put our notebooks somewhere safe. Our leaders hoped that when we were grown up, we would take our notebooks out and see what our dreams had been and if we had achieved them.
I took our leaders’ words to heart. I filled page after page with my hopes for the future. When I came home from camp that year, I unpacked my suitcase and took out the little spiral notebook and set it carefully inside my hope chest.
Years went by, and I gave little thought to the notebook. Over the next 20 years, I went through many moves. I transferred the contents of my hope chest to a cardboard box, which I labeled “Mementos,” and that box followed me wherever I went.
One day, 20 years from the day that I wrote in that notebook at camp, I walked into my garage and saw the box labeled “Mementos.” I decided to get it down and see what was inside. I began pulling out items. Then I came across the little spiral notebook. I opened it to the first page and read, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
I began to read and ponder what I had written—of my desire to be married to a good man in the temple and my desire to have a big family and a happy home. I had written of my desire to keep the commandments. I continued reading about how important it was for me to not compromise my principles and to keep the light of the gospel in my life.
I paused for a moment from my reading and thought about how my life had turned out. I had not compromised my principles. I had married a good man in the temple. We had three children at that time. We were a happy family, and we taught our children the gospel. All that I had read had come true or was coming true.
I then went on to read of a more specific dream I had. The last sentence I had written was, “I want to write a book.”
After reading this, I found myself standing perfectly still, in awe. Then my heart began pounding, and I smiled as my entire being was filled with a warm tingly feeling. I closed the little notebook and held it close to me. A publishing company had just accepted my manuscript for publication.
I received a strong testimony that day of the power of goal setting. I received a testimony that our Heavenly Father loves us and will help us in achieving our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams. I believe that when I was 13, I knew what I wanted to do in my life, and I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. I believe in the importance of setting righteous goals now and not compromising your principles. If you do set righteous goals, they will become reality.

Kim wanted to write that she and her father went to the library and discussed the books that they chose. She wanted to write that no matter how busy he was, her father always stopped to answer her questions, that he always kissed her good night and gave her a big hug.
Instead, Kim wrote the truth. She put down sentence after sentence about how lovingly her father cared for his crops, how his tenderness brought calves into the world, how often he had saved kittens from starvation. She told how he had grieved when disease killed half the chickens and a hailstorm destroyed most of the oats. She didn’t write about how she hoped that someday she would know that he loved her too.
Kim and her father made a lovely couple the night of the Daddy-Daughter dinner. Kim wore her favorite blue dress with the white lace trim, and her father looked ruggedly handsome.
During the dinner Kim’s father leaned toward her and said, “Pretty good supper. Not nearly as good as Mother makes, but pretty good.”
As they finished their dessert, the Primary president stood to announce that Kim would now give a talk about her father. Kim’s heart fluttered as she spoke.
When she had finished, the Primary president introduced Kim’s father and invited him to speak.
“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.
“Kim was born in the winter months, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to get well. So you see, that little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”
Kim’s eyes were full of tears. She wondered why she had never heard about that night before. Running to her father, she hugged him long and hard. When he put his arms around her and hugged her back, Kim felt that her heart was about to burst with joy.

We had a lot of opposition in our early years. Many people tried to discourage us and would say things like it would take too long, I needed to hurry up and have children, that I couldn’t possibly be a doctor and a mother, the divorce rate was too high among medical students, it would be too expensive, we’d never be able to pay off our student loans, etc. But the Spirit kept urging us on, and we felt confident that we could do it.
We got into medical school together, had our son Nathan during our third year, our daughter Anne during residency, and our son Seth our first year in practice. We felt our Savior’s strength all along the way, helping us to stay focused, giving us energy when we were tired, and guiding us to find amazing women who cared for our children while we trained at the hospital.
We completed our residencies in family practice and prayed a lot, trying to find the right town for our family. We traveled to many different places and were finally drawn to a small farming town in Washington State. It just so happened to be the very town where my parents had grown up. We stayed there for 15 years. It was beautiful taking care of people who had known my family. Our partner in the clinic was a physician’s assistant who trained as a Medic in Vietnam. He had spent the past 40 years in that town delivering babies, doing surgeries, working in the ER, and taking care of everyone. We learned so much from him about life, service, and medicine.

Sitting on the stand of the St. George (Utah) Tabernacle, waiting for her performance to begin, Sheena Rosander couldn’t help remembering the year before when she had been waiting to perform at a high school talent show.
“It was one of the only times I really had the jitters before a performance,” says Sheena. “I followed a rock group and knew immediately that the classical song I loved to play on the piano wasn’t really what kids wanted to hear. I depend so much on the Spirit to help me play, and that Spirit just wasn’t there.”
But this night, things were different. Thankfully, the Spirit was in abundance as her six functioning fingers flew over the keyboard of the grand piano creating music, the kind that brings a lump to the throat.
Sheena Rosander, 18, from Hurricane, Utah, was born with what some people consider a disability. But to Sheena, having only a partial thumb and no fingers on her left hand is a gift. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have all 10 fingers, like how much easier keyboarding would be,” says Sheena. “But I usually just find a way to go around it. My mom wanted me to peel potatoes, and I was really struggling with that potato peeler. So I decided when I have my own family I’ll just have baked potatoes. There’s always a way to do things.”
And that’s pretty much how Sheena has been able to enjoy her favorite activities, like playing and teaching tennis, playing the violin, teaching piano lessons, and competing at performing-arts festivals.
In fact, she’s used her good attitude as a springboard to propel her into positive social situations. On her first day of kindergarten, when Sheena proudly displayed her hand at “show and tell,” one child told her it looked like a Cabbage Patch doll’s hand. Delighted, she added several Cabbage Patch dolls to her already thriving collection. Her favorite had red hair and blue eyes, just like Sheena.
That kind of confidence comes naturally. Even before she was born, her mother, Toni, decided all her children would learn to play piano. Sheena began lessons at age five.
“She was determined to play the piano,” recalls her teacher, Tammy Drake. “Her hand was never an obstacle. She would compensate with her right hand to achieve a full sound. Then one day, she began playing with her left hand, using her thumb and pinky stub. Sheena has shown all of us a new kind of courage and determination. Some listeners never even know about her hand. She plays beautifully.”
But piano wasn’t Sheena’s only interest. She developed a love for sports, particularly basketball. Just before ninth-grade tryouts, however, Sheena experienced what she would term the greatest challenge of her life so far. She developed immune thrombocytopenic purpura, or ITP, a blood disorder which causes bleeding under the skin. Her disease prevented her from playing basketball since even an accidental bump on her head could cause a major brain hemorrhage.
After a year of transfusions, cortisone, and other medications, Sheena faced the decision of whether or not to have her spleen removed. As she had done since she was a small girl, Sheena turned to the Lord in prayer for a confirmation of her decision. After her surgery, she continued to worry. What if the ITP returned and kept her from her normal activities?
“I kept asking Heavenly Father if I was done with it,” she says, “but I never felt like I was getting an answer. Then my friend Liesel Bennion and I went to EFY [Especially for Youth] at BYU—Idaho. I had a wonderful counselor there who gave a devotional about the woman who had suffered with an issue of blood for 12 years and touched the hem of the Savior’s garment. When she read the words, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace’ (Luke 8:48) and sang a song called ‘Close Enough to Touch,’ my heart started pounding and tears sprang to my eyes. I knew at that moment I was done with the ITP. In a way I felt I also had touched the Savior’s hem by exercising faith in having the surgery.”
Not long after, the two friends decided to enter the Miss Hurricane pageant. This was not new to Sheena. She had tried out the previous year and had won the talent award but bombed the interview. So, in her typical style, she practiced with anyone who would interview her and tried out again. “I was so excited when I got first attendant, with talent and interview awards. And I was so happy for Leisel to be chosen queen. We’ve had a lot of fun together.”
As a senior at Hurricane High, Sheena loves performing, competing with the high school tennis team, and attending to her many responsibilities as mayor of the Hurricane Youth City Council. She loves family outings with her four siblings, going to school games, yelling and cheering, and watching old movies.
But while Sheena loves average teenage activities, she is far above average in her desire to serve and be obedient to the Lord. As Brother Stewart Wilson, her seminary teacher, says, “Sheena doesn’t lead with charisma. She leads with consistency. She lets her choices speak for themselves and carries the Spirit with her wherever she goes.”
Sheena doesn’t really see herself as a leader, just someone who knows what she wants to do and does it. “I’m really comfortable just slipping out of a room if I don’t like the movie my friends and I are watching,” says Sheena. “But I usually find most of the group out on the trampoline with me long before the movie is over.”
Friends, family, and fun are all a major part of Sheena’s life. But the most important aspects to her are faith and character. “Everyone has some kind of handicap and some distinct talent,” she says. “I think the best advice is to count your blessings and find something you can do well.
“Then remember,” she adds, “nothing is impossible. If you run into an obstacle, find a way to either go through it or around it. Then bring the Spirit into your life so you can put your trust and faith in the Lord to help you.”

Once I visited some Primary children in Jamaica. I asked them to draw a picture of something they could do that week to show Heavenly Father that they love Him. Two girls were sitting near each other.

The younger girl had just a teeny, little pencil with no eraser. She was struggling to draw her picture. The older girl noticed the younger girl needed help. She handed her own pencil to her. The younger girl smiled, took the pencil, and started drawing.

I watched the older girl wait patiently while the younger girl finished her drawing. Then the younger girl handed the pencil back. They took turns using the pencil without saying any words. The older girl was willing to help, and the younger girl was just so grateful and accepting of that help. They knew they could depend on each other.

When everyone finished their drawings, I told the older girl that I saw her share her pencil. I asked, “Why did you do that?”

She said, “I just saw she needed help.”

Then I asked the younger girl, “How did you feel when she helped you?”

She said, “I was so grateful!” It was very sweet.

I answered the ring of my telephone one evening to hear a voice ask, “Are you related to an Elder Monson who years ago served in the New England Mission?”

I answered that such was not the case. The caller introduced himself as a Brother Leonardo Gambardella and then mentioned that an Elder Monson and an Elder Bonner called at his home long ago and bore their testimonies to him and his wife. They had listened but had done nothing further to apply their teachings. Subsequently they moved to California, where, some 13 years later, they again found the truth and were converted and baptized. Brother Gambardella then asked if there were any way he could reach the elders who first had visited with them, that he might express his profound gratitude for their testimonies, which had remained with him and his wife.

I checked the records. I located the elders, now married with families of their own. Can you imagine their surprise when I telephoned them and told them the good news—even the culmination of their early efforts? They instantly remembered the Gambardellas. I arranged a conference telephone call so they could personally extend their congratulations and welcome them into the Church. They did. There were tears, but they were tears of joy.

For instance, consider yourself on the eve of a school examination or an interview for a new job. You know that the direction of the Holy Ghost could be of great help. I know from my own experience, for example, that the Holy Ghost knows some of the mathematical equations used to solve problems in thermodynamics, a branch of the sciences. I was a struggling physics student studying in a book that I still own. I keep it for historical and spiritual reasons. Halfway down a page (I could even show you where it is on the page), in the middle of some mathematics, I had a clear confirmation that what I was reading was true. It was exactly the feeling I had had come to me before as I pondered the Lord’s scriptures and that I have had many times since. So I knew that the Holy Ghost understood whatever was true in what I might be asked on an examination in thermodynamics.

You can imagine that I was tempted to ask God to send me the Holy Ghost during the examination so I wouldn’t need to study further. I knew that He could do it, but I did not ask Him. I felt that He would rather have me learn to pay a price in effort. He may well have sent help in the examination, but I was afraid that my motive might not be His.

My family lived in the city, but when I was a teenager, I stayed with my uncle during the summers. He managed a cattle ranch with about four thousand cattle. In Argentina, cowboys are called gauchos. All summer I dressed like a gaucho, rode horses like a gaucho, and worked like a gaucho.
At the ranch, I was given the responsibility to ride all of the horses that were kept for visitors. I remember one horse that was very good for working with cattle but very tough mouthed. That means that he did not respond very well to the bit. It was difficult for a rider to control him. One day, I took him out first thing in the morning. When horses go out to work, they are sometimes a little bit like we are. They don’t go out with a great deal of enthusiasm when it is so early.
I usually switched horses around midday. I had been fighting with this horse all morning, so when it was time for me to go back and switch horses, I thought, If you want to run, I’m really going to make you run! I hit him, and he took off—running at full speed! The only problem was that we were coming up on a gate made of large beams. I pulled on the reins, trying to slow him down. But I had forgotten that when horses are heading for home they are much more excited than when they are heading out. That horse was going home, and nothing was going to stop him! He crashed into the gate—but was unhurt—as I flew onto the ground.
The horse I rode on my uncle’s ranch that day had to follow the right path. The ranch was enormous, around ten thousand acres, and if the horse had not stayed on the path, he could have gotten lost. It was good for that horse to go home, but he also needed to go through several gates—not crash into them!