Gospel Story Finder

On one day of the campaign, Sister Parkin was helping with crowd control, checking children for the ink mark indicating those who had received the vaccination. One young boy didn’t have the mark. Through her translator, Sister Parkin asked why he hadn’t received his shot. He said he was afraid. “Will you go if I go with you?” Sister Parkin asked. He agreed.

“It was a sweet experience,” Sister Parkin recalled after returning from the trip. “Maybe I’ve helped one child. It was life-changing for me.”

Sam was a computer science major from Utah who had always felt it was best to marry someone born and raised in the Church—that way both sets of grandparents would be LDS. Then he met Charly—a liberated rich girl from the East who was planning to spend her life laughing at people’s beliefs. Her father was Sam’s father’s boss, and so Sam agreed to take her out—once. But what starts out as a disaster (“You never told me how much your father is paying you to take me out.” “Not enough.”) ends up in a marathon Ferris wheel ride—and the beginning of an entertaining and engrossing love story.
Charly’s conversion; her and Sam’s courtship, temple marriage, and semester in a broken down BYU basement apartment, and their first few years together in South Dakota (“where fall lasts two days”) are told with the unpredictable humor that Brother Weyland is known for. Charly’s struggles to become a good Mormon wife (“If you want me to, I’ll learn to make plastic grapes in Relief Society”) are matched by Sam’s efforts to overcome his pride (“I could believe that the Savior could forgive past sins—but I wasn’t sure I could”). How each succeeds gives the novel some of its most memorable and sensitive moments.
Charly’s death (which Brother Weyland introduces in the opening paragraph of the book) is a moving climax to the story. As Charly weakens, Sam agonizes: “This thing that to us was such a great tragedy, what was it to [the Savior], who saw beyond the grave? Did he understand the depths of my sorrow?”
Then Sam answers his own question: “I remembered the raising of Lazarus—Mary and Martha weeping for the loss of their dear brother. … Jesus was certain that in five minutes Lazarus would come forth. What if he had turned to Mary and told her not to cry and that everything would be okay? What if he had treated lightly her sorrow?
“Instead he wept.
“He hept because they wept and because he shared their sorrow. He wept because he loved them, and whatever grief they carried, he shared it with them.
“He would not leave me comfortless because he loves me, and he loves Charly. He wept because he loves us.”

Once during his second winter, two days out of Placerville, Thompson discovered at nightfall a fur trader, James Sisson, partially delirious and near death in a mountain cabin. Sisson’s legs were frozen to the knees and gangrene was setting in. After chopping wood and building a fire in the fireplace, Snowshoe skied to Genoa for help.

Unfortunately, the only doctor in town was out on another emergency call. So Snowshoe, with the help of volunteers and a sled, managed to bring Sisson to Genoa in spite of deep mountain snow.

Then they found that the doctor was out of the chloroform necessary to perform the leg amputations! And where was the only chloroform? Across the mountains in Sacramento. This was now the fifth day since Snowshoe had left Placerville, California. And in all this time he had caught only quick snatches of sleep. Nevertheless, he started out immediately for Sacramento, amazingly making the run in a night and a day and then back to Genoa again in another night and day in time to save Sisson’s life.

I was the age of most of you when this scriptural episode came to have special meaning for me. I was in graduate school here at BYU, and I began asking out a particular girl. And, as things progressed, I became scared. Like Oliver Cowdery, fear caused me to “not continue as [I had] commenced.” I was afraid of making the wrong decision—one that I knew was important and, ideally, eternal. My poorly thought-out solution to this fear was to stop asking the girl out. As weeks turned into months, I buried myself in other things, all the while praying if I should pursue a relationship that I clearly wasn’t doing anything to nurture.

Finally, one Sunday I was at church here on campus when I made up my mind: I would ­pursue the relationship. What would be the worst that could happen? “Maybe I would get married,” I thought.

I called her apartment, only to learn that she had gone home that weekend. I left a message for her to call me when she returned, which, incidentally, is ideal for someone gripped by dating paralysis. The last thing a young man really wants to do is talk.

That afternoon my dad called. “Have you heard the news?” he asked. The girl was engaged.

She returned my call later that night. “Scott, I heard you called,” she said.

“Yes, I was just calling to congratulate you on your engagement,” was my response. Fear of the future had kept me from continuing what I had commenced, and the time had passed. During the next six years of my single life I thought often about that experience and the Lord’s instruction to Oliver Cowdery ­concerning fear.

In his autobiography, Parley P. Pratt related the following conversation with his brother William. In 1830 Parley decided to leave his prosperous farm in Ohio in search of the true gospel. William thought this unwise and questioned Parley about his decision. He specifically wanted to know how Parley intended to support himself and his family. To William’s inquiry, Parley replied:

“Why, sir, I have bank bills enough, on the very best institutions in the world, to sustain myself and family while we live.”
“Indeed,” said he, “well, I should like to see some of them; I hope they are genuine.” “Certainly,” I replied, “there is no doubt of that. They are true bills and founded on capital that will never fail, though heaven and earth should pass away. . . .”
[Parley then explained:] I then unlocked my treasury and drew from thence a large pocket book, full of promissory notes like the following: . . . “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, you shall ask what you will in my name and I will give it you.” “All things are possible to him that believeth.”

“Now, William,” said I, “are these the words of Jesus Christ, or are they not?” “They certainly are,” said he. . . .
“Then you admit they are genuine bills?”
“I do.”
“Is the signer able to meet his engagements?”
“He certainly is.”
“Is he willing?”
“He is.”
“Well, then, I am going to fulfil the conditions to the letter on my part. . . . And I will do it, placing both feet firm on these promises with nothing else to rely upon.” [PPP, 1985, p. 17; emphasis in original]

That very year Parley P. Pratt found the Book of Mormon and was baptized.

John Taylor had great understanding and love of people. Once, while he was serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, two old and faithful brethren approached him about a bitter quarrel between them. They had resolved to abide by whatever decision President Taylor might render. So they called on him and asked if he would listen to their story.

He said, “Brethren, before I hear your case, I would like very much to sing one of the songs of Zion for you.” A very talented and moving singer, President Taylor then sang a hymn to the men. When he finished, he said that whenever he heard one of the hymns of Zion, he wanted to listen to one more. So the two brethren consented to hearing a second hymn. After the second one, President Taylor quipped that he had heard there was luck in odd numbers, so with their consent he sang still another hymn. Afterwards, he said with a smile, “Now brethren, I do not want to wear you out, but if you will forgive me, and listen to one more hymn, I promise to stop singing, and will hear your case.” By the time he had finished his fourth hymn, the two brethren were in tears; they stood, shook hands, and asked President Taylor to excuse them for taking his time. They left without even telling him what they had quarreled about. His singing had reconciled their feelings toward one another. (See Improvement Era, September 1940, page 522.)

On another occasion, a difficulty developed among members of a branch. “When we had assembled,” President Taylor later recorded, “I opened the meeting with prayer, and then called upon a number of those present to pray; they did so, and the Spirit of God rested upon us. I could perceive that a good feeling existed in the hearts of those who had come to present their grievances, and I told them to bring forward their case. But they said they had not anything to bring forward. The feelings and spirit they had been in possession of had left them, the Spirit of God had obliterated these feelings out of their hearts, and they knew it was right for them to forgive one another.” (In Journal of Discourses, 21:366–67.)

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasons in 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

Next to the gospel, the most helpful thing I learned in my youth was the value of work. When I was eight, I joined 4-H Club and started raising lambs and calves. As a nine-year-old, I had the grand champion lamb at The Dalles Livestock Show. I learned to keep my own books, and I made a profit. I also mowed lawns. When I was 10, I started shining shoes in the only barbershop in town.
We had a cow, and I took care of it, milked it, and delivered milk to a couple of customers. Then I delivered the local newspaper, the Dalles Chronicle. I earned my own money and was able to buy the bicycle I wanted.
You children need to know that work is a good thing. It is enjoyable. Earning your own money is good. It gives you freedom to buy what you need. I always paid my tithing first, and I always had enough money because I did and because I had learned to work. Children, what you earn will make you a lot happier than things that are given to you for free.

Some of the Relief Society sisters from Ghana are among those who have found joy in keeping covenants, even under stressful circumstances. In 1989 the government of Ghana padlocked the doors of the churches and forbade Latter-day Saints to meet together to practice their religion. Persecution against Church members was great. Sisters like Faustina Otoo, however, expressed increased devotion, “I am happy to live in this time when all these things are happening. We were always told we were the pioneers here.”

Church members found ways to show their commitment. They held family devotionals; they studied the scriptures and read Church history. Sister Emma Twereboa-Kodua, a branch Relief Society president in Nsawam, Ghana, wrote, “I keep visiting the active sisters and they are all in good spirits. … I have tried to fast and pray more and better than I have ever done in all my life. My faith has increased greatly. Now things that usually irritate me no longer do, anger and frustrations no longer have the same effect on me. These are some of the blessings that I have gained during these trying times.” The restrictions on church meetings were lifted in December 1990.

by Barbara Steffensen
They filtered into the room as they always had on Sunday mornings—greeting friends and gathering together to visit and laugh a little before the meeting began. But this particular Sunday was different. On the Sunday of their ward conference, each of the young men and young women in the Blackfoot Idaho South Stake had brought an item to church—pictures, basketballs, scriptures. All the youth had been asked to bring one item related to their Church activity and to stand before the group and explain what kept them active in the Church.
To introduce the activity, the first to stand in each ward was stake Young Men president, Joe Dayle. Many snickered when he held up an empty beer can, but they listened to his words. “As I watched my friends get involved in these kinds of things, and the problems that came along with them, I gained a testimony of the Word of Wisdom. I knew it was true.”
Many aspects of Church activity were evident as each stood and shared feelings. A young woman holding a Personal Progress book told of her testimony of goal setting. Another, holding a basketball, shared her love for the sports program. A Scouting manual showed the importance the program held to a young deacon. Many brought their scriptures and told of their gratitude for them and for the seminary program which helped them learn and better understand God’s word. The power of family influences was represented by the many pictures brought of parents, grandparents, and brothers and sisters.
As each meeting in each ward progressed, the Spirit grew stronger. Testimonies were borne of the love felt for the Savior and the sacrifice he made.
In the fall, after all ward conferences were completed, a stake activation night was held as a culmination of the year’s program. Each young man and woman in the stake—active and inactive—was contacted and asked to write his or her testimony on a card. The theme for the night was “Let Your Testimony Soar.” That evening, hundreds of helium balloons with the testimony cards inside were filled and released.

Many years ago I stood by the bedside of a young man, the father of two children, as he hovered between life and the great beyond. He took my hand in his, looked into my eyes, and pleadingly asked, “Bishop, I know I am about to die. Tell me what happens to my spirit when I die.”
I prayed for heavenly guidance. My attention was directed to the Book of Mormon on the table beside his bed. I began to read aloud:
“Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—… the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“… The spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
My young friend closed his eyes, expressed a sincere thank you, and silently slipped away to that paradise about which we had spoken.

One day, when I was 13 or 14 years old, I went to the grocery store that was a couple of blocks from my school. The store had spectacular ice cream, and my classmates and I went there often during our lunch hour to get double-decker ice-cream cones.
One day when we had our ice-cream cones, I looked down at my feet and saw a $10 bill lying on the floor. A U.S. $10 bill more than 50 years ago was really something to a young man. Satan tried to tempt me with “Think what you could do with this $10 bill.”
Because of the teachings of my parents, I didn’t listen. I took the money over to the cashier and told her I found it on the floor. She said, “Well, you are an honest young man. Let me write your name on this note, and if someone doesn’t claim this $10 bill, I will see that you get it back.”
I left it with her. That afternoon a young man came in to see if she had seen a $10 bill. She said, “Yes, and here is the fellow’s name who found the money.”
This boy looked me up to thank me, and we became close friends.
But that is just the start of the story. Because of our friendship and his good feeling toward me, he introduced me to his family. As the children in the family grew up and married, I became a good friend with their families as well. And over a lifetime, I have been a close friend to 10 or 12 families just because of that $10 bill. I have been in their homes. As a bishop, I have interviewed some of their children. I have been invited to temple weddings and other family occasions during the past 50 years. I have enjoyed great friendships, not only with those kids but also with their parents over that time. They are a wonderful family.
I am grateful that I wasn’t really tempted to keep that $10 bill, because my wonderful father and mother taught me the principle of honesty. I am grateful for the blessings that have come to me throughout my life from being honest—honesty has opened many doors. It is a wonderful feeling to be able to look people in the eye and say, “I have always tried to be honest.”
I have talked to my own nine children about being honest. I told them that when you see a $10 bill, you really don’t know how much it is worth. It has a face value, but my friendship with that family is worth more than a fortune. They are such a blessing in my life.

My father, Ernest Preston, was born at the end of the World War I in 1918. He married my mum in 1943 and thankfully survived World War II. In his own words he “had no interest in religion” until fourteen years later, when two missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on his door in 1957. As a result of this visit ,the lives of his posterity were changed forever. It is impossible to count the number of apples in this seed as the generations continue to grow and multiply.
Ernest said, “When I was 39 years old, one evening I answered the doorbell and was surprised to find two young Americans, who told me that they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I invited them in to give their message. They bore fervent testimony, asked us to pray about it to find out for ourselves whether it was true, and left various tracts and a Book of Mormon for us to read.
“After several such weekly discussions, it occurred to me to wonder whether there was any connection between the Mormons whom I had read about as having several wives, and the name Mormon in the title of the book, which I was now reading. On telling my wife of this, she experienced a feeling of revulsion against having any further meetings with these young men.
“Wondering how I could persuade her, I decided to try vocal prayer, for the first real time, and so I went upstairs and knelt at the end of our bed. Feeling somewhat embarrassed and foolish I commenced, ‘Heavenly Father, I know not whether you exist or whether I am talking to myself, but many people believe in you, and I want to. Will you tell me how to persuade Doreen that if this message we have been listening to is true, then it is important that we hear it out to the end before taking a decision.’ A still small voice within me said, ‘You can find the answer in the scriptures.’ I replied, ‘Is the answer to be found in the Book of Mormon or the Bible?’ The same still small voice said, ‘You will find the answer in the Bible.’ At this stage, still considering I was talking or reasoning with myself, I said, ‘But if you are listening to me, and you are God, you can tell me the chapter and verse in the Bible where I can find the answer to my problem’, and for the last time came the answer, ‘Look at John, chapter 12, verse 7.’ I came downstairs to look in the Bible, and found the scripture, which reads, ‘Then said Jesus, let her alone: against the day of my burying hath she kept this’.
“This was enough of an answer for me. I learned not only the answer to the question which troubled me, but more importantly that God lives, and hears and answers prayers. I went into the room where my wife was, and without telling her of my marvellous experience, I informed her that I would tell the missionaries they were not to call again. This I did that same night, relating to them the experience of that morning; asking them to leave the copy of the Book of Mormon so I could continue to study and pray about it. Every evening, I picked up the Book of Mormon, uttered a silent prayer asking to know if it was true, and commenced reading where I had left off the previous night.
“I became more and more convinced that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church restored to the earth. Elder Warner obtained special permission to come and baptise me on 7 December 1958, at the Northenden Chapel, Manchester.
“Since joining the Church I have served three times on the stake high council, twice as a bishop, and once as a counsellor in the stake presidency.
“My wife is now very active in the Church and has served in many capacities, both at ward and stake levels. We have had tremendous growth, and many, many wonderful experiences whilst serving the Lord. Latter-day Saints are wonderful. The Church is true. I pray that we might endure to the end.”

Shortly after I had returned from my mission, I married a wonderful young woman named Wendy. A little over a year later, we experienced the pure joy of welcoming our precious daughter, Aubrey, into the world. Life felt full of promise. However, just shy of our two-year anniversary, everything changed in an instant.

On our way to my grandmother’s funeral, a driver ran a stop sign and crashed into our car. In the harrowing hours that followed, my world was shattered. Wendy passed away, leaving me alone to care for our seven-month-old daughter. The grief was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It tested my faith and resilience in ways I could never have imagined.

Some people wondered how I found the strength to trust God rather than curse Him for what they perceived as a terrible injustice. That answer lies in the Lord’s tender mercies—those quiet, undeniable moments when His hand had prepared me for what was ahead. One such moment had occurred just prior to Wendy’s passing, during an unexpected journey.

Just before the tragic accident, I had joined a close friend and recent BYU graduate on a whirlwind two-day trip to move his family’s belongings to California prior to him starting a new job. His wife was enduring a difficult pregnancy, and he was deeply anxious about her health and the health of their unborn child. My friend felt an urgent need to complete this trip and return to Provo quickly to be by his wife’s side before their baby arrived.

As we drove through miles of open road, our discussion gravitated to an unusual topic. We began to discuss what either of us might do if our wife were to pass away. For hours that was all we talked about—how one might cope with such a devastating loss, how faith in Jesus Christ could provide strength, and how understanding God’s plan might carry us through even the darkest moments.

On that journey I thought I was offering solace and perspective to my friend. I never imagined that just days later I would be standing in a hospital looking at the lifeless body of my wife. As the weight of Wendy’s passing crushed me, I suddenly realized that God, in His infinite kindness and understanding, had been preparing me for this moment. That conversation with my friend was not a coincidence—it was a tender mercy from a loving Father.

Through those hours of discussing grief, faith, and His plan, Heavenly Father had knowingly and tenderly been preparing my heart and mind to face the unimaginable. When the time came, the Spirit whispered to me that death—including Wendy’s passing, as heart-wrenching as it was—is part of a greater plan, a plan guided by a loving Heavenly Father who knew my pain and who would not leave me alone in it.

That understanding strengthened my faith in the Lord immeasurably. I learned in a most poignant way that He is aware of every detail of our lives and is constantly working to prepare and sustain us. It was an assurance that I would lean on heavily in the coming years. Through my friend’s need for help, I had been given a sacred gift: the assurance that God’s hand was in my life, even during my most devastating trial.

This story happened in the USA.
Carlos frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror. His face and arms were bright pink. His sunburn was worse than he thought. And he had lots of itchy bug bites on his arms and legs. Hiking with his Primary class was fun, but now his skin hurt all over!
Carlos looked at his backpack on the floor. The sunscreen and bug spray Mom had packed were still inside. He should have used them like she told him to. But he thought he didn’t need them.
Carlos opened the cabinet and found the little bottle his mom always used for sunburns. He rubbed the gel on his face. It felt cool on his hot skin.
Next Carlos put the gel on his arms. But he couldn’t find the bug-bite cream. Soon he gave up. He needed help. He would have to talk to Mom.
He found her in the kitchen. When she saw his sunburned face, she looked worried. Carlos thought she would get mad at him for not wearing sunscreen. But she didn’t.
“Are you OK?” she asked. “That must really hurt.”
“Yeah.” His head hung down. “Will you help me? Please?”
“Of course.” Mom led Carlos to the bathroom. She looked in the cabinet and pulled out a little tube.
“This should help the bites to stop itching,” she said. She rubbed a tiny bit of cream on each bite.
“There,” she said, closing the tube. “I hope that helps you feel better.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Carlos looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t use the stuff you packed for me. I should have listened to you. I thought I knew best, but I didn’t.”
She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re welcome. Sometimes I think I know best too. Then Heavenly Father shows me that I didn’t know best at all.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Even grown-ups can make mistakes.”
Carlos laughed. Then he frowned. “If I had obeyed you, I wouldn’t hurt so much right now.”
“I think that’s how a lot of Heavenly Father’s children feel when they disobey Him,” Mom said. “They wish they’d listened to Him. And He hurts for His children when they’re in pain, just like I hurt for you now.”
“But He can help them feel better,” said Carlos. “Just like you helped me. Right?”
Mom smiled. “Right! When we repent, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can help us. And then we can make better choices in the future.”
Carlos smiled too. His sunburn and bug bites still hurt, but he knew he would heal. And next time, he could make a better choice!

I was taught about vertigo when my Air Force instructor took me up in an airplane with the cockpit covered by a canopy so I could not see outside. I would have to rely on the instruments. Unknown to me, he gradually turned the airplane upside down, keeping positive gravitational forces. My ear did not detect the slow rollover. He told me to take control of the airplane. Of course, I did what every other student did. I pulled backwards because I was losing altitude, and, of course, I started a dive toward the earth because I did not know I was upside down.
As I started to regain control of the airplane, I could see the little marks on the landing gear were upside down. My instructor taught me the principle that you can take human beings at a two- or three-degree turn while keeping positive gravitational forces and turn them upside down without their knowing they have left the straight and level flight. The motion is imperceptible.

“Sickness can do a lot of good things,” says Michael, who is suffering from kidney failure. Because his illness has increased his gratitude for the gospel, he says, “it is a good trial.”
I was born in Ethiopia in 1942 and went to Poland to study in 1965. In 1991, I met the missionaries and joined the Church. I have served as a branch president for three and a half years. I served as a counselor in the mission presidency for 12 years. I was a branch president again and then a district president. Then I became sick with kidney failure.
Now I can do only a few things in the Church. I try to attend on Sundays.
At first I was angry.
“Why me?” I prayed. “I have served you, Lord.” After a while, I understood. The scriptures say, “He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed” (D&C 42:48).
This verse says we will be healed if we’re not meant to die.
Church members keep praying for me, but my health is getting worse. They think their prayers are not heard, but they are heard because they become better people and because I feel the love they show to me.
Even if I was healthy, how much time would be left at my age? Still, a lot is before me.
I like to go to the scriptures and find heroes who help me. When I was healthy and serving, I liked to follow Nephi, but now many times I think of Job. He was a good man, and he suffered too. There is always hope in the gospel.
In a city like Bydgoszcz, if I want to visit the mayor, I’ll not have a chance because I am too small for that. But through the gospel, the door is always open to call on God. That is why I love my church.
I have the Church. I have a way of contacting God through prayer, through fasting, through all the things we do. What else do I need?
Sometimes I say to myself, “Maybe that’s why I am sick—so that I could understand what a great thing I am in, what a great cause this is.”
I see my wife, Renata, become sad because I am sick. I wouldn’t like that to happen, but sorrow is a by-product of love. If she didn’t love, she wouldn’t be sorry. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.
To die is nothing. Everybody will die. It depends on how we approach death. I know that God lives. He loves us all—me too. That’s what I can say.
Michael’s illness has been a difficult trial for his wife, Renata. “I see my wife become sad because I am sick,” he says. “But sorrow is a by-product of love. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.”
Despite the limitations caused by his illness, Michael still finds ways to serve and uplift those around him.
Michael finds hope and direction in the scriptures. When he was healthy and serving, he admired Nephi. “But now many times I think of Job,” he says. “He was a good man, and he suffered too.”

While still serving in the Seattle mission, I received a phone call from my oldest son, Sunbeam, who is a pianist. He said he would have the privilege of performing at Carnegie Hall in New York because he won an international competition. We were so happy and very thrilled for him. However, that evening, while praying with gratitude, my wife recognized that we could not join him for his performance and said to Heavenly Father something like this: “Heavenly Father, I am grateful for the blessing Thou hast given to Sunbeam. By the way, I am sorry that I cannot go there. I could have gone if Thou had given this blessing either before or after this mission. I am not complaining, but I have a little feeling of sorry.”
As soon as she finished this prayer, she heard a clear voice: “Because you cannot go, your son has been given this privilege. Would you rather trade?”
My wife was surprised. She knew children would be blessed through their parents’ faithful work in the Lord’s kingdom, but it was the first time she understood her role with such clarity. She replied to Him right away: “No, no, it is OK for me not to go. Let him have that honor.”

As a young man, I had many questions about the Church. Some of my questions were sincere. Others were not and reflected the doubts of others.
I often discussed my questions with my mother. I am sure that she could sense that many of my questions were sincere and from my heart. I think she was a little disappointed in those questions that were less sincere and more argumentative. However, she never put me down for having questions. She would listen and try to answer them. When she sensed that she had said all that she could and that I still had questions, she would say something like this: “David, that is a good question. While you are searching and reading and praying for the answer, why don’t you do the things you know you should and not do the things you know you should not?” This became the pattern for my search for truth. Through study, prayer, and keeping the commandments, I found that there are answers to all of my important questions. I also found that for some questions, continuing faith, patience, and revelation are needed.2
Mom put the responsibility of developing faith and finding answers on me. She knew that the important answers would come from my seeking truth the way that Heavenly Father has prescribed. She knew that I needed to find the truth. She knew that I needed to be sincere in my questions and be willing to act on what I already knew to be true. She knew that I needed to study and pray and that I needed to develop greater patience as I sought answers from the Lord. Willingness to be patient is part of our search for truth and part of the Lord’s pattern of revealing truth.3
Over time I came to know that my mother was teaching me Heavenly Father’s pattern for seeking truth. Faith grew, answers began to come, and I accepted a mission call.

I started preparing to be a professional ball player at the age of three, and I never took my mind off it. And that was one of my problems. I didn’t think that public school or church had anything to do with becoming a ball player, and because of my poor vision in terms of values, I had to learn a very hard lesson. Everything I did from age three until I was 18 and signed that first professional ball contract was oriented toward the ball field. I ate, slept, and drank baseball. That’s all I could think of, but it was necessary in terms of my preparation. My only problem was I got overbalanced in it. I collected more Wheaties box tops than you can ever imagine, because I thought there was some correlation between eating Wheaties and being a better ball player.
For 12 years of public education I never took a book home to study. I’m not proud of it. I’m sorry, and I’ve tried to repent, and I’m spending the rest of my life paying the price of the void that I created by that silly observation of a few years ago, thinking as I used to in algebra and English, “Of what value is this to me if I become a great pitcher? I can throw a curve ball just as well without algebra and English as I can with it.” I used to go home and say, “Yep, I’m all prepared for life. I can throw as hard as anybody and run just as fast and hit just as far. So don’t bother me.” I’ve lived to see the fallacy of that one.
When it came time to go to church on Sunday, I took it as a personal affront to me, because how could church help me be a better ball player?
That’s the way my mind worked. I’m not saying that becoming a great ball player or lawyer or doctor isn’t important. It is; it’s necessary for temporal salvation, but it isn’t the most important thing that we’re sent to earth to do. It’s the eternal things that really count, and it’s a sharp, intelligent person who can catch this vision early and do something about it.
At the age of three I had not calculated that World War II would be on the scene. I hadn’t put that in my program. I didn’t know about it, and little did I know that Uncle Sam would tap me on the shoulder when my 18th birthday came and say, “Come on, buddy, follow me. That’s what you’re going to do for the next three years.”
Three months before I had signed my first ball contract. Do you know what that means? Here I planned for 15 years to be what I wanted to be. I had eight major league scouts tracking me down; I was finally graduated from high school and arrived at age 18 when I was permitted by my parents to sign that contract and to put my name on the dotted line with what was then a pretty good bonus. You know what kind of thrill that is for a teenager? I wish I had the ability to tell you. And then I reported to that first team, and I stepped into that dugout with a new number. You know what a thrill that is? Then to get a letter two or three months later that says, “Forget that, brother, and follow me. We have other plans for you.” That’s what I hadn’t counted on. That was the uncertain part of my life that I had never planned for; there are those things in the lives of us all.