Gospel Story Finder

That reminds me of a sermon that I preached in Atlanta at the funeral of the president of our branch there. He was at the head of the hat department in one of the large stores there in Atlanta, and many of the people from the store attended the funeral service. It was held in a mortuary. When I went to the store some time after that a member of the Church saw me and said, “President Richards, there’s a man up on the third floor in the lingerie department who attended that funeral, and he said that if you ever came in he’d like to meet you. Would you like to meet him?”

I said, “I certainly would.”

We went up to the third floor and met the head of that department, and he said, “Mr. Richards, I’m a religious man, and my friends are religious. We go to church every Sunday and we hear the minister preach. But half an hour after the church service is out, we couldn’t tell you a thing about what he said. All we know is that we’ve had a good talk. I attended that funeral service weeks ago, and I came home and told my wife I’d heard something I wished all Atlanta could hear. It’s been weeks now, and I can still remember what you said.” That is the difference between God’s simple eternal truth and the philosophies of men. My, how grateful we ought to be for what we have!

Several years ago I heard Elder Gerald N. Lund of the Seventy describe a magazine article about rock climbing. The article discussed belaying—the fail-safe system that protects climbers. One climber gets into a safe position, fastens the rope in a fixed position, then calls to his or her companion, “You’re on belay”—meaning “I’ve got you.” The director of a climbing school, Alan Czenkusch, described his experience with belaying to the author of the article:
“Belaying has brought Czenkusch his best and worst moments in climbing. Czenkusch once fell from a high precipice, yanking out three mechanical supports and pulling his belayer off a ledge. He was stopped, upside down, 10 feet [3 m] from the ground when his spread-eagled belayer arrested the fall with the strength of his outstretched arms.
“‘Don saved my life,’ says Czenkusch. ‘How do you respond to a guy like that? Give him a used climbing rope for a Christmas present? No, you remember him. You always remember him.’”

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

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.” And this young woman was teachable.
After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.
With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.
During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.
She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.
Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.
“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”
In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”
About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”
Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”
My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

For example, a few years ago I was given an exciting job offer. But I was worried it would require me to work on Sundays. As I struggled to decide what to do, I prayed and fasted. I was filled with peace and was even prompted to ask the manager if I could have Sundays off. Without my childlike trust in Heavenly Father, I never would have had the courage to set such a condition, but the manager agreed. So, I began a new and exciting chapter.

After I started my job, challenges came. My hours became extremely hard on my family, and my manager grew frustrated with me. I began questioning the answer I’d received about accepting the job.

Heavenly Father is “a God of truth, and canst not lie” (Ether 3:12), so I assumed I didn’t understand His guidance, which made me wonder how many other promptings I had misunderstood. Then I remembered the words of Alma the Younger: “Experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if [you] can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you” (Alma 32:27).

I had the desire to continue believing in Heavenly Father, so I chose to exercise faith and experiment upon His prompting for me to accept this job, and I pressed on.

Having the faith to finish my job contract also required faith like my daughter’s. I couldn’t see what lay ahead. But I kept moving forward with faith that Heavenly Father led me to my job for a reason. And that reason was eventually revealed.

On a quiet day at work, a coworker opened up to me about how when she had learned I was a member of the Church, she assumed I wouldn’t be any different than some contentious religious people from her past. She told me she had been moved by my respect and kindness for her and our other coworkers. We spent the next hours talking about faith and Jesus Christ.

She told me she wanted to believe in Him, and the Spirit swelled in my chest as I told her about the gospel.

I realized that she was one reason Heavenly Father had directed me to this job. It was a miracle.

As President Russell M. Nelson taught, “Miracles come according to your faith in the Lord. Central to that faith is trusting His will and timetable—how and when He will bless you with the miraculous help you desire. Only your unbelief will keep God from blessing you with miracles to move the mountains in your life.”1 When I exercised childlike faith in His prompting to take this job and finish my contract, Heavenly Father showed me His ability to bring forth miracles.

Jonathan wondered if he was really sure. His parents had talked to him a lot about taking good care of his bike. But when he thought of his parents, he remembered scripture stories they had taught him about helping others. And his dad was always helping people. A lot of the time Jonathan got to help too. He helped his dad get firewood for a family whose truck had broken down. He helped his dad clean Sister Story’s yard when she couldn’t get around very well. That was fun because she had a little dog named Peetie, who liked Jonathan a lot. He remembered his dad driving him to Brother and Sister Call’s house to leave treats on the porch, knock, and run away. They did that several times until the Calls guessed who was doing it. After that, they knocked, took the treats into the house, and stayed for a good visit.
The more Jonathan thought about his dad, the more he was sure he wanted Kevin to borrow his bike so he could finish the route and get to the baseball game. “Sure I’m sure,” Jonathan said. “I’ll push your bike to my house and you can pick it up after the game. Maybe my dad and I can help you fix it.”
“Wow! Thanks again,” Kevin said.
They took Jonathan’s empty newspaper bag off the bike. Kevin put his half-full bag over his shoulder and took off pedaling fast. “See you at the game!” he yelled.
As he pushed Kevin’s bike down the street, Jonathan didn’t stop to splash more cold water on himself. He already felt great!
“The Savior promises great blessings to those who give of themselves: ‘Give, and it shall be given unto you.’”Bishop H. David Burton, Presiding Bishop, “Tender Hearts and Helping Hands,” Ensign, May 2006, 11.

The phone rang, and Mom called out that it was for me. No one called for me very often right after we moved to Wilsonville, Oregon, so I ran to find out who it was.
When I hung up I was smiling from ear to ear. “I won!” I shouted.
“What did you win?” Mom asked.
I explained that I had won a drawing to be a “team kid” at a Portland Trailblazers NBA basketball game. I would receive free tickets, a tour of the locker room, and a chance to go down before the game and be on the court with the team. Wow! I had always dreamed of meeting professional basketball players and getting their autographs. And now my dream was about to come true.
The next day when we went to pick up the tickets, I opened the envelope and learned that the game was on Sunday. My dream was smashed. I wanted to go so much, but I knew it wouldn’t be right. My family shared my disappointment. My mother called the contest people to see if I could switch to another game. I couldn’t. My parents said the decision was mine to make.
I didn’t go to the game. I went to church as usual that Sunday. I took the sacrament and listened to the talks. I went to Primary, sang the songs, and listened to the lessons. A few times my mind wandered to the basketball game and what I could have been doing. But I wasn’t too sad. Even if I never win another chance to be a team kid, I know that I made the right decision.

“Sarah, would you like to sing in a program?” asked Ms. Gardner, Sarah’s voice teacher.
“I’d love to!” Sarah said.
“It will be good for you to sing in front of others,” Ms. Gardner said, writing in her notebook. “The program is at the end of August, so you’ll have all summer to get ready.”
Sarah told her parents about the program as soon as she got home. She called her grandparents right after dinner. She was so happy!
At her next lesson, Sarah and Ms. Gardner picked out two songs for the program. One song was from an opera, and the other was from a musical play. Then Sarah got to work.
She practiced her songs with Ms. Gardner. And she practiced at home every day. Soon she had her songs memorized. Still, she kept working.
Finally, the day of the program came. Sarah got ready. She put on her blue dress. She brushed her hair. Then she knelt by her bed and asked for Heavenly Father’s help.
Soon they were on their way to the program. “Are you scared?” her mom asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I know the songs so well I could sing them backward!”
Mom smiled. “You’ve practiced really hard this summer.”
When they got to the program, Sarah sat next to her parents and grandparents. Her friend Megan was the first to sing. Evan sang next. Sarah and the rest of the audience clapped after each song.
When it was Sarah’s turn, she took a big breath and walked to the microphone. She sang the first song perfectly. Ms. Gardner smiled at her. Then Sarah started the second song.
It was all going well until she got to the chorus. And then it happened. She forgot the words! Her mind went completely blank. She looked nervously at the audience and motioned to the pianist to stop.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I’d like to start again.”
Her hands were a little sweaty. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She took another deep breath, nodded to the pianist, and began again.
This time, she remembered all the words. The audience clapped when she finished. Sarah smiled, but she was embarrassed.
After the program, Sarah found her teacher.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Gardner,” she said. “I really messed up.”
“Not at all, Sarah,” her teacher said. “You lost your place. That can happen to anyone. The important thing is that you carried on.”
“That’s right,” Grandma said, joining them. “We’re so proud of you.”
That night, Sarah thought about the program. She still felt bad about messing up. But Ms. Gardner was right. Sarah had carried on. She could be proud of that.
It’s a lot like repentance, she thought.
“Hey, Mom!” Sarah called, running to her parents’ bedroom. “I figured out that the program is like life.”
“How’s that, sweetie?” Mom asked. Sarah flopped onto the bed next to Mom.
“I made a mistake in my solo, but I fixed it and moved on. In life, when I make a wrong choice, I can fix it by repenting. Then I can move on and do better.”
“You know, that sounds like a great theme for home evening,” Mom said. “Want to give the lesson?”
“Sure!” Sarah said. She couldn’t wait to share what she had learned.
Have you set a goal to learn something new?
If you make a mistake, keep trying!
This story took place in the USA.

Iya Gopela, 17, has been a member for two years. She talks about her conversion. “I was a housekeeper for the sister missionaries. I admired the American sisters because they treated me just like a sister and made me feel I mattered to them. Both of them tried to share the gospel with me, but I wouldn’t let them. I guess I got nervous when they spoke English so well. But then the Filipino sisters taught me in Tagalog. I needed to be taught in my own language.
“I felt so happy when I was baptized, overwhelmed by the feeling that the Church is true. Since then I have grown a lot. Reading the scriptures and praying, I feel relieved to know that God is with me. I’m not scared. When things are going well, living the gospel makes them even better.” Iya, like many of the LDS youth throughout the Philippines, is the only Church member in her family.

Mike* started gambling when he was still in high school—only a few dollars here and there. By the time he was in college he had graduated to all-night poker games. As a young adult, Mike joined the Church but returned to his old habits. And later, when he was married with two children, his problem with gambling had only grown.
He mortgaged the family’s New England home, lost his children’s college funds, and couldn’t even pay the utility bills because he used all his family’s money to pay gambling debts. Along with his compulsive gambling came compulsive lying to cover up his habit and his debts. Mike’s gambling problem eventually led to divorce and the loss of his children’s trust.
Mike’s case is an extreme one, but not uncommon. His children, Kristen and Amber, now 21 and 18, know the devastating effects of gambling—and lying to cover up the problem—on a family. “It’s a plague,” says Kristen. “Stay away from it like you would the plague.”
Although their dad is now seeking help at Gamblers Anonymous, the years of heartache his gambling caused are difficult to forget. “It’s even hard to trust him now,” Amber says.

“My teacher is going to be tardy,” said Cindy to herself as she sat on her front steps, watching teacher after teacher go into the school building. Today was the day that only teachers went to school. Teachers from all over the city were coming to a meeting. But where is my teacher? she wondered.
She had already seen smiling Miss Green. Now she waved to quiet Mr. Black, and he nodded his head at her.
“Have you seen Miss Martin yet?” called Mother.
“No,” replied Cindy. “I think my teacher’s going to be tardy!”
“Oh, dear,” said Mother.
Just then the school bell rang loud and long, as it always did at half past eight. A few teachers were still scurrying inside for the meeting. But where’s Miss Martin? Cindy wondered.
She stood up and walked down to the corner. She could see black cars, green cars, blue cars, tan cars, but she did not see her teacher’s little red car.
“Miss Martin,” said Cindy in Miss Martin’s you’d-better-listen voice, “Miss Martin, you are TARDY!”
Just then someone came into sight way down the street. It was Miss Martin running down the sidewalk with some papers in her hand.
Then just as Miss Martin reached Cindy’s corner she tripped and fell—WHUMPH! It was just what Cindy sometimes did on the playground. She ran to the corner, and there was poor Miss Martin, rubbing her ankle and looking very sad. And her papers were blowing all over the street!
Cindy hurried to pick them up. One paper went under a parked car. One was stuck on a tree branch. A cat grabbed one paper and was playing with it. Cindy finally gathered all the papers together and ran back to her teacher with them.
Miss Martin stood up, but the heel had come off one of her shoes. Her stockings were torn, and she began to rub her ankle again.
“Oh, Cindy,” said Miss Martin. “My car broke down. I have to give a report at the meeting so I started running to make sure I wouldn’t be late, and now look what’s happened.”
“Here are your papers,” said Cindy. “I’ll help you walk, Miss Martin; you can lean on me.” Cindy felt very important.
The teacher limped along for a few steps. Then she stopped. “Oh, dear, what am I going to do?” she questioned. “I can’t go to the meeting like this.”
Miss Martin looked at the heel that had come off her shoe. She looked at her torn stockings. Then she looked at Cindy.
“Let’s go to my house,” suggested Cindy. “My mom can help. And maybe I can get your heel back on.”
“I can give you some stockings,” said Cindy’s mother when she saw what had happened.
Cindy glued the heel back onto Miss Martin’s shoe with some quick-drying cement while Miss Martin changed her stockings. Mother helped Miss Martin put her papers in the right order again. And Cindy offered to help her into the schoolhouse.
So that’s how Cindy happened to go to the teacher’s meeting. It was a good thing Miss Martin was the last person on the program. She and Cindy arrived just in time!
Miss Martin’s report was all about good habits.
“One of the things children must learn is to be on time,” she said at the end of her talk. She looked straight at Cindy and smiled a big smile.
“That goes for teachers too!” said the tardy teacher.

Brothers and sisters, I bear my testimony that the Savior’s promise is true and that a humble prayer for peace in your heart will be honored. I felt it at the funeral of my wife of 61 years. I was surprised at the feeling of peace and almost joy. The people at the funeral must have wondered why I was smiling. It was because the Lord had answered my prayer for peace with an assurance from the Holy Ghost, which allowed me to envision the happy reunion ahead with her. The Lord gave me the peace and hope that He had promised His disciples.

When I was eight, two cousins and I were sent to a nearby town to get groceries for the next 15 days. Looking back, I am amazed at how much confidence my grandmother and my aunt and uncle had in us. The morning skies were bright and shiny as we departed in our small caravan of three horses.
In the middle of the prairie, we had a brilliant idea that we should dismount and play marbles. So we did—for a long time. We were so absorbed in our game that we did not see the “signs of the times” above our heads as dark clouds covered the sky. By the time we realized what was happening, we didn’t even have time to mount our horses. The heavy rain was hitting us so hard, and hail was hitting our faces, so we could not think of anything to do but unsaddle the horses and take cover under the saddle blankets.
Horseless, wet, and cold, we continued our journey, now trying to move as fast as we could. As we approached our destination, we saw that the wide street that entered the town had flooded and was like a river heading toward us. Now our only choice was to drop our covers and climb the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the town. It was late at night when, tired and sore and soaked, we sought shelter in the first home we saw as we entered the town. The good young family there dried us off, fed us delicious bean burritos, and then put us to bed in a room of our own. Soon we discovered that the room had a flat dirt floor, so we had another brilliant idea. We drew a circle on the floor and continued our marbles game until we collapsed to the floor in sleep.
As children we were just thinking about ourselves. We never thought about the loved ones who were desperately searching for us back home—if we had, we would have never delayed our journey in such a useless pursuit. And if we had been wiser, we would have looked at the sky, spotted the clouds forming, and accelerated our pace to stay ahead of the storm. Now that I have a little more experience, I always remind myself, “Don’t forget to look up.”
Returning to my account, my cousins and I woke in the morning to a bright sun and beautiful sky. A man knocked on the door looking for the three lost boys. He put us on horses, and we started back home through the same prairie. I will never forget what we saw on our way home—a multitude of people who had been searching for us throughout the night, their tractors and trucks stuck in the mud. They had found a saddle here and a horse there, and when they saw us returning home, I could feel their relief and their love. At the entrance to town, many people were waiting for us, and in front of them all were my loving grandmother and my uncle and aunt. They embraced us and cried, overjoyed that they had found their lost children. What a great reminder this is to me that our loving Heavenly Father is mindful of us. He is anxiously awaiting our return home.

In January 2001 my husband, Peter, became unemployed, and shortly thereafter our third child was born. When Peter found a job 500 miles (800 km) away, we made a big move. And although he enjoyed the job, the year was very bad economically and we had barely enough money to pay for rent and groceries. Our small food storage quickly vanished, and Christmas was approaching. Then Peter’s employer gave us an unexpected “Christmas bonus”—all the employees in Peter’s department were declared unemployed for one month.
Thus, my husband was again out of work. But the Lord did not forget us. Peter was asked to help several members, and we were supported financially through this work. We were not forgotten for Christmas either. The sister missionaries rang our doorbell one day and presented us with a package on behalf of an anonymous family in our ward. When we opened it we found many lovingly wrapped gifts, each bearing the name of a member of our family. We also found an envelope containing extra money—as if the presents had not been enough!
On Christmas Eve the doorbell rang again. A package on the doorstep again contained nicely wrapped presents for each of us. We were very happy. I thanked our Heavenly Father for the little miracles He had provided. And I was grateful to the members who were so loving, even though we had lived there for only five months.
We do not know who helped us during those difficult times, and I can’t help but think of the Savior’s words: “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink” (Matt. 25:35).

One youth Sunday School teacher wondered how to help two young men with autism act for themselves. When she invited class members to share what they were learning, she worried that these two young men might refuse her invitation. But they didn’t. One stood to teach what he had learned and then invited his classmate with autism to help him. When the first began to struggle, his classmate stayed with him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel successful. They were both teaching that day. They were teaching what the Savior taught, but they were also teaching how the Savior taught. When the Savior taught, He acted out of love for the one He was teaching, just as this classmate did for his friend.5

I would like to share with you a personal experience. When I served as bishop many years ago, a fine young man in our ward had fallen in love before being called to serve his mission. He made it known that he was going to get married and would not be available for missionary service. I worried how I was going to approach this young man because I felt an urgency as his bishop to see that he served our Father in Heaven as a missionary. When I invited Doug into my office, I approached him in a different way than I had ever approached a prospective missionary. I was prompted to say, “Doug, the Lord wants you to serve a mission.” Doug said he was not going to serve a mission because he was going to be married. I asked him to get together with his sweetheart and his parents and to fast and to pray. I asked him to come back within a week and tell me what he was going to do about the fact that he had been called to serve the Lord.
One week later, with a great deal of emotion, Doug said to me, “Bishop, we did what you asked us to do. I cannot ignore a call from the Lord. I desire to serve. How do I proceed?” Doug served his mission. In fact, he served as a counselor to his mission president. Upon returning, he married his sweetheart. She waited for him—that is not always the case, and it may not always be best that they do—but in Doug’s case it worked out. He has since served as a bishop and presently serves as the first counselor in his stake presidency. His mission was one of the most important training periods of his life.

Recently, after a priesthood leadership meeting at a stake conference where I spoke about a father’s role with his family, a man came up and introduced himself. He said he was going to write to me and a few days later I received this letter. I quote only part:
“Dear Bishop Featherstone:
“You possibly don’t recall the brief conversation we had on the stand at the stake conference last Saturday night. I told you I had a seventeen-year-old son to whom I hadn’t spoken a kind word in nine years and I was going home and tell him how much I loved him.
“He has caused his mother and me many hours of heartbreak, especially in the last two years. He and I haven’t had a father-son relationship in over half his life. Isn’t that a frightening thought? However, the little unhappiness he has caused us is nothing compared to the lonely hours he must have spent because of me all those years. The many nights he went to bed feeling so unloved and unwanted by me, his father!”
Ezekiel said that the fathers have eaten sour grapes and it hath set the children’s teeth on edge. (See Ezek. 18:2.) Paraphrasing President Lee’s statement, “The greatest teaching we will ever do is within the walls of our own home.” We have a sacred trust to teach our children the principles of truth; but equally important is to love and care in following the way of the Master.

I thought I had life pretty much figured out. I had lots of friends, and my week was jam-packed with seminary, school, Church activities, and cheerleading. So when the weekend came, I was ready to kick back with my friends and have some time just for me.
Then one day my parents put a giant cramp in my 10th-grade style. I could continue to have Friday nights for myself, but Saturday was to be their official date night. And guess who was to be their official babysitter for my 11-year-old brother? You guessed it: me. I protested that I was being forced to miss out on everything my friends were doing on Saturday nights, but to no avail. I just knew this was the beginning of something terrible.
The first Saturday babysitting night came around, and my brother picked out movies for us to watch. He excitedly began the first one as I pouted that this was going to be boring. When the movie began, I scanned the buffet of irresistible foods my parents had so strategically spread out on the table. The movies my brother had chosen were surprisingly not lame, and by the time all was said and done, we’d made quite a dent in the refreshments.
Another week passed and Saturday rolled around once more. This time we were going to make chocolate chip cookies together. They didn’t turn out exactly like our mom’s, but we didn’t struggle to choke them down. In fact, we started up a little contest to see who could eat the most chocolate chip cookies without drinking any milk. When I gave up and chugged my glass of ice-cold goodness, my brother smiled from ear to ear.
Over the next two years, my Saturdays were filled with trips to the mall, games at the bowling alley, late-night swims, eating out at just about every fast-food place imaginable, seeing movies, reading books, building forts, telling scary stories, and so much more. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my Saturday babysitting episodes were not the beginning of something terrible after all. They were the beginning of something wonderful.
Saturday nights together with my brother helped me learn one of the most important lessons of my life. I was not stuck at home with my brother while all of my friends were out having fun. That wasn’t even possible. I was no longer babysitting my brother; I was babysitting a friend.
I realize that we don’t get to choose who will be our brother or our sister, but we do get to choose who will be our friend. I’m grateful for all of our Saturday nights together that have allowed us the chance to choose each other.

With thoughts of serving as a new branch president after only three months of membership, President Quashigah recalls that he was almost overcome with fear and feelings of inadequacy, but he knew that faith could replace fear. He was confident that the Savior would help him carry the burden and that God would qualify him for the responsibility of leading his newly found branch. His testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was undeniable. He had to accept the call.
Through her temple experience, Sister Quashigah has found a new boldness in sharing the gospel with friends and family. She feels the promptings of the Spirit and hears the still, small voice testify to her of the doctrines of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She recalls that before the Church came into their lives, she would weep often because of her desire for a united family. The day after President Quashigah was baptized was one of the happiest days of her life, as they all got into the truck and went to church together.
Because of the Church, the Quashigah’s report that their lives and family have undergone dramatic changes. President Quashigah has a construction business, but he tries to only take jobs that will allow him to be available to serve the members of his branch and be in branch meetings on Sundays. Sister Quashigah has adjusted her work schedule in the sewing shop to allow her to be home on Saturdays to prepare the family for the Sabbath. They have family home evening and study the scriptures and Come Follow Me together. The family has learned that the Lord’s work is a work of order. They are trying to have that same order in their home and with their family.
President and Sister Quashigah agree that the most important gifts they have ever given their children are the ordinances and covenants of the temple that bind them as an eternal family and allow them to feel daily joy in the gospel.

My seven-year-old son was pedaling furiously and going nowhere. The chain had fallen off his bike. I went over to help him out of his predicament, flipping the bike over so I could access the chain. As I worked, he said, “Dad? When I die, will I be all covered in blood?”
Somewhat shocked, I looked up at him. He was in tears.
“What? No!” I said. “You’re not going to die.” I sat on the curb, and he sat on my lap. He cried and cried. Where had this come from?
“Will my insides fall out?” he asked.
Had my little boy been watching horror movies or something? “No!” I said. Again I told him he wasn’t going to die.
“No, Dad. Everybody is going to die, right?”
I took a deep breath. This was not a conversation I expected to have with such a young child.
When I became a father, I promised myself I would never withhold the truth from my kids, but the thought of telling any of them that they would someday die was a nightmare. I tried to dodge his question. “You don’t need to worry about that right now,” I said. “You just be a happy boy and have fun and don’t worry. You’re going to be alive for a long, long time.”
“I don’t want to die,” he said.
“What do I do here?” I asked myself. Thoughts of saying the wrong thing and forever traumatizing him whirled around in my head. “What do I do?” I offered a silent prayer for help.
I began to tell him about the plan of salvation. I told him that we are all visitors to this world. I told him how each of us is a being made of two parts: a body and a spirit. I told him that when people die—and, yes, we all will someday have to die—it’s just our physical bodies that stop working. Our spirits are eternal and will never die (see Alma 40:11).
I told him that Jesus Christ is our Savior because He made it possible for us to all be together, even though we sometimes have to be apart for a while. I taught him that the Savior died for us and was resurrected and that because He lives, our spirits will someday return to our bodies, and we will never face death again (see Alma 11:43–45).
He asked if I had ever seen a dead person. I told him that I had been able to say good-bye to my grandparents at their funerals. I told him that even though their bodies have died, their spirits are still alive, and we can sometimes feel their presence near.
My son’s fears subsided, and sobs turned into his typical giggles. The idea of relatives visiting even though we couldn’t see them made him smile.
We walked together back to the house, pulling the repaired bike into the garage. I thought about what I had said. I thought about my desire to tell the truth to my children and the answers I had given my son.
In that moment I felt enormously grateful for my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Because I already knew that the plan of salvation is real, I was able to speak to my son confidently and honestly and give him the strength to overcome his fears.
My preparation for this moment began long before my son was born. When I was preparing for a mission, I had a goal to gain a testimony of every aspect of the gospel that I might be required to teach. The part I had struggled with the most was the Resurrection of the dead.
I studied, pondered, and prayed. I fasted and asked for a testimony. After a while, the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Resurrection is real, that there truly is life after death, and that the promises of the plan of salvation are real. (See 1 Nephi 10:19.)
That testimony became important on my mission, but it became one of my most treasured gifts when my son needed to find peace.
I’m so grateful for that witness, and I testify that the plan of salvation is real. I testify of the importance of strengthening our testimonies so that when we or our loved ones feel fear, we can find peace in our testimonies and understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ.