Gospel Story Finder

Recently at work, I was listening to music while typing away at emails. Suddenly, a favorite song of mine came on, and as I listened to the lyrics of the song, it made me think of moments in the past where I had wished I could “fix” and heal loved ones who were hurting. Let me take you back to a few examples:
When my grandma was sick a few years ago, I would stay with her several nights a week. After giving her medicine and tucking her into bed, I would get in my car and drive through a dark canyon to get home. I would play this same song on repeat and cry and cry. I would beg Heavenly Father to give me more patience. To be kinder. To be softer. But most of all, I begged Him to know how I could fix her.
Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.
And finally, I recently hit a point of exhaustion I’d never felt before. My friends, family members, and even coworkers had been opening up to me about their current challenges, and the more they opened up to me, the more I would try to take on what they were struggling with. I was hyperfocused on that idea of “fixing,” and I felt powerless to do so.
So when that song came on at work, tears instantly flooded my eyes as I stopped typing and listened to the music. It was all I could do to mutter a small prayer: “Heavenly Father … I’m exhausted.”
Then God, in His loving grace, answered my prayer by patiently teaching me. These words instantly came to my mind: “You’re exhausted because you’re trying to be the fixer. And that is what I sent my Son to do.”
I felt incredibly humbled in that moment. I’d been trying to do a job that was never mine to do in the first place.
As Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught: “Sometimes, the natural man or woman in us makes us think that we have been called to ‘fix’ other people. We have not been called to be ‘fixers’ of others, and we have not been called to lecture or to scorn. We have been called to inspire, to lift, to invite others, to be fishers of people, fishers of souls so they receive the opportunity to be spiritually healed by Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.”1
I’ve learned that because of the world we live in, we will constantly be with people, including ourselves, who are imperfect. And living in an imperfect world means that we will all experience challenges in this life, including difficult things that are beyond our control. That’s why God sent Jesus Christ—so He could help us.
Heavenly Father reminded me that day in my office that it wasn’t my job to heal my grandma. I wasn’t to blame for my friend’s death by suicide. And it certainly wasn’t my role to take on all the burdens and weaknesses of those around me.

By the beginning of 2010, I was preparing for graduation—and was pregnant with our first child. Two months before I was to graduate from the nursing program, I had complications with my pregnancy, and our baby was born via cesarean section. My teachers told me I should take time off from school and graduate later. But I was so close—only two months away!
So my husband and I carefully organized our time so we could properly balance our priorities and I could complete my education. I scheduled my study time so I could give my husband and our son the attention they needed. Sometimes my husband’s parents stayed with our son while I was in class. Two great classmates helped me review class materials. I felt that the Lord had sent all of these people to support me through this difficult time.
After graduation I passed the state certification exam and started working as a nurse to help support our family while my husband completes his education. Even though I am not planning on working once my husband starts his career, if a tragedy or economic hardship requires me to work in the future, my education helps me feel prepared to do so.

Erwin Oertli, a river guide and the oarsman for our raft, gripped the handles of long, wooden oars in knotted fists. The muscles in his arms tightened. There was a growing roar of fast water on rock. The current carried the raft around a bend toward a steep precipice of water. Oertli dropped the tip of an oar and pulled. The raft straightened. The air grew dense, cold, and wet with mist. He turned, smiling.
“This is a good one.” His voice was nearly drowned in the roar.
“It’s the only bad place on the whole river.”
The veins in his neck stood out.
“There are two rocks.”
The sound of the water changed from a roar to thunder.
“The first one is right in the head of the rapids in the roughest water. It’s not hard to miss, but the second rock comes up fast right behind it. You have to row left to miss the first and then hard to the right to miss the second one.”
The river dropped suddenly in front of the raft, looking more like a waterfall than a rapid. The front of the raft hung suspended in wet air and dropped, suddenly, breathlessly, angling down toward the river.
Screams mixed with the explosive sound of the river. Hands grasped desperately to a cord of rope that ran around the inside of the raft.
The raft hit the water, crashing. An engulfing wave, fringed with a thousand sparkling fragments that felt like ice, came up and over and into the raft from all sides, blotting out the blue sky, submerging it. It rose suddenly into the sun, on a high wave mountain, water running off the black rubber sides, and fell again, into an impossible depth, plunging down a steep canyon of water on a roller coaster ride. The water was a gray silk in the waves, and near the crests, edged with sky, it rose up like a white cambric lace.
Oertli, standing, hit the oars hard. The raft moved across the water, turning. He relaxed. The raft rifled past a grizzly turbulence where a boulder, covered with foam and spilling water, back-eddied a whirlpool.
He hit the oars a second time, hard, pulling and leaning, handling the raft with the skill of a master craftsman. The raft moved across the current, and the second rock, also hidden below a mound of the Kootenay’s gray water, swept safely behind.
When we were through the rapids, he leaned back and smiled.
“Good one, huh?”
No one disagreed.

After a Young Women lesson about patriarchal blessings, I had this feeling that I needed to receive mine to know the guidance that Heavenly Father has in store for me. I prayed a lot and studied for months.

Then, one day in Sunday School, my teacher told me, “If you’re thinking about your patriarchal blessing, it’s probably time for you to get it.” That inspired me to go for it, and I’m so grateful I did. Because of my patriarchal blessing, I know that Heavenly Father knows who I am.

Acadia L., age 16, Baden-Württemberg, Germany

I can tell you from experience something about how to help if you are the one sent. Shortly after I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve, I got a phone call from President Faust, counselor in the First Presidency. He asked me to come to his office. I went with some concern as to why he would take the time to visit with me.
After some pleasantries, he looked at me and said, “Has it happened yet?” When I looked puzzled he went on to say, “I’ve been watching you in meetings. It seems to me that you have been feeling that your calling is beyond you and that you are not qualified.”
I said that doubt had come to me, as if I had hit a wall. I expected that he was going to reassure me. I told him that I appreciated his being aware of my doubts and asked for his help. But I was surprised by his kind, firm reply. He said, “Don’t ask me. Go to Him.” Then he pointed up to heaven. Now years later I sit in that same office. When I walk into it I look up and remember him and how he taught me by example how to help those who are feeling overwhelmed in the Lord’s service. Find a way to send them with confidence to Him. If they will follow your counsel, they will gain the strength they need and to spare.

Sammy liked to do many things. He participated in karate and school sports. He enjoyed reading and kept up with his favorite book series. He attended his Webelos meetings and worked hard to earn the badges. But one thing Sammy didn’t like was dogs—big, small, or anywhere in between. He wanted nothing to do with them. The sight of a dog terrified him, and he would move as quickly as he could in the opposite direction.
One morning, Sammy’s neighbor Megan went skipping down the road, heading for the school bus stop. Suddenly she stopped. There in front of her was the biggest dog she had ever seen. It was tan and even taller than she was. She froze in her tracks and began to scream. The dog started walking toward her.
At that moment, Sammy left his house and started down the street toward the bus stop. He heard Megan screaming and saw her and the dog. He started shaking, but he continued to walk closer. Then he bent down, put his hands on his knees, and called, “Come here, dog. Come.” The dog looked back and forth from Sammy to Megan, and then trotted over to Sammy. Sammy held onto the dog’s collar until the owner came to take the dog home. Sammy was awfully glad to see the dog go.
Sammy still doesn’t like dogs. But he was glad he had the courage to help a friend in need.

One sentence in my patriarchal blessing thrilled me: “You will be called to preach the gospel in the world.” I had a lifelong desire to serve a mission, and so when I heard that sentence, I felt that I would have that opportunity.

When it was time for me to serve a mission, the United States was involved in a war and only a few young men were actually allowed to serve missions. The rest were expected to serve their country in the war if they were drafted.

At that time, all prospective missionaries were interviewed by General Authorities as well as by their local Church leaders. I went through the interview process and, because of that sentence in my patriarchal blessing, thought that I would be called on a mission. I was terribly disappointed when I was notified that I was required to serve my country, instead.

I often thought about that sentence in my patriarchal blessing. When and how will I be called to preach the gospel? I asked myself. Today, of course, as a General Authority, I am preaching the gospel all over the world. I can see now how that promise is being fulfilled. But when I was younger, I often wondered.

A-Pui’s face was bruised and swollen. He had three teeth missing and a bandage on his chin. Four days before Fast Sunday, he fell off a bicycle. But during the meeting he stood and bore his testimony that he knew that God lives and answers prayers. His beautiful spirit touched the hearts of many others that day.
Even before A-Pui joined the Church, he was always eager to help the missionaries in Hong Kong. His older brother and two older sisters were baptized first and then A-Pui became a member.
Now A-Pui and his brother and sisters have accepted the challenge of helping their parents learn more about the gospel so that they too might become members of the Church. The missionaries in Hong Kong feel sure they will be successful!

At least I thought I would have peace. Instead, I faced insults and rejection. Slanderous speculations circulated about my reasons for leaving the convent. Frustrated and filled with feelings of worthlessness, I became confused and decided on the most deplorable course of action—taking my own life.
On 21 November 1995 I wandered down a street, with thoughts of suicide filling my mind and tears running down my cheeks, when I happened upon a church building. Trying to keep my tears private and find some relief from my pain, I entered the building. Inside, I came upon a bulletin board. I was surprised to see a friendly and warm illustration of the Savior, accompanied by words so simple and understandable that I was instantly captivated. It was the Christ I had been searching for. Without realizing it, I had stopped weeping.
A few minutes later a kind woman asked if she could help. Not knowing what to say, I blurted out, “What is this church about?” She started to explain, and suddenly tears came to my eyes again. I told her, embarrassed, that I needed a friend. At that moment her husband joined us, and I told them of my sorrow. They said they knew a Friend who had all the answers—Jesus Christ—and they invited me to learn more about Him and our Heavenly Father’s plan. Without hesitation, I agreed.
For 10 days I met with this loving and kind missionary couple. They never pressured me, just shared their testimonies and taught me. They also shared one of the greatest gifts we can receive—the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ. I read it, studied it, and put Moroni’s promise to the test (see Moro. 10:3–5). The Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. What had been mysteries to me became clear. I knew who the Lord was and how to serve Him. Two sister missionaries taught me the missionary discussions, and I was baptized on 3 December 1995.

It happens almost every Sunday evening. After church and after the dinner dishes are washed, nine-year-old Xinia (pronounced ZEEN-ya) gets out a pencil and several sheets of lined paper and starts writing her letters.
She sits at the kitchen table, absorbed with her writing. Sometimes she’ll look up to ask someone how to spell a word or to say something she remembers about the person she is writing to. But during most of her letter-writing time, she seems to be in her own world—or in the world of the person who is lucky enough to get her letter.
Who is she writing to? “The missionaries,” she answers with a smile. The letter she is working on now is for Elder Ed McCoy, a close friend of the family, who is serving a mission in California. Ed is the only member of his family who belongs to the Church, and Xinia makes sure that he gets at least one letter every week—hers.
“He used to come to our house for Sunday dinner,” she says. After he left for his mission, Sunday evening just didn’t seem complete without visiting with Ed—even if only through a letter. Before long, she started writing letters to the other missionaries, too. Now Xinia writes a letter nearly every Sunday evening to all six missionaries from Belize City. Sometimes she also writes to missionaries who served in Belize and have now returned to their homes. Every Monday morning, her mother mails a stack of Xinia’s letters to places such as Honduras, England, Canada, and the United States.

“Hey, pal, you got mail,” Dad said, tossing an envelope to Ryan.
“Thanks!” Ryan said. He never got mail, except for birthday cards from Grandma. Who could it be from?
“Looks like it’s from Sister Ray,” Dad said. He added that she was writing from a place that sounded like “the empty seat.”
“What’s the ‘empty seat’?” Ryan asked Dad, tearing open the envelope.
Dad smiled. “Not ‘empty seat’—‘M.T.C.’ It stands for ‘Missionary Training Center.’ It’s where missionaries go to learn different languages and how to teach people the gospel.”
Sister Ray had been Ryan’s favorite Primary teacher before she left for her mission. Ryan knew serving a mission was a good thing to do, but he still missed her sometimes. He read the letter out loud. Sister Ray told about the lessons she was learning and about her companion. At the end of the letter, she told Ryan to be a good missionary.
How can I be a missionary when I’m still a kid? Ryan wondered.
Later that day Mom asked Ryan if he’d come with her to deliver some invitations. She was a Primary leader and wanted to visit the kids who didn’t come to church or activities very often.
Ryan felt nervous. Sometimes he didn’t like talking to new people. But he knew helping out would mean a lot to Mom.
Before long the two of them were bumping along a dirt road on the edge of town. Soon they pulled into a gated area full of trailer homes.
Ryan followed Mom to a blue trailer and watched as she rang the doorbell. A woman opened the door and invited them inside. As Ryan walked in, he could see a boy sitting on the floor, playing a video game.
“This is my son, Jacob,” the woman said. Jacob turned to look at the visitors, and Ryan smiled and sat down next to him. Soon they were laughing and talking.
“Hey, thanks!” Jacob said as Ryan showed him a secret passageway that led his character to the next level of the game. “Let’s save this for later and go look at my pet iguana.”
“Cool!” Ryan said.
Ryan liked touching the smooth scales of the iguana while Jacob showed him other fun things around his room. When Mom said it was time to leave, Ryan made sure to give Jacob one of the invitations.
As they drove away, Mom turned and smiled at Ryan.
“You’re a natural missionary, you know that?”
Ryan’s eyebrows scrunched together as he turned to look at Mom. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I didn’t do any missionary stuff over there. I just hung out with Jacob. He’s fun!”
Mom nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. You were a great missionary because you just wanted to get to know Jacob, and you weren’t afraid to be yourself.”
Ryan smiled as he leaned back in his seat. He felt good inside. He couldn’t wait to write to Sister Ray and tell her about his new friend—and what he had learned about being a natural missionary.

May I share with you the account of Tihi and Tararaina Mou Tham and their 10 children. The entire family except for one daughter joined the Church in the early 1960s, when missionaries came to their island, located about 100 miles (160 km) south of Tahiti. Soon they began to desire the blessings of an eternal family sealing in the temple.

At that time the nearest temple to the Mou Tham family was the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, more than 2,500 miles (4,000 km) to the southwest, accessible only by expensive airplane travel. The large Mou Tham family, which eked out a meager living on a small plantation, had no money for airplane fare, nor was there any opportunity for employment on their Pacific island. So Brother Mou Tham and his son Gérard made the difficult decision to travel 3,000 miles (4,800 km) to work in New Caledonia, where another son was already employed.

The three Mou Tham men labored for four years. Brother Mou Tham alone returned home only once during that time, for the marriage of a daughter.

After four years, Brother Mou Tham and his sons had saved enough money to take the family to the New Zealand Temple. All who were members went except for one daughter who was expecting a baby. They were sealed for time and eternity, an indescribable and joyful experience.

Brother Mou Tham returned from the temple directly to New Caledonia, where he worked for two more years to pay for the passage of the one daughter who had not been at the temple with them—a married daughter and her child and husband.

In their later years Brother and Sister Mou Tham desired to serve in the temple. By that time the Papeete Tahiti Temple had been constructed and dedicated, and they served four missions there.3

Shortly before my wife was to give birth to our first child, we learned that the baby must be born by cesarean section. I was then a student at Brigham Young University, going to school full time and working almost full time. From my meager earnings, a little over $1.00 an hour, we had saved enough money for the hospital and doctor bills, but nothing in our plans or emotions had prepared us for this shocking announcement. We scarcely knew what a cesarean birth was, and we feared the worst.

A few days later we faced our ordeal. After what seemed an eternity, I stood at a window in the hospital hallway, looking into a basket containing our firstborn. The joy of seeing her and knowing that my beloved companion had survived the operation was inexpressible. As I experienced that moment, I became aware of a stranger standing beside me. He introduced himself as Dr. N. Frederick Hicken, the surgeon who had come from Salt Lake City to perform the operation. His presence reminded me that a surgeon’s fee had not been in our plans, and I began to ask him if I could pay his fee over a period of time. “Don’t worry about that, young man,” he said in a kindly way. “This is one from the Hickens to the Oakses.” Before I could stammer a thank-you, he was gone.

I was filled with wonder at this unexpected gift. Our benefactor must have known my father, a young medical doctor who died when I was a boy. He must have given us this gift because of something my father had done. I marveled at the goodness of this man who had come to us in our crisis and had, without recompense, used his powers to preserve the lives of those I loved. The emotion of that moment made the memory indelible. The name of that doctor is precious to me. I will always remember him.

While serving as a mission president in the Philippines, my oldest grandson Tanner, who is seated on the stand with us today, was asked to give a talk in his sacrament meeting on how to prepare to become a missionary. He was 13 years old at the time and had some questions himself on how best to prepare. He quickly sent off an e-mail to me for my advice.

I decided to ask my 160 full-time missionaries. In a weekly letter to all my missionaries, I explained the situation and asked what they thought was the very most important thing Tanner could do and teach others on how to prepare to serve a mission. The next week all of my missionaries responded. I was a bit surprised that the number one preparation recommended was to have a sincere desire to serve. Becoming begins with desire.

I love to feel the Spirit. It’s a feeling I can confidently say I recognize now.

But that took work. Where I grew up in the north of England, it was often hard to place myself in an environment that allowed me to feel the Holy Ghost. There are so many great young adults there who grew up in the Church, yet it was sometimes difficult to align our behaviors with the doctrine and truths we knew in our hearts.

For a long time, I attended church on Sundays but felt frustrated and sad knowing that the things the Spirit was communicating to me were not getting through to others whom I love and care for.

However, I’m learning the importance of making room for the Spirit in all areas of my life and helping others do the same.

After graduating from secondary school, I faced a lot of difficulties. For example, there are lots of activities and conferences for young adult members of the Church where I live. But after these activities, some young adults would go to clubs or places that weren’t aligned with our values.

That shocked me!

Drinking alcohol and clubbing are common here, but I didn’t expect friends I sat by in church to do those things too.

I was confused.

Seeing friends make these decisions made it really hard to know who would help me stay spiritually strong. Eventually, because I saw others living the gospel casually, I was led away from the gospel too. I wasn’t going to church or praying, and I was doing things I shouldn’t have been doing.

But one day, when I was feeling particularly miserable, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him my feelings. I told Him I wanted the Church to be true and I wanted to understand His commandments, but it was so hard to even consider standing alone. But I told Him that if I could find reassurance of the truths of the gospel, I would listen and put my heart into living it again.

A few days later, I felt a distinct spiritual impression that I needed to serve a mission.

The thought really came out of nowhere. But I could feel the Spirit nudging me in that direction. I knew that preparing for a mission would enable me to remember my testimony, to rebuild my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and to rely on my own faith—not anyone else’s.

And that was my desire.

So, I started to change. It took a lot of spiritual work. I had to stop hanging out with certain friends, I broke up with the person I was dating, and I had to replace my bad habits with better ones. I worked with my bishop and relied on Jesus Christ’s enabling power to help me move forward.

Before my mission, I didn’t understand commandments and covenants. My friends were treating these blessings like burdens, and I had started seeing them that way too. But after serving a mission and rebuilding my faith, I now see covenants and commandments as blessed responsibilities that help me maintain divine, direct connection with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—every day.

Sometimes it makes me sad that others don’t see the exquisite blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. At times, I just want to shake them by the shoulders and remind them of the miracle their covenants are! I want them to realize what the Savior can enable them to do and become!

But while I can’t control others, I can keep my testimony strong. I can know when to step away from some people’s influence and also know how to be a good influence on them.

I think that is what brought me back after I struggled with my faith: remembering the love of my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I know I wouldn’t have gone on a mission if I hadn’t asked Heavenly Father for divine direction in a time of deep confusion. As much as I wish I hadn’t had to go through those painful experiences, I learned so much about repentance, about Heavenly Father’s perfect love, and about the importance of prioritizing good relationships (especially with Him and our Savior) that keep us connected to the Spirit.

Despite the hard parts, rebuilding my faith in Him was worth everything.

Katie loved singing. She loved dancing. But most of all, she loved Sundays! That’s when she got to see her friend Quincy.
Katie had Down syndrome. Sometimes at church she got confused and didn’t know what to do. But she knew Quincy would be there to help her.
Quincy would hold Katie’s hand and walked with her to Primary. Sometimes Katie felt wiggly during sharing time, and Quincy would give her a hug. It always helped Katie calm down. After sharing time, Quincy helped Katie find her class. Katie loved Quincy.
One day Katie learned that something sad had happened in Quincy’s family. Quincy’s older brother Cory had died. Katie knew her friend would be so sad. She knew Quincy loved her big brother very much.
Mom told Katie that tonight people were going to the church building to show Quincy’s family that they were loved. Then tomorrow would be Cory’s funeral.
“Would you like to go to the church with Dad and me tonight?” Mom asked Katie.
Katie nodded. She wanted to tell Quincy that she loved her!
Mom helped Katie put on nice clothes. Then they drove to the church.
When they got there, Katie could see lots of people. She knew some of them from church. She saw her bishop. She saw her Primary teacher. But she couldn’t see her friend.
“Mom, where’s Quincy?” Katie asked.
Mom didn’t know.
“Why don’t we ask someone?” Mom said.
Usually Katie didn’t like talking around lots of people. But tonight she needed to find Quincy. Katie felt brave. She marched up to the bishop.
“Quincy is sad. I need to find Quincy!” she told him.
The bishop smiled and took Katie’s hand. “Then let’s go find Quincy.”
Together, the bishop, Mom, and Katie walked around the church building. Finally they found her! Quincy was sitting in a corner. She looked really, really sad.
Katie walked over to her friend and wrapped her arms around her. She thought of how much Quincy missed her brother.
“It’s OK, Quincy. Jesus will take care of Cory,” Katie said. She carefully patted Quincy’s hair, making sure to be gentle.
Quincy started crying. Katie hugged her tighter.
“It’s OK,” Katie said. “Jesus will take care of Cory.”
Quincy cried and cried. Katie just kept hugging her friend. After a while, Quincy got quieter. She was still sniffling, but not crying so much. She looked up at Katie.
“Thank you, Katie,” she said. “You’re right. Jesus will take care of my brother.”
Katie was happy that she could help her friend feel better. She loved Quincy!

On October 22, some of the rescuers pushed on to help the other handcart companies, while William H. Kimball, with the remaining wagons, started back to Salt Lake City in charge of the Willie company.
Those too weak to pull their handcarts placed their possessions in the wagons and walked beside them. Those unable to walk rode in the wagons. When they arrived at Rocky Ridge, another terrible snowstorm fell upon them. As they struggled up the side of the ridge, they had to wrap themselves in blankets and quilts to keep from freezing to death. About 40 of the company had already perished.3
The weather was so cold that many of the Saints suffered frostbite on their hands, feet, and faces while crossing the ridge. One woman was blinded by the frost.
We can imagine the Moultons, with their brood of eight children, pulling and pushing their two carts as they struggled through the deep snow. One cart was drawn by Thomas and his wife with its precious cargo?Lottie, Lizzie, and baby Charles?with little James Heber stumbling and being dragged along by the rope around his waist. The other cart was drawn and pushed by Sarah Elizabeth and the other three children. A kind, elderly woman, seeing little James Heber’s struggle, grasped his hand as he trailed behind the handcart. This kindly act saved his right hand, but his left hand, exposed to the subzero weather, froze. When they reached Salt Lake City, several of his fingers on that hand were amputated.

Many experiences have helped strengthen my testimony of the power of prayer. Perhaps the one that had the most long-term effect on my life was my decision to accept a call to serve a mission.
I had always planned to fill a mission. From the time I was old enough to understand, my parents had taught me how important a mission was and that it was the right thing to do. After graduating from high school, I was fortunate to receive an academic and athletic scholarship to the University of Chicago. It was 1937 and the United States was struggling to emerge from the Great Depression. My parents were simply unable to help me financially with my college education, so the scholarship was my great opportunity. My mother was reluctant to let me go from our home in Salt Lake City to this great university so far away for a number of reasons, but primarily because she felt I might not choose to accept a mission call after my sophomore year, when I would be old enough. Cautiously she agreed to my going if I would still plan on going on my mission when the time came. I agreed.
When I returned home that summer, after my sophomore year, one of the first things she said was, “Lynn, now you can prepare to leave on your mission in the fall.” However, after being exposed to the philosophies of men, expounded by the world-renowned professors of that great university, I had changed my mind.
In essence I said, “Mother, I have changed my mind. I feel that many of the teachings of the Church are old-fashioned and out-of-date, and that it is more important for me to complete my junior and senior years, and then possibly fill a mission.”
I will never forget the terrible hurt look on her face. She didn’t shout or scold or chastise me in any way. She just wept, and later I learned that she and Dad prayed with all the fervor of their souls that I would change my mind. I also prayed for confirmation that I had made the right decision.
Fortunately for me, our prayers were answered, and I listened to the whisperings of the Spirit. The answer came on that last day when I had to decide whether or not to return to the university, and I decided to serve a mission.
My young friends, as I look back over the 50 years of my life since that important decision was made with the help of the Lord, I can testify to you that it was one of the best and most important decisions of my life. Reflecting on my attitude at the time and the direction I was going, I shudder to contemplate what would have happened to me if I had chosen unwisely. I could have easily become inactive in the Church and missed out on the most important experiences of this life and the eternities.

When I was called as a General Authority, my first assignment was to move to Moscow, Russia. I was very humbled to serve in the Area Presidency, especially as I thought of the history of the area. The countries in Eastern Europe were formerly under communistic rule, and many of the old attitudes still prevailed.

President Russell M. Nelson was assigned to advise our area. He has a wealth of experience, having opened Russia and most of the surrounding countries for the preaching of the gospel. Although he lived far away in Salt Lake City, I communicated with him on a regular basis by email or by phone while I served as the Area President. I was constantly reporting what was happening in Eastern Europe and asking for his inspired counsel.

After several weeks I began to see a pattern. Whenever I received an email from President Nelson, it contained more than just excellent advice. It always included some complimentary words and a positive message to encourage our presidency. His example made me want to lift others as he had lifted me. I learned that kindness is contagious.

I also learned that our modern-day apostles emulate the Savior in their lives, especially in the way they treat others. They are turned outward, not inward.

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