Gospel Story Finder

Giving loving service is another beautiful pattern of righteousness often learned in our homes. The scriptures teach of the importance of service, and leaders testify of its importance. Harold Glen Clark, the first president of the Provo Temple, wrote a story for his grandchildren called “Good for One Pass into Heaven.” Brother Clark wrote:
“I was thinking of what one thing I had ever done that might have pleased the Lord most. Deacons quorum president? Bishop? Patriarch? Temple president?
“Then it came to me what it might be. It was when I was 16 or 17 years old. My mother, who often took in the unfortunate, had the care of two grandpas at one time. Someone said to her in jest, ‘Why don’t you put up a sign, “Grandpas wanted”?’ But it wasn’t funny because I was assigned to take care of one grandpa, who had to be bathed, dressed and undressed, and helped to the table to eat. Now I was a fun-loving 16-year-old, and here I was too many times, nursing Grandpa while a good game of basketball was going on outside.
“Once when my pals were calling me, I was inside doing the tedious chore of taking off his wet pajamas. I was impatient and upset. Then I felt Grandpa’s trembling hand on mine. I turned and met his tearful countenance and heard him say, ‘God bless you, my boy. You will never regret doing this for me.’
“I was so sorry I had been resentful. … To this day, I have a warm glow about this little service I performed for a quite helpless grandpa.
“I suppose doing something for someone else which they cannot do for themselves brings you close to God, because that’s what He and His Son are doing all the time, out of pure love for us.” (Unpublished manuscript).

I had an experience a few years ago that emphasized the importance of this process. A friend came to my office with a problem. He told me that he had studied art in college and then pursued a career in that field, which included a couple of teaching positions. It was while he was the director of an art museum that he finally realized that his profession was not going to provide him with enough money to support his family. He thought he had solved his problem by taking a job in the advertising department of a large company. But two years later the company fell on hard times, and he was laid off. He came to ask for my advice. I suggested a book for him to read. I didn’t see him until three years later when we met at a high school reunion. He thanked me for all my help. When I questioned him, he explained that he had read the book and completed the self-assessment. Based on that information, he decided he would really enjoy working in business, and he took a job selling life insurance. That job gave him a better income, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work. He felt good about the service he was providing. Now I’m not saying that selling insurance is better than being an art director. I’m saying that understanding yourself is important in making career decisions.

Illustrations by David Malan
My family spent part of every summer with another family using set-netting to catch salmon near Bristol Bay, Alaska. Where we stayed, there were no roads, no trees, no electricity, and no other people for about 100 miles in any direction—just tundra. We could get there only by boat or a bush plane that landed on the beach. Our cabin was on a narrow strip of land, with ocean on the outside and a lagoon on the inside.
At the end of one summer when I was 15 or 16, I was with my father and our friend Ken to close up our operation for the year. We needed to get our small fishing skiffs to a location several miles away, and we had to move them when the tide was high enough to guarantee we’d make it.
As we approached high tide late in the day, Dad and Ken started driving the outboard-motor fishing skiff up the river through the lagoon. I was supposed to give them a head start of a couple of hours, drive our four-wheeler to pick them up at the old village, and then drive them the 10 miles back to our cabin to spend the night. It was a big responsibility, so I was feeling pretty proud. They reminded me to fill the gas tank on the four-wheeler before I left. In addition to wearing heavy chest waders and gloves, we generally took a pistol to scare away bears. My dad gave me his pistol just in case I needed it.
Later that day, I was almost to the meeting point when I glanced down at the four-wheeler gas gauge and was horrified to realize I was almost out of gas. My heart dropped—I had forgotten to fill the gas tank before I left. I started frantically running through options in my mind. Option one: go to the meeting place—if I even had enough gas to get there—and be stranded there with Dad and Ken since we wouldn’t have enough gas to get back to our cabin. We’d then walk the whole 10 miles (in deep sand) back to camp the next day. Or option two: start immediately heading back to camp in the four-wheeler and get as far as I could with the gas I had. That way I could walk the last 4–6 miles back to camp alone and get the other four-wheeler to pick up Dad and Ken. After weighing my decisions, I decided this second idea was the best option.
Just before turning around to return to the cabin, it occurred to me that I should say a prayer first. I said a short prayer asking what I should do. Right after I finished my prayer, I felt two words urging me, “Tell Dad!” I obeyed. I waddled in my bulky chest waders up to a high grassy sand dune to see if I could see Dad and Ken in the boat. I saw them, drove closer to where they were, about a half-mile out in the lagoon, shouted to them, and finally got their attention by firing the pistol into the air.
When my dad heard me fire the pistol, he hollered, “What is the matter?”
I shouted my reply with utter shame: “I forgot to fill the gas tank.”
He paused only for a second before shouting back, “We’ll just fill it with our extra outboard gas when we get to the end.”
I had forgotten that the outboard motors used the same gas that the four-wheelers did, and we had several extra cans in the skiff they were driving. But Heavenly Father knew, and He answered my prayer.

A few months ago, members of the Daveyton Third Branch, of the Benoni South Africa Stake, experienced firsthand the thrill of researching their own family histories and performing sacred ordinances for their ancestors in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
The project began in earnest last April as branch members became at first interested and then determined to discover the spirit of Elijah in their own lives and in the lives of their families. The Church’s family history tools—especially the new and easy-to-use Family Tree Lite website at lite.fs.org—enabled the branch members to research their ancestors’ names and key dates and then record those individuals as branches in their own family tree.
Branch members were aided by Elder Gordon and Sister Susan Foote, who are a senior missionary couple assigned to the Daveyton Third Branch. “We got behind this effort and supported the goal of the branch president (Edward Mtshali) for branch members to find at least one of their own family names and then perform baptismal ordinances in the Johannesburg Temple,” Sister Foote explained.
Elder Foote began by helping more than 40 branch members register online and obtain individual FamilySearch accounts. Then an Africa Southeast Area senior missionary couple, Elder Dennis and Sister Merrily Bird, who are area family history specialists, traveled to the branch several weeks in a row, helping complete registrations, teaching key concepts, and assisting members with their questions. They also taught branch members how to enter family history information themselves through the Family Tree Lite website on their personal cell phones.
Once members had properly entered the names and information of their ancestors, they scheduled a day trip for Saturday, April 21, 2018, to travel to the Johannesburg South Africa Temple to complete proxy baptism and confirmations. With the distance from Daveyton to the temple being about 50 kilometers—and with few members owning cars—transportation was a key issue. Branch members made and sold African greeting cards to pay for public transportation to and from the temple.
All their hard work and planning paid off and on that very special day, 25 branch members journeyed to the temple and completed baptisms and confirmation ordinances for 66 of their ancestors. The spirit of Elijah poured forth.

Like all new members, Jana Riess has found learning about the Church to be a “line upon line” experience (see Isaiah 28:10). She was preparing to become a Presbyterian minister in 1991 when she began listening to the missionary lessons. To express her appreciation, one Sunday she invited the sister missionaries to join her for lunch at a restaurant. They kindly explained that they would prefer not to eat out on the Sabbath. Fifteen years and many Church callings later, Sister Riess still sees her own conversion as ongoing. “Discipleship is a lifelong process that doesn’t end when someone rises from the waters of baptism,” she says. “I’m still ‘converting.’”
Looking back, Sister Riess counts among her greatest blessings as a new Church member those who reached out to her and took an interest in her spiritual development. Today she prizes the blessing of being able to help other converts along the path of discipleship by talking to them about their concerns, praying for and with them, and passing along helpful materials to read. She knows that the transition is often more painful and costly than many people realize. So, while her current official Church calling is Primary chorister, she also considers it a personal calling to reach out to other converts and help them become more committed disciples of Christ through the Church’s teachings and programs.

I should like to spend the few minutes I stand before you today to salute a group of people who have developed what I believe to be a Christlike characteristic, and that is the ability to “hang on.” At this very moment, there is a man, a good member of the Church, who hovers between life and death in a nearby hospital. In the last few weeks he has withstood crisis after crisis; and yet to the amazement of all, he still hangs on. I know not whether the Lord will ordain that he should ultimately live or die at this time, but I do know there is something noble about his tenacious fight for life and the desire to hang on. In the lives of each of us come these trials—trials of all kinds which shake us to the very core and cause us to explore to the very depths our ability to hang on.
I think of the person who, in the quiet of night, could not be persuaded to compromise virtue and decides instead to hang on, though the temptation is great.
I think of those who have withstood the test of many years, some of whom are confined and bedridden and who, in spite of the infirmities that age brings, will not give up. I see etched in the faces of these wonderful older people something of our pioneer heritage—lives so filled with determination and faith, lives so filled with the overcoming of adversity and trial that by their nature they simply can’t let go.
It reminds me of two trees that were close to my home when I was growing up. The one was a Russian olive and grew right in our yard. It was watered every time the lawn was watered, and in that kind of protected environment it grew to be a beautiful tree. Yet one night a tremendous wind came up. Trees all over town were blown down, and with them went our Russian olive. We had watered it so well that the roots did not have to reach down into the soil; and because they were so close to the surface, the tree toppled over.
The second tree withstood the gale. It was a tremendous cottonwood, which still stands in the lane just half a block from where I was born. This tree was in the fullness of its growth when I was a child. It has always stood by itself, completely exposed to the elements, with nothing but a ditch running by, which most of the time is dry. It is gnarled and tough, and its roots have had to sink deep in order to drink of the water of life; but because its roots were forced downward, it lives. I was out home the other day and noticed that most of the trees around this cottonwood are gone. But in all of its power and majesty, it still hangs on.
I see in many people this same kind of beauty. Adversity and trial have driven the roots of faith and testimony deep in order to tap the reservoir of spiritual strength that comes from such experiences. By nature they know how to stand and fight and hang on.
One person who has sunken deep the roots of faith and testimony because of the trials and affliction of years is the man whom we will sustain tomorrow as prophet, seer, and revelator. His branches can offer shade because his roots are deep.
My own mother and mother-in-law are characteristic of these kinds of people. One suffered a broken hip and the other underwent a severe sickness. But they have both fought back and, like so many others, are enjoying active, useful lives. When we as a family are with them, we draw strength from them and their ability to hang on in severe crises.
A few years ago, while on a mission tour in Europe, I was asked to interview a young man who was recently out and wanted to go home. He had not been away from home before in his life and he was homesick and in despair in a strange country. He had actually run away once, but had come back.
I had quite a conversation with this young man, and from my own missionary experience I knew something of the despair that can come into the life of a missionary when he first goes into the field and begins to make that initial adjustment. If he can just hang on through those early trials, then gradually he will get into the spirit of his mission and find the peace and joy that every missionary has a right to experience.
At first he was adamant in his desire to return home, but gradually the spirit of the conversation began to change. We talked about his call from a prophet. We talked about the love of his parents and their desire for him to stay and succeed. We talked about those he had been called among to teach, and finally I asked, “Elder, do your father and mother want you home?”
His answer was, “No.”
“Well, do your brothers and sisters want you home?”
And he said, “No.”
Then I said, “Does your girl friend really want you home?”
And he said, “I guess not.”
I then said, “Elder, does anyone want you home right now?”
He said, “I guess not,” and then he said with a new determination, “Brother Dunn, I think maybe I better try to stay.” He had made a vitally important decision in his life—he had decided to hang on.
The months passed and one day my secretary asked if I could take a minute to see a recently returned missionary. As I walked out of my office, there was this same missionary. I didn’t recognize him at first, he seemed taller because he was standing straight. Unlike the first time, he looked me right in the eye, and his whole countenance was smiling. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I shall never forget his image. He was going home now, a servant of the Lord, having completed an honorable mission. His roots were reaching downward; and although there will be the usual trials ahead, he knows something of what it means to hang on for a while longer when everything looks its darkest.
I don’t know all the reasons the Lord tries us in this life, but there are two or three that come to mind. First, I think he wants to know whom he can trust. The Lord found he could trust Abraham because he was willing to offer his own son as a sacrifice if that was what the Lord wanted. Many thought that Zion’s Camp was a tragic waste of time, until it was later demonstrated that the Lord used this ordeal to find whom he could trust. He wanted to know who had roots of faith and testimony that reached deep into the ground and who had such shallow roots that the first wind of adversity would blow them over.
Secondly, the Lord tells us in the Doctrine and Covenants section 122 that adversity came to Joseph Smith to give him experience. There is something about the eternal purpose of life that requires us to meet and experience trial and sorrow as we seek to overcome, for the Lord has told us also, “… for if they never should have bitter they could not know the sweet. …” (D&C 29:39.)
Thirdly, I believe that only through such experiences can a person develop true charity. And I mean by charity the pure love of Christ.
Let me read the following from Moroni in the Book of Mormon: “… if a man be meek and lowly in heart, and confesses by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus is the Christ, he must needs have charity; for if he have not charity he is nothing; wherefore he must needs have charity.
“And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—
“But charity is the pure love of Christ. …” (Moro. 7:44–47. Italics added.)
May I say then to those who are now or will be facing deep trials: May the Lord bless you that you may continue to hang on. There is purpose in it all, and he has promised us that the severity of it all will not be greater than we can endure, for as the words of the song tell us:
“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.”
(“How Firm a Foundation,” LDS Hymns, no. 66.)
And finally this promise from the Master: “And again, be patient in tribulation until I come; and, behold, I come quickly, and my reward is with me, and they who have sought me early shall find rest to their souls. …” (D&C 54:10.) In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Eighteen years ago, my wife and I received a phone call from President James E. Faust, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. He called us to serve as mission president and companion in Portugal. He told us that we had only six weeks before we started the mission. Although we felt unprepared and inadequate, we accepted the call. Our most important concern at the time was to obtain the visas required to serve in that country because, according to past experience, we knew the process took six to eight months to complete.

President Faust then asked if we had faith that the Lord would perform a miracle and that we would be able to solve the visa problem faster. Our answer was a big yes, and we started making the arrangements immediately. We prepared the documents required for the visas, took our three young children, and went to the consulate as fast as we could. A very nice lady met with us there. In reviewing our papers and getting acquainted with what we were going to do in Portugal, she turned to us and asked, “Are you really going to help the people of my country?” We firmly answered yes and explained that we would represent Jesus Christ and testify of Him and His divine mission in the world. We returned there four weeks later, received our visas, and landed in the mission field within the six weeks, as a prophet of the Lord had asked us to do.

I dreaded testimony meeting each fast Sunday. Time moved slower than Gertie, my pet turtle, especially on those sticky hot summer days when folks’d rather lean back and wait for somebody else to do the talking. The waiting always made me squirm in my seat. Sometimes I’d watch the big wall clock and time how long it took until somebody’s conscience finally dragged him up the aisle.
Most of the time, though, so many people wanted to bear their testimonies that the meeting went five or ten minutes over the usual time. Some of them would start crying in the middle of their testimony, and that really drove me nuts.
But the worst part was Molly Prentiss. She had been bearing her testimony almost every month for two years. She always used fancy words and went back to her seat with a contented smile on her face.
One day I got a great idea: I wrote up a testimony that even a returned missionary would be proud of and practiced it for days until I had it memorized. I even practiced how I’d walk to the front with just the right combination of confidence and humility. I hadn’t ever born my testimony before, but how tough could it be? I’d just walk up, deliver my brilliant speech, then go back to my seat amid gasps of admiration from the whole ward. Yup—that’d show Molly Prentiss, all right.
On fast Sunday, before we left for church, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and practiced one last time for good measure. Wow! Even I was impressed! For once even my braids stayed neatly in place.
I decided I’d save the best for last and give my performance right at the end of the meeting. What I didn’t count on was how many butterflies could hatch in my stomach in such a short amount of time. When the moment came, I tried to boldly walk up the aisle, but my confidence had become about as solid as warm gelatin.
It was when I was nearly to the pulpit that Sister Johnson and I noticed each other for the first time. Both of us had thought we were the only one headed for the front. I knew that I should let her go first, but I also knew that I would never make it back up that aisle if I had to sit down. Sister Johnson took matters into her own hands and with an understanding smile waved me on and sat in an empty seat on the front row.
When I stepped up to the pulpit, I was suddenly gripped with panic. There must have been a thousand people at church that day, and that meant that there were two thousand eyes staring at me! I opened my mouth, only to discover that the butterflies in my stomach had flown off with the wonderful speech I had prepared. I couldn’t remember one word of it. I closed my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, hoping I could find the words better that way. When that didn’t work, I opened my eyes again, and there was Sister Johnson down on the front row, smiling encouragingly.
That was when the ultimate humiliation happened. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. And try as I might to hold them back, they burst out and flooded down my cheeks. Knowing how bad my freckles stand out when I cry, and feeling a strand of hair suddenly spring from a braid, there was only one thing I could do. I turned and stumbled back down the aisle to the pew where my family was sitting. Mama put a comforting arm around my shoulders, and I heard Sister Johnson saying something about how her testimony affects her the same way sometimes. But there was no consoling the burning embarrassment I felt. I vowed then and there that I would never try to bear my testimony again for the rest of my life.
I was surprised that when church was over, no one from my Primary class teased me about what had happened. Molly Prentiss gave me a sympathetic look.
The next few weeks were busy ones. School started again, and then my eighth birthday came along almost before I realized it. After my baptism and confirmation, a few things began to change. I started getting up a little earlier each morning to read the Book of Mormon before I headed off to school. That was tough because I hate getting up in the morning, but I was determined to make it all the way through that book.
I also started fasting each month on fast Sunday. There aren’t many things I like to do more than eat, so I slipped up sometimes, but even so, I started noticing a difference in how I felt about testimony meeting.
I began paying more attention to what each speaker was saying, and that made the meeting a lot more interesting. I found out that Sister Johnson had joined the Church when she was twenty-six years old. I thought she’d been a member all her life! And I loved it when old Brother Badger bore his testimony. He had exciting stories to tell about his life and about miracles he had witnessed.
I finished the Book of Mormon early the next summer. There were great stories and teachings in it, and I was happy that I’d reached my goal. But Moroni had written in the last chapter that if you read the Book of Mormon and want to know if it’s true, you should ponder it in your heart and pray to Heavenly Father about it. He promised that if you do that with faith in Jesus Christ and with a sincere heart, the Holy Ghost will help you know that it’s true. I decided to try it out for myself.
The rest of that week I prayed every morning and night. Sometimes I even said a quick prayer in my head when I was at school, but I never saw a vision or even heard a voice that told me the Book of Mormon was true. I felt like giving up, but I really wanted to know, so I just kept on praying.
The next fast Sunday, I fasted to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I reread some of my favorite parts. It was amazing how seldom I thought about food.
Testimony meeting was going along great that day. I was even happy for Molly Prentiss when she went up and bore her testimony. Then Brother Badger went to the front to speak. His quiet voice trembled as he spoke of his great love for the scriptures and how he knew of the truth of the gospel.
As he spoke, a strange feeling started in a little spot in my chest. It got warmer and bigger until my whole body was filled with glowing, tingly warmth. When he finished, that warmth seemed to pick me up and carry me right to the pulpit. The lump in my throat loosened into a few words that came right from my soul: “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Senior Year, High School—While investigating several churches to learn more about Christianity, I have discovered that some churches do not require extremely long periods of schooling to qualify as a minister. I have just visited a Bible college and learned that I can be ordained a minister after four years. After two years I could be assigned as a minister to a church of my own. I decided that I will go to the Bible college next year when I graduate from high school even though it will mean giving up a scholarship to another college. The classes appear interesting, but I sense something is missing from the college. Something seems to be missing in my personal life, too. How long will it take to find peace of mind?
Approaching Graduation—Religion is becoming less important in my life. I’m no longer sure of what I want to do. Deep inside me I feel guilty about something. I get upset at myself when I do wrong. But I still take a drink or smoke a cigarette now and again. After my first drink, my friends in high school were more worried about how it would affect my football playing than how it would affect my religious goals.
Change of Plans—I just received a scholarship to play football at Dodge City College only a few kilometers from my home. I don’t want to go to a college so close to home, but the scholarship will help pay for my studies. I gave up a scholarship offer before when I was planning to become a minister. Those plans will wait.
Summer—I’m working at the Dodge City Recreation Center and playing on a local baseball team. It’s not unusual for me to work all day, travel with the baseball team for a game, return home at 2 A.M. and get up at 7 A.M. to go to work.
What’s Wrong—This summer has been unusual. I haven’t gone to church very much. I read a lot and write a great deal. But religion seems to lack something. But maybe I lack something, too.
The Bible—I still consider the idea of Bible college education because I can have a ministry of my own very quickly. I commented once in Sunday School that we need to return to preaching the Bible. But one man argued that ministers should turn to more modern concerns and use up-to-date interpretations of the Bible. His remarks add to my confusion—religious leaders I know have different opinions about the meaning of the Bible and its place in modern times.
College Begins—I still pray sometimes. A few times I have said, “Show me the way, Lord, if there is one for me.”
Semester Ends—I have to wait till my assigned baptismal date. My first semester of college has ended and I’m on the honor roll as a top student. Last night I lay in my bed thinking how little time I really devoted to my studies. I laughed to myself and thought, “I did this and all without God.”
A Mormon Girl—I met a Mormon girl, Janet, the other night. I thought to myself, “What’s a Mormon?” I’ve investigated many religions but have never heard of this one.
Book of Mormon—I spent the weekend with my family. I asked Mom if she knew anything about Mormons. She said she thought there was a pamphlet in the bookcase. She found it and an old hardback book. I’m reading it now—the Book of Mormon. Mother said it was a Mormon Bible.
After the Date—Janet is the first girl I’ve dated with any regularity in at least six months. Tonight, after our date, we were talking and the subject of religion came up. I told her about my indefinite plans for the ministry and added, “There’s something wrong with every church.”
With confidence she replied, “Not mine.”
“Oh, sure, you tell me about it,” I answered. She isn’t the first girl that has wanted me to be interested in a particular church. But she definitely has a sparkle of purity, a twinkle in her eye.
I told her that I had been studying the Book of Mormon, and she suggested that I talk to the elders. I told her I’d like to sometime.
Following Monday—The strangest thing happened this evening. I work every night at the recreation center, but today when I called in, Mr. Braddock told me they didn’t need me tonight. I didn’t feel like studying, so I telephoned Janet about a date and she told me to come over to her house. The elders were coming. The meeting was arranged before I telephoned her, but on any other Monday night I would definitely have had to work.
The Meeting—While waiting for the elders at Janet’s home, I expected two old men in gray beards and maybe black hats to knock at the door. I was surprised when the elders turned out to be two young men close to my own age. Learning from them was a spiritual experience for me.
My Interview—I was interviewed tonight for baptism. I brought a signed statement from my dad to the elders giving his approval for my baptism. He used to know some Latter-day Saints. He said you have to be a missionary if you join their church. I told the district leader that the discussions were like the lifting of a veil, like I had heard the story before. The gospel contains many teachings that I have come to believe over the years, such as a literal, tangible, Heavenly Father concerned about us. I took the missionary discussions so fast that I have to wait till my assigned baptismal date.
April 27—I was baptized tonight. My family attended the service, as did many of the branch members. This is the cleanest feeling I have known in my entire life. The warm, friendly attitude of the members here is still one of the amazing things about this church.
Few Will Listen—I thought of dozens of my friends who would surely join the Church now. They just needed to learn about it as I had. It’s not like that. I know that most of my friends respect me very much for my high standards, but with others I wonder, as did the Apostle Paul, “Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?” (Gal. 4:16).
Sacrament Meeting—My family attended the branch’s sacrament meeting today. After the meeting, I went with the elders to my parents’ home for a missionary lesson. After the first discussion Elder Johnson tried to make an appointment to come again and teach my family.
“How about right now?” Mom asked.
So the second lesson was given. Dad had to leave then to do the farm chores. Mom quickly prepared a meal, and about an hour later Dad came back in and ate, and the third lesson was given. Three in one night!
July 27—Tonight I baptized my family. It is three months to the day since I joined the Church. Our family is finally united. As I brought Mom up out of the water, she embraced me and shed tears of joy. We have received life’s greatest blessings.
A Mission Call—I’m so excited! I came home from classes today to find a letter from the First Presidency. Quickly opening it I discovered that I would be going to California. I wept joyously. Feeling so insignificant in the Lord’s sight, I asked, “Why me?” The blessings of God seem so unbelievable. Now, in a week, I will leave on a mission to serve the Lord. I will be a minister.
Temple Sealing—Today I was sealed for time and all eternity to my Mom and Dad.
Temple Marriage—Janet and I were married this morning in the Salt Lake Temple. I thank God that a young woman lived the gospel so completely that I found a noticeable, attracting difference between her and other young people, thus leading me to the gospel. I encouraged my other young brothers and sisters to do the same. The gospel works.

He learned to work hard and long on his father’s farm, and he was not one to give up easily. When he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1943, he was shocked, overwhelmed, and humbled. In his first talk as an Apostle at the October 1943 general conference, he testified:
“I remember reading that Jacob wrestled all night, ‘until the breaking of the day,’ for a blessing; and I want to tell you that for eighty-five nights I have gone through that experience, wrestling for a blessing. Eighty-five times, the breaking of the day has found me on my knees praying to the Lord to help me and strengthen me and make me equal to this great responsibility that has come to me.”

One night I was sending instant messages on the Internet to Amber, a friend of mine. I can’t recall how we got started, but we were discussing God and my religious beliefs.
“I’m telling you, Ben, I’ve tried to pray before, and it doesn’t work. I just feel like I’m talking to the wall,” Amber wrote.
Relying on everything I had been taught since Primary, I responded, reassuring her that God does hear and answer His children who humbly approach Him. As I was reassuring her, I started to feel less sure myself. I began to feel guilty since I had never actually gotten down on my knees and prayed about all these things. The conversation progressed, and I became increasingly distressed at my lack of a personal testimony. My spiritual progression had been on the back burner for too long.
As a lifelong member of the Church, I sometimes took the gospel for granted. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that being in the Church was good, and I made sure I went to church every Sunday. However, I always depended on the testimonies of others to confirm that the Church was true. I always tried to be faithful, but I did not actively seek to apply Moroni’s promise to myself. Life was too complicated, and I thought there would be plenty of time for me to gain a personal testimony of the Church at some later point.
As I talked with Amber, I realized even more clearly what I was doing. I was neglecting the more spiritual things in my life in favor of trying to keep up with my hectic schedule. When was the last time I had read the scriptures? When was the last time I had a meaningful personal prayer? When was the last time I seriously thought about going on a mission?
Preoccupation with trying to calm my life’s storm by myself had taken away from my focus on building a testimony and having faith in the Lord. Ironically, a solid testimony would have served to make everything else in my life fall into place.
“Amber, don’t give up on praying. He will answer you,” I wrote, while thinking that I should follow my counsel.
Before I went to bed that night, I got on my knees and prayed. I asked to know if the gospel is true and if Heavenly Father was hearing my prayer. I wanted to know Him and feel His presence in my life. I realized then that I simply couldn’t wait any longer to gain a testimony of Him, especially during my turbulent teenage years. I prayed for a long time and knelt in silence for even longer, listening and feeling for the Spirit.
Nothing happened right away, but after I had sufficiently loosened my heart and made a concentrated effort to listen amidst the quiet darkness, I felt a sensation of peace throughout my upper body. As I held on to this defining moment of joy, I knew His Spirit had touched me. Finally, I had a personal testimony of Him that I could share with others. Even though I knew my life would still be hard and full of uncertainties, knowing that He was there for me made all the difference.

Chris awoke to the sounds of excited voices. It was the first day of school, and everyone was bustling about, trying to get back into the familiar routine. He could hear his sister, Cathy, chattering to herself as she tried on one outfit after another. She was starting sixth grade and wanted to look just right.
Even though his eyes were closed, Chris knew from the banging of the dresser drawers that his older brother, Mike, was also getting dressed.
Both Cathy and Mike were excited about the new school year. Chris wasn’t, though, which was why he pretended to still be asleep. “Better hurry, kid,” Mike said as he gave Chris a nudge. “You’ll miss your bus if you don’t get going.”
“Maybe I want to miss my bus,” Chris sighed. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to first grade again.”
Mike gave his brother an understanding look, then bent over to mess up his hair a bit. “Don’t worry,” he said assuredly, “it will only hurt today.”
“What do you mean, ‘It will only hurt today’?” Chris asked as he forced himself out from under the covers.
“I mean that you’ll probably be embarrassed a little today, but by tomorrow, you’ll realize that it isn’t that big a deal to anyone but yourself.”
After Mike left the room, Chris pulled on his clothes. He remembered how the other students had teased him last year when he couldn’t read as well as they could. He especially remembered the teasing that he’d had to endure when they learned that he would have to repeat first grade. Alan Thomas had teased him the most. He wasn’t a good reader, either, and he’d often made fun of Chris during reading time so that the other children wouldn’t notice his own mistakes.
“Ready to go?” Cathy asked as she poked her head into the boys’ room. “Dad says to hurry down for family prayer.”
The family was already kneeling in a circle when Chris entered the living room. As he found a spot, he felt the love and comfort that prayer always gave him. It was Mike’s turn to pray. After pausing a moment to look at his little brother, he closed his eyes and began. It was a wonderful prayer. Chris liked to hear his older brother pray because he always seemed to say just the right things.
Mike mentioned Chris and asked Heavenly Father to comfort him. He also asked Heavenly Father to prompt the other children to be kind to him and to not tease him. After the prayer, the whole family, in turn, gave Chris a little hug.
It was hard walking into the first grade class again. Chris was glad that his mother had decided to take him that morning. As he opened the door to the classroom, he saw the familiar painted walls. Mrs. Sanders looked the same, too, and she seemed very happy to see him. “I’m glad that you came a bit early, Chris,” she began. “I need someone who can help me set up for the new students. I imagine that they’ll be a little confused.”
Suddenly the door opened again. “Wonderful!” Mrs. Sanders exclaimed. “Now I have two students to be my helpers this morning.”
Chris turned around to see whom Mrs. Sanders was speaking to. There, standing in the doorway and looking very uncomfortable, was Alan Thomas! Chris quickly turned in astonishment to his mom and caught her quick smile and wink.
The day went by quickly. Chris made friends with two of his new classmates, and he even asked Alan to join them in a game of foursquare during recess.
Chris found that he knew his alphabet better than anyone else and that he was one of the best readers in the class. He decided that he was going to like going to first grade again. Mike had been right—it really did hurt for only a little while.

One experience that helped me learn this lesson took place when Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited our mission, together with the three other missions in Santiago. There were over 1,000 missionaries gathered in our chapel where my husband had been asked to conduct the meeting. Elder Holland entered the chapel, took the seat next to my husband, leaned over to us, and said, “Okay, here’s what we are going to do. Sister Wright, you will speak first and represent all of the mission presidents’ wives here. Then President Wright will follow.”
I honestly didn’t hear the rest of the agenda. It had never occurred to me that Elder Holland would ask me to speak, so I had made no preparations. I prefer time to prepare to speak, time to gather my thoughts a little at least, but I would be speaking immediately after the opening hymn and prayer.
As my thoughts began to swirl, I felt the sudden desire to share my message in Spanish. However, though we were a year into the mission, and I had worked very hard to learn Spanish, I was still struggling with the language, and I was definitely not fluent in it. The translator was available to me if I spoke in English, but this was a Spanish-speaking mission, and I really wanted to speak in Spanish. Speaking would be a hard thing for me to do in English; speaking in Spanish felt like a giant leap. So amid the sound of 1,000 missionaries singing “Called to Serve” (Hymns, 249), I took a deep breath, confessed my inadequacies to my Father in Heaven, and pled for help to be rescued by the Spirit.
I told Heavenly Father that I had no idea what to say or how to say it in Spanish, but I promised Him that I would open my mouth and do my best, having faith that He would fill it (see Moses 6:32). In that moment, I felt a peaceful assurance come over me. After the prayer I rose to the pulpit and began to speak. Words I had pondered before came back in that needed moment, even in the foreign language I was struggling to communicate in. I sat down after my short three-minute talk, still feeling at peace but unsure about how effectively I had communicated.
After the meeting, the brother who had translated for Elder Holland approached me and said, “Sister Wright, I had no idea you spoke Spanish so well!” I replied, “I don’t.” He assured me that I hadn’t made any mistakes.
I am sure that none of those missionaries remembers anything about my short message that day. But for me it was a life-changing experience. I learned to put my trust in Heavenly Father and the Savior, that They could and would strengthen me despite my weaknesses when I was willing to take a leap of faith. If I had chosen the safe route and used the translator, I might never have learned how They rescue us when we open ourselves to letting God prevail.2

Once again the Lord guided me to be in the right place at the right time. When the Americans had cleared the mountain and were gone, we left the house and marched on again toward home. A few days later, we were stopped once more by the Americans. At first I didn’t speak. I wanted to act like I didn’t know English. I heard them say, “Well, we’ll just let them sit here, and we’ll put them on the next truck that comes to transport them to a camp.” Trucks had been going by every two to three minutes.
We sat there waiting for a truck to come by any second. We waited and waited, for an hour or longer, but no truck came. I finally went up to one of the military policemen.
I told him who we were, and he said, “Oh, all of a sudden you speak English.”
“Yes, I speak English. I learned it in school. I was just scared.”
“How old are you?” he asked me. I told him I was 17-and-a-half years old.
“Where have you been?”
I explained the whole thing—what we had done, why we had civilian clothes on, where we wanted to go—home. He called up on the phone and checked the outfits where we had been to see if the information I had given him was correct. Then he looked at me for a long time and said, “I have a boy about your age, and if he would say to someone, ‘I’d like to go home to Mother,’ I hope they’d give him the chance. If you take this road, there is an American headquarters; but if you take that road, they can’t see you. Good luck.”

When she saw me, my best friend knew immediately that something was wrong. “We broke up,” I told her quietly. I was coming home after a long conversation with the young man I had been dating. Although we were sad to part, we both agreed that it was right for us.
But as the weeks went by, I started to feel unsure about my decision. What if I never found anyone else to date and never married? What if I had made too big a deal out of our incompatibility?
I felt so lonely and unsure that I even considered seeing whether he was willing to give our relationship another try. I was, as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “dissatisfied with present circumstances and [had] only dismal views of the future.”1
One evening a few weeks after our breakup, I was reading about the Savior’s Resurrection. The Gospel of Luke recounts that on the third day after the Savior had been laid to rest, faithful followers went to anoint His body with spices. But they found that the stone covering the tomb had been rolled away and the body was gone. Two angels then appeared to them and said, “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen” (Luke 24:5–6).
The angels’ question struck me suddenly with powerful force. I had never thought about how the visitors to Jesus’s grave might have felt, realizing they were looking in the wrong place for their Savior. I had never thought about what a challenge it must have been for them to believe that Jesus had left behind the decay of the tomb and had risen in glory.
The scripture spoke a gentle rebuke. I realized that, like the Savior’s friends, I was looking in the wrong place for comfort. Wallowing in the past and “yearn[ing] vainly for yesterdays”2 was not consoling me or motivating me to fruitful action. I realized I needed to stop looking in the tomb of past experiences. I needed to replace my fear with faith and trust that the Savior could create life from the experiences of my past.

Paul was looking for a book when someone pushed him into the shelf. The shelf wobbled, and several of the books almost fell. He turned around. Danny stood a few feet away, pretending to look for a book. He had his softball glove under his arm.
“Why did you do that?” Paul asked angrily.
Danny shrugged and started to walk away.
Paul caught him by the arm. “Why did you push me?”
“Don’t touch me,” Danny said, grabbing Paul’s arm.
Paul tried to pull his arm away, but Danny wouldn’t let go. They pushed and pulled until they both crashed into the shelf and fell, while books rained down on top of them.
“Paul, Danny, stop that right now,” the teacher said. “Stop fighting and pick up those books!”
“He started it,” Paul said as he stood up.
“Did not,” Danny said, still on the floor. He kicked at Paul’s leg from behind a desk where the teacher could not see.
“I don’t care how it started,” the teacher replied. “I want it stopped. Clean up that mess and go back to your desks. If I see you boys fighting again, I’ll send you both to the principal’s office.”
They picked up the books without looking at each other.
Paul sat at his desk with the book he’d picked out open in front of him, but he was too angry to read it. He looked over at Danny, who sat at his desk, picking at the stitching in his glove. Why was Danny out to get him all the time? Couldn’t the teacher see what was happening? Why did he have to get in trouble for something Danny did?
Paul felt miserable. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please bless me that Danny will get in trouble for bothering me, so he’ll leave me alone.”
He opened his eyes. He still felt miserable. Then he remembered the words to one of the songs he’d sung in Primary—“‘Jesus said love ev’ryone.’”*
Paul frowned. He didn’t want to hate Danny. But he didn’t want to love him either.
Recess came and his classmates started a softball game in the field. Paul stayed on a bench at the other end of the schoolyard. He had his softball glove in his backpack, but he didn’t want to play. Not if Danny was playing.
He looked down the field and noticed Danny wasn’t playing either. He sat at the edge of the field with his softball glove beside him.
Paul remembered the Primary song again—“‘Jesus said love ev’ryone.’”
His stomach twisted itself into a knot. He couldn’t go and talk to Danny. They’d get in another fight, and he’d be sent to the office. But as he thought of the words, “‘Jesus said love ev’ryone; treat them kindly too,’” he knew what he had to do.
Paul got up. He pulled his softball glove out of his backpack. He picked up one of the extra softballs and went over to Danny.
“Hi,” he said.
“What do you want?” Danny asked.
Paul held up the ball. “Do you want to play catch?”
Danny looked up at him for a moment. Then he picked up his glove. “OK.”
They started to toss the ball back and forth. Paul couldn’t throw very well, and said “sorry” every time he threw too short or too far to one side.
Danny didn’t complain. He just retrieved the ball and threw it back to him. He threw the ball better than Paul and didn’t miss as often, but after a while he started saying “sorry” as well whenever he threw it too far.
Paul didn’t feel miserable anymore. He started to relax and enjoy himself. He smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer, just not the way he had thought he wanted.
When the bell rang and they had to stop, Paul noticed that Danny was smiling too. Paul hummed the Primary song to himself on his way back to class— “‘Jesus said love ev’ryone; treat them kindly too. When your heart is filled with love, others will love you.’”

A couple I know about married later in life; the wife had been married before, but it was the husband’s first marriage. After several months of marital bliss, a serious disagreement erupted that so hurt the husband emotionally that he could not function at his daily tasks.
As he reeled from the impact of this confrontation, he stopped to analyze the problem and realized that at least a part of the problem had been his. He went to his bride and stammered awkwardly several times, “I’m sorry, Honey.” The wife burst into tears, confessing that much of the problem was hers and asked forgiveness. As they held each other, she confessed that in her experience those words of apology had not been used before, and she now knew that any of their future problems could be solved. She felt secure because she knew they both could say, “I’m sorry;” “I forgive.”

I was baptized when I was eight and attended Primary, but when I became a teenager I fell away from Church activity. At first, I went to a few Mutual activities, but by the time I graduated from high school, I was completely inactive.
During high school, I liked to go to a nearby field after school, lie in the tall grass while watching the clouds go by, and wish to be happy. I was sad because my parents were separated. I didn’t feel peace or happiness a lot of the time, and I didn’t know why. I was a cheerleader, I participated in school government, and I had plenty of friends, but something was missing in my life.
Two years after high school I went on a backpacking trip with friends. Everyone went to sleep early, but I stayed up by the campfire. As I was looking up into the heavens, the thought came to my mind to say a prayer. I looked up and asked, “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And if you are, will you help me to be happy?” It felt as if a huge blanket was wrapped around my shoulders. I felt warm, as though everything would be OK.
A few weeks later, my mom and I went for a vacation to Idaho with her sister. A couple of my cousins invited me to a youth dance at the church, and I had a great time. I danced with a young man who had received a mission call to Korea. He asked if he could write to me, and I agreed.
In his first letter, this young man shared missionary experiences with me and bore his testimony of the gospel. I don’t know whether I was swept off my feet by him or the Spirit. But after all those years of inactivity, I decided to go back to church and check things out.
I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

About two months before prom is an awkward time in the life of high school girls. We want someone to ask us to the dance! For that to happen, you sometimes have to send some subtle hints in the direction of a few likely candidates.
I was starting to feel some possibility vibes from an old friend. He was not a member of the Church, but we had been square dance partners in fourth grade—a weak but definite connection. The old strategy of “his friends telling my friends to tell me” was in full force. And there was a tension, a new electricity, when we actually did talk to each other.
One night after a basketball game, we saw each other at a party. We met as I was on my way out and he was on his way in. My friends and I had realized immediately that this was not a party we should be attending. Most of the kids were drinking, and we had decided long ago not to drink or be where others were drinking.
For a moment, he stopped to talk to me. My friends waited patiently a few steps away. But I could feel the “remember who you are” message being sent from their anxious faces. He asked me to stay. Momentarily, I thought of the coming prom and my need for a date. I knew this was his first move and my next words would determine mine. But then I said, “Oh, you know I can’t stay here.”
“I know,” he said. “I just thought I would ask anyway. That’s okay.”
I left with my friends. And he did not ask me to the prom. I went with a good friend from another ward.
A few years later, my new husband and I were attending Brigham Young University. During the holiday break, I was working at a bookstore in my hometown that sells Latter-day Saint books. One day before Christmas, my old friend—the square dance partner, not the prom date—walked in. Excited at seeing old friends, we chatted for a few moments. Then I suddenly realized that he probably thought this was a typical bookstore. People often made that mistake. After all, why would he be looking for books related to the Church? So as politely as possible I said, “You know, we only sell things related to my church.”
“Oh, I think you can help me,” he said, “because I am looking for a set of scriptures to take on my mission.”
He told me that after high school, he had attended a small college to play ball. Several Latter-day Saint players had invited him to some institute classes. The rest was history.
For a moment, my thoughts went back to that night standing outside the party. I was once again glad for making the right choice. And I was grateful for some college ball players who had made a difference in the life of my friend.

As a young boy, George Albert Smith was very ill with typhoid fever, a disease that killed many people at that time. The doctor advised his mother to give him coffee to drink, but George refused it. Instead, he asked for a priesthood blessing from their ward (home) teacher. The next morning, when the doctor arrived, he found George Albert in the yard, playing. “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery,” he said. “I was sure that He had healed me.”