Gospel Story Finder

My uncle Vaughn Roberts Kimball was a good student, an aspiring author, and a BYU football quarterback. On December 8, 1941, the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. While on a recruiting assignment in Albany, New York, he submitted a short article to the Reader’s Digest. The magazine paid him $200 and published his piece, titled “The Right Time at Home,” in the May 1944 issue.

His contribution to the Reader’s Digest, where he casts himself as the sailor, reads in part:
“The Right Time at Home:
“One evening in Albany, New York, I asked a sailor what time it was. He pulled out a huge watch and replied, ‘It’s 7:20.’ I knew it was later. ‘Your watch has stopped, hasn’t it?’ I asked.
“‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m still on Mountain Standard Time. I’m from southern Utah. When I joined the Navy, Pa gave me this watch. He said it’d help me remember home.
“‘When my watch says 5 a.m. I know Dad is rollin’ out to milk the cows. And any night when it says 7:30 I know the whole family’s around a well-spread table, and Dad’s thankin’ God for what’s on it and askin’ Him to watch over me … ,’ he concluded. ‘I can find out what time it is where I am easy enough. What I want to know is what time it is in Utah.’”8

Soon after submitting the article, Vaughn was assigned to sea duty in the Pacific theater. On May 11, 1945, while he was serving on the carrier USS Bunker Hill near Okinawa, the ship was bombed by two suicide planes.9 Almost 400 crewmen died, including my uncle Vaughn.

Elder Spencer W. Kimball extended his heartfelt sympathy to Vaughn’s father, noting Vaughn’s worthiness and the Lord’s assurance that “those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.”10 Vaughn’s father tenderly said that even though Vaughn was buried at sea, the hand of God would take Vaughn to his heavenly home.11

Twenty-eight years later, President Spencer W. Kimball spoke of Vaughn in general conference. He said, in part: “I knew this family well. … I have knelt in mighty prayer with [them]. … Home training has carried through to the eternal blessing of this large family.” President Kimball challenged every family “to be on their knees … praying for their sons and daughters twice daily.”12

Not long after his baptism, Junior was visiting another ward’s fast and testimony meeting with his father. He felt impressed to bear his testimony for the first time in public. “I wanted to see if I could bear my testimony in front of everyone. I couldn’t. Then Dad stood up and helped me, and I could.” Junior’s testimony is simple and strong. “I know that God lives. I know that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.”

But on its basketball court, ordinary activities like the stake youth sports festival can become extraordinary. For example, watch the Mandaluyong Third Ward basketball team. Suddenly your eyes focus on a young man wobbling and limping his way down the hard court.
A knee injury, perhaps?
A sprained wrist?
Not so, you find out. The young man is partially paralyzed.
For Alvin Martinez, rising against the odds is just like turning swampland into skyscrapers. Alvin was born healthy, and like other newborn Filipino babies he was given polio shots. But somehow, the vaccine attacked his nerves. His right leg and arm started turning immobile. The polio vaccine rendered his entire right side paralyzed.
Alvin was often the subject of jokes in school when classmates would see him limping his way to class.
“Hey, it’s Alvin,” somebody would shout.
“The way is straight,” another would jeer, “so how come you walk crooked?”
“Alvin, Alvin pilay!” Pilay means “cripple.” It was a jeer his straight-walking classmates loved to bestow on him.
But teasing wasn’t Alvin’s only trial. His father suddenly died of a stroke. Struggling with his family’s loss and his classmates’ snide comments, Alvin drifted from school and church activity and found another barkada, or group of buddies.
In Manila, a barkada can consist either of friends who build you up or of those who let you down. Alvin’s barkada was of the negative variety. Still, Alvin tried to maintain his LDS standards. “My friends would invite me to smoke,” he remembers, “but I told them I was a Mormon.”
Finally, Alvin resolved to rise up despite his limitations and, like David of old, conquer his personal Goliaths. He made a firm resolve to continue his schooling. His widowed mother, who now works as a seamstress, was delighted. She had patiently reminded him that his future would be brighter if he had a good education.
At school, Alvin found a new barkada, classmates who treated him with respect. “All my classmates are so kind and friendly,” he beams.
A little bit shy at first, but actually fun-loving and witty, Alvin also began to find church to be a home away from home. “I enjoyed being in church,” Alvin says, “and I liked being with my fellow young men.” Because of the influence of good Church friends and priesthood quorum members, Alvin’s testimony was strengthened and he found himself, with the help of his youth leaders, back in church. In visiting Alvin, they would often tell him not to be ashamed of his disability. “We wanted him to know that he was valued,” one youth leader recalls, “and he did feel appreciated eventually.” Alvin is grateful for the missionaries who taught his family, and he’s even more grateful for the youth leaders who helped him come back to church after going through some real struggles.

It was a chilly Wednesday afternoon when I opened a white envelope with a blue Mount McKinley stamp. As a missionary in southern Brazil, I always looked forward to Wednesdays because it was preparation day, and that meant reading my mother’s encouraging letters.
This particular day my mother’s letter did not appear different from any other letter she had sent me before. The envelope was covered with the usual colorful Primary stickers, and I opened it quickly. My mother wrote that Brett had just received his mission call to Tokyo, Japan. As I read, I could not control my smile, and I tried to hide my moist eyes from my companion. My mind went back to the day I met Brett.
One Sunday at church a family friend introduced me to his son, who had recently moved back home. “Hey, Tyler, this is my son, Brett.”
Brett was chatting with his family in the bench behind mine. I politely smiled and leaned back over the bench to meet him. I figured this was what his dad hoped I would do. He had informed me previously that Brett was less active in the Church. Brett appeared nice enough, with his brown, gel-slicked hair and red pullover sweater. I remember thinking, “This guy seems cool. We’ll have to hang out sometime.” As the day wore on, I forgot all about Brett and my good intentions to become his friend.
Hours later, after a delicious Sunday dinner, a thought came to my mind, “You should call Brett now.”
As an enthusiastic priest and soon-to-be missionary, I longed to feel the Lord’s influence more powerfully in my life. My heart thrilled at the thought that the Lord might use me to help Brett come closer to Him.
But as I sat considering the impression, doubts began to creep in. “I barely know this kid,” I thought. “What will I say?”
Recognizing the source of these doubts, I made a conscious decision to follow the prompting to call Brett. I said a short prayer: “Please help me know what to say to Brett. I really want to help.” After the prayer, I felt an odd mixture of apprehension tempered with faith. Not wanting to allow any time for my fears to return, I quickly grabbed the telephone and dialed his number.
As the phone rang, I tried to decide what I would say to Brett.
“Hello?” I heard. It was Brett’s voice.
“Hello, Brett. This is Tyler, the guy who sat in front of you at church. What’s up?” I tried to sound cool.
“Oh, not much. How are you?”
“Umm, good.” There was an awkward pause. “Hey, I was wondering if you would like to go to ummm … institute maybe this Thursday night. It’s a long drive, and I would like someone to go with me.”
“Sure, Tyler, that sounds cool,” was his response.
“Awesome. I’ll pick you up at 6:30.” After a little more small talk, I hung up the phone. I eased into my chair and smiled.
We went to institute and church together that week and a couple weeks thereafter. Brett and I became good friends, and I realized later that the call I had been inspired to make came at just the right time in Brett’s life. He longed to feel closer to the Lord. Just like me, he was in desperate need of a friend who could give him support and encouragement.
Sitting in my apartment in southern Brazil, thousands of miles away from home and more than a year since I had met Brett, I became fully aware that the Lord had inspired me to be one of the friends Brett needed. Gratitude overwhelmed me as I realized that, despite my weaknesses and insecurities, the Lord can magnify my efforts and make up for my shortcomings. If I desire to serve Him, His hands will mold me into the servant He wants me to become.

One Sunday, right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the remainder of the meeting. It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling of the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable, “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself.”

I have seen many Christmas trees. Usually they have been topped with a lighted star or a lovely angel. But the most beautiful tree I have ever seen had a big red bow on top.
I wasn’t sure how to celebrate Christmas that year. My mother had been a widow for several years, and since I was single, we had continued many of our family traditions and had celebrated most of the holidays together. When my mother died just before Christmas, however, the old traditions suddenly seemed too painful without her.
The bishopric came to visit. They expressed concern about my being alone for Christmas. Looking around, the bishop asked why there was no Christmas tree or other decorations. I explained that I didn’t want to decorate a tree alone and so had decided not to have one. Christmas was so much of a family celebration that ignoring it seemed like the best way to make it through the holidays.
After they left, I went about my work. The bishop did not let the matter alone, though: He phoned the ward Primary president. I had just been called to be the Merrie Miss B teacher but would not start serving until the first of the year.
One afternoon, Michelle, one of the girls who would be in my class, called and asked if she could drop by the next evening about 7:30. I was surprised but looked forward to her company.
The doorbell rang at exactly 7:30, but it was not just Michelle who stood on my porch. It was all of the girls in my new Primary class—with a Christmas tree, lights, and decorations!
They pushed the large tree through the door and started setting it up in my living room. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I was soon moving furniture to find just the right spot for the tree. I asked what I should do to help and was told to sit on the couch and just watch and enjoy. My next two hours were filled with the holiday laughter and love that only eleven-year-olds can create and share.
The girls told me their names and what part each had played in the project. Cindy showed me the hot-glue burns she had suffered while attaching ribbons to the backs of gingerbread cookies. Amanda couldn’t come that evening, so she had gone with her mother to buy the tree earlier in the day. Bethany was the tallest, so she was in charge of the lights. Lindsay joined in the decorating with a large box of candy canes. Rachel put a stocking filled with candy and a gift under the tree. Michelle told me that they had tried to find or make a star for the top of the tree but couldn’t, so they had brought a large red bow.
That bow topped one of the largest and most beautiful Christmas gifts I have ever received. Even before that tree was finished and lighted, my heart was full of the spirit of Christmas and of love for each girl in my future Primary class. That feeling was renewed each time I turned on the tree lights.
I have some new Christmas traditions now. I plan to have a tree every year, and it will always have candy canes, gingerbread men—and a big red bow on the top.

Your teacher assigns you to write a paper, due in two weeks, on a book your class just read. What do you do?
Option 2
Day 1—Get the assignment, go home, and think, “I’ve got plenty of time.”
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
Day 8
Day 9
Day 10
Day 11
Day 12
Day 13—Late in the evening, remember your assignment. Quickly try to form a mental summary of the book (which you don’t really remember very well). Skim through a few pages of the book to see if something jumps out at you. Look up facts and quotes. Write a few half-remembered ideas from class discussions. Stare at your document, with no clue how to connect all the material. Write more. Constantly check to see if the document meets the required length. Momentarily consider changing the font size and line spacing. Repeatedly cast your bleary eyes toward the clock and put your face in your hands, feeling stressed. Type a hasty conclusion. Print out the paper. (150 minutes)
Go to bed late.
Day 14—Go to class and briefly consider asking for more time. Then nervously hand in your paper.
Later—Get your paper back and see that you got the grade you deserved. Even worse, you didn’t learn anything—except the consequences of procrastination.

Let me tell you briefly about a wonderful brother down in New Zealand by the name of Hoko Whitu. Hoko Whitu no longer lives; but many years ago he lived out on the seacoast well off the beaten track in New Zealand—so far off the beaten track that the missionaries were only able to visit perhaps two or three times a year. He lived in a little fishing hut. He loved to fish, and that was his livelihood and his means of earning a living. He lived alone in this little fishing hut because he was old and his children had all gone or moved to the big city. When the missionaries came on one occasion, Brother Hoko Whitu was very pleased to see them. He could not speak English but greeted them in Maori, took them in his little hut, went right over to a particular place, took out an envelope, and presented them with it. The missionaries found it bulging with money.

The elders took a letter out of the envelope; it was written in English. Brother Whitu could not read the letter, but he could recognize the Church letterhead. He recognized the signature down at the bottom as that of Matthew Cowley, his mission president. He could also read numbers, and he knew that in the middle it talked about a certain amount of money. Upon receiving the letter, he had said to himself, “My mission president needs some more money to run this mission.” And he had saved that money in the envelope for the elders to take back. The elders read the letter to him, translating it into Maori:

Dear Brother Whitu:
This letter will serve as a receipt and an acknowledgment for all the tithing you paid last year. May the Lord bless you in it.

This brother was ready to pay the whole amount all over again, because he thought the Church was in trouble. That is the kind of Polynesian faith that you and I need.

In preparing what I could share with you today, I recall a piece of advice I received at devotional when I was your age and attending BYU-Provo. I don’t remember exactly which General Authority gave this advice. I think it was Marion D. Hanks, but I haven’t been able to verify that. I don’t know why the 14 words given were so deeply embedded in my memory. I would guess that there were angels watching over me who knew that the memory of those words would influence generations of Clarks to come, so they sat on my shoulder and said: “Remember this; you’re going to really need this advice.”
This is the advice: “Be where you are supposed to be when you are supposed to be there.”
Now, imagine that you’re me, back when I was your age. And maybe it’s not so hard to imagine because your own circumstances are probably a little bit similar. At the time I so powerfully internalized that advice, I worked for custodial services every day from 4 a.m. until 7 a.m. and had scheduled my first class for 7 a.m. It seemed logical at the time—since I was on campus early, schedule all my classes early. However, as you can guess, it wasn’t that easy; and the temptation every day after work was to find an empty recliner or cot in one of the women’s restrooms on campus and skip that first class. If I did that and fell asleep, I could easily miss the whole morning of classes. So I had to resist the temptation and walk sleepily to class repeating to myself, “Be where you are supposed to be when you are supposed to be there.”
But there was another more important way the advice influenced me. Following the advice helped me develop a pattern of always attending my church meetings. I had followed that pattern at home with my family, but now I was on my own, and I was tempted to sleep in on Sundays. Again I resisted the temptation and with those words echoing in my memory, I attended Sacrament Meeting, Sunday School and Relief Society every Sunday.
I also attended my family home evening group meetings and activities regularly. And I can tell you that habit had direct positive impact on the lives of my children. That’s literally true, because it was in Family Home Evening group that I found my true love. Where would our children be today if I had skipped out on Family Home Evening?

That is precisely the pattern chosen by President Spencer W. Kimball. In 1972, Elder Kimball, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, knew that his mortal life was slipping away because of heart disease. He obtained competent medical counsel and prayerfully consulted with the Lord and with his file leaders in the Church. Elder and Sister Kimball and the First Presidency carefully weighed available alternatives. Then President Harold B. Lee, speaking for the First Presidency, counseled Elder Kimball. With great conviction, President Lee said: “Spencer, you have been called! You are not to die! You must do everything you need to do to care for yourself and continue to live” (“Spencer W. Kimball: Man of Faith,” Ensign, Dec. 1985, p. 40).
President Kimball chose to have an operation performed upon his heart that was known to carry a high risk. He was blessed with a successful result. He lived thirteen more years, eventually to succeed President Lee as President of the Church.

When I became too sick to continue my mission, I knew that God wanted me to go home, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was also distressed by the sudden loss of my health, which later proved to be the beginning of a chronic, disabling condition.
While adapting to my illness, I felt I had lost my purpose. I needed so much help and felt I had nothing to offer. But I knew I needed to continue exercising my faith, so I kept studying, praying, and trying to follow the Spirit. While studying the New Testament one day, I came upon a painting by James Tissot entitled Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest. This depiction of Mark 6:30–31 immediately soothed me. As I saw Christ watching over His resting servants, I felt how much He loved them. And me.
Eventually, I learned that the expectations I had for myself were not the same expectations that God had for me. In some ways, His were more personally challenging, but they were much more attuned to my needs. I’m so grateful for the way He teaches me to more fully accept His help and His perfect love. His faith in me gives me the hope I need to keep going.
Sabrina Maxwell, Utah, USA

John Sonnenberg, a great Regional Representative, related this experience as a young dentist. They had seven children, all young, and only one car. When his wife went to town she had to take the bus. One day she and the seven children were waiting for the bus. When the bus stopped, the children and Sister Sonnenberg boarded. She put her token in and then stood and put one token in the box for each of her seven children. The bus driver was amazed, and he said, “Lady, are these all your children, or is this a picnic?”
She responded, “They are all my children, and it’s no picnic!”

After my mission, I came back to Ricks College as a sophomore and met a basketball player on the women’s team named Jean Lawrence. Our coaches introduced us to each other on the Hart Gymnasium Court. Playing together, serving together, and learning together on this campus shaped our marriage and our family. Did I have any idea how special my companion would be to me and our family and molding and teaching our children? There have been many marriages and relationships brought together from the blessing of Ricks College, BYU-Idaho, and the Rexburg community.

I am so glad I was ready for the invitations that came to me for the different opportunities I have had on this campus. Are you ready for any invitations that might come to you that will bless your life?

My three-year-old granddaughter illustrated the power of innocence and humility to connect us with God. She went with her family to the open house of the Brigham City Temple in Utah. In one of the rooms of that beautiful building, she looked around and asked, “Mommy, where is Jesus?” Her mother explained that she would not see Jesus in the temple, but she would be able to feel His influence in her heart. Eliza carefully considered her mother’s response and then seemed satisfied and said, “Oh, Jesus is gone helping someone,” she concluded.

No pavilion obscured Eliza’s understanding or obstructed her view of reality. God is close to her, and she feels close to Him. She knew that the temple is the house of the Lord but also understood that the resurrected and glorified Jesus Christ has a body and can only be in one place at a time. If He was not at His house, she recognized that He must be in another place. And from what she knows of the Savior, she knew that He would be somewhere doing good for His Father’s children. It was clear that she had hoped to see Jesus, not for a confirming miracle of His existence but simply because she loved Him.

But changing colors is not the only unusual feat performed by octopuses. Since they have no bones, they can also dramatically change their shape and squeeze through extremely small openings. The story is told of a naturalist who caught an octopus about a foot long. He put it in a wicker basket and went for a ride on the streetcar with it. About ten minutes later there came a bloodcurdling scream from the other end of the car. Sure enough, the octopus had squeezed through a half-inch crack in the basket and was now sitting on the lap of a hysterical passenger.

Illustration by Toni Oka
It was October 1838, and Lucy Mack Smith grasped the hands of her sons Hyrum and Joseph before her sons were taken away. Government leaders had ordered the Saints to leave the area. Several Church leaders had been arrested by soldiers, and an illegal court martial ordered them to be shot. Lucy wondered if she would ever see her sons alive again.
What could possibly help a mother endure a trial like this? Years later, Lucy would look back on this time and recall that she was strengthened by a message of comfort received “by the gift of prophecy”: “Let your heart be comforted concerning your children; they shall not [be] harmed by their enemies.”1
This experience gave Lucy and her family feelings of “consolation, that surpassed all earthly comfort.”
The Smiths and many other Latter-day Saint families were driven out of Missouri. After finding refuge in the neighboring state of Illinois, Lucy and Joseph Smith Sr. tried to find information about their sons but found no answers. The Spirit again spoke peace to Lucy’s soul, telling her that Hyrum and Joseph would arrive the following evening.
Bishop Edward Partridge, who was with Lucy when she received this revelation, expressed doubt: “I have always believed you before; but I cannot see any prospect of this prophecy being fulfilled; but if it is so I will never dispute your word again.”
Asleep that evening, Lucy saw a vision of her weak and hungry sons traveling over the prairie. Lucy got ready for them to come home—and they did indeed arrive the next day. They described a journey that matched exactly what she had seen. After that, Bishop Partridge said that he would forever acknowledge Lucy “to be a true prophetess.”

Taking a stand wasn’t easy for Sarah Koyle, a Laurel who lives in Rancho Cucamonga, California, but she knew it was the right thing to do. When a teacher at her school showed a movie that Sarah felt was inappropriate, she made her opinion known.
After Sarah’s bold move, there was little room for doubt by her peers as to what Sarah believed was right. Then a local newspaper interviewed Sarah about her stand on R-rated movies. Again, Sarah was able to voice her opinions without reservation.
Was all the attention worth it, especially when Sarah seemed to be the only one who felt that the movies were wrong?
“If I were given the chance, I would definitely do this again,” says Sarah. “Standing for the prophet’s words is something I can’t do enough of. It wasn’t easy, but it was right.”

In the mid-seventies our family moved to Boise, Idaho, where my parents were living. Cindy and I were grown adults with four kids. After several months passed, Dad started calling frequently and emphatically stating he was low on firewood and wanted me to go with him to the Sawtooth Mountains to replenish his supply. I did not particularly want to cut firewood because Dad already had a year's supply, but he was very insistent and always in a hurry. Pick me up at 5:00 a.m. on the dot, we have a lot of firewood to gather and not very much time. We have a lot to do and little time. Don't be late. He also mentioned more than once, Son you can never have too much firewood.
Ten minutes into the trip, or passing Lucky Peak Dam, whichever occurred first, he would religiously say, Son, why are you driving so fast? You are hurrying too much. You need to slow down and relax. The world won't end if we don't get fire wood. After my protest ended he would say, Pull off at Banner Summit, I made a big lunch. He would then start talking about every imaginable topic shoeing horses, the demise of the Yankees, politics, religion, but mostly we talked about the family and whether I was being a good father and husband. For many years it never occurred to me that, as an adult, I was being taught and instructed gently on how to improve our family relations.
During these wood-gathering trips over many years we had Family Home Evening, Family Council, Father's Interviews and Father's Blessings and Dad did it in a way that I didn't even know it was happening. It was never about firewood, it was always about family. Dad died in May of 1988 and at the time Mom had twenty cords of firewood.[17]

I know that many of you are concerned about raising your children during these difficult times and increasing their faith. When my wife and I were starting our family in the San Francisco Bay Area, we had that same concern. At a critical point our stake members were advised by Elder Harold B. Lee, then a member of the Twelve, that we could raise our families in righteousness if we would:
Follow the prophet.
Create the true spirit of the gospel in our hearts and homes.
Be a light to those among whom we live.
Focus on the ordinances and principles taught in the temple. (See D&C 115:5; Harold B. Lee, “Your Light to Be a Standard unto the Nations,” Ensign, Aug. 1973, 3–4.)
As we followed this counsel, our faith increased and our fears decreased. I believe we can raise righteous children anywhere in the world if they are taught religious principles in the home.

In 1984, Sister McDonough and I were invited to join a group of good friends on an exciting trip to Israel. Our guides were Truman G. Madsen and his wife, Ann, and an Israeli guide, Joseph Ginat, whom we referred to as “Josy.” One day, we were gathered in the Old City of Jerusalem on the Temple Mount near the golden dome called the Dome of the Rock. Brother Madsen explained that years earlier, he was with President Hugh B. Brown, and they were standing about the same place we were gathered. Brother Madsen shared the following story that President Brown told him that day. President Brown had been the stake president in the Granite Stake for several years, which was one of the three very large stakes in the Salt Lake Valley. Two years after being released as a stake president, he was called to preside over the British Mission. Some years later, they came back to Utah, and he was teaching at BYU. He received a phone call from Canada from a representative of Richland Oil Company: “Mr. Brown, we understand that you know Canadian law and American law. We’re drilling oil up here, and we want someone with your qualifications. If you come, we’ll give you ten times your present salary.” He said, “I receive $4,000 a year.” The man said, “Okay, we’ll give you twenty times your present salary.” He took the offer. Not only was he receiving a fine salary, he was receiving stock options on the land. The prospect of genuine wealth descended upon him.

One day, he was drilling for oil in the Canadian Rockies and went upon a mountain to pray. President Brown told Brother Madsen, “I didn't pray, I talked with God, and what I said was "Lord, if having money is not good for me and my family, then take it away." He didn’t feel anything significant on the mountain, except he felt a little worse. He felt even worse when he got to his car and drove the 75 miles back home. He felt terrible when he arrived home. He told his wife he would come to bed later as he was having a “tug-a-war” through most of the night. He said, “Through the night, I had the most terrible battle with the adversary. I wanted to destroy myself, not in the sense of suicide, but something within me was impelling me to wish that I could cease to be. It was terrible. The blackness was so thick you could feel it.” At about 4 AM, his wife Zina came in concerned, saying “Hugh, it feels like the devil himself is in this room.” He replied, “He is!” They prayed together, and he felt somewhat better. He went to work the next day and prayed. Of the experience, he said, “I knelt by a cot and asked God for deliverance from the darkness that had enveloped me.” At about noon, he felt better. That night, the phone rang, and it was a long-distance call. He was taking a bath at that moment, so when he answered the phone, he sounded gruff.

“Hello, Brother Brown,” said a voice. “This is David O. McKay. I have just come from a meeting where you have just been sustained unanimously as an Assistant to the Council of the Twelve.” President Brown told Brother Madsen, “You know, I had a night of hell, but then Zina and I had a night of heaven. It wasn’t the call. It wasn’t the position. It was knowing that God knew and God cared.” He went to Salt Lake, and his first conversation was with President McKay. He told him of his struggle with the adversary, and President McKay's only comment was “Brother Brown, that’s normal. All of the Brethren have been through that!”

There is one sequel to the story. President Brown said later on, “Since that time, I’ve been happier than any time in my life. The men with whom I was associated have made millions. And yet, when one of them was in my office not long ago in Salt Lake, he said, ‘I’m worth at least seven million dollars. I would gladly give every dollar of it to you if you could give me what you have. I can’t buy it with money, but I’d like to have what you have. What you have is peace of soul, and I cannot buy that with money."

President Brown was later called as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and several years after President David O. McKay became the president of the Church, he called Hugh B. Brown to be one of his counselors.