Gospel Story Finder

We have done some unusual things, too. We had two priests who just couldn’t seem to overcome the allure of bed on Sunday morning. They had great difficulty in coming to priesthood meeting. We decided that, if they wouldn’t come to priesthood meeting, then we would take priesthood meeting to them. After deciding which of the two young men to visit first, we left the meetinghouse and went to the first home.
I want you to know, brethren, that I was really concerned about how the father of that home would feel about all of us being at his house at 8:00 a.m. In fact, as we were waiting at the door, I was thinking that it sure would have been wise if I had called him the night before and told him what we were going to do.
The father answered the door, and we explained our purpose. Brethren, he couldn’t have been more gracious. As we climbed the stairs, we found our brother sleeping as only a young man can sleep. I will never forget how totally surprised he was when he awoke to find us all around his bed. Well, we had a great meeting, complete with business, a lesson, and some concluding thoughts on activation.
We decided we had hit upon a rather effective activation technique. We also decided to use it next week on the other young man. During the week the word about what we were going to do got out. Next Sunday, for the first time since I had been the bishop, 100 percent of our quorum members were at priesthood meeting. I can report to you that one of these young men is presently serving a full-time mission and the other will soon be serving.

Cody stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him. It’s no use, he thought disgustedly. I’m never going to come up with anything, even if I sit here all day. While he sat worrying about his problem, there was a knock on his bedroom door. “Come in,” he said.
In walked Jason, his next-door neighbor and the best friend in the whole world. He was carrying a dirty orange basketball. “Come on—let’s go shoot some hoops.”
“I can’t,” Cody answered. “I have to finish my Primary talk.”
“You’re still working on that? Don’t you have to give it tomorrow?”
Cody nodded as Jason sat next to him on the bed. “What’s it supposed to be on, anyway?”
Cody frowned. “That’s the problem,” he said. “Sister Hansen said she wants me to talk about ‘My Pioneer Ancestors.’ I told her I don’t have any pioneer ancestors because my parents are both converts. She just smiled and said, ‘As members of the Church we all have pioneer ancestors, Cody.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asked.
“Beats me. I’m probably the only kid in the whole Primary who doesn’t have at least one ancestor who pulled a handcart across Wyoming.”
“Why don’t you just read a story about some pioneer?” Jason asked.
“Because after she told me that business about everyone having pioneer ancestors, she told me that she didn’t want me to read some old story out of a magazine or something.”
“Boy, she really knows how to make it tough,” Jason sympathized. “I know! Why don’t you borrow one of my pioneer ancestors.”
“Great idea!” Cody slapped Jason on the back. Then he slumped down again. “Wait a minute,” he said, “that won’t work. Your mom teaches the CTRs. She’ll know what I’m doing.”
“Oh. Right. Are you positive you don’t have any pioneer ancestors? Not all the descendants of some of my pioneer ancestors stayed in the Church. Maybe one of your ancestors joined the Church, crossed the plains, then left Utah.”
Cody’s face brightened. “Maybe so. I never thought of that. Let’s go downstairs and see if anyone knows.”
Cody’s sister, Karyn, was just coming in the front door when they got downstairs. “Karyn,” Cody asked, “Do you know if we have any pioneer ancestors?”
“What kind of pioneer?” she asked, as she hung up her coat in the hall closet.
“What do you mean?” Cody asked. “How many kinds of pioneers are there?”
Karyn smiled. “Oh there are lots of kinds. My history teacher told us that a pioneer is anyone who prepares the way for others to follow.” The boys looked confused, so she explained further. “Like how the pilgrims prepared the way for others to come to America. Or how early doctors paved the way for better medicine.”
“How about Christopher Columbus?” Cody asked. “Wasn’t he a pioneer for other explorers?”
“Sure,” Karyn said, smiling. “That’s another good example.”
“I thought pioneers were only the people who pulled handcarts across the plains,” Jason said.
“Well, they were pioneers, too,” Karyn said. “Because of their great sacrifices, the Church grew strong. For many of them, the decision to join the Church affected their families for generations. That’s what made them such great pioneers.”
Cody thought for a minute about Karyn’s definition of pioneers. He was pretty sure that none of the other kids in Primary had thought of pioneers like that before. Suddenly he had a terrific idea for his talk.
“Thanks, Sis. I know exactly what I’m going to give my talk on now.”
Jason looked at him in surprise. “You do? What?”
Cody grinned. “You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”
The next day in Primary, Cody sat in the front of the room, watching everyone else. He saw Jason sitting with the rest of his class. They were all being more reverent than Cody had ever imagined they could be. Jason must have told them all about Cody’s mysterious talk, and they were all anxious to hear it. Then he saw his mom, dad, and sister come in and sit in the back and smile at him.
Soon Primary began. After everyone sang the birthday song, it was time for his talk. He slowly walked to the pulpit.
“For my talk, I decided to bring along a couple of real pioneers,” he said. Jason stared at Cody. The rest of the children were craning their necks, looking for pioneers. Even some of the teachers were searching for something out of the ordinary.
“These pioneers didn’t cross the ocean, or pull a handcart across the plains, or even freeze any toes or fingers. But they did suffer a lot as the first ones in their families to join the Church. Their friends and family tried to discourage them from joining. They had to change their lives. And when they were married in the temple, no one in their families could be there. I think they are as much pioneers as anyone who crossed the plains to Utah. In fact, without their pioneering spirits, I wouldn’t be standing here today. Mom, Dad, could you please come up and share your pioneer testimonies with us?”
Cody watched his mom and dad walk up to the front of the room. Karyn smiled at Cody and gave him a big wink, as if to say “Good for you!” Cody sat back and listened intently to his mother’s testimony. Maybe, he thought, someday I’ll be a pioneer, too.

Summer is just around springtime’s corner—summer with its gentle timelessness, its pastel skies, its fluffy white clouds, its slow, sweet mornings, its long lazy afternoons, its cool swimming holes under weeping willows, its fun, its freedom … its family reunions.
“Family reunion?” you say. “You mean that deadly get-together where everyone says, ‘My, how you’ve grown!’ and ruffles your hair?”
No, not that kind of family reunion. I mean a family reunion where cousins and kin congregate from all over and spend a glorious day, or three, or four, sharing some exciting experiences that you’ve helped plan—things you want to do like boating, climbing, and swimming, interspersed with … well, let me tell you about our family reunion.
We held it last summer in Heber Valley, Utah, the birthplace of our parents, J. R. and Mabel Price, on the 25th through 26th of July so that the early-comers could start the reunion with a good old fashioned 24th-of-July parade. Our group included the five Price children and their families—spouses, children, and grandchildren.
On the afternoon of the 24th, families began arriving at the Adams farm in Layton, Utah. The horses were saddled, the volleyball net was strung, the canoe was in the pond, and horseshoes were ready to pitch, so as soon as the hellos and hugs were over, the fun was on. There was even a little pony cart for the children to ride, and as our numbers grew, so did the excitement. Finally, by late afternoon, almost everyone had arrived. We ate dinner all over the place—on the lawns, under the trees, on the porch—“family hopping” to see everyone and try out their vittles.
The July evening was perfect for a hayride, and young and old climbed aboard for a tour of the farm. All was pleasant and peaceful as we jogged along munching goodies.
Suddenly, gunshots pierced the air and over the hill rode a gang of desperadoes who circled the wagon and rounded up the wallets. But Uncle Beech’s wallet was empty! That made the outlaws angry, so they threw him over a horse and carried him off over the hill. Adults laughed at the sight, but Uncle Gen’s grandkids called out: “Call the sheriff! Call the posse! Deputize the clan.” But just then, over the crest of the hill rode Uncle Beech, the captured gunmen walking in front of his pointed pistol with their hands skyward. The wallets were retrieved, and the desperadoes set free after they promised to repent.
That was about as much excitement as a family could take for one day, so we headed back to the farmhouse where we passed out our matching cartooned T-shirts (silk-screened by one of the clan, with a different color assigned to each of the five Price children and their families) and received schedules for the next three days’ events. We ended the day eating homemade ice cream and cake and singing our homemade family song, “The Price Family Tree Is a Mighty One.”
Our official activities began at noon on Wednesday, July 25, in the Heber Third Ward where we had workshops for all ages and inclinations. “Workshops,” you say? “you mean those classes where you go and listen to boring lectures?”
No, not that kind of workshop. I mean ones that you’ve selected ahead of time on subjects you’d really like to hear about, like “Preparing Joe Cool for a College School,” “Putting Music in Your Life—or Life in Your Music,” (whichever you need). The “Beginning Drawing” class began drawing young and old alike, and kids were wall to wall in the “Crafty Kids Crafts” workshops. The dads really went for the class on “Interviewing Your Children.” Teaching one another as a family added a special dimension as we shared ideas and talents.
And speaking of talents, they were spread out all over the cultural hall when we went in there for a refreshment break in the middle of the afternoon. There were hobbies and talents suitcased in from Arizona, California, and several parts of Utah—all arranged and labeled for us to ooh and aah and “I didn’t know Julie could do this” over.
We spent the evening sitting under the stars at an outdoor theater. Moms and dads and big brothers and sisters could all attend the show, thanks to a group of special girls from the Heber City wards who volunteered to babysit.
But don’t think the children were ignored. The next morning the upstairs room at the inn where we were headquartered was swarming with little kids making Play-Dough patties and painting pretty pictures.
On the other side of the room, moms, grandmas, and girls were creating something memorable. Steve and Gordon, two brothers of our clan, had designed a family flag, and this was the hour for the Betsy Ross Prices to shine. Some cut out patterns of things special to our family, like waves on a seashore (our traditional family vacation spot), the Arizona Temple (where our dad and mother had presided), pansies (dad’s specialty), and the open scriptures (our guidelines). Karen zigged and zagged all morning on her portable sewing machine. As the flag came together, we got more and more excited over traditions and memories and the family togetherness we were feeling. The others dropped in between swimming, horseback riding, and contests to see the pansies blossoming and the temple rising on the flag-red background. Red was dad’s favorite color. Our “New Glory” was beginning to unfurl.
In this afternoon, the big Prices, little Prices, and half-Prices headed for Park City and the Alpine Slide. Each of the five families was decked out in its own color-coded T-shirts, so it was easy and fun to spot whole families racing each other down the slopes. You could spot a few of those red and blue and yellow shirts on the golf course too as cousins competed on the greens.
But the day was not over—not for the teens and adults anyway. After the children were tucked in bed, we congregated again at the ward for a fireside.
“A fireside,” you say? “You mean a meeting where you listen to a speaker and try to stay awake?”
No, not that kind of fireside. A family fireside where you teach one another and exchange feelings about the gospel—where you reminisce about the lives and teachings of your parents and feel their precious presence even though they’ve been gone for some years—where you feel the Spirit of the Lord to such a degree that you glow inside. We wept as our older brother bore his testimony at the conclusion. He spoke by the Spirit and we listened by that same spirit. We were reluctant to conclude. We wanted to go on basking in the glow that we felt as we expressed our love to each other. We became spiritually acquainted that evening and caught a glimpse of what a celestial family relationship is like. Those who had not known our parents felt they knew them now.
And they knew them even better after the “Hopalong Heritage” ride we took the next morning atop two heaping hayracks. We began at the Heber Cemetery where Grandpa and Grandma Alexander are buried and heard stories about them as we decorated their graves with flowers. From there we traveled along the country road to the first little home mom and dad lived in after their marriage, and we were even invited inside by the lady who lives there now. All 83 of us filed through. That’s called Heber hospitality, and we found it all over the valley. We sipped root beer in the shop that long ago was the little confectionery, dad’s first business, and we sang our way over rocks and roads, seeing one special family site after another, as teens, tots, and old-timers told tales of our heritage at each site. We ended up where Grandma and Grandpa Price ended up—the Charleston Cemetery. Here we had a quiet conclusion as we honored them and our dear parents. Resounding in our hearts were the strains of our family song we had sung through the week, “The Price Family Tree Is a Mighty One.”
Meanwhile, back at the kitchen things were cooking—turkey and dressing and all the trimmings for the family feast that evening. And that’s not all. Scenery was being set up and costumes coordinated for a show depicting the Heber era of our parents’ lives.
How do you put on a show when the cast is spread out from Utah to Arizona to California? Well, you write songs and sketches and send them to family members in various cities and ask them to work up the numbers and be ready to perform. And perform they did, young and old. The finale featured the family flag and a parade of the clan, clad in costumes and pride as they marched and sang together:
“What’s more like Prices than the ocean,
The seashore and feet collecting tar?”
We paraded and sang through many stanzas, until finally the march ended, the tempo slowed, and there we were standing in a circle—an unending family circle—holding on to each other and to our memories of this week. Through our tears we finished the song.
“What’s more like J. R. Price than praying—
That’s Prices spelled Mabel and J.R.—
What makes us happier than saying,
We are! We are! We are!
The Prices!”
At that moment the Prices soared sky high as we felt the celestial meaning of family foreverness.
Our reunion was over, but not our union. That is stronger than ever before. Our reunion was over, but not our memories of it. They are history now, recorded on paper, on film, and in hearts. Our reunion was over, but not its effects.
“This reunion has changed my life,” said one young person.
“Every day was the best one, ‘exclaimed a little child.
“I’m so thankful to be a part of all this,” commented a new-in-the-family member.
“The family fireside was the greatest spiritual experience I’ve had since my mission,” said a young father.
“Teaching each other in this sort of family setting is different. It’s a higher level of learning and loving than I’ve ever felt, a celestial level,” observed one more.
Summer is just around springtime’s corner. It’s time to plan your family reunion.
“A family reunion,” you say? “You mean that event where everyone says, ‘My how we’ve grown—into the neatest family ever!’”
Forever.

We experienced a special day in our family on January 4, 1997. My brother organized a party honoring the 200th birthday of Gustavus Adolphus Perry. He was an important member of our family tree. He was baptized in 1832 and became the first of our family to embrace the gospel. The Perry family history records this remarkable event:
As a part of the birthday celebration, my brother spent a year searching for the descendants of Gustavus Adolphus Perry. We were amazed at the record he had on the table before us as we celebrated. He had found more than 10,000 descendants of this good man. The number overwhelmed me. Suddenly I realized the value of a good name. In seven to eight generations, his family had sufficient numbers to organize three stakes of Zion.

Mrs. Higgins never missed a piano lesson. Every Tuesday afternoon at precisely 3:30 P.M. her big, white sedan would round the corner and come to a halt in front of our house.
She’d march up the driveway in her grandma shoes with that leather clasp purse hanging from her arm and her hair pulled neatly into a bun. I’d hear her firm knock, the front door opening and footsteps in the hallway. Then my mother’s sweet voice would summon me to my doom.
Mrs. Higgins was convinced I was one of her most talented students. Of course, she never knew how little effort I put into my practices because I always performed to her satisfaction.
Each lesson began with a recital of the pieces I had practiced that week. I’d play; and if the music had words, she’d sing in her loud, clear opera voice. If there were no words, she’d count out loud. Occasionally she was silent as I performed a piece particularly well.
I wasn’t the only child in the neighborhood whose parents employed Mrs. Higgins. There were Lisa and Brian Baccus and Charlie, Beverly, and Jenny Bradley. I felt especially sorry for the Bradleys because Mrs. Higgins was at their house for almost two hours each week.
The older I got the more intensely I begged my mother to let me quit. After seven years of complaining, I finally convinced her to cancel the lessons. I was free.
Several years later my mother asked if I would accompany her to a piano concert at an art gallery in Sacramento where Jenny Bradley would be performing. I remembered her as the funny little girl who always forgot her piano pieces at the yearly recitals. She never was very good.
When Jenny came out on stage, I was surprised to see that the little freckle-faced girl was all grown-up. She seated herself at the grand piano and began to play. The piano sang out and sounded like the work of three pianists. I’d never witnessed such energy, such concentration.
As I listened, I glanced around the room at the small crowd of people. Then I saw her—Mrs. Higgins—leaning against a marble pillar near the back of the room. She looked older, but her eyes sparkled and she glowed with true happiness.
“Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord” (James 5:11).
Suddenly, my eyes filled with tears. Though I should have been happy to see someone perform to the best of her ability, I wasn’t. I was jealous. Why wasn’t I sitting at that piano? After all, I had been more talented than Jenny. Deep down inside, I knew I’d failed because I’d given up.
“Behold, I am the law, and the light. Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live; for unto him that endureth to the end will I give eternal life” (3 Ne. 15:9).
Two people who had paid the price were getting their reward. Jenny was playing brilliantly and Mrs. Higgins, who never missed a lesson, glowed with the knowledge that she had made a pianist.

James’s favorite Primary song is “Book of Mormon Stories,”** because it’s about learning the scripture stories. James and Jessa now have the scriptures and wonderful teachers, friends, and family who help them learn about Jesus Christ and His church. For both children, this was a real comfort when they moved to a new country and had to learn a new language. James even remembers hiding in the bushes because he was so scared and lonely when he first moved. Now both he and Jessa are confident and happy, and they know that they are loved by many.

When I think of progress, I tend to think of something tangible—something I can physically see or touch. In college, for example, I studied, took tests, and attended classes for four years until I was able to hold a diploma in my hands that represented all the progress I had made. You can also measure progress through other everyday things like checking off daily “to-do” tasks that make you feel productive.
There are many types of progress that one can make in life, but as I was recently preparing to teach Relief Society (for the first time ever), I started to wonder if I was lacking when it came to spiritual progress. I was teaching about a general conference talk given by Sister Jean B. Bingham, former Relief Society General President, about how making covenants helps to prepare us for eternal glory.1
I kept thinking, “Well, I can’t physically see or touch eternal glory, so how can I even know if I’m progressing on the covenant path?”
Lately I’ve felt a bit stuck. As a young single adult who has been baptized and received her endowment but hasn’t been sealed in the temple, I sometimes feel like I am at a standstill on the covenant path. I feel like I’m a board game piece that can’t move forward no matter how many times I roll the dice. I want to get married and make covenants with God and my eternal companion, but what do I do in the meantime?
How do I know if I’m moving forward?
I felt so inadequate to teach a lesson about the covenant path when I was uncertain of how I could move forward on the path myself. I had a lot of questions, so I started seeking out answers in the scriptures. And I was surprised to discover a treasure trove of truths. I truly enjoyed reading as I studied Gospel Topics, followed footnotes, and felt the Spirit guiding me to the specific answers I needed at that exact moment.
At one point I felt an overwhelming feeling of peace and actually looked up at the light in my room because I felt a sort of brightness around me.
That’s when the Spirit brought the words, “This is how,” to my mind.
Those words were the answer. I changed my perspective and realized that just by reading my scriptures I had progressed closer to Heavenly Father that day, and I could continue every day as I took steps to come closer to Christ. I recognized how keeping my covenants was helping me become more like Him, little by little.
I felt like I was finally moving my game piece forward on the board game of life.
In our everyday lives, we face a lot of uncertainty, and it can be hard to see any progress being made. But it’s truly in our everyday moments where we choose to keep our covenants with God that we are moving forward on the covenant path. When we read our scriptures, when we minister to and serve others, when we pray, when we take time to go to the temple, and ultimately when we wake up every morning and choose to live as disciples of Christ—these are the keys to progress.
By seeking Christ, we take another step toward Heavenly Father on the covenant path.
Since that moment of personal revelation, I have made a more sincere effort to study and learn more about the gospel. I’ve changed my focus to daily progress to understand how my choices lead to eternal progress.
Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy has taught that simply doing “one percent better”2 makes all the difference in progress. And looking back, striving to do a little better each day really has put my movement on the covenant path in perspective. And I’ve noticed many blessings:
Deeper love for the gospel
Excitement about scripture study and spiritual habits
More time to serve others
Deeper understanding of my divine potential
More hope and joy about life
Some days I feel like I am not progressing as much as I would like, and I am still faced with a lot of uncertainty about the future. But as I align my will with God’s, I feel gratitude for this time because I am learning and growing and deepening my faith, which means I really am progressing every day—receiving the blessings of God’s promises, focusing on the Savior’s gift of repentance, and moving forward on the path, one move at a time.
If you are struggling to see your progress on the covenant path or recognize the power your covenants offer you, remember the words of Sister Bingham:
“Don’t let detractors or distractions pull you away from eternal truths. Study and ask trusted sources for greater understanding of the sacred significance of the covenants you have made. Go to the temple as often as you can and listen to the Spirit. You will feel sweet reassurance that you are on the Lord’s path. You will find the courage to continue as well as to bring others with you.”3
I know without a doubt that if we choose every day to remember and keep our covenants, no matter where we are on the covenant path, we can progress, grow, receive blessings we never even dreamed of, and continue making our way back to our Heavenly Father every single day.

Recently my husband, Mel, and I met a volunteer tour guide named Mollie Lenthal as we visited a museum in Australia. We found out that Mollie, a lovely woman in her 70s, has no children and has never married. She is an only child, and her parents have been deceased for many years. Her closest relatives are two cousins who live on another continent. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the Spirit testifying to me, almost as if Heavenly Father were speaking: “Mollie is not alone! Mollie is my daughter! I am her Father! She is a very important daughter in my family, and she is never alone!”
One of my favorite stories from the Savior’s life is the story of Lazarus. The scriptures tell us that “Jesus loved Martha, … her sister [Mary], and [their brother] Lazarus.”1 Word was sent to Jesus that Lazarus was very ill, but Jesus did not come immediately; He stayed away two more days, stating that “this sickness is … for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.”2
Hearing that Jesus was coming, Martha “went and met him,”3 telling Him what had happened. Lazarus had “lain in the grave four days already.”4 Grieving, Martha ran back to her home to tell Mary that the Lord had come.5 Mary, weighed down with sorrow, ran to Jesus, fell down at His feet, and wept.6
We are told that “when Jesus therefore saw [Mary] weeping, … he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled,” and asked where they had laid him.
“They said unto him, Lord, come and see.”7
Then we read some of the most compassionate, loving words in scripture: “Jesus wept.”8
Apostle James E. Talmage wrote, “The sight of the two women so overcome by grief … caused Jesus to sorrow [with them] so that He groaned in spirit and was deeply troubled.”9 This experience testifies of the compassion, empathy, and love that our Savior and our Heavenly Father feel for each of us every time we are weighed down by the anguish, sin, adversity, and pains of life.
Dear sisters, our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, know us and love us. They know when we are in pain or suffering in any way. They do not say, “It’s OK that you’re in pain right now because soon everything is going to be all right. You will be healed, or your husband will find a job, or your wandering child will come back.” They feel the depth of our suffering, and we can feel of Their love and compassion in our suffering.
Alma testified:
“And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
“And he will take upon him … their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know … how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”10
When we wonder if we are known by our Savior and our Father in Heaven or how well They know us personally, we might remember the Savior’s words to Oliver Cowdery:
“If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.”11
Earlier the Savior stated to him, “There is none else save God that knowest thy thoughts and the intents of thy heart.”12
The Savior reminded Oliver that He knew every detail of that pleading prayer—and remembered the exact time, the very night.
Many years ago my husband became very ill with a rare disease. As the weeks went by and the sicker he became, the more I became convinced that he was dying. I told no one of my fears. We had a large, young family and a loving, eternal marriage, and the thought of losing my husband and raising my children by myself filled me with loneliness, despair, and even anger. I am ashamed to say that I pulled away from my Heavenly Father. For days I quit praying; I quit planning; I cried. I finally came to the realization that I could not do this alone.
For the first time in many days, I knelt down and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven, pleading for forgiveness for turning away from Him, telling Him all of my deepest feelings, and finally crying out that if this was what He really wanted me to do, I would do it. I knew He must have a plan for our lives.
As I continued on my knees to pour out my heart, the sweetest, most peaceful, loving feeling came over me. It was as if a blanket of love was flowing over me. It was as if I could feel Heavenly Father saying, “That was all I needed to know.” I determined never to turn away from Him again. Gradually and amazingly, my husband began to get better until he made a full recovery.
Years later my husband and I knelt by the side of our 17-year-old daughter and pleaded for her life. This time the answer was no, but that same feeling of love and peace that our Savior has promised was just as powerful, and we knew that even though Heavenly Father was calling her back home, everything would be all right. We have come to know what it means to cast our burdens upon the Lord, to know that He loves us and feels compassion for us in our sorrows and pain.
One of the sweetest father-to-son moments in the Book of Mormon is Alma the Younger’s testimony to his son Helaman. Alma described the “inexpressible horror” he felt as he imagined coming into the presence of God to be judged of his many transgressions. After feeling the weight of all his sins for three days and nights, he repented and pleaded with the Savior to have mercy on him. He described to Helaman the “exquisite and sweet” joy of remembering his pains “no more.” Instead of feeling “inexpressible horror” at the thought of coming before the throne of God, Alma saw a vision of “God sitting upon his throne” and declared, “My soul did long to be there.”13
Is that not how we feel, my dear sisters, as we repent and contemplate the love, the mercy, and the gratitude we feel for our Heavenly Father and our Savior—that we too “long to be there,” to be embraced by Their loving arms once again?
Just as the Lord has testified to me that He has not forgotten His precious daughter Mollie Lenthal, I testify that He has not forgotten you! Whatever sin or weakness or pain or struggle or trial you are going through, He knows and understands those very moments. He loves you! And He will carry you through those moments, just as He did Mary and Martha. He has paid the price that He might know how to succor you. Cast your burdens upon Him. Tell your Heavenly Father how you feel. Tell Him about your pain and afflictions and then give them to Him. Search the scriptures daily. There you will also find great solace and help.
Our Savior asked:
“For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. …
“… I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.”14
“I have commanded that none of you should go away, but rather have commanded that ye should come unto me, that ye might feel and see; even so shall ye do unto the world.”15
That is our charge. We must feel and see for ourselves and then help all of Heavenly Father’s children to feel and see and know that our Savior has taken upon Himself not only all our sins but also our pains and our suffering and afflictions so that He can know what we feel and how to comfort us. I testify of Him in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Emily Richards stepped up to the narrow pulpit at the National Woman Suffrage Association meeting in the U.S. capital, Washington, D.C. She knew this was one of the most critical experiences of her life. The year was 1889, and the topics of women’s suffrage in Utah and plural marriage were being fiercely debated. Although Emily was nervous, she felt prepared to speak on behalf of her home, gender, and religion.
One source related, “It was feared that the lady from Utah would not be able to make herself heard throughout the hall—other speakers having failed in that regard—but to the general surprise and delight, her clear tones penetrated to the remotest recesses of the building, and her speech was a veritable triumph.”1
Although there is not a record of what Emily said that day, one journalist reported that she spoke for about half an hour. She gave “an orderly, scholarly presentation” that presented facts and ideas that “disarm[ed] prejudice.” The reporter went on to say that Emily’s words had a “gentle spirit” that softened many hearts that day towards the territory of Utah.2

At the same time I lost my faith in science, I began to lose my faith in mankind. I took a class in which beliefs, truths, ethics, and morals were discussed. Many students in the class believed that there was no such thing as absolute truth, a God, or morality. They did not believe in personal responsibility and accountability for their actions. These people symbolized the world to me, so I began to lose my faith in mankind when I lost my faith in them.
I realized that much of what I had been taught as fact was not. This changed my perspective on everything in my life. I no longer saw teachers as sources of truth. I began to question all that I had been taught and had believed in. I wanted everything to be proven to me.
I began to question whether an absolute truth could exist. Yet I knew that certain things must exist. My lack of ability to comprehend God caused me to question his existence. I would say to myself, “God exists and his laws are absolute.” Then I would quickly think of something else to avoid questioning God’s existence.
Yet as I learned more, I tried to understand and explain God. Although I disliked my thinking, I could not deny what I felt. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to believe in that which I had always believed. My life was becoming depressing and insecure.
As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

Though we lived in Pocatello, Idaho, one of the best piano teachers around taught at Utah State University in Logan, Utah. A series of unusual happenings landed me a tryout with him, and he agreed to take me on as a student. So every other Friday for the next two years, one of my parents would pick me up after school, we would drive 90 miles to my lesson, spend one hour in my lesson, grab a bite to eat, and drive the 90 miles back (usually in time to get me to the high school dance).
Throughout the trip we would talk and listen to either rock or classical music. My parents were understanding enough of my teenage interests to tolerate a good share of my tunes. It was usually my mom who suggested equal time for classical music. When classical time arrived, I automatically reached for the light classic “Rhapsody in Blue.” It became a tradition to listen to it at least once during the trip.
I can’t really say what made the difference that February day, but Gershwin’s “Rhapsody” captivated me as it never had before. Driving down that familiar two-lane highway with Mom, listening to Gershwin for the umpteenth time, I became totally absorbed in the music. My faculties became heightened, and my senses became more acute. I breathed deeply, immersed in the exhilarating thrill of the music. That day I realized that good music would always be a source of peace and enjoyment, even ecstasy, to me.
I glanced over at my mom, and things began to get blurry. I realized one day I would be a parent, trying to instill in my children similar feelings about music, hoping they would respond as I was responding. But more than that I hoped my children would love me like I loved my mom.
The tape ended as we pulled into the parking lot. I gave my mom a quick kiss, jumped out of the car, and walked toward the building. I looked back at her one more time before I went through the double doors.
I’ve looked back many times since.

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.
As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.
As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.
When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

Since I’ve been in school, I’ve had friends who haven’t understood the moral standards of our religion. At first it was difficult, but over time my friends have become used to the idea of my being morally clean. I made a goal in my life to be clean and pure, and it’s worked out well, both for me and for those who used to criticize me. Over time, respect, peace, and joy have become a part of our loving circle of friends.

I learned about some of these acts of kindness through letters that he kept from people who wrote to him in gratitude. This letter is typical of the kind he received: “Out of desperation I wrote concerning our oldest daughter. … You took the time and gentle caring to call her in for a visit, giving her your personal telephone number. She was surprised and amazed that you found her of worth. That call and personal visit was a genuine turning point in her life.” The letter then tells of her return to the Church, her sealing in the temple, and her happy and productive life. “After reading your statement [about kindness in the October 1994 general conference] it brought tears to my eyes to realize that you have been practicing for years what you are now encouraging all of us to do.”

I recall that when I was called to be the president of the Northwestern States Mission, it came at a very difficult time for me to leave my business. Many of my friends, members and nonmembers, said to me, “The Church is asking you to make a great sacrifice.” I replied to each, “I feel it is a real opportunity.”

As President McKay set me apart, he promised me that it would be the happiest period of my life. It wasn’t the easiest experience of my life, but it was the happiest—another experience in my life where sacrifice brought forth the blessings of heaven to me and my wife.

Sabine’s joy has expanded as her own testimony of the gospel has become strong. “I felt I had to know for myself if what I believe is the right thing. I also decided to receive my patriarchal blessing. I did a lot of praying and searching and talking to people and asking questions and finding out for myself. But everything fits. You get this feeling inside that, of course, this is the right thing. It is so amazing.”
One scripture that especially speaks to Sabine is in Doctrine and Covenants 88:63. [D&C 88:63] It talks about seeking and finding, asking and receiving the answers, knocking and opening. For her, it works. “It’s so clear. If you do this, that will happen.” And as Sabine finds the answers and draws near to the Lord, she brings her friends with her, introducing practically everyone she meets to the gospel. Missionary work is so natural to her; it’s just a part of her life.

In the Rose Bowl football game of 1929, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

It all began when Annie was just six years old. One early August morning, Cousin Golda came skipping barefoot through the red sand to our house.
“Guess what!” she panted, “we’ve got two new babies, and one of them is a brother.”
“Twins!” Mama exclaimed, setting the milk pans on the kitchen table.
Happily Golda nodded. “A brother and a sister!”
Mama stooped and hugged Golda.
“Oh Mama, can we go see them?” Annie pleaded.
“Later,” Mama replied.
“How come Aunt Mary has two babies?” four-year-old Kate asked.
“Because it’s a ‘double blessing.’ That’s what Grandma always says,” Golda replied. “Especially if one of them is a brother. Now I’ve told you, I have to hurry home.” The screen door slammed behind her.
Papa came in with a foaming bucket of milk and strained it into the pans Mama had set out. “You should have seen Lew this morning,” he said. “His feet scarcely touched the ground. He didn’t bother to open the pasture gate, but jumped the fence to tell me about his son. ‘Mary has a baby boy!’ he hollered.”
“Mary has twins,” Mama corrected.
“Yes, I know. But one of them is a boy,” Papa stressed.
Annie wondered if Papa had something in his eyes, because he blinked as he said, “I’m glad for Lew. It’s important for a man to have sons.”
“I know,” Mama said, turning her face toward the cupboard.
Poor Mama, Annie thought, all she has is girls, three of them, counting Baby Mildred. A hundred times over Papa had said, “If we had sons of our own, I wouldn’t always be borrowing Ren’s boys to ride the range with me.”
Mama’s usual retort was, “Be thankful you have nephews.”
For the next few days Papa had so much to say about Lew’s son that it was plain to see that he was eating his heart out for a boy of his own.
“After all, George,” Mama finally reminded him, “we have to leave some things up to Heavenly Father.”
One day just when Annie had begun to think Papa didn’t care for girls at all, Mildred toddled over to him and wrapped her chubby arms around his legs. With a hearty laugh, he picked her up and tossed her to the ceiling. “Ah, you’re a precious one,” he crooned. “Little girls bring joy to a man’s heart.”
Well! What a relief! Annie thought.
Mama had said they could see the babies later, and later had finally come. How cuddly the twins looked, sleeping side by side in the wide new cradle Uncle Lew had built.
Fascinated, Annie and Kate gazed at them while Golda stood proudly by.
“Oh, aren’t they cute,” Annie purred.
“The one with the most hair is my brother,” Golda volunteered.
“They don’t either one have hair,” Kate observed.
“Yes, they do,” Golda countered. “See that little bit of pink hair?” Golda pointed.
“He’s a boy.”
“Why is a boy so much?” Kate asked.
“Because boys don’t get scared of the dark,” Annie replied.
“But the baby sister is the cutest,” Kate insisted.
Aunt Mary chuckled from her stack of pillows.
“They’re both the cutest. Two babies are twice as cute as one,” Annie defended.
The baby girl squirmed.
“Would you like to rock the cradle, Annie?” Aunt Mary asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, beaming. Gently she rocked, then remarked, “I love them and I wish we had twins just like them.”
“Papa only wants a boy,” Kate observed.
At the supper table that evening, Annie and Kate prattled on about the twins.
“Do all baby boys have pink hair?” Kate asked.
“No,” Mama replied. “Aunt Mary’s little boy has white hair. But it looks pink because his head shines through.”
“Oh,” Kate said, satisfied. Then, after a moment, “Do boys always tease? When he grows up will Aunt Mary’s boy tease like my cousin Cliff does?”
“Maybe Cliff did put a beetle in your mud pie once, but he made a water-willow whistle for you too,” Papa reminded her.
Thoughtfully she said, “I like my whistle. I think maybe we’ll have a brother too.”
Chuckling, Papa patted her head, then went out to do the chores.
Annie and Kate sat on the front steps in the gathering dusk, while sleepy birds twittered in the mulberry tree.
“Kate, shall we surprise Mama and Papa?” Annie asked.
“How?”
“Let’s ask Heavenly Father to send us twins like he did to Aunt Mary and Uncle Lew—a girl and a boy.”
“All Papa wants is a brother,” Kate said glumly. “We’ve already got a little sister.”
“But Mildred doesn’t look little anymore. Think what a big surprise it would be if we had twins.”
“Especially the boy part,” Kate giggled.
That night as they knelt by their bed, Annie prayed first. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she said, “Papa wants a boy so bad. Please bless us with a baby brother. And, also, could you send us a little sister too. We want twins just like Aunt Mary’s. Thank you for Papa, Mama, Grandma, my sisters, and my happy home. We will take good care of the twins. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen. Now, Kate, you pray.”
So, for the days, weeks, and months that followed, Annie and Kate faithfully prayed in secret for the big surprise for Papa and Mama. In Kate’s mind the deadline for the twins to arrive was Christmas. When they did not come then, she was very disappointed.
“But you got a rag doll and some cookies. That’s plenty,” Annie comforted.
“From now on, I’m only asking for a brother,” Kate said decisively. “A brother can help carry water from the barrel like Cliff does.”
“Well, I’ll still keep praying for a really big surprise,” Annie emphasized.
Springtime brought a problem. The family moved to the sawmill on Kolob Mountain, and Kate decided to put off praying for a brother until they moved back to town for the winter. “Heavenly Father would have a hard time finding our little one-room cabin and tent among the pines,” she reasoned.
But Annie said, “I’ll tell Him where we are.” And she did.
July was more than halfway gone. The hammering, hollow sound of a woodpecker in the ponderosa by the tent awoke Annie. It was barely daylight, still everyone was up and busy except her and her two sisters. She knew, from the smell of wood smoke curling from the cabin chimney, that the cracked wheat for breakfast would already be simmering. The music of the dawn was sweet contentment to her as she listened to the rush, then the hush of the wind in the pines. Mingled with the jubilant chirp of the robin and the cheeping of the wrens was the ring of Papa’s axe, chopping firewood. Through the open tent flap, she saw the bracken ferns and larkspurs waving in the breeze.
Slipping quietly out of bed, she walked out into the morning, barefoot, holding her long nightgown above the trampled meadow grass. A squirrel chattered from his perch in an oak, and wild roses fluttered delicately pink by the door. Heaven seemed to kiss the earth. Surely, this must be a special day.
“Well now, how’s my little early bird? Papa asked, approaching with his armload of wood. “I’ll bet you can’t guess what a big surprise we have for you!”
Annie’s heart leaped. “Mama has twins,” she declared.
Papa stopped with astonishment. “How in the world did you guess?”
Breathlessly she opened the door and rushed inside. There sat Grandma in front of the warm oven with a tiny baby on her lap.
“Come and see your brother, Annie,” she said.
“Oh, baby brother,” Annie cooed, “I knew you’d find us.” Then scanning the dark shadows of the cabin, she asked, “Where is our baby sister?”
“Who said there was a sister?” Papa teased.
By now Annie’s eyes were accustomed to the dimness and she spied the bunk bed. With a bound, she was at Mama’s side. There, nestled snug against her was another baby.
“Oh Mama, what a tiny, cute sister.”
Everybody looked at everyone.
Tenderly Annie said, “We prayed a long, long time for this big surprise. Kate just asked for a brother, but I kept praying for twins like Aunt Mary’s. We knew how surprised and happy you’d be.”
Amazed, Grandma shook her head, and her voice choked as she said, “The simple and perfect faith of a little child!”
Papa blinked his eyes, the same as he did when Uncle Lew’s son was born. Only this time he couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the tears from falling. “It’s a miracle,” he said softly.
Annie slid into the empty chair next to Grandma. “May I hold him please?”
Gently Grandma laid the tiny bundle in her arms. Papa picked up the baby from the bed and put her in Annie’s arms too. Softly Annie cooed as she rubbed her cheek against each little silken head. With a face as radiant as that of an angel, she whispered, “Oh you sweet, sweet little double blessing.”
And that’s how I happened to be a twin, for I was that baby girl.

One not so blessed with the gift of sight was the blind man who, in an effort to sustain himself, sat day in and day out at his usual place on the edge of a busy sidewalk in one of our large cities. In one hand he held an old felt hat filled with pencils. With his other hand he held out a tin cup. His simple appeal to the passerby was brief and to the point. It had a certain finality to it, almost a tone of despair. The message was contained on the small placard held about his neck by a string. It read, “I am blind.”
Most did not stop to buy his pencils or to place a coin in the tin cup. They were too busy, too occupied by their own problems. That tin cup had never been filled or even half-filled. Then one beautiful spring day a man paused and, with a marking pen, added several new words to the shabby sign. No longer did it read, “I am blind.” Now the message read, “It is springtime and I am blind.” The cup was soon filled to overflowing. Perhaps the busy people were touched by Charles L. O’Donnell’s exclamation, “I have never been able to school my eyes against young April’s blue surprise.” To each, however, the coins were a poor substitute for the desired ability to actually restore sight.

Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a small truck with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he expressed the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor told this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he left the room he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was filled with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.