Gospel Story Finder

Recently I interviewed a young lady who needed clearance from a General Authority before she could go on a mission. As she came in, I could see that she was very concerned about the interview. I assured her that she could go on this mission that she had been working toward for the past few years. Then she burst into tears, and they flowed freely down both cheeks. I asked her to tell me about her concerns. She started by saying that during her young teenage years she left home and started a life with her peers, thinking this was what she wanted. After about two and a half years she became involved with drugs and all kinds of worldly ways and was living a life of sex and loose morals. One day, as she groveled in self-pity, like the story of the prodigal son, she decided to return home because she realized that nothing good could come from her life-style.
Humbly, she returned home to her parents. To her surprise, they took her in and blessed her with medical help and the love that she never appreciated before. After four years of rehabilitation, she had a desire to serve the Lord as a missionary and worked closely with her bishop and stake president to qualify for this calling.
I told her that when she received her call as a missionary, she would bring into the hearts of her parents unspeakable joy, for their daughter who was lost had come alive again. I told her that all of the years of heartaches she had caused her parents, especially when they knew she was living close by and was steeped in drugs and doing all the things they had taught her were wrong—all of those heartaches would melt and swiftly disappear because now she had straightened herself out and desired to serve her Father in Heaven. When she received her call, there would be no higher honor paid to her parents, especially her mother who brought her into the world and nursed her and nurtured her. I told this young lady that missionary work is not easy, but the joy that she will receive from her labors as a missionary will be an eternal blessing that she will cherish forever and ever.

In a very memorable sacrament meeting, I felt the truly universal nature of the gospel. The sacrament was administered in French and German. Talks were given in Italian, English, and Portuguese. A verse of “I Am a Child of God,” was sung in ten languages—Japanese, Korean, German, Spanish, Italian, French, Tongan, Samoan, Dutch, and English. The whole congregation was touched through the spiritual language of the soul.
Unusual as it seemed to me at the time, this kind of sacrament meeting would become more familiar to me for I had recently been called to serve as branch president at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah. I realized that this would be a unique experience.
The missionaries in my branch came from many nations. On one occasion, we had missionaries from eighteen different countries brought together by the common cause of testimony and love for the Savior.
The excitement of seeing missionaries from many countries, interviewing them, and trying to help them, lasted throughout the time I served at the MTC. Most of all, I enjoyed getting to know the missionaries. Learning from their experiences and watching them grow in the gospel was a blessing that overwhelms my feelings and occasionally still brings me to tears when I think or speak about them.
As I interviewed missionaries and heard them speak, I learned something about their spiritual maturity, their degree of preparation, and their dedication to service. I found great variety among them. Some missionaries were well prepared, while others were not. Some were spiritually mature, and others were not spiritually minded at all. Some were very dedicated in their service, and others were not so dedicated. As I listened to them, I heard them use the words sacrifice and privilege.
I noticed that every missionary used at least one of these words and sometimes both to describe his or her feelings about serving a mission. Some said they were happy to sacrifice two years of their lives, possessions, and girlfriends in order to serve the Lord. Others said they felt it to be a privilege to serve him. I heard these two words so often that I began to watch how the missionaries matched their words to their actions.
An elder from Germany told me how he had “always known” that he did “not know the truth.” He described how he sometimes “prayed to God” to find it. After leaving the military service, he was employed in Switzerland. One day, living alone and feeling lonely, he prayed again, “Please God, send me the truth.” A few days later when he was walking down the street, a stranger approached him and said, “Young man, I am supposed to talk with you, but I don’t know why.” In this missionary’s words, “I looked into his face and knew he had the Spirit of God. His face was beautiful.” The stranger was a Church member who had been walking down the same busy street and felt inspired to speak to a young man he didn’t know. This new elder spoke of his mission as a privilege.
A sister from Spain had already completed one full-time mission and immediately went to work as a nurse in order to earn money for another. At first the local Church leaders would not let her go, but she persisted in her attempts until they finally consented. She was called to serve in Chile.
An elder from Mexico happily showed me a picture of his family. “Look,” he said, “my father saved for two months to buy me these shoes. My branch contributed money so I could have this suit.” They both described their missions as a privilege. One elder arrived from Samoa. When he introduced himself for the first time he walked to the front of the congregation holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon. He said, “I am here because this book is true.” He was one of fifteen children. He had been told by his father before leaving home that other men, Church leaders, would be his father for the next few years. He was to obey them. He thought his mission was a great privilege.
Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.
An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a refugee camp near Seattle, Washington. While trying to learn English so he could live in the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and an address on it. He kept it for some reason. Later, when he was asked where he wanted to live he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to live with a Latter-day Saint family in Salt Lake City where he learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he showed the card he had been given in the refugee camp. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.
The privilege of serving the Lord on a mission is felt and demonstrated in many ways. One missionary had struggled with family problems since he was a boy. While still young, he was expelled from his home and went to live with another family who introduced him to the Church. The gospel gave him direction in life where his natural parents had not. A few years later, after becoming one of the best players on a college football team, he decided to serve a mission. Before leaving on his mission, he gave copies of the Book of Mormon to his friends at school. This included his team coaches, fellow players, and teachers. He distributed more than 200 copies before entering the Missionary Training Center.
The missionaries who looked upon a mission only as a sacrifice were often honestly dedicated to the Lord’s service. However, I found they had not experienced personal revelation and inspiration. They were usually less informed about the Savior. But as they studied their scriptures and came to know Him better, their hearts seemed to soften and enlarge. They began to more deeply feel His love and know of the importance of missionary work as a continuation of this love extended to others. Many of those who began by telling of their sacrifices left the Missionary Training Center talking about privilege.
During my last sacrament meeting at the MTC, an elder stood who was older than most missionaries. He apologized for his poorly-spoken English, but hoped that he would be understood. His voice was deep and strong. He told of growing up in Cracow, Poland. He felt uncomfortable attending his family’s church and said that he “instinctively” knew some of its practices were not correct. He stopped going to his church and instead began to study the Bible. As he grew he became increasingly unhappy with the government, and at age eighteen he asked for political asylum in Austria. It was granted, and he left his home to start a new life. He spent nine very difficult months in the refugee camp near Vienna before seeking permission to migrate to the United States. Once he arrived he was contacted by missionaries from many churches. “They were nice,” he said, “but I could tell they did not have the answers I was looking for.” One day he saw a television program on the Mormons. He felt good about what he saw, and he decided to learn more of the Church. He met the missionaries, heard and accepted the gospel, and at age twenty-five was serving a mission. “It is a privilege to be here,” he said softly in his deep Polish accent. “I have been looking for a long time.”
It is a wonderful privilege for anyone to serve the Savior. It is a privilege to have any part in the great missionary work of the Church. I have thought about young men who have an easy life, or who do not know of the Lord, or who are afraid, or who are uncaring. I wish they would come to understand that it is a privilege to study the words of eternal life, to learn about their Redeemer, and seek opportunities to serve him by serving their fellowmen.

When Hal was 13, his father took a significant position at the University of Utah. The younger Henry attended early-morning seminary and took some enjoyment in playing on his high school’s basketball team, but by his own admission never made any close personal friends.
While feeling sorry for himself one day, he received an impression that would change his life. He felt it was a warning from God: “Someday, when you know who you really are, you will be sorry you didn’t use your time better.” He responded to that prompting by reading the Book of Mormon several times as a teenager. He also felt guided by President David O. McKay’s book Gospel Ideals, which, among other things, taught him how to properly treat women, a devotion he would show all of his life to his beloved wife, Kathleen.
Since early childhood, Hal’s deepest dreams were to be married and form a family. He thought about his future children so often that he’d already given them the collective nickname “The Redheads,” imagining them with red hair like his mother’s.
This dream finally moved toward fruition during his service as a counselor in the Boston District presidency, a Church calling Hal had while he was pursuing his graduate work at Harvard University following his undergraduate studies at the University of Utah. As a doctoral student in the summer of 1960, Hal represented the district presidency at a single-adult devotional held at the Cathedral of the Pines in southwest New Hampshire, USA, a natural outdoor amphitheater of note in the region. At the event he saw a young woman in a red and white dress and was impressed by the pure goodness she radiated. He thought, “That’s the best person I’ve ever seen. If I could be with her for the rest of my life, I could be every good thing I ever wanted to be.”
The young woman was Kathleen Johnson from Palo Alto, California, USA, who hadn’t intended to be in New England that summer but, at the insistence of her friend, had attended summer school with her at Harvard. Following that outdoor devotional, Hal arranged to meet Kathy at church one Sunday and was happy to hear she enjoyed playing tennis. Hal had been playing tennis several times a week with a college friend and was a good natural athlete, so he assumed a game of tennis would be an ideal first date and a way for him to make a terrific impression. What Kathleen didn’t tell him was that she had been the captain of her high school tennis team! “She cleaned me out,” Hal still grumbles about the match. This was the first of his future wife’s remarkable examples of living humbly and then helping her husband to do so.
Following their marriage and Hal’s eventual appointment to the faculty of the business school at Stanford University, late one night in December 1970, just a few months before Hal was released as the bishop of the student ward in Palo Alto, Kathy asked a question seemingly out of the blue. As Hal climbed into bed after a demanding day, she leaned over and asked, “Are you sure you’re doing what you ought to be doing with your career?”
Her question caught him by surprise. Everything in their life seemed perfect. The future seemed bright and clear, even down to the Eyring dream home that Hal had recently outlined in his journal. It would include such niceties as “a room for projects, large enough and rough enough to work on and store a kayak,” along with “at least five electrical outlets by the kitchen table” and “a shed or bathhouse retreat for writing.”
“What do you mean?” Hal asked his wife.
“Couldn’t you do studies for Neal Maxwell?” she suggested, referring to the Church’s new Commissioner of Education. At this, Hal was truly dumbfounded. He had only met Neal A. Maxwell once, and he knew that Kathleen had never met him at all. He tried to describe to her why such a career shift would not be a good fit for him, yet she insisted he at least pray over the matter. This he did immediately, dropping to kneel by the bed and offering a short prayer. When no answer came, Hal felt the matter decided and soon went to sleep.
The following morning, however, Hal received two distinct spiritual impressions that would forever alter the course of his career and his life. He captured both in his journal. First, “Don’t use your human judgment to eliminate opportunities presented to you: pray about them all with an open mind.” And second, “Do the tasks you are assigned in the Church and your profession as well as you can; they are preparation.”
The first impression came as something of a rebuke that Hal would forever thereafter live by. After having previously rejected three different job offers without praying over them, into his mind came the words, “Don’t you ever make that mistake again. You don’t know which end is up in your career.”
With this spiritual direction fresh in his mind, Hal was prepared when less than three weeks later, Commissioner Maxwell called to schedule a meeting with him in Salt Lake City. Brother Maxwell got right to the point. “I’d like to ask you to be the president of Ricks College,” he said. Hal replied that he would have to pray about it. He did and the terse answer he received was, “It’s my school.” The rest, as they say, is history. His service in the Church since then has been as exemplary as it has been conspicuous, moving on to serve as Deputy Commissioner of Education and then Commissioner (twice), followed by calls to the Presiding Bishopric, the Quorum of the Seventy, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and as a counselor to three Presidents of the Church.
Photograph with President Hinckley from Deseret News
But in a very real sense to Hal, no calling in the Church was more important for him than another: “The pressures at every stage of life can tempt us to reject or neglect calls to serve the Savior,” President Eyring has taught. “Some of those calls may seem unimportant, but my life, and my family, was changed for the better by my accepting a call to teach a deacons quorum. I felt the love of those deacons for the Savior and His love for them.”2

I prayed regularly for an increase in love toward my husband. The Lord answered in unusual, but practical ways. I sought opportunities to give of myself, knowing those we serve become those we love. I didn’t have to look far, as my husband was hurt in three minor accidents within a year. During his short convalescent periods at home I provided emotional care and concern. I was rewarded many times over with greater love and appreciation for him.

Jesus Christ Is the Healer of the Afflicted

The second experience occurred nearly twenty years ago. My wife, Gwen, and I, along with our daughters, Olivia and Lola, found ourselves in the Rapid City, South Dakota, mission home, celebrating Christmas with all my family. It was a joyous occasion, as we had not been together in quite some time. But Gwen and I were also secretly suffering on the inside. We were nearing the end of our time in graduate school, and we were not sure I was going to successfully complete my degree. We had no serious prospects for the desirable job offers we had expected to receive, and we worried that we had made an error in deciding to pursue such a career path. We were also very concerned with Gwen’s inability to bounce back from the deep emotional struggle she had encountered after giving birth a few months previous. Most distressing to us was the health of our new baby, and we were overcome with anxiety regarding the lack of an accurate diagnosis for our sweet little Lola after countless tests and procedures—tests and procedures that would lead a year later to a diagnosis of a rare chromosomal anomaly.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, both Gwen and I were close to falling apart. We had spent sleepless nights caring for our children, and the stress of the trip had taken its toll. We were still smiling on the outside, but we both felt empty on the inside.

Following a longtime family tradition, we began our Christmas Eve with a special dinner, and then we went caroling to the mission home neighbors. Afterward we gathered in the living room to reenact the Nativity and read scriptures. I was seated in a chair, and Gwen was nestled into the adjacent couch. Admittedly my focus had drifted from the family purpose of the evening, and I was somewhat distracted with our plight as we made our way through our traditional stories and scriptural passages.

For the finale, we turned to 3 Nephi 17. To be honest, I had never quite understood why we read this chapter every Christmas Eve. When I was a child, my grandmother, Lola Sedgwick, had insisted that we read it. She never gave a reason for reading it, and I couldn’t figure out why it was so important to her at Christmastime, as it did not seem to have anything to do with Christ’s birth.

However, that evening this scriptural account took on new meaning for me, and it became clear to me that my grandmother Lola had insisted we read it every Christmas Eve so that years later it would serve as a balm to calm my concern for my daughter Lola. As we began to read those scriptural words of Mormon aloud, I could hear my grandmother’s voice in the Savior’s invitation to bring our Lola hither to be healed:

And he said unto them: Behold, my bowels are filled with compassion towards you.
Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy. . . .
And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him. [3 Nephi 17:6–7, 9]

Listening to those sacred verses immediately drew me into the embrace of the Savior’s love, and I was promptly overcome with a profound sense that our Heavenly Father was keenly aware of me and my family. Those words, voiced in my mind by my Grandmother Lola, came from the same source that had prompted us to name our daughter Lola after her. As I looked over at Gwen next to me, it was obvious that she had been spiritually touched in the same way. Our trials were not immediately removed. In fact, the nature of those tribulations remained in full. But we were both healed that evening, and we, like the Nephites of old, cried tears of joy (see 3 Nephi 17:10).

The witness that I received that evening came from my grandmother and her heavenly recitation of holy scripture. Similar to those who tarried with the risen Lord on the road to Emmaus without recognizing Him, I did not fully appreciate the presence of the living Christ in that moment until I discussed the experience later with Gwen. But our reaction was not unlike the reactions of those who sat at meat with Christ before He vanished out of their sight, leaving them to say, “Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?” (Luke 24:32).

The heavens brought peace to my mind and comfort to my soul through the angelic ministering of my grandmother. I believed on her words, as described in this scriptural account, and the witness I received is that Jesus Christ is the healer of all those who are afflicted in any manner.

When I was 23, I was sealed in the temple to the man of my dreams. I cannot remember a happier day in my entire life.

But everything I always expected for my life started to fall apart with dizzying speed. My husband grew increasingly physically and emotionally abusive toward me.

I felt confusion and pain. I didn’t understand why my faithfulness didn’t seem to make a difference in my marriage. I had served a full-time mission, kept my covenants, followed the commandments, and even served as a temple worker. But no matter how much I tried to grow closer to Jesus Christ, my marriage only became more difficult.

Looking back, I realized that even though I’d prayerfully considered if I should marry my husband and had faith that we could work through problems, I had ignored signs of potential problems that later arose in our marriage.

After five years of loneliness and abuse, my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was suffering. My expectations for my life were derailed and unmet.

I felt broken.

When it became clear that my husband was unwilling to change, I began asking God to deliver me from my situation or to show me the right path to take. But when the answers I needed were not coming, I began to blame Heavenly Father as the cause of my pain.

I continued to attend church and keep my covenants, but my heart was full of resentment at the lack of direction.

Then one day I realized that I did have the answer to my situation—I had to use my agency to act and change my circumstances. And I knew what decision would be best for me with my end goal of returning to Heavenly Father.

I finally decided to take a step forward: I talked to my husband, and miraculously, we ended our relationship in harmony.

This difficult experience helped me learn about the power and vital importance of our God-given gift of agency.

I realized that Heavenly Father won’t interfere with anyone’s agency—He let me make my own decision in marrying my husband. He also wouldn’t force my husband to change, even though I was holding to my covenants, because an eternal marriage takes spiritual and temporal effort from both people as they follow Jesus Christ.

At first I expected to heal and move on quickly from my abusive marriage, but the process has been slow and difficult. Through therapeutic tools, listening to the prophets’ messages, reading scriptures, praying, and feeling love and support from friends and family, I feel hope for a better future. As I use my agency to find healing, I look forward to a life that involves forgiveness and beautiful relationships with others, including the Savior.

With increased understanding of how to use agency in my life, my bitterness toward God turned to understanding, and my relationship with Him was able to heal.

Ending my marriage was one of the most painful experiences I have ever faced. But I’ve learned that when faced with unexpected trials in life, we can seek spiritual guidance and make decisions that move us forward on the covenant path. By following Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, we can always have hope in good things to come and in Their promised blessings of peace and joy.

I was busy in my last year of high school when Dad decided that our family should begin an intensive study of the scriptures to help my brother Bruce prepare for his mission. Dad’s goal was to read the entire Book of Mormon before Bruce left, tape-recording our voices as we went along. Since Bruce and I were the only two of my parents’ seven children still living at home, Dad would herd Mom and the two of us into the living room every day after school, and we would take turns reading a chapter.
I wasn’t thrilled with this idea. I was particularly opposed to the tape recording. So more often than not, I would head out the door to work or to a school-related activity just as scripture time began, secretly glad that I had an excuse to miss out.
To my surprise, the family finished the Book of Mormon a few months later, and Dad eagerly tackled a new project. There were still several weeks before Bruce was to leave, so Dad decided we should read and record the four Gospels from the New Testament. I complained this time, telling Dad that I didn’t see the point: we could buy audiotapes of professionals reading the scriptures, and they sounded a lot better than we did. Still, Dad persisted. “Carole, one day these tapes will be a great blessing to us,” he said. I remained unimpressed and a little uncooperative.
The weeks went by, school was almost over, and I had fewer excuses for missing scripture reading. But as I participated more often, I began to enjoy these times together with the family. I especially liked to hear Dad share his personal insights about passages of scripture. Soon I began to sense the peace that comes through studying the scriptures. We finished reading the four Gospels shortly before Bruce left for the Missionary Training Center. We made a copy of the tapes for him and a copy for ourselves.
Dad had been right all along about those homemade scripture tapes; they did become a blessing. After Bruce left, I noticed how comforting the tapes were to Dad. He often listened to them, partly just to hear Bruce’s voice, I thought, since they had been very close. Sometimes at night Dad would fall asleep listening, and I would smile to myself as I heard the familiar click when the recorder had run to tape’s end.
Those tapes also blessed me in a way that I never could have guessed. When Bruce had been gone for more than a year, Dad died quietly of a heart attack on a bright September Sunday. I remember wondering how it could be so beautiful outside when all seemed black to me. By the next day, all of our family members had gathered except Bruce, who had determined to finish his mission.
That evening, after talking with my bereaved brother on the telephone, I was feeling sad. I went upstairs to Dad’s room and dejectedly sat down at his desk. I noticed his well-used tape recorder lying nearby. Inside was one of our tapes of the New Testament, which Dad must have listened to the night before he died. I began rewinding the tape, stopping it at random, hoping to find solace in hearing the gentle resonance of Dad’s voice. I hadn’t really been listening to the words, but suddenly I sat upright as my father spoke from the tape:
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
“Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I” (John 14:27–28).
I listened to that passage over and over; the words seemed to reach out and wrap a comforting arm around me. Through my tears, I found them in my Bible, marked them, then went downstairs and shared them with my mother. Despite our sorrow, we realized that Dad was at peace and that he wanted his loved ones to be at peace, too.
Peace did come to us that night, and it continued to come slowly during the months that followed. Since then, I have often tasted the sweet peace of the New Testament.

There is an article that illustrates this point by Mark Albright, former President of the Washington D.C. South Mission, published in Meridian Magazine in December 2012 entitled “A Miracle on Temple Square brings Change in Rome.” It said, “Dear President Albright, Former U.S. Senator Gordon H. Smith of Oregon is currently an Area Seventy and President of the National Association of Broadcasters in Washington D.C. He gave a fireside in our Stake recently where he shared an interesting experience regarding how two Italian Sister missionaries serving in Utah’s Temple Square Mission helped influence an important governmental decision in Italy regarding the new LDS Temple in Italy. Because it shows how effective good missionaries can be world-wide, and the ripple effect of a good example, I thought it was worth sharing with you.

“While serving as a U.S. Senator, Senator Smith received a telephone call one day from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The Church was interested in building a new temple in Italy and needed to acquire formal governmental recognition for the Church from the Italian government. Elder Uchtdorf wondered if Senator Smith could please help him arrange a meeting with the appropriate governmental officials in Rome. Senator Smith agreed to not only help set up the meeting but to also fly to Rome to help with the important presentation to the Italian official. They arrived at the meeting in Rome with the Italian official supervising religious affairs in Italy. The Italian Minister was a gracious and knowledgeable woman. She had the Assistant Minister join the meeting. Senator Smith introduced Elder Uchtdorf as an Apostle from the Church and quoted some references in the NATO treaty which included Italy and the United States. Elder Uchtdorf told about the Church and how its larger presence in Italy would benefit and bless the Italian people. He also explained the problems the members and missionaries were facing since the Church was not fully recognized as a religion but only as a charitable organization. The government official looked at her assistant and asked for his opinion regarding the Church's petition. The Assistant Minister replied that he had recently been on a visit to the United States with his family and had toured Temple Square in Salt Lake City during their trip. The assistant went on to explain that when they arrived at Temple Square, their tour guides were two young Italian sister missionaries. According to the assistant, the two sister missionaries were very impressive and glowed with energy and enthusiasm. He then said, in effect, "If the Mormon Church can raise such outstanding young people as I saw serving there in Utah, then by all means you should give the LDS Church all the recognition they need to build their temple here in Italy! I hope they can raise up thousands of young people here in Italy like the ones I met in Utah!" That comment seemed to have the appropriate effect, and the meeting concluded successfully.

“Later, after the appropriate Italian approval was granted, the announcement of a temple to be built in Italy was made during General Conference on October 4, 2008, by President Thomas S. Monson. When the announcement was made by the Prophet from the Conference Center pulpit, President Uchtdorf, now a member of the First Presidency, looked down in the congregation at Senator Smith and gave him a “thumbs up” to thank him for his significant contribution in acquiring the necessary governmental approvals. Italy’s President Giorgio Napolitano signed the Intesa con lo Stato, or legal agreement, on July 30, 2012. In contrast to the 1993 legislation that recognized the Church as only a charitable institution, the Church is now officially recognized as a religious denomination along with the Catholic Church and a few others. The first meeting with President Uchtdorf was the beginning of this important process that culminated recently in the final signed agreement. During his fireside, Senator Smith concluded by commenting that those two unnamed Italian sister missionaries serving on Temple Square may never know of their important contribution or what they accomplished by just having the Spirit with them and being such marvelous examples during the brief tour of the museum and Temple grounds with the Assistant Minister. The Italian Temple is currently under construction, which began October 23, 2010 with a groundbreaking ceremony.

“This miraculous outcome, based largely on a divine rendezvous on Temple Square, could have been very different had the two Italian missionaries acted inappropriately in any way during the tour. The two sister missionaries had no way of knowing that they were giving a tour to a governmental official or that an Apostle would soon be flying to Italy for a meeting that this man could influence in such an important way. Missionaries need to realize that they are being carefully watched by others and that the ripple effect of their good deeds and examples can significantly affect other people years later and many miles away. Members also may never know the impact that their good examples have on other people and their decisions. As President Monson often teaches, in the work of the Lord, there are no coincidences. For those two sisters to be together at precisely the right time and place in order to give a tour to a man who would shortly thereafter be able to assist President Uchtdorf in accomplishing his important assignment from the Prophet is miraculous, indeed!”

Part of honoring parenthood is honoring children. There is a great temptation to believe erroneously that our children are our possessions. They are not. They are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. Their spirits are eternal as are ours. This was brought forcibly to my attention many years ago when our youngest was about four years of age. I came home from work one night to find my sweetheart very weary from a full day with nine children underfoot. My day had been heavy also, but I offered to get the children ready for bed. I began to give the orders to our little four-year-old daughter: take your clothes off, hang them up, brush your teeth, get your pajamas on, say your prayers, etc.—commanding in a manner befitting a tough sergeant in the army. She then cocked her little head to one side, looked at me with her wistful eyes, and said, “Daddy, do you own me?”
Then I realized that I was using coercive methods on this sweet spirit and that to rule children by command or force is the technique of Satan, not of the Savior. She taught me this important lesson: We don’t own our children; we have them for a brief season. As parents, it is our privilege to love them, to lead them, and then to let them go.

Kinsey watched through the car window as soggy brown hills zoomed past. Patches of snow clung to the ground. Tiny green leaves dotted the barren trees, not quite ready for spring.
“Why does the drive to Grandma’s house take so long?” Kinsey complained.
“Just a few more minutes,” Dad said.
“Why don’t you play a game?” Mom suggested.
“I already played the alphabet game and the license-plate game,” Kinsey said. “I colored pictures in my notebook and made paper animals. I’m bored!”
Kinsey pressed her nose against the car window. She glanced at her little brother, Taylor, asleep in his car seat. Even though she was bored, Kinsey was too excited to sleep. She hadn’t seen Grandma in so long. Grandma would have new books for her to read. They would gather at Aunt Michelle’s house for a family dinner with all the cousins. Most of all, Kinsey looked forward to a whole weekend of spending time with Grandma.
“Oh! It’s already started,” Mom said as she turned on the radio.
A clear, calm voice came from the speakers. Kinsey sat a little taller. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Where had she heard that voice before? Suddenly, she remembered.
“I know that voice!” she said with a smile. “It’s the prophet!”
Kinsey loved the prophet’s voice. It was strong and peaceful and kind. When the prophet spoke, it felt as if he were talking right to her. She listened closely to his words.
The prophet announced new temples being built in faraway parts of the world. Kinsey thought about all the people who would now be closer to a beautiful temple.
The prophet talked about missionaries. Kinsey remembered the letters they wrote in Primary for an older couple from their ward serving a mission in Slovenia.
The prophet talked about being kind to others. Kinsey thought about how she had been trying hard to be kind to her brother, even when he grabbed her toys or scribbled with her markers.
Finally, the prophet talked about families. Kinsey thought about how much she loved visiting her family at general conference time.
“We’re here!” Dad announced.
Kinsey looked out the window. How did they get to Grandma’s so fast?
“Let’s hurry inside so we don’t miss any more of conference,” Mom said.
Kinsey ran up the steps and rang the doorbell to Grandma’s house. The drive hadn’t been boring after all!

The simultaneous use of over-the-counter remedies and prescription drugs is a more serious problem.10 An unusual case of this kind of drug misuse was recently seen in the outpatient service of a teaching hospital. During the course of taking the drug history, the clinical pharmacist inquired if the patient was taking any over-the-counter drugs. The patient indicated that she was, but when queried as to what she was taking, she could not remember. A similar answer was given when she was questioned with regard to any prescription medication she was taking. Further discussion extracted the promise that she would bring the drugs she was routinely taking to the clinic on her next visit. When she returned, she brought a basket containing 26 over-the-counter remedies and 25 prescription drugs, a total of 51 drugs that she was taking each day and often simultaneously, including seven depressant drugs and two stimulant drugs.

“A great lesson that I learned from my parents and grandfather was to pay my tithing. Not much money was made from operating the farm; the only cash income came from selling milk. But somehow my parents worked it out so that we each had an allowance. As soon as I got my allowance, I would cross the street and pay my tithing to Grandfather, who was the bishop. There weren’t any tithing envelopes in those days, and Grandfather was his own financial clerk. When I took my tithing over, I’d sit in the office in his home, and he’d write out a receipt. As he gave me the receipt, he’d say, ‘Waldo, the Lord will bless you because you have paid your tithing.’ I always thought that I was the most important person in the world when I went into the bishop’s office.”

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).

Time continued to go by, and we were extremely content with our lives. We had our two wonderful daughters, had great neighbors, a good job, and life seemed to be going well for us. We started to think that our family would be just the four of us. Afterall, most of our neighbors only had two kids. However, one day as Caryn was putting away the clothes Chrysanne had grown out of, she could not feel peace about giving the little clothes away. She was also about to turn 40, and knew that if we were going to have another child now was the time. Her patriarchal blessing promised that she would bring forth bodies (plural), and at this point we only had the one birth. We truly believed God would fulfill his promises. As Elder Angel Abrea stated, “The faithful Latter-day Saint waits patiently because, certainly, faith, ‘the assurance of things hoped for’, is exercised with the conviction that the promises will be fulfilled ‘in his own time, and in his own way, and according to his own will’” (1992).

We started once again going to see infertility specialists, and were told that the procedure that had the best chance for us in our condition was invitro fertilization. However, this was a very costly procedure, and one that had just a 25% chance of success at Caryn’s age. We moved forward with faith knowing of the Lord’s promise to Caryn, and that we could put our trust in Him. We traveled out of state to a respected clinic and worked with an outstanding physician in this invitro fertilization process. While we were gone, our Bishop felt impressed to look for Caryn in the congregation one Sunday. The Spirit told him, “Sister Houghton needs you to tell her something.” He did not know why, and did not even see my wife in order to follow through with the prompting. Later that week we came back to our home in Oklahoma extremely disheartened, since we just had been told by the fertility clinic that the procedure had not been successful. We had spent tens of thousands of dollars, given up time away from work, put our trust in medicine and the Lord, only to have it end in failure. We were sad and wondered what the Lord wanted us to do in our lives instead.

The following Sunday after sacrament meeting the Bishop asked to see us in his office. He said, “Brother & Sister Houghton, the Lord has strongly prompted me two Sundays in a row to tell you that you will have a son.” We were dumbstruck. We had not told him of our situation, but right then at the moment we knew the Lord understood our anguish and was ready to bless us in our desire. Then in the office the bishop and I laid our hands on my wife’s head and he blessed her with comfort, and promised her that the Lord knew of her desires, and that He would fulfill His promises to her. Two months later we returned to the clinic, buoyed up with the faith we had in the Lord, knowing that he would fulfill His promise to us. Nine months later our little boy, Isaac, was born. Two months after that he accompanied us to Laie when I interviewed for a job here at BYU–Hawaii, and now has grown up as a barefoot local boy.

My father, Parley W. Newman, served as a paratrooper in World War II. On more than one occasion, he parachuted behind enemy lines in the South Pacific and was under fire. He lost close friends in combat and was eventually wounded himself.
When I was a child, I suffered from excessive fears over the evils that exist in the world. My good parents made great efforts to help me overcome those fears, but the fears persisted.
One night, my father came into my room and told me of the tremendous fear he had daily experienced during the war—an entirely justifiable fear in the face of real and imminent danger. He told me that throughout his time in the war, he carried with him a verse of scripture printed on a card and received comfort from the promise of that verse. He then handed me a card on which he had printed that same scripture, Joshua 1:9.
I slept that night—and for many nights—with that card under my pillow and carried it with me, as my father had, until I no longer needed the card itself, for the Lord’s promise in that verse was imprinted on my mind and heart. My father’s gift of the Lord’s words was the beginning of my learning to replace fear with faith.
As a young woman I searched the scriptures for similar promises and assurances of the Lord and relied upon them with all my heart. I still do. In time, I arranged some of those scriptural promises into a poetic text that my brother, Mark, has set to music—music intended to convey both the power and peace of these promises.

Expectant silence fills the living room where 80-year-old Ronald Bowles sits surrounded by teenagers.
“I’ll never forget my first trip as an officer in the South Pacific,” Brother Bowles begins, recounting an experience he had on a ship as a U.S. Marine during World War II. “It was a moonlit night, and I was on watch. Off the bow, on the starboard side, three torpedoes were coming straight for us.”
Now at full attention, the young men and women of the Tempe Arizona Stake listen anxiously as Brother Bowles continues: “I was just about to reach for the general alarm bell … when two or three porpoises swerved right by the bow and took off.”
The teens laugh with relief that the threatening torpedoes turned out to be nothing more than porpoises.

Let me illustrate with an experience shared by President Henry B. Eyring about his father, Henry Eyring.

To appreciate this story, you have to realize that it occurred when [my father] was nearly eighty and had bone cancer. He had bone cancer so badly in his hips that he could hardly move. . . .

Dad was the senior high councilor in his stake with the responsibility for the welfare farm. An assignment was given to weed a field of onions, so Dad assigned himself to go work on the farm.

Dad never told me how hard it was, but . . . [one man who was there] said that the pain was so great that Dad was pulling himself along on his stomach with his elbows. . . . The pain was too great for him to kneel. Everyone who has talked to me [about that day] has remarked how Dad smiled and laughed and talked happily with them as they worked in that field of onions.

Now, this is the joke Dad told me on himself afterward. He said he was there at the end of the day. After all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone asked him, “Henry, good heavens! You didn’t pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway.”

Dad just roared [with laughter]. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway.

When Dad told me this story, I knew how tough it was. So I said to him, “Dad, how could you make a joke out of that? How could you take it so pleasantly?”

He said something to me that I will never forget, and I hope you won’t. He said, “Hal, I wasn’t there for the weeds.”

[President Eyring concluded:] Now, you’ll be in an onion patch much of your life. So will I. . . .

But you didn’t come for the weeds.

I had an earlier experience of learning from someone else’s adversity. Many years ago a tragic accident impaired a boy in our ward. As a freshman in a faraway college, this mischievous boy made a bomb in a chemistry lab, and it exploded and blew off his hand. As I sought to compose a letter of comfort to him, the words of a hymn came into my mind. I remember clearly how I was overcome with emotion and stained the letter with tears as I wrote the words:

In the furnace God may prove thee, Thence to bring thee forth more bright, But can never cease to love thee; Thou art precious in his sight.
God is with thee, God is with thee; Thou shalt triumph in his might. [“Zion Stands with Hills Surrounded,” Hymns, no. 43, verse 3]

The young man was blessed in his adversity, and so was I. The words of that hymn have been among my comforting companions for almost thirty years. Since that time I have discovered the source of that vivid metaphor. It is the words the Lord spoke to the children of Israel through the prophet Isaiah: “Behold, I have refined thee . . . ; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10; 1 Nephi 20:10).

Moroni Rubio was only 16 when he earned the number one ranking among sprinters in Mexico, after breaking records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. That same year, 2002, he took first place in the 100 meters at the Central American Junior Championships and was named athlete of the year in the state of Yucatán.
His dreams are pinned on his feet, which are expected to carry him all the way to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. But even if, for some reason, his feet don’t take him to the Olympics, they will have already accomplished a great work.
His feet have put his unique name in the spotlight, bringing him numerous missionary opportunities. Because of Moroni’s success, he’s been on television a number of times—each time with his name right there on the screen.
“I’m asked about my name a lot,” says Moroni, a priest in the Mérida México Lakín Stake. “It’s a great opportunity to talk about the gospel. And when I race, the members watching always know I’m a member too—by my name. I think it’s something they’re proud of.”
His coaches have always told him he has a beautiful stride. But for Moroni, having “beautiful feet” is just as important—remembering Isaiah’s words about missionaries: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings” (Isa. 52:7).

Photographs courtesy of Kayleena N.
Kayleena N., 17, of Washington, USA, loves testimonies. She loves bearing her testimony, she loves listening as others share them, and now the testimonies from nearly 200 of her friends and relatives help keep her warm at night. “I feel really blessed that I know so many people who know the gospel is true,” Kayleena says.
For years, Kayleena has wanted to create a large patchwork quilt. However, she didn’t want merely a colorful blanket. She wanted an heirloom she could show to her children and grandchildren. And she wanted the whole thing tied together with testimonies.
After planning her design, Kayleena contacted friends and family to ask if they’d be willing to write their personal testimony on one of the 192 pastel squares of fabric she planned to use in the quilt. Her own testimony is on a square as well.
The final quilt required the help of many friends and over 200 hours of work. Yet she doesn’t regret a single minute. “It’s my favorite thing ever,” Kayleena says. “Anytime I’m not feeling happy, I can read the testimonies and it lifts me up. It’s more than a warm blanket. It’s a comfort to my soul.”