Gospel Story Finder

At times the performance of duty, the response to a divine call, or the reaction to a spiritual prompting are not overwhelming. On occasion, however, the duty to respond is downright overpowering. I experienced such a situation prior to the general conference of April 1966. That’s 35 years ago, but I remember it vividly.
I had received my assignment to speak at one of the conference sessions and had prepared and committed to memory a message entitled “Meeting Your Goliath.” This was based on the account of the famous battle waged by David and Goliath of olden times.
Then I received a telephone call from President David O. McKay. The conversation went about like this: “Brother Monson, this is President McKay calling. How are you?”
I took a deep breath and answered, “Oh, I’m fine, President, and looking forward to conference.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Brother Monson. The Saturday morning session will be rebroadcast on Sunday as our Easter message to the world. I will be speaking to an Easter theme and would like you to join me and speak during that important session to that type of theme.”
“Of course, President. I will be happy to do so.”
That’s when the extent of this brief conversation really dawned on me. All of a sudden “Meeting Your Goliath” didn’t quite measure up to an Easter message. I knew I must begin to prepare all over again. There was so little time. Indeed, my “Goliath” stood before me.
That night I cleared the kitchen table and placed my typewriter on the tabletop along with a ream of bond paper, with a trusty wastepaper basket by my side to hold all the false starts that accompany such an assignment of preparation. I began at about 7:00 P.M. and had not written a satisfactory line by 1:00 A.M. The wastebasket was filled, but my mind certainly was not. What was I to do? The clock was running—indeed, it was racing. I paused to pray.
Soon thereafter there came to my mind the sadness of my neighbors Mark and Wilma Shumway in the recent loss of their youngest child. I thought to myself, Perhaps I could speak directly to them and peripherally to all others, for who hasn’t lost a dear one and had occasion to grieve? My fingers raced over the typewriter keyboard but could barely keep up with my thoughts.
As the first dim light of morning peered through our kitchen window, I had finished the message. The task remained to learn it and then deliver it to the world. Rarely have I struggled so hard to fill a prophetic assignment. However, Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. I shall never forget the experience.

Our professional counselors observe that anxiety often leads to doubt and despair. One anxious BYU student in a rigorous, limited-enrollment major constantly questioned his ability to handle the demands of homework and tests and worried he would not perform well in his profession upon graduation. His anxiety caused him to doubt his ability, though he had excellent preparation. His anxiety also caused him to question if he was “good enough” in his relationships and church assignments. Reassurance from a supportive family and bishop did little to keep him from doubting his doubts. When he sought professional help, he was despairing that he could ever feel confident or rid himself of anxiety.
Overcoming his anxious self-doubt did not come easily. He worked very hard to see his anxiety in context. Through a combination of hard work, counseling, competent medical help, prayer, and continued support of family and church leaders, this student was able to begin “doubting his anxiety.” He graduated in his major and started a job with a well-known company.

Everyone said, “Five, that’s wonderful! Now you can go to school.”
But I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to school. Mom drove past the school so I could see it. She smiled, but I thought it looked like a scary place. I saw many older boys and girls playing ball. They were all so big!
I was afraid to ride in the school bus too. It groans as it creeps up the hill by our house.
The morning I started school, Mom and Dad seemed happy because I was getting to be such a big girl. When I got dressed, Dad took my picture for our scrapbook.
Mom and I met Kari and her mother at the bus stop on the corner. Kari and I sat together after we got on the bus. We stopped a few times for other children and their mothers.
At school, Mom led me down the hall, past the library and a giant painting, and into my room.
I had already met my teacher, Miss Sorenson. I wondered if she’d remember my name.
“Welcome to kindergarten,” said Miss Sorenson. She smiled and told us about the schoolwork we would do. She even had name tags for us.
Kari and I explored. Records and picture books filled some shelves. There was a piano in the corner near the door.
Miss Sorenson showed us a workbench and a small kitchen. We worked at tables, with a shelf above for our crayons and scissors.
After school I was worried about finding my bus stop. But Miss Sorenson pinned a card on me with my name and bus stop, and a fifth grader helped me. So it was easy.
Now I like school. We listen to stories and learn new songs. Sometimes we cook, and one day we learned about caterpillars. Some days we visit the library or play in the gym. One day we even made gingerbread men.
Now I know my way around. The school is big, but I am too. After all, now I’m five!

Soon after receiving the priesthood and becoming a deacon at the age of 12, I also became a cadet in the Royal Canadian 52nd Air Cadet Squadron. It was a new and challenging experience adapting to the military. I especially remember how difficult the first summer was. As a new cadet, I attended basic training. So while my other friends from school were out-of-doors playing, I was learning how to march and to obey commands.
Unfortunately I wasn’t a very good marcher, and that’s all we seemed to do. The sun shone fiercely, and the heat was unbearable in our dark green uniforms. I thought I would faint. The food was cold, and the mess hall served none of the foods I liked. Military life certainly was different from what I was used to.
On our first Saturday night before bed, all the cadets assembled in the corridor of our barracks. When our flight sergeant came in, everyone snapped to attention.
“In the morning,” he shouted, “we are all going to church. There are only two churches on this base—Catholic and Protestant—so make sure you know where you want to go before tomorrow! Is that clear?”
The corps of young cadets shouted back in strict unison, “Yes, sergeant!” Then he left.
That night I had trouble sleeping. This would be the first time I wouldn’t be able to attend Sunday meetings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I didn’t know what to do. I climbed out of bed and began to pray again. I was desperate to know what I should do. I told Heavenly Father that I was really confused and scared. Would he please help me? As I crawled into bed the second time, I was still worried, but I began to feel that things would work out.
Bright and early the next morning, we lined up outside our barracks in the drizzling rain. The sergeant in his rain-tarp jacket gave the command I was dreading. “Catholics stand on one side, Protestants on the other!” After everyone had moved, I found myself standing alone between the two lines.
The flight sergeant glared across the square and shouted to me, “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, sergeant—I’m a Latter-day Saint.”
He looked at me with a frightful glare, shook his head, and ordered, “Follow me.”
I followed him to the chaplain’s barracks. Inside, the ministers were still preparing for their Sunday meetings. The sergeant gave a sharp knock, and a voice within called for us to enter. As we stepped in from the rain, a gentleman dressed in camouflage and wearing a Catholic priest’s collar around his neck met us.
“This one’s a Latter-day Saint,” the sergeant complained, then ducked back out into the rain.
The priest invited me to sit down, and he and another priest began to decide between themselves what to do in such an interesting situation. They finally decided that they didn’t know enough about the Church to make a decision, and they asked me what we believed.
At first I wasn’t sure what to say, and then my mind suddenly cleared and I started quoting the Articles of Faith: “‘We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.’”
They both nodded in agreement.
I continued, “‘We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam’s transgression.’”
At this point, one priest suggested that it might be best if I went with the Protestant minister.
After the Protestant meeting, the minister found me in my barracks. He asked me how I had enjoyed the meeting. I told him that it certainly was different from what I was used to.
“What else do Latter-day Saints believe?” he asked, pulling up a chair. The other cadets in my room drew closer to listen. It was exciting as I repeated all the Articles of Faith. Everyone seemed very interested when I spoke of the Book of Mormon, of how it was another testament of Jesus Christ.
Later that night I made a long-distance call to my mother and told her how my difficult experience had turned into a missionary opportunity. I also requested that she send me a Book of Mormon so that I could give it to my minister friend.
The week went on, and finally the Book of Mormon arrived. On the inside cover I wrote my testimony and slid in the card containing the Articles of Faith that my mother had also sent me. The minister gladly accepted my gift and promised me that he would read it.
I never learned if that Book of Mormon changed the life of the minister. But as I look back, I recognize how Heavenly Father taught me the importance of being willing to stick up for the truth—and knowing the Articles of Faith.

President Hinckley’s sense of humor gives him a light touch in many settings. For example, while chairing a budget session held early one afternoon in which Church Educational System managers were presenting their budget needs for the coming year, feelings became intense. Another General Authority turned to President Hinckley and asked, “What do you think?” President Hinckley, who had been listening with his chin resting on the palms of his hands, replied: “I think I am never again going to have stuffed pork chops for lunch.” Everyone laughed, and the tension was diffused.

In that old home, we knew that our father loved our mother. That was another of the great lessons of my boyhood. I have no recollection of ever hearing him speak unkindly to her or of her. He encouraged her in her individual Church activities and in neighborhood and civic responsibilities. She had much of native talent, and he encouraged her to use it. Her comfort was his constant concern. We looked upon them as equals, companions who worked together and loved and appreciated one another as they loved us.

She likewise encouraged him, did everything in the world to make him happy. At the age of fifty, she developed cancer. He was solicitous of her every need. I recall our family prayers, with his tearful pleadings and our tearful pleadings.

Of course there was no medical insurance then. He would have spent every dollar he owned to help her. He did, in fact, spend very much. He took her to Los Angeles in search of better medical care. But it was to no avail.

That was sixty-two years ago, but I remember with clarity my brokenhearted father as he stepped off the train and greeted his grief-stricken children. We walked solemnly down the station platform to the baggage car, where the casket was unloaded and taken by the mortician. We came to know even more about the tenderness of our father’s heart. This has had an effect on me all of my life.

I also came to know something of death—the absolute devastation of children losing their mother—but also of peace without pain and the certainty that death cannot be the end of the soul.

A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.

Let me tell you about an incident that happened last October in Washington, D.C. I was there for the Women’s Legacy Concert. During the day, a group of us went to the National Museum of Art. We stopped for lunch at the Gallery, and as the waiter brought the bill to me he said, “Do you want me to fill in the amount, or do you want to do that?” For just a moment, I did not catch the importance of his question. Then it came to me. He was giving me a chance to pad my expense account. I was distressed by the suggestion, and the teachings of my childhood came back to me—Be Honest. My own standard of honesty was what counted. It was a matter of integrity with me.

When Paul H. Dunn of the First Quorum of the Seventy was eleven years old, baseball was an important part of his life. Paul’s parents permitted his team to use their large backyard for a baseball diamond. It was completely fenced in, with an alley running along the outside. Beyond the alley was a large church with a beautiful stained glass window that faced the center-field fence.
One hot summer evening an exciting baseball game was in progress in the Dunn backyard. Paul came to bat late in the game and hit an outside pitch. It looked like it might be the best hit he had ever made! The ball cleared the center-field fence, crossed the alley, and then, to everyone’s dismay, entered the church building through the large stained glass window some 260 feet away. It seemed to young Paul that the glass fell for hours. The players scattered in every direction.
When Paul got up the courage to return home, he discovered that his father had two visitors. They were both ministers from the neighboring church. To Paul’s surprise, they seemed to know from which house the baseball had come. Paul admitted to the ministers that he had hit the ball that had broken the window and told them that he was very sorry.
Paul’s father put his arm around his son’s shoulder, patted him on the head, and said, “This is a good boy.” He, too, apologized for the mishap and asked how much it would cost to replace the stained glass window. They told him that it would be about $500.
It was then that his father taught young Paul a great lesson. He asked the ministers if they understood the principle of Christ’s atonement. They seemed a little puzzled. His father said, “In our Church, we believe that ‘through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel’” (third article of faith). He explained that the atonement allows each of us to be forgiven of our sins if we repent. Jesus paid for all our sins when He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane. As the only perfect person who ever lived on earth, He was the only one who could do this for us. We could not do it for ourselves. Without His sacrifice, we could never be forgiven of our sins and would not be able to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus again.
Paul’s father pointed out that although Paul had broken a window, he could never pay for it himself. His allowance of 25¢ a week would never pay for a $500 window. Taking his checkbook from his coat pocket, he wrote out a check for the amount needed and said, “As Paul’s father, and because I love him, I will pay the price that he cannot.”
This experience helped Paul understand what Jesus did for us when He atoned for our sins. At this Easter time we can be thankful that Heavenly Father loved us enough to send His Son so that we can be forgiven when we do something wrong.

When my husband and I were first married, he was an undergraduate student with a goal of attending medical school, and I was teaching sixth grade. His classes, part-time work, and studies obviously took most of his time. My obligations with work and spending evenings doing all that was necessary to fulfill my teaching responsibilities also took many hours to complete. Once we included our Church callings, we didn’t have much time together during the week. I found that I was always looking forward to Friday evenings, when not only would things become more relaxed but we could have some time together as well as a little social life during the weekends. I always seemed to have the “thank goodness it’s Friday” mentality. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays I was always looking forward to the weekends; thus I was not really enjoying the weekdays. I was happy on Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays and a little depressed on the weekdays.

However, one day something occurred that caused me to see this negative outlook in a new light. I can’t recall what caused this change in my attitude, but I was struck with the thought that by wanting the weekdays to pass by quickly and always looking forward to the weekends, I was wishing a very important part of my life away. I realized that my time now was valuable and I should appreciate every day—not wish it away! After all, I didn’t know how many Mondays through Fridays I had in my future. Time passes quickly enough, and, because I wanted it to do so, I did not take full advantage of some valuable opportunities and experiences that were available to me.

I still can vividly recall the time I realized that I should savor and treasure each day and be thankful for and appreciate life. I somehow realized that each day is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father and that if I did not view each day as such, I would be ungrateful. I was always wanting tomorrow or, in my case, the weekend. This was a terrible thing because I was neglecting my todays for my tomorrows.

Tate lay awake in the darkness, blinking back tears. He had prayed for help, but it seemed like a heavy black cloud hung over him, shutting out the Spirit.
What if I never forget that awful TV show? he worried.
A few days ago, he had finished his homework early and flipped on the TV. But he hadn’t expected to see something like that on the screen. Tate was so shocked that he forgot to turn off the television as quickly as he should have.
It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to watch a scene like that, but now he couldn’t forget it. Sometimes it popped into his head in the middle of school, at the dinner table—even during church. At times like that, he was glad Mom and Dad couldn’t read his mind. Tate’s parents had taught him not to look at pictures of people without clothes on. He knew that they also expected him to avoid violent TV shows, movies, and video games.
“Now I know why,” Tate mumbled to himself.
Tate got out of bed and onto his knees again. What could he do?
“Heavenly Father,” Tate whispered. “Please help me stop thinking about what I saw.” He wiped away the tears that had been forming in his eyes and listened. His heart beat faster. He thought he felt the Holy Ghost prompting him, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He needed to tell his parents.
“Why?” Tate wondered. He would feel like a baby going into his parents’ room in the middle of the night. And to tell them? He felt embarrassed and sick all over again.
Then a clear thought came into his mind: Heavenly Father wanted him to be happy. Heavenly Father wanted him to feel the Spirit again, to think about good things, and to be honest with his family. He especially wanted Tate to become a worthy Aaronic Priesthood holder when he turned 12 in a few months. Tate realized that if he held on to what he had seen and kept it a secret, he would stay unhappy about it.
Tate knew he needed help—and the Holy Ghost had just told him where to find it.
Tate looked at the digital clock’s glowing numbers beside his bed. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. He stood up and headed into the dark hallway toward his parents’ room. Swallowing nervously, he tapped on their door.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Tate, is that you?” came Mom’s sleepy voice.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” Tate said. “Can we talk? And can I maybe get a blessing?”
Dad clicked on his bedside lamp and invited Tate inside. For the first time in days, Tate felt warmth, hope, and light.

But there is also a lonely side to being known as LDS. As well liked as the Hiltschers are, there are some activities, particularly on the weekends, that the brothers are excluded from. “Sometimes we wish there wouldn’t be drinking at the parties so we would go,” Brent explained. “But it’s not like we wish we could drink. A lot of weekends, we just go our separate ways from our school friends.”
What do they do then? They found an answer one weekend when they decided to throw a party of their own. They had lots of games, lots of food, and lots of fun. That showed their school friends that you can have fun without drinking.

A coach of the East St. Louis, Illinois, High School took a group of young men and turned them into champions. A St. Louis Post-Dispatch sports editor wrote:
“This is a story Hollywood wouldn’t believe: kids growing up in America’s biggest urban disaster, slugging it out, year after year. No money, no fancy facilities, just a coach who still believes pride and hard work can mean something.”
The coach told his players, “Life isn’t always fair, but we can still expect excellence from ourselves.”
He insisted on hard work from all of his players, the stars included. His team won more than many championships. (See Eugene H. Methrin, “The Stuff of Champions,” Reader’s Digest, Oct. 1991, p. 83.)

Nathan Yeung, a priest in the Victoria First (English) Branch, Hong Kong International District, spends about an hour a day at early-morning seminary, seven hours at school, another hour traveling to and from school, two to three hours per day doing homework, and another two to three hours a day practicing the piano, studying martial arts, playing on his school basketball team, or singing with a school choir. If he eats breakfast on the run and spends only an hour at dinner, that leaves about eight hours a day for everything else, including sleeping.
But this story isn’t about Nathan and everything he’s doing, because most of the youth in his branch are just as busy doing just as many interesting things.
Lesa Lai, a Laurel, keeps a similar schedule except school lasts a half hour longer, travel is one hour each way, and it’s volleyball, soccer, or track—depending on the season. For Shan Singh, a priest, it’s rugby and serving as vice president of the student council.
It’s the same story for Alice Andersen, Celestine Yeung, Musashi and Chihiro Howe, Chelsea and Casey Messick, and the other young men and young women in the district.
These youth are typical of many Latter-day Saint teenagers around the world who seem to balance on the circus high-wire while juggling Church activity, family time, school, jobs, and extracurricular activities. How do they pull off such a difficult act without falling into the trap of missing what is most important?
That’s the million-dollar question. “It’s all about priorities,” says Chelsea, a Laurel. “If you make time for the most important things, everything else falls into place.”
Chelsea, Nathan, and their friends in the Hong Kong International District are learning that it’s easier to find balance when your feet are firmly planted on a solid gospel foundation. They have recognized the importance of making personal time for the gospel. “That is the most important part of my day,” says Nathan. “If I don’t read and pray and go to seminary, my day is bad.”
“Most of our friends at school aren’t members,” says Lesa. “So it’s up to us to make personal time for church. I try to read my scriptures every day and listen to Church music.”
Sometimes prioritizing means giving up something good to make time for something more important. “I had to give up my job because I was too busy,” says Chelsea. The others have all run into similar situations.
Along with the gospel, a top priority for these young men and women is family. “Family is important,” says Casey, a teacher. “I know I can always turn to them for help. I can trust them. I know I can be with them forever.”
But sometimes finding time together is tough. “It’s not just my schedule,” Lesa notes. “We don’t get much time together because my siblings are gone a lot too, and my dad travels a lot.”
So with their families, these youth have had to find ways to make time for each other. “I used to go out a lot with friends on weekends, but now I try to save that time for my family. I see my friends on school days,” says Celestine, a Mia Maid. “And when my dad is home, we all try to accommodate his schedule.”
Each of the youth agrees that weekends are most often free for family time if carefully planned. “Especially Sunday,” Chelsea says. “Sunday is for family.”
“I try to make sure I have time for them whenever they’re planning something,” says Nathan. In addition, his family always tries to have dinner together. “And family home evening is important.”
“Family home evening helps keep us together,” Musashi, a teacher, agrees. “And we try to plan family activities on Saturday. It’s important to make time for family, because the goal is to be with them forever.”
Balance is only one of the blessings that come from setting spiritual growth as a top priority.
“Making time for the gospel is good for the spiritual part of your life,” says Musashi. “It helps your testimony grow.”
It’s also important because it helps you set a good example, according to Shan. “Other people can tell when you’re living the way you should,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll get questions from my friends because of the way we live.”
“If I don’t read and pray and go to seminary, I’m not prepared when missionary opportunities come,” says Nathan.
For Chelsea, it’s about remembering the real reason we’re here. “Doing things like praying and reading scriptures is a reminder that Jesus Christ should be the center of your life. Remembering that affects everything you do,” she says. “Otherwise, it’s easy to get so busy you forget why we came.”
When we remember to focus on the Savior, we realize that life isn’t about walking the high-wire while juggling different activities, but it’s about standing on solid ground. As Helaman said, “Remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; … which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Hel. 5:12).
“When things of the world crowd in, all too often the wrong things take highest priority. Then it is easy to forget the fundamental purpose of life. Satan has a powerful tool to use against good people. It is distraction. He would have good people fill life with ‘good things’ so there is no room for the essential ones. Have you unconsciously been caught in that trap?”Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “First Things First,” Liahona, July 2001, 7; Ensign, May 2001, 7.

When the Allied Forces liberated Korea on 15 August 1945, Sister Whang remembers that “every creature, even trees and mountains, seemed to joy for the freedom that we had fought for for a long time.” The joy didn’t last long. The country was divided; Communists controlled the north part of Korea, and many people tried to escape to the south. Sister Whang got out of North Korea on the last train that left before the fence between North and South Korea went up. She has not seen her family since that day. She immediately began working in refugee camps, teaching the children and caring for those who were hungry and cold.
“I prayed for my solemn mission,” she says. “I knew I wanted to help as many poor people as possible, even though I didn’t think I had the ability, skill, or power. In order to do that, I knew that I would have to sacrifice worldly possessions, and I knew that I must always fortify myself spiritually.”

During what was to be the last year of running my business, the church approached me about coming to work for the church as an architect. After working in the Southwest Area office for a couple of years, I had the feeling that I should submit my resume to the head of the Architecture and Engineering Department. The feeling wouldn’t go away. So, I finally sent my resume to the director of the department. He said they were going to be posting for a job opening, but they just hadn’t got around to it. I was hired near the end of 1996.

When I was a young man, I couldn’t have dreamed of the experiences that yet lay in waiting for me. The Lord had greater things for me to do than what I was qualified for.

A few months later the surprise of surprises happened when we heard about the now-well-known story of the development of the small temple concept. President Hinckley told of his coming home from a trip through northern Mexico, conversing with a stake president in Colonia Juarez on what more could be done to help the saints in the colonies, and was inspired to have our department work on ideas for a small temple. He handed the sketch he had drawn of a small temple plan to our managing director, Brother Little. Everyone in the office was asked to sketch their ideas of what it could look like. The President attached some criteria to the idea. It wasn’t to be larger than 6,000 s.f. and cost no more than a million dollars. We accomplished one of those criteria.

I was privileged to develop a floor plan with two other architects, that divided the temple into two areas, one was the Aaronic priesthood side for the baptismal font and the other was the Melchizedek priesthood side for the other ordinances. I was then asked to develop the exterior elevations for the concept. I had never designed anything close to a temple in my private practice, yet here I was designing a temple. I was not qualified. I had no experience. I didn’t really know what it should look like. But, as I was drawing lines on the computer, I remember having ideas come to my mind that I knew were not mine. The Spirit gave them to me. I kept drawing lines and completed this idea for the first small temple, which became the Monticello Utah Temple. I prepared elevations for the other floor plan concepts as well. However, we forgot to develop a scheme based on the President’s sketch. So, we quickly completed this option as well. Brother Little presented the options to President Hinckley. We might think, “I did this” or “I did that,” but if we have the Holy Ghost with us always and pray with faith to receive inspiration and expect to be inspired, the Lord will inspire us. I was only the pencil. But in our digital day, I was the computer mouse being pushed around to create lines on a screen.

Matthew P., 18, from Utah, USA, recalls a formal dance when he and the other guys didn’t have a lot of money to spend on fancy restaurants, but they still wanted to give their dates a three-course meal for dinner.

Their solution was to have the first course, French fries, at a local fast-food place. Course two? Chicken nuggets at a different fast-food location. And the third course? Milkshakes at a third location. “Nobody had to spend a bunch of money,” Matthew says. “The way we did it, everybody enjoyed the dinner.”

Elder Oaks further illustrates what it’s like to hesitate to share the gospel with our friends:
“Consider that you are invited to a friend’s house for breakfast. On the table you see a large pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice from which your host fills his glass. But he offers you none. Finally you ask, ‘Could I have a glass of orange juice?’
“He replies, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I was afraid you might not like orange juice, and I didn’t want to offend you by offering you something you didn’t desire.’
“Now, that sounds absurd, but it is not too different from the way we hesitate to offer up something far sweeter than orange juice. I have often worried how I would answer some friend about my hesitancy when I meet him beyond the veil” (Ensign, Nov. 2000, 81–82).

Another insight on building a marital relationship on the rock of Jesus Christ is found in Ephesians 4:26: “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” This particular verse has likely been the source of the advice often given to newlyweds, “Never go to bed angry.” My wife, Susan, and I were given this advice by a well-meaning relative when we were married. I joke that there was one time during our first year of marriage when we went nearly three days without sleep! Many married couples may realize, as we did early in our marriage, that late at night when they are tired is not always the best time to resolve conflicts. But undoubtedly the spirit of Paul’s counsel to the Ephesians would motivate us to resolve conflicts quickly so they do not persist and grow more intense over time. The Savior also admonished His disciples to resolve conflicts with dispatch so they could approach their God with pure hearts (see Matt. 5:23–24).

“Mama! Mama! I’m sorry I got all wet, but Jalen was blowing bubbles in the pool!” Jordan shouted.
Jordan’s mother raced outside to find his baby cousin, Jalen, lying purple and lifeless on the deck of the pool near the stairs. She gathered up his body and began to pat his back. Jalen began to cough up lots of water.
Jalen’s parents had been upstairs. They rushed downstairs and took him to the doctor. Jalen’s PaPa and Grandma went with them. Then everyone began to notice that Jordan was soaking wet from head to toe—clothes, shoes, and all.
“Jordan, you are so brave! You pulled Jalen out of the pool without even taking time to take off even your shoes,” his mother said. “What happened?”
“When I went outside, I saw Jalen in the middle of the pool, and he was blowing bubbles. He was so scary looking that I didn’t want to touch him. But I got in the water and pulled him to the stairs. I didn’t know what to do next, so I went to get you.”
Jordan’s Aunt Amberly went to help him find some dry clothes. She asked, “If Jalen was so scary that you didn’t want to touch him, how did you know what to do?”
“Something told me what to do,” he told his aunt.
“Do you know that the feeling you had was like a still, small voice telling you what to do? Do you remember from Primary who the still small voice is?”
“I know—it was the Holy Ghost,” Jordan said. “I’m glad I listened to Him.”
Jordan Jones, age 6 (as told by his Aunt Dawn)Tupelo, Mississippi