Gospel Story Finder

A lovely lady who has since passed away visited with me one day and unexpectedly recounted some regrets. She spoke of an incident which had taken place many years earlier and involved a neighboring farmer, once a good friend but with whom she and her husband had disagreed on multiple occasions. One day the farmer asked if he could take a shortcut across her property to reach his own acreage. At this point she paused in her narrative to me and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “Brother Monson, I didn’t let him cross our property then or ever but required him to take the long way around on foot to reach his property. I was wrong, and I regret it. He’s gone now, but oh, I wish I could say to him, ‘I’m so sorry.’ How I wish I had a second chance to be kind.”

As I listened to her, there came to my mind the doleful observation of John Greenleaf Whittier: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’” Brothers and sisters, as we treat others with love and kind consideration, we will avoid such regrets.

The airport in Brisbane is the only thing that has changed in two years. When I first arrived, there were only three Quonset huts, five palm trees, and a broken wooden fence. Monday when I went to see my friend off, I noticed a change. They have a new terminal made of stone. There are two palm trees in large stone barrels on either side of the passenger ramp. I took a picture of Ernstein between them when he left. He was finally going home. He told me he was glad. I told him I knew what he meant and envied him. He said he hoped his mother would notice a change in him. He said two years make a lot of difference, especially to 19-year-olds. Twenty-one meant a lot.
I got a letter that night; it was from Ernstein. It about blew my mind. He told me all about his first date. Oh, he also said his mother hadn’t noticed any change.
Jensen was quiet for the next three days. I think he was homesick. But today we got a phone call. That old man wants to talk to us.

Steven and Robert Van Wagenen, Crescent 8th Ward, Sandy Utah Crescent Stake. Steven, 17, is a senior in high school and Robert, 15, is a sophomore.

Steven, like Stacie, worked two jobs. He had been trying for some time to get on with a travelers’ check company that offered a good summer part-time job working with computers. This year he got the job. He also works all year around as a custodian at an elementary school near his home. He regularly puts money into savings for college and a mission.

Steven is interested in photography and wanted to buy a camera. He found a used one he wanted and decided to work and save for it. He estimated his budget and kept his expenses in general terms:

Estimate
Actual
Income
$800.00
$800.00
Expenses
tithing
80.00
80.00
savings
350.00
310.00
camera
290.00
290.00
new shoes
50.00
50.00
entertainment
30.00
45.00
miscellaneous
-0-
25.00
total
$800.00
$800.00

Steven reached his goal of buying his camera. He had trouble when he did not plan in a miscellaneous category to cover gas and lunches. That money had to come out of the amount he planned to save. He also bought a music tape and went over in his entertainment category. Writing down what he actually spent was a little surprising to Steven. “There’s probably $100 over the summer that I don’t even know where it went.”

But Steven can’t cut out everything fun or impulsive that he does with his money. He just needs to plan a miscellaneous category into his budget.

By the time I was ready to go to college, I had trained several branch members to lead the music and play the piano. In college I continued to play the piano and took organ lessons. I thought my chance of going to Latin America was gone forever when I gave up competitive swimming, but after I completed my master’s degree at Brigham Young University, I served a mission to Colombia. While on my mission, I taught piano lessons. I wanted to leave those Saints with the gift of music. Children and youth of Colombia walked miles in the hot sun to have the opportunity to learn to play the piano. They too started with one hand until they progressed to play with both hands. And they made more sacrifices than I did in their efforts to learn to play the piano.

My grandpa is my friend. Early one summer morning, he called me to see if I’d like to go catch minnows for my uncle’s large fishpond. Of course I wanted to!
Grandpa knew just the right spot at the park. We headed down the slope of the large ditch with our strainers and glass jars. I reached the water first and turned around to see him rolling down the steep slope. He had lost his footing and fallen.
I was afraid he was hurt, but Grandpa told me he’d be fine—he just needed to rest a few minutes. He said to go ahead and start catching minnows. But how could I do that when I could see that he needed help? I tried to help him up on his feet but couldn’t. I asked Heavenly Father to help me know what to do. I knew that He would help me and Grandpa.
Grandpa was finally able to get up on his knees, and with a little help, tried crawling to the top of the slope. We’d crawl up two feet and slide back one, but slowly we reached the top and peeked over the ridge. I saw a man not too far away and ran over to ask him to help Grandpa. Even with the two of us tugging, Grandpa couldn’t get up. A park worker saw us and came to help, too, and we finally got Grandpa up on the grass.
The park worker wanted to call an ambulance, but Grandpa thought that if he could just get to his car, everything would be fine. He drove us to the emergency entrance at the hospital and told me to go inside and ask someone to come with a wheelchair.
I found a wheelchair but no one who could help, so I took it out to the car myself. Grandpa twisted and turned until he was able to sit in the wheelchair. I pushed him across the parking lot and up a ramp into the emergency room. It turned out that his ankle was broken and needed surgery.
From that time on, I have been Grandpa’s hero. But I know that I didn’t do it alone. Heavenly Father was with me all the way to give me the courage and strength to help my grandpa.

It was late August. There were no clouds, only a white-hot sun in a colorless sky. Elder Rowan and his companion walked out of the sun into the shade of a maple tree. The leaves on the tree were curled in from the heat and wilted. It was hot in the shade. He ran his hand along his moist neck. They were close to the coast, and the air was humid. The heat seemed to press down on him. He opened a black folder and read:
247 Lincoln St.
Mrs. Demart
placed one Book of Mormon
Aug. 23rd.
He looked at the numbers on the house, 247 Lincoln Street.
“This is it.”
Elder Anderson nodded. “It’s your door.”
He rang the bell and waited. Elder Anderson straightened his tie. A tall, dark haired woman answered and Elder Rowan smiled.
“Good afternoon.”
The woman smiled politely. “Yes?”
“I’m Elder Rowan and this is Elder Anderson,” he said. “We talked to you about a week ago.”
“Oh yes. I remember. You loaned me a book.”
She turned and disappeared into the room and returned carrying a Book of Mormon.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to read in it.”
She handed the book to Elder Rowan.
Elder Rowan felt his throat tighten and cleared it. He ran his thumb along the edge of the book. How many times had this happened in the last six months? How can I get her, get any of the people in this town, to understand? he thought.
“This book tells of a visit the Savior made to the people of ancient America,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t read it. I’m just not interested. I have my own religion.” She smiled and closed the door.
At least she’s honest about it, he thought. Many people take the book without ever intending to read it and either throw it away or leave it untouched in some bookcase.
“Well, that’s the last referral.” He looked at Elder Anderson and then at his watch. “Let’s go back to the apartment.”
Elder Anderson looked down at his watch. “We can still get in an hour of door contacting.”
“It’s too hot now,” Elder Rowan answered. “Maybe when it cools off.”
Elder Anderson was silent for a long moment. “Okay,” he said.
The apartment was hot, cooler than being outside but still hot. Elder Rowan sank back into a chair. Elder Anderson took a pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator and stirred in some frozen lemonade. He poured the lemonade into two glasses and handed Elder Rowan one.
“We’ve got to keep trying,” he said.
Elder Rowan nodded. “Maybe, when it gets cooler.”
It seemed hopeless. For the last six months they had knocked on nearly every door in the town with no success, nothing, not even a good discussion. Elder Rowan loosened his tie. He felt empty. He had always dreamed of going on a mission, and now he was on it and nothing was happening.
Elder Anderson set his glass down. “I’ll go check the mail,” he said.
He disappeared into the hall and returned holding a white envelope. “It’s for you.”
Elder Rowan looked at it. It had the mission home letterhead stamped on it. He opened it. It was a transfer notice effective the next day.
“It’s a transfer notice,” he said and smiled.
“Where to?” Elder Anderson asked.
“North Lubeck.”
“That’s a good area. They do a lot of baptizing down there.”
Elder Rowan smiled again. “Yeah, I know.”
“You’ll want to say some good-byes tonight, I guess?”
Elder Rowan nodded.
“I’ll fix some sandwiches, and we can get started.”
Elder Anderson cracked eggs into a frying pan and spread mayonnaise on slices of bread. Elder Rowan sank back in the chair, putting his feet up, watching. The transfer was what he had wanted, but he still felt empty. The past six months, half a year of his life and one quarter of his mission, seemed to have been wasted. It wasn’t that he hadn’t worked hard, because he had. It was just that they had had no success.
“It’s ready,” Elder Anderson said, dropping a pickle on a plate with an egg sandwich.
The combination of the scrambled egg sandwich and sweet pickle and sour lemonade tasted good. Elder Rowan hadn’t realized how hungry he had been. He was eating the second half of his sandwich when someone knocked on the door. Elder Anderson opened it. A short, sun-browned man stood in the doorway holding a hat in both hands. His hands were large and bent and cracked with deep black lines. They were strong hands. The man smiled broadly, revealing an uneven row of teeth. His eyes sparkled.
“Do Elder Thompson and Elder Rowan live here?” he asked.
Elder Rowan stood.
“I’m Elder Rowan, and this is Elder Anderson,” he said. “Elder Thompson left several months ago. What can we do for you?”
The man smiled. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn book and held it up.
“I’m in charge of the city dump,” he said. “I found this here book on the edge of one of the piles. I don’t know why, but I started reading it.” The man hesitated and rubbed his mouth with his hand. “There’s something about it I can’t explain. I just got to find out more about it and about this Joseph Smith. I was wondering if maybe you could come and tell me and my family about it sometime or if maybe we could come down to your church or something?”
“When would you like us to come?” Elder Anderson asked.
“How about tomorrow night?”
Elder Anderson smiled. “That would be great.”
The man reached out and shook both of their hands.
“I’ve got to get home now,” he said. “I live at 290 Washington Street. What time will you come?”
“Is eight o’clock okay?”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Elder Rowan and Elder Anderson stood staring at the door.
“Can you believe that?” Elder Anderson turned and looked at Elder Rowan.
“I kind of hate to leave,” Elder Rowan said. “But I think I understand now. When the pioneers crossed the plains they planted wheat along the trail that would be harvested the following year by other pioneers. Some of what we’ve planted here won’t be harvested for months or even years. I guess the important thing is just to do the work.”
He reached down and picked up a Book of Mormon.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I think we have time to knock on a few doors before it gets dark.”

One day, Mom and I were looking for shoes that I could wear to church. We had looked in several stores, but I hadn’t found any that I really wanted. As we turned to leave a store, I noticed an elderly woman with a cane. Pain showed on her face when she bent over to try to get a pair of shoes from the bottom shelf.
I rushed over to her and smiled at her and asked if I could help. She stood up gratefully and smiled back at me. I got several pairs of shoes for her and waited patiently while she looked over each pair. When she was finished, she thanked me sincerely for helping her.
I hadn’t seen Mom come over to us, but the lady did. She asked Mom, “Is this your daughter?” She told Mom what I had done and expressed her gratitude. I felt warm and happy inside. Later, Mom told me that she could picture Jesus’ eyes filling with compassion when He saw the elderly woman. She said that I was trying to be like Jesus.
Even though neither the elderly woman nor I found shoes in that store, I found out that caring for one another is much more important.

When you are 12 years old, life is hard enough. Caught between being a child and being a teenager, you struggle to really know who you are. I was in the middle of that struggle when my parents announced we were moving to the small town over the hill. The move was only a few miles away, but to me it was a world away.
I grew up in a suburban town of 30,000. I walked to school. The playground and the youth center were a block from home. And I went to the movies every Saturday.
Our new home was different. It was a rural town of 6,000—and planned to stay that way. I was a mile and a half (2.4 km) from school and had to ride the bus. My playground would become the woods and hills nearby. Saturday matinees would become only an occasional treat.
The move itself wasn’t so bad. I was adventurous and loved exploring. But I had a hard time fitting in at school. The other students had all grown up together, and I was the outsider. To make matters worse, I didn’t hide my emotions and was an easy target for bullies.
One of the biggest bullies I had to deal with was Tracy. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except Tracy is a girl.
I had dealt with boy bullies before. You either faced them or learned to avoid them. But Tracy seemed to be everywhere: in the hall, at lunch, in my classes. She had a way with insults that just chopped you to pieces. I dreaded seeing her anywhere.
Since it seemed I couldn’t avoid her, I had to face her, but I didn’t know how. A talk I heard at church changed all that. I don’t remember who was speaking, but I remember what was said. The speaker was talking about dealing with difficult people. He said, “If you can’t beat them, try loving them to death.” He got a laugh out of the congregation, but I thought about it for some time. I finally decided what to do with Tracy. I would “smother her with kindness.”
I started looking for Tracy the next day. When I saw her, I said, “Tracy, you look nice.” She looked shocked and stammered a thank you as we passed in the hall. I kept it up. Every time I saw her, I would pay her a compliment before she had a chance to say anything. The insults stopped, and my life gained a little peace.
A few months later, the school year was coming to a close. One of the closing activities was a dance in the gym during school hours. I went to it but didn’t feel like asking any girls to dance. Frankly, I had never asked a girl before. But then a girl came up to me and asked me to dance.
I was shocked to see that it was Tracy. I said yes, and we went out onto the floor. When the song was over, I said, “Thank you,” and Tracy went on her way.
I never did see her again. She moved somewhere else that summer. I hope she fit in at her new school more easily than I had. But I learned that day that my plan had worked. Where I had an enemy, I found a friend.

This year we did some family history activities, and I learned about my ancestors. Mama said both the women and the men in my family had very long hair, just like me. Then she said one very important thing: my ancestors are waiting for me in the spirit world! She said that they are waiting to be baptized—just like I had to wait until I turned eight to be baptized. (By the way, I was baptized on my birthday! Cool, huh?)
Mama said my ancestors are in the spirit world. They don’t have bodies like me, so they cannot be baptized. So sad! That’s why we get to be baptized for them in the temple. I told Mama that once the temple is built in Bengaluru, and once I am old enough, I want to be baptized for them.

I mentioned that we have a son-in-law and three sons who graduated from this college. And there is another coming along. Last winter, our sixteen-year-old found in the neighborhood, under a pile of snow, a 1948 Ford tractor—sort of. He asked if he could buy it. It had stood, I think, for fifteen years without being used. It was rusted almost away. But he saw something there, and I saw something in his seeing something there.
So, with another old tractor, we dragged it through the snowdrifts home to the shop and later to the high school shop. There, a shop teacher and our son worked evening after evening to restore this tractor. Every few days it came again! “Dad, I found out that we’ve got to buy this or that.”
Strangely enough, he could find it. He got his driver’s license midway, and so off to Heber City he was for this part or somewhere else for that part. I, too, went with him to more than one city looking through junkyards for old tractor parts.
Then, as the bills mounted, someone made the observation that that tractor was a very expensive investment—perhaps a mistake. But I thought he made the mistake. He thought we were putting together a tractor. I thought we were putting together a boy. Somewhere in the middle of this, it wouldn’t work, and the shop teacher couldn’t find the problem. So we made a call to Max Peterson, eighty-four, long since retired, who spent his life with tractors. He showed up one evening, pointed out this and that to help my son, and then we were off again.

There are always ways to support each other. Even years later while Bruce was serving as a General Authority and coping with health challenges, he still wanted to support me when I served as a Sunday School teacher. He would have discussions with me about upcoming lessons, and every Sunday when he was available, he would help me get needed supplies, set up the classroom, and offer thoughtful comments in class. Although he was limited in his time and energy, he was unlimited in his desire to support me.

I continued to share my testimony with her on my mission. In one email, I told her about a woman my companion and I had met. Her daughter had also passed away. We testified of eternal families and she felt hope in what we shared. I told Natalia she could feel the same. She wrote back, telling me that she wanted to feel that hope but thought her faith wasn’t strong enough.
I decided to send Natalia a handwritten letter inviting her to pray for help to believe. I also felt prompted to write one paragraph in English and address it to a missionary. Natalia only knew Spanish, so I told her to look for the missionaries and ask them to translate for her. I figured a missionary would know English.
Soon after, I received an email from Natalia. She had found the missionaries and asked them to translate my letter. They read it silently and smiled. When Natalia asked what I had written, they replied, “Let’s talk about it!” I had written that Natalia was struggling with the death of her daughter, and I asked the missionaries to teach her about the plan of salvation.
The missionaries shared a short message, and Natalia liked what they taught. Natalia then told them I was serving a mission in Mesa, Arizona, USA. One elder, Elder Larson, said that was where he was from.
One year later, I was transferred to the area where Elder Larson’s family lived. I got to know his family as he got to know mine, and both families were blessed. Elder Larson had been praying for his younger brother, who was struggling with his testimony. I was able to go on exchanges with his brother and help him strengthen his testimony. Elder Larson and his companion continued to teach Natalia and eventually she was baptized. I know the Lord sent us in two directions, me to Arizona, and Elder Larson to Argentina, so we could both help Him strengthen our families in the gospel.

A dear friend shared how she gained her precious testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. She grew up believing sin always brought great punishment, borne by us alone. She pleaded to God to understand the possibility of divine forgiveness. She prayed to understand and know how Jesus Christ can forgive those who repent, how mercy can satisfy justice.

One day her prayer was answered in a spiritually transforming experience. A desperate young man came running out of a grocery store carrying two bags of stolen food. He ran into a busy street, chased by the store manager, who caught him and began yelling and fighting. Instead of feeling judgment for the frightened young man as a thief, my friend was unexpectedly filled with great compassion for him. Without fear or concern for her own safety, she walked straight up to the two quarreling men. She found herself saying, “I will pay for the food. Please let him go. Please let me pay for the food.”

Prompted by the Holy Ghost and filled with a love she had never felt before, my friend said, “All I wanted to do was to help and save the young man.” My friend said she began to understand Jesus Christ and His Atonement—how and why with pure and perfect love Jesus Christ would willingly sacrifice to be her Savior and Redeemer, and why she wanted Him to be.38

Anyone who’s been a Boy Scout can tell you that becoming an Eagle is no simple task. But for Ryan Scholes, a member of the Basalt Ward, Firth Idaho Stake, becoming an Eagle Scout was an extra-special achievement.
Because Ryan has Down’s syndrome, earning merit badges, learning Scouting skills, and organizing his Eagle project were all more challenging than usual. Other members of his troop helped him with some of the more difficult tasks, but little by little, Ryan became a true Scouter on his own.
The day before Ryan turned 18, he completed his project of collecting more than 700 food items for needy families in his troop area. And, although it may have been a little harder for Ryan to achieve the rank of Eagle, he’s proud that in his troop he’s just “one of the boys.”

Several years ago, while on vacation, I wanted to go kayaking for the first time. I rented a kayak, and full of enthusiasm, I launched into the sea.
After a few minutes, a wave overturned the kayak. With a great deal of effort, holding the paddle in one hand and the kayak in the other, I was able to regain my footing.
I tried again to paddle my kayak, but just a few minutes later, the kayak tipped over again. I stubbornly kept on trying, to no avail, until someone who understood kayaking told me that there must be a crack in the shell and the kayak must have filled up with water, making it unstable and impossible to control. I dragged the kayak to the shore and removed the plug, and sure enough, out came a large amount of water.
I think that at times we move through life with sins that, like the leak in my kayak, impede our spiritual progress.
If we persist in our sins, we forget the covenants we have made with the Lord, even though we keep capsizing because of the imbalance that those sins create in our lives.
Like the cracks in my kayak, the cracks in our lives need to be dealt with. Some sins will require more efforts than others to repent of.

When I was in high school, I was one of three LDS students in a student body of five hundred. One year I sent invitations out for my 16th birthday. On the bottom they read, “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” When I gave those invitations out, my parents and I were afraid that no one would show up at the party. However, 35 out of 50 did show up.

About a month later, I received an invitation to a friend’s party. On the bottom it read “No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs.” More such invitations followed in the next two years.

What you have to do is decide now what you will do and then stick to it. True friends will accept you for who you are. They may continue to smoke or drink, but they won’t pressure you once you’ve politely said, “I don’t smoke” (or drink, or whatever). If they do continue to pressure, find a new set of friends who accept you for you and what you stand for.

Lisa groaned as Chelsea’s hand flew into the air. This would be Chelsea’s seventh comment during this class alone. Lisa tried to ignore her grumbling stomach and force a polite smile on her face as Sister Beldon invited Chelsea to speak.
“When I was seven we went to a dog show. I just loved all the dogs we saw, so I know just what you mean.”
Lisa stifled a laugh. Her Laurel teacher had been talking about how the power of love can change lives. Couldn’t Chelsea understand that the lesson didn’t have anything to do with dogs? If Chelsea’s comments ever had anything to do with the lesson topic, it wouldn’t be so frustrating to have her in class.
The bell rang, and Lisa sighed with relief. The Sunday afternoon church schedule always made her so hungry. As soon as the prayer was said she rushed from her class. Unfortunately, she was intercepted.
“Hello, Lisa. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a few minutes?”
Lisa had to remind herself how much she liked her new bishop before she could bring herself to cheerfully say, “Of course. Just let me tell my parents, so they won’t worry.”
Bishop Jacobson asked her a few questions about her honors classes and her cheerleading and then got to the point.
“Lisa, we’d like to call you to be Laurel class president. We’ve prayed and feel that you are the one the Lord would like for the job at this time. Will you be willing to accept this call?”
Lisa’s heart jumped with excitement. She had been a class counselor before but never a president. “Of course. I’ve always wanted to be class president.”
The bishop gave her a sharp look. “This job might be harder than you expect. The girls in your class—and even the younger girls in the Young Women program—really look up to the Laurel class president. You’ll have a big responsibility to be a role model as well as a leader.”
“I can do it.”
“Great. I have confidence in your ability. Your first responsibility as president will be to choose your counselors and secretary.”
“That’s easy. I want—”
The bishop held up his hand. “No, Lisa. That’s not how it’s done. I want you to go home and make a list of all the girls in your class. Write them all down, so you can really discover who Heavenly Father wants you to choose. Then I want you to think very seriously about your choices and, most importantly, I want you to pray. Heavenly Father has the final say, not you.”
Lisa bit her lip. Maybe the bishop was right. This job was harder than she thought. Still, she knew she could do it, and she was sure Heavenly Father would be willing to let her have her two best friends as counselors. They were smart and creative and would be a terrific help in planning activities.
As soon as she got home, she looked longingly at the dinner her mother was setting out. Her stomach hated late Sunday meetings, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to settle down to eat. The bishop’s words about responsibility were still ringing in her ears, and she wanted to get started right away.
“Mom, would it be all right if I just grabbed a piece of fruit and went to my room? I’ll eat later, after I’ve chosen my counselors.”
Her mother agreed, and Lisa hurried to her room, chewing on an apple as she went. Lisa closed her door and thought.
How should she start? The list. The bishop had said to make a list. Lisa wrote the names of eight girls in her class: Karen, Allyson, Lindsey, Carla, Amy, Denise, Janet, and Shari.
Lisa studied the list. The choices seemed obvious to her. Her best friend, Allyson, would be a perfect first counselor; and since the Laurels seemed to get put in charge of a lot of parties, she wanted Lindsey as her second counselor. Even the deacons liked Lindsey’s parties.
Lisa knelt down and began to pray. She explained why Allyson and Lindsey seemed like the best choices to her and asked for Heavenly Father’s approval.
She received quick approval for Allyson as first counselor, but somehow the confirmation of Lindsey as second counselor just wouldn’t come. Lisa tried again, explaining to Heavenly Father why Lindsey was the perfect choice for second counselor, but she soon began to feel Lindsey should be secretary. That was fine with Lisa, but who could be the second counselor?
Lisa picked up her list and tried again. She decided to pray about Carla. Still nothing. Resolutely, Lisa went down the list, but still no feelings of approval came.
“Heavenly Father, I have to choose someone. The bishop needs an answer. Who do you want?” Would someone new move into the ward tomorrow who was right for the job? She studied her list again.
Was someone missing? Only Chelsea, but she couldn’t choose Chelsea anyway. Chelsea couldn’t read or even speak clearly. Lisa wasn’t sure just how, but she thought Chelsea might be mentally handicapped.
As Lisa started to put down her pencil, the bishop’s words nagged her. “Write them all down,” he had said. Had he guessed she might leave Chelsea out? Lisa sighed and wrote Chelsea’s name on the list. Should she pray about Chelsea for the job? How could she have Chelsea as a counselor? Everyone would think she was crazy, and, anyway, Chelsea would never be able to do everything a counselor would have to do. The others would end up doing all her work for her, and they certainly didn’t have time for that.
Lisa looked at her list again. There was no one else left. She got back down on her knees and began to pray. For a long time, she felt nothing, so she tried again. Gradually, she found herself really wanting an answer and not just doing her job.
That’s when the answer came. She felt a peace stronger than any she had felt before, and she knew Chelsea was the right choice for second counselor.
Lisa paused to thank her Father in Heaven for his help and then hurried off to satisfy her growling stomach.
The next Sunday, Lisa was surprised to realize that for once she was not hungry. “I guess my stomach’s filled with butterflies,” she whispered to her mother, as she entered the Young Women’s room.
Lisa was pleased to see the smiles on the faces of the other girls as her name was announced as Laurel president. Then she steeled herself as her counselors were announced.
“And as second counselor, we’ve called Chelsea Stanton.”
The eyes of every young woman in the room turned to Lisa in shock. She saw several of the girls whisper to each other. Then she groaned. Chelsea’s hand was raised. The bishop smiled and invited Chelsea to the front of the room.
Lisa caught her breath as she got her first good look at Chelsea. She had tears streaming from her eyes as she stood with the bishop’s arm around her shoulders.
“I just wanted to tell Lisa how happy I am to be her counselor. I never thought I could have a calling because of my disabilities, but now I do have one. I guess I even have a friend, and I’m going to be a good counselor and work hard. Thank you.”
Lisa looked around at her friends. Then she stood up and hugged Chelsea.
“Thank you, Chelsea. I can really use a good counselor—and a good friend. I’m glad you accepted.”
As Lisa returned to her seat, she felt so good, she couldn’t help but smile. The bishop had been right. This job really was teaching her a lot, but it was worth it. Nobody could ever have too many friends.

Years later my husband told me that when he was a child, Brother Joseph went to their home and asked if he could borrow one of his mother’s twin babies. He explained that his wife Emma had been sad and lonely since her own baby had died, and he thought it would comfort her to take care of one of the girls. The Prophet picked up the baby in the morning and brought her back each night.
One evening when the baby was not home at the usual time, Mother Burgess went to see what was the matter. There was the Prophet rocking the little baby by the fire. He had her wrapped in a silk quilt, and he was singing to get her quiet.
Margarette M. Burgess

In addition to the scriptural accounts of the Lord's resurrection, let me share two other modern witnesses. Lorenzo Snow's granddaughter testified that the prophet spoke to her on one occasion in the Salt Lake Temple and said:

"It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me at the time of the death of President Woodruff. He instructed me to reorganize the First Presidency of the Church at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff...He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold." She recalled: "Grandpa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance, and beautiful, white robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him." Then Grandpa came another step nearer and put his right hand on my head and said: "Now, granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior here in the Temple and talked with Him face to face."

We were playing a Division I school, Idaho State, in Pocatello, Idaho. It was a very close game and all of the sudden Barry Hardy, a young man who later played for the Harlem Globetrotters, went down with a knee injury. Barry had won two national slam dunk championships, and was an incredible athlete. I have never seen anyone jump so easily. His dunks were so spectacular that many times when we played another school on the road, and we would take him out to rest-their student crowd would start chanting: "We want Barry! We want Barry!" I remember right over here on the court, someone went to shoot and Barry jumped up to block the shot and jumped right over the player's head. The player was so surprised and shocked, he did not take the shot and Barry had time to recover and come back in front of him. Back to the game at Idaho State, Barry was hustling for the ball on the opposite side of the court from the bench and was injured in the process. Our team doctor, Dr. Nielson, went over to check on Barry, he came back and told me that Barry had been injured seriously and would no longer be able to play. We were all a little apprehensive. They carried Barry to the end of the bench and Doc checked him again. The game continued and I remember Doctor Nielson whispering to me shortly after that Barry would probably be out for the season. His knee was very loose and the preliminary tests indicated he would have ligament damage-the medial collateral and probably the anterior cruciate and the meniscus - they sometimes refer to this injury as an unhappy triad, one of the most feared injuries for an athlete; especially an athlete that relied so heavily on their jumping ability. (Description of the game.) Dr. Nielson's assistant, Alan Frampton, was our point guard and hit a shot at the buzzer in the first overtime to win the game. This is one of those moments in sports when everyone should be happy-we had just won the game against a Division one opponent on their home court, but all of us were concerned about Barry.

We ate and went back to the hotel and Nnamdi Okonkwo was walking in with me and I asked him to go to Barry's room and see if he would like a blessing. Darwin Russell, another non member was his roommate, and when Nnamdi approached Barry about a blessing, Darwin said, "Barry, I'm not a Mormon, but those blessings work, I've seen other people receive them." What great examples the students here had been for Darwin to feel this way! The team all gathered in their room and Jeff Shumway anointed Barry and then the whole team laid their hands on his head and David Reeves, one of our captains, sealed the anointing. All of the adults, including President Shumway, who was then a vice president, myself and the others were crowded in a small area by the door. David blessed Barry that his knee would heal and that it would heal in time to play the rest of the season. What an opportunity for all of us to seek the Lord's help and to see a young group of students have so much faith. The next morning when the doctor checked his knee was much tighter as if the injury had not been so severe. The doctor said, "this is not the same knee, I don't know what happened." Dr. Nielson looked at me as we were leaving and said, "We know what happened, don't we?" Barry was able to come back and play about two weeks later and helped us reach the Final Four.

This was a tremendous learning experience for all of us-the adults, the players, and the non-members we had on our team. This experience helped tremendously in changing the life of Barry's roommate, Darwin Russell, who was later baptized. When we rely on the Lord we become like the chisel.