Gospel Story Finder

When the somber day arrived that I had to leave the people I had grown to love so much, a man recognized me on the ferry. He approached to thank me for what I had done, when he saw that I held only a coach ticket. He insisted that I switch my ticket for his first-class one for the long, 14-hour ride. He told me that seeing the volunteers’ examples changed him. He wanted to help someone else too, and switching his ticket was the best he could do right now.

“Please,” he begged. “Please.”

Tears filled my eyes as I witnessed once again the ripple effect that genuine service and love can cause.

When I was a young father, after graduating from BYU–Hawaii, I moved my family to Maui. I had a job working for a non-profit organization, which was a good, steady job. However, after working there for a few years, I knew I didn’t want to do this job forever as my long-term career. I wanted something different. About this time, I had an opportunity to audition for a very successful music and dance production on Maui—you could say it was Hawaii’s equivalent of a Broadway production. Part of me was still very much a performer at heart. Because the show was successful, the cast was paid very well. I auditioned and was surprised to find out I got the job. I was excited but also unsure because of the impact this job would have on my family. It was excellent pay, but I would be away nights and weekends. I eventually made up my mind to take the job, do something I enjoyed doing, and provide for my family as well. But before I accepted, I decided to pray and ask the Lord if this was the right plan. When we go to the Lord for direction, we need to make sure that our hearts are in the right place to receive that direction. That we are willing to follow His promptings. Well, when I prayed to include the Lord in my planning, I received a surprising answer—my plan was not good and the Lord had a much different vision for me. I received the strong impression that I should go back to school and get my master’s degree. Now, confession time, I was not the best student with the highest GPA. Getting my bachelor’s degree was hard. When it was time to take tests I would study really hard and I felt like I understood the material, but something in my brain would go a little blank when I would have to sit down and take a test, and I never did as well as I did in the everyday classroom. One of the last things I wanted to do was go back for more schooling and more tests! I had my “dream job” right in front of me! It was an extremely difficult decision, but I ultimately chose to follow the Lord’s plan and not my own. As it turns out, unbeknownst to me, my wife’s plan was already aligned with the Lord’s because before I had fully decided what I was going to do, GMAT study books arrived at our house in the mail. She had ordered them weeks before! (Men, if you don’t know what the Lord’s plan is just ask your wife—she already has the answer.) After I aligned myself with the Lord’s plan for me, I applied for and was accepted into the MBA program at Hawaii Pacific University. Following the Lord’s plan also brought challenges. It meant moving to another island for my family, it meant my wife would need to find a job to support us while I went to school, and it meant uncertainty. The Lord’s plan for me didn’t happen smoothly. Each step of the way had obstacles to solve and overcome, but as my wife and I took each step - for me to apply, for her to find a job, for us to find a place to live - pathways and solutions opened up for us.

We moved from Maui to Oahu. We found a place to live. My wife was hired for an amazing job that was flexible and gave her a car to use as well! With preparation and work, everything for the Lord’s plan not only fell into place but it was better than I imagined. Eighteen months after I started school, I graduated with my MBA.

That decision to get a higher degree has directly impacted my career to this day. I learned through this experience that one of the most important elements of preparation is planning with the Lord, which also sometimes means that your own plan gets scraped and kicked to the curb.

“It was a great opportunity to strengthen my testimony,” says Daniel Kirkpatrick, who baptized his friend Jeron Fosjord after helping the missionaries teach him. “It helped me appreciate the priesthood more because it wasn’t my dad performing the ordinance. It wasn’t one of the older adults or even my older brother. It was me. I had the priesthood, and I could use it.”

Daniel, a priest in the Pioneer Park Ward, was struck by the eternal consequences of performing Jeron’s baptism. “Jeron is going to be a missionary some day. He’ll affect others, and they’ll affect others. It was a sobering thought, a wake-up call, that what I was doing will have eternal echoes.”

When the day finally came, naturally Dan was nervous about performing an ordinance in front of other people. “I was a little scared,” he says. “I probably asked Jeron his middle name a thousand times to make sure I got it right.” It didn’t help that the font hadn’t filled all the way.

“The water didn’t even reach our knees,” Dan says.

He got the name right, but the water was so low that it took him four tries before Jeron was completely submerged. “I just about drowned him one time because as he was coming up I saw that he hadn’t gone all the way under, so I panicked and pushed him down again.”

After the third try, they went ahead with the talks and musical number while the font filled some more. By Dan’s fourth and final try, the water was up to their waists. “It was easy then,” he says.

Despite it being a “rough first time,” Dan loved the experience: “It was awesome.” Not only did it strengthen his testimony and help him appreciate the priesthood more, the experience excited him about serving a mission.

“I’ve felt the fears and tasted the successes of a full-time mission,” he says. “I’m excited to get out there and serve.”

When I was in high school I was determined to be the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. These were depression days, and that was the only quick way I knew to a million dollars. I was a big boy, and in some amateur bouts in high school, I had won with ease. Visions of what I would have in just a few short years lured me on. Yet, I realized vaguely that I had not had very much competition and that I probably needed some expert coaching before becoming the “logical contender.”
When a wiry little man moved in next door, and I got a look at his face, I felt my needed help was at hand. I ran out to help him move in, and the first question I asked him was, “Are you a fighter?” He kind of grinned and said, “It does show, doesn’t it, son? Yes, I’ve had seventy or eighty pro bouts.”
I said, “I’m a fighter!” He looked at me and said, “Well, you’re big enough.” I continued, “I haven’t had any real instruction, though. Could you give me a few pointers? I’ve won all my bouts so far.” After a moment’s hesitation, he replied, “Well, okay. Come on over to my garage one of these days.”
I did not wait for one of these days. I was over that afternoon. He smiled a little at my eagerness but finally managed to locate some big sparring gloves. He weighed about 120 to 125 pounds; I came close to 190. I stripped off my shirt and said, “I kind of outweigh you a little, don’t I?” He didn’t reply to that, but as he laced his gloves, he said, “Now, son, I fight from instinct. I can’t think before I hit you. If I see an opening I’ll nail you. I want you to understand that if I hit you a little harder than you think I ought to, I’m not doing it on purpose.” I said, “Oh, sure, I’ll take it easy on you, too.” He looked up at me, and he didn’t smile. He just said, “Don’t worry about it, son.”
The rest of the story is merely pitiful. I didn’t touch him—I didn’t touch him. Suddenly, after about a minute, when I was obviously wide open and didn’t realize it, he hit me on the point of the chin. His huge sparring glove felt as if it had an iron bar in it. I went down like a sack of meal. I was not quite knocked out, but I was pretty dazed. As my head cleared and I looked up, he was taking off his gloves. I jumped up and said, “Oh, come on! I know the difference between an amateur and a pro, now, but you can help me.” He kept shaking his head and taking off his gloves. The vision of a million dollars began to fade. Almost in a panic I reached for him and asked, “Won’t you help me?” He shook himself free.
Just then a bright young fly came winging by. He reached out and captured it. He said, “Now, son, you grab the next fly.” A moment or so later a senile old fly came within range, and I made a couple of passes at it. I didn’t come close to grabbing it. He said, “That’s what’s wrong with you, son. Your reflexes aren’t fast enough. They never will be. There’s nothing you can do about that, boy. You’re kinda tall; have you ever thought of playing basketball?”
I stumbled home, my whole world crashing about me. My mother was ill in bed, as she had been a good deal of her life. Actually, it was the last summer she lived. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I went in and told her what had happened. I said, “Why did it have to be this way for me? Why aren’t my reflexes faster?” As I went on complaining about this, I guess my mother got a little tired of it. She was in pain, and finally she said, very firmly, “Oh, Bobby, what you have is enough!”
Nothing my mother ever said to me has been so useful. “What you have is enough.” If you feel weak and inadequate, may I insist that what you have is enough, provided that—in the memorable phrase of Henry James—you are “the kind of a person on whom nothing is lost.” You never need be as ignorant as you are today, never as awkward or ill-prepared. You can capitalize on such strengths as you have and move forward positively.

While walking down the hall of the Provo 24th–27th Ward chapel in the Provo Utah North Stake, my attention was drawn to a bulletin board on which was located an eye-catching photograph of a pyramid of young Scouts. A closer look indelibly impressed upon my mind the potential impact of Scouting, leaders, and parents, for drawn to the picture of each boy in the pyramid was a line, and at the end of the line appeared names of places both far and near, including Spain, Mexico, Oregon, Thailand, England, Arkansas, and Tahiti.
A desire to investigate further brought me to the home of the former Scoutmaster, Rex Craig, who told me that he had taken the picture in June 1970. At that time he had called members of the troop together to inform them that they had been selected by the YMMIA general superintendency as one of the top 50 troops in the Church with a ranking of #11. (In a later year their troop achieved a #3 rating.)
At the time, Brother Craig had 23 boys in his troop. All of the boys except one went on to achieve the rank of Eagle (the remaining boy lacked only two merit badges), and to date all but two have gone on to serve the Lord in the mission field.
When I asked how he accounted for this kind of activity, he said there were a couple of reasons: The boys were basically good, and, in general, there was excellent support from the homes and the bishopric. But he felt there was one other ingredient that contributed to the success; that ingredient was the application of the program of the Church in which leaders work together to build men. In this case it was the Scoutmaster and the deacons quorum adviser. He handed me a letter that he had received from William Jones, a deacons adviser who had served during the time the boys were in Scouting. The special ingredient is described therein. The letter reads:
“Dear Brother Craig:
“As I prepare to leave Utah, I feel it appropriate to express my feelings and impressions of Troop 194, both as a deacons quorum adviser and as a worker on the troop committee.
“You know of my deep respect for you as a man, but I need to expand this to include your unique role as Scoutmaster. The activities have often taxed your time to the limit, but time was still found to meet the sincere needs of both Scouts and parents, even a ‘confused committeeman’ on occasion. Many felt that after your son became an Eagle Scout your enthusiasm would die. On the contrary, each boy in Troop 194 has, in turn, become a son to you and achieved the Eagle rank. I know personally of the great love each boy has for you.
“As a deacons adviser I owe you much for assisting me in making the priesthood such an integral part of each boy’s life. In no other place is cooperation more important, and I personally feel that in no other area is it more present than in our ward. Because you were with us on Sundays and you allowed me to play an active role in Mutual and on campouts, every boy became our concern and gave the program a true completeness.
“I was privileged to work with a choice group of men, but my greatest joy came from the obvious source—the individual boy. I shall never forget my first outing with the boys to Silver Lake. I was critical and tried to oversee 20 active Scouts. I failed, of course, but by the second go-round things began to focus and I watched the patrol leaders function. I saw characteristics in boys then that will someday make them fine men and our future leaders. Clean speech, honesty, and other principles that were taught in priesthood lessons came alive as I watched our boys.
“Troop 194 has no perfect boy. We have had and will continue to have loud, fidgety, curious, active creatures called boys to love, appreciate, train, and say good-bye to as they head into future challenges, better prepared for having been a boy in our ward.”
In response to my question as to how this relationship between priesthood and Scouting could produce such good results, Brother Craig said, “Everything I’ve ever read or been taught in the scriptures seems to say, ‘Seek the best; cease to be idle; gain knowledge in thy youth; love thy neighbor; do your duty to God; obey; be loyal’; and the list goes on and on. It doesn’t take long to see that a boy’s time seeking, learning, obeying, competing, challenging, promising, and excelling is well spent. It’s not easy, and the boy isn’t happy 100 percent of the time. But he is growing, and he thinks a lot about life now and in the future, and in the end he feels like he’s done something. Though his Eagle badge is important to him, he soon realizes it is just a training step. He knows within himself, here was a challenge. He took it, and he conquered it. Even though it often meant ridicule, sacrifice, and even doing something he thought he could never do, he did it. If you want to see desire and courage, you just watch a boy who reaches the age of 12 and can’t swim. He may struggle, fail, fight, and fail. With determination he will try again, fail again, sometimes cry, but always pick himself up and go on. in the end he knows that he has succeeded at something he thought to be impossible.
“In case anyone should think that our goal in Scouting is to become the top troop in the Church, or 100 percent Eagles, or be awarded the most badges at a court of honor, let me straighten him out. There is only one goal and that is to return the best spirit and strongest character possible to our Father in heaven. This is our goal in priesthood and in Scouting. Scouting offers some tools to practice the principles taught in priesthood.”
Another look at the picture impressed upon my mind the impact that parents, leaders, and the gospel have had upon a closely knit group of boys and, in turn, the impact they are having upon the world: Italy, Taiwan, California, Belgium—Tenderfeet, Eagles, missionaries.

The Prophet recognized in himself many weaknesses, but he set about to overcome them. He recorded that on one occasion a man came into his home and in a rage called him almost every name under heaven. The Prophet wrote that he was so incensed he kicked the man out of his house and all the way to the front gate. He then went back to his office and wrote in his journal how unbecoming of a prophet his actions had been. He never lost his temper again.

It’s worth doing, not only because you have life ahead but because you have eternity ahead, as well. Here is one report that suggests your reward for investing your inheritance well here will be to get to do it forever. President Wilford Woodruff gave this report in general conference in 1896.
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry? I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory, but it was new doctrine to me” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, pp. 288–89).

Receiving gospel ordinances and keeping covenants had a dramatic influence on Diana’s family. Diana and her younger brother, Emmanuel, were the first to join the Church. Before that time, Diana says, her family argued a lot. She knew her parents wanted the best for her and her brothers, but they were strict.
“We felt more fear than love for my dad,” she says.
Several months after she was baptized, her father and older brother, Richard, joined the Church, followed more than a year later by her mother.
“My father changed,” Diana says of her father’s conversion. “When we did things wrong, he would talk to us about it. We had fewer arguments. There was more harmony in our home.”
Covenanting to follow Jesus Christ had drawn them closer to Him and to each other. They had a common purpose: to become an eternal family. A year after Diana’s mother was baptized, the family was sealed in the temple.
“It was a beautiful experience,” Diana says. “I can’t explain how I felt when we walked into the sealing room and saw my parents there. I didn’t want to leave.”

Some months ago I spent a week at a management seminar in Atlanta, Georgia. One of the guest lecturers was Dr. James Gill—a remarkable individual. He heads the Department of Health Services at Harvard University. He spent twelve years in preparation as a Catholic priest, went on to medical school to become a physician, and then pursued a specialty in psychiatry. He made the comment that, to many people, we are living in a time that is considered the age of entitlement. He said that all his life somebody was trying to make something out of him. His parents were trying to make a good boy out of him, his teachers were trying to make a good student out of him, his coaches were trying to make a good ball player out of him, and, in the military service as a navy pilot, they were trying to make a good pilot out of him. He went to Marquette University, and addressing that freshman class on the opening day the head physician said, “You want to be a doctor? You want to be a good doctor? All right, if you’re successful, this is what will happen. First of all you will have to spend at least four hundred hours in the library. You will have to cut up a cadaver at least once a week until you know every joint, every muscle, every bone contained in that human body. We have one of the finest faculties of anatomy anywhere in the United States. You will have to pick their brains and seek them out to try to gain from their experience. Now you should understand something,” he said. “We don’t check on you to see if you’re attending class. If you want to stay home and sleep that’s your business. We won’t call your folks. There are so many people waiting to take your place here that we couldn’t care less whether you attend class or not. And so, just remember that sometime you will have to certify as a doctor. You will have to pass some very stiff boards, and you must use every resource you have in order to make it.”
Dr. Gill said, “For the first time in my life I realized that somebody had put the monkey squarely on my back and I was almost entirely responsible for the results. I don’t mind telling you I was pretty frightened, but I was also thrilled and provoked by the opportunity.”

“It’s great to combine learning a skill with fulfilling a Personal Progress project and serving a member of the ward,” said one of the young women of the Exeter Ward, Plymouth England Stake. The young women made a quilt for Sister Etta Cunningham, an aging ward member who was then suffering from cancer. The girls enjoyed the project as they learned a lot about piecing quilts. They also learned about having compassion for their elders.
Before Sister Cunningham passed away, she sent the girls a thank-you note, which they now keep in their Young Women book of remembrance.

“Want some candy?” José held out a brown piece of candy to his friend Pedro as they rode home from school together on the city bus.
“Sure,” Pedro said. He reached out to take the candy and popped it into his mouth.
José picked out a yellow candy from the small bag. The boys were quiet as the bus rumbled along. Their city in Argentina was large. They had a long bus ride each day to get to school. José’s mamá always gave him money to buy a little bag of candy to help pass the time.
“Want some more?” José held out a handful of brown candies.
“Yeah, thanks!” Pedro said. “Why don’t you like them? They’re really good.”
José paused for a moment to think and licked his lips. “I guess because they are coffee flavored.”
“Why don’t you like coffee flavor? It’s so good.”
“Well, I’m a Mormon, and we don’t drink coffee, so I guess I’m not used to the flavor.”
Pedro looked confused. “What’s a Mormon? And why don’t you drink coffee?”
“A Mormon is someone who is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We believe that God wants us to take care of our bodies, so we don’t drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. And we don’t smoke.”
“But this is just candy,” Pedro said. “It’s not real coffee.”
“I know,” said José. “But I still don’t want to eat it.”
Pedro nodded. “Well, you can give me all the brown ones. What else does your Church teach you?”
“Every Sunday we go to church and learn about Jesus and Heavenly Father. We also learn lots of fun songs. Actually, all of the kids are going to sing and talk in our Church meeting this Sunday. Why don’t you ask your mom if you can come to church with me? You can meet the missionaries too.”
“OK,” Pedro said. “Do they have any coffee-flavored candy they want to get rid of too?”
José laughed. “No, but they have something even better to share!”

After his baptism, Ken wanted his parents to know about the gospel. “I doubt that my parents would ever be interested in becoming Latter-day Saints,” he said. After all, his father held a prominent position in his own church.

But when Ken was home on leave, he asked his parents if they would be willing to have the missionaries tell them about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Being the fine, open-minded people they were, they agreed. Later, Ken had the privilege of baptizing and confirming them. They later became temple workers.

And there is a higher interpretation of the principle of peace. The Savior is the Prince of Peace. Great interpretations have been given to that title. One of the finest that I have ever heard in my life was by President Lee. President Joseph Fielding Smith had just died. President Lee was now the brand-new prophet. His first major meeting as the prophet was in Mexico at an area conference down there. His first press conference as prophet was there, and President Lee was asked a trap question.

Now there are all kinds of trap questions. A trap question is a question to which you can’t say yes and you can’t say no. The traditional trap question is, “Have you stopped beating your wife?” You can’t say “Yes, I’ve stopped” or “No, I haven’t stopped.” Whatever you say, you’re wrong.

President Joseph F. Smith, back at the turn of the century, in Washington, D.C., was asked a trap question by reporters. That question was, “Are you a prophet of God?” If he said yes, they were going to say, “Well, prophesy something for us, tell us something important that’s going to happen. Any earthquakes coming up?” Whatever he said, they were going to ridicule him. They had it all planned. If he said “No, I’m not a prophet,” they would say, “Well, the Mormon prophet says he’s not a prophet.” They would ridicule him yes or no. His inspired answer, when they pulled that trap question on him, was, “I am so sustained by the members of the Church.” They couldn’t do anything with that, and he gained their understanding.

Now back to President Lee in Mexico City. Hostile, foreign, international, sophisticated reporters pulled a political question on him. “What is your position with regard to the Vietnam involvement—the Vietnam War?” Some of you may not remember that particular time in history. It was a hot political issue, the Hawks against the Doves—there was an element of patriotism. Our government and our leaders of the nation were involved and said, “We should be there.” But there was a growing opposition to it. It has since been reconciled to the satisfaction of some, not to the satisfaction of others. But, at that point, if President Lee said, “I’m in favor of being there,” they would headline it, “How strange, a religious leader in favor of war.” If President Lee said, “I’m against it,” they would say, “How strange, a religious leader who pretends to support his government—it is one of their articles of faith—is against his own government.”

Either way it was a difficult question. President Lee’s answer was classic. It was inspiration from the Lord. It was a higher interpretation. He said, “We, together with the entire Christian world, abhor wars.” Then he said, “The Savior, however, said that in the world there would be tribulations. He said, ‘In me ye might have peace’” (John 16:33). Then President Lee went on to say, “The Savior said, ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you’’” (John 14:27). It’s even more beautiful in Spanish: “La paz os dejo, mi paz os doy; no como el mundo la da, yo os la doy. No se turbe vuestro corazón, ni tenga miedo.” It’s more poetic in Spanish. (I just had to do that for the returned missionaries from Latin America.)

President Lee went on to say, “The Savior was not talking about the kind of peace that you can win with armies and navies and bombs and rockets. He was talking about the kind of peace a person can have in his own heart, no matter what kind of tribulations there may be in the world.” He so won the understanding and sympathy of those worldly reporters that they gave good coverage to the conference, and excellent coverage to President Lee as a religious leader. They learned from him—they learned the higher interpretation.

When you see Madilyn Paige perform, you would never guess the 20-year-old once suffered from paralyzing stage fright. At age 16, she faced her fear by trying out for the singing competition The Voice. She made it to the finals, where her voice enchanted judges and viewers alike.
Since then, Madilyn has released singles and is soon to release an album. She continues performing at venues like the Stadium of Fire in Provo, Utah, USA, and keeps chasing her dream to spread light and share uplifting messages through her music.
“I think music is a superpower. I feel so fortunate that I’ve been blessed with this gift. I want to use it to bring hope and happiness to people.”

I suppose I was about seven years old when Mom told me that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. Maybe she had told me earlier, but I don’t remember that.
“So, if I really want something, and if I’m a really good boy, and I ask for it—Heavenly Father will give it to me?”
“That’s right, son. If your faith is very strong, and if it’s for your own good, he’ll give it to you.”
That hot summer night in 1944 I lay in bed thinking about what I wanted most from Heavenly Father. Another brother? Maybe. A new baseball? I’d probably get one for my birthday anyway. How about an end to the war and my dad coming home? Yes. But Mom was working hard on that one with her prayers.
And then it came to me—the one single, most critical, most desirable, most longed for, most important thing in all the world to my seven-year-old heart: I wanted to fly … like a bird.
And why not? Birds flew. Bats flew. Kites and paper airplanes and bugs and butterflies flew. Why not me?
How the other kids would envy me! How my teacher would gasp with astonishment and admiration! And wouldn’t my friends Joey Hirschberger and Jimmy Johnson be envious?
Taking care not to wake my little brother, Lynn, I slid out of bed and dropped to my knees. I folded my arms (like Mom did), and squeezed my eyes shut. Then I clenched my teeth (a sure sign of great faith, I felt), reflected the intensity of the moment in my screwed tight face, and uttered my first all-alone-by-myself, out-loud prayer:
“Heavenly Father, I want to fly. I really, really, really want to fly. Won’t you please bless me so that I can fly? I’ll be a really good boy if you’ll help me to fly. Honest. Amen.”
Then I got off my knees, pulled my chair to the center of the darkened room, and climbed up on the chair. Extending my arms out wide, I whispered it again: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to fly. Mom said you could do it. I know you can do it.”
With this, I began to flap my arms furiously. Up and down, up and down, faster, faster.
You can probably guess what happened: My arms got tired.
I sat down and thought about it. Maybe I was missing something important. Maybe what I needed was to jump off the chair while I flapped my arms.
I climbed back up on the chair. This time I flapped my arms really hard and then jumped off the chair, upward, outward.
And downward. Thump! Soon Mother appeared at the door, wondering what had caused all the noise.
The next day I pondered the problem until I thought I had it worked out: Heavenly Father must be testing my faith. Maybe the secret was to pray for several nights in a row and to grit my teeth harder and to screw up my face tighter while I prayed.
I tried it. Each night for a week I prayed and prayed, my faith and enthusiasm growing. By Sunday night I was sure that I was ready.
Back up on the chair, arms extended, I once more whispered my plea to the Lord, absolutely sure that he would hear and answer my prayer and allow me to fly.
My arms began to flap up and down, faster, faster. I jumped upward and outward.
And downward. Thump! Again I was questioned about the loud thump from the upstairs bedroom.
What was missing? I had gritted my teeth and twisted my face into a grimace. Why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t I soared from the chair and flapped around the room? I lay in bed for a long time thinking, wondering.
The next day I was in the back yard of the house when I heard Mom calling me.
Blackberries. I had promised to pick the berries from the huge wild blackberry bush behind the garage. But it was hot, and I didn’t feel like fighting the vicious brambles and thorns in August to make sure we would have jam next January.
Just for a moment, I pretended I hadn’t heard her. That’s when the inspiration came: How could I expect the Lord to give me flight if I couldn’t give Mom a few minutes for an errand?
From that moment, I became a fanatic errand boy. I not only picked blackberries, I chopped firewood. I filled the wood box. I swept the porch. I set the table and went to the store. And then I picked more blackberries until my arms and hands were scratched and bleeding from the thorns.
I wore Mom out with demands for more and more errands. How could the Lord deny me now? I had prayed with all my might for two weeks, had exercised enormous faith, had filled my days with good works and liter buckets of blackberries. Surely, I would fly now!
That night I mentioned all of this to the Lord in my prayer, then climbed back onto the chair in my darkened bedroom. This time. … This time. … This time it will work!
It didn’t work. The upward, outward curve again continued into the downward curve, ending in the by-now-familiar thump.
I couldn’t understand it. For all my prayers and all my faith and all my good works, I remained as earthbound as Joey and Jimmy. What could be missing?
Without ever mentioning my desire to fly, I put the problem of unanswered prayers to my Sunday School teacher. What followed was a lesson on how to pray and how Heavenly Father answers prayers. And there was the answer. I marveled that I had missed it: I had failed to trust utterly and completely in the Lord.
Up until now, I had jumped off a low chair—a chair low enough that if the flapping didn’t work, I at least wouldn’t break my neck. The Lord must be waiting for me to show real faith by jumping off of something high enough that failure would hurt. That would prove my faith!
And beyond that, I had always made my attempts in the privacy of a darkened bedroom. Next time I would prove real faith by jumping off of something really high—and with an audience and in open daylight.
All the next week I prepared. The faith, the prayers, the endless helpfulness to Mom continued. By Saturday afternoon I was ready.
I explained my project to Lynn and Joey Hirschberger and Jimmy Johnson. I explained about faith and good works. I explained about the kind of prayers where you grit your teeth and twist your face into a grimace. I explained about having to risk yourself to show that you trust the Lord absolutely.
And then I started up the ladder to the roof of the garage. Lynn and Jimmy and Joey remained on the ground watching and wondering.
Joey said he thought I was crazy. But what did Joey know about faith and works and prayers?
And now I was on the roof of the garage, looking down. It seemed farther from the roof to the ground than it had appeared the other way around.
Directly below me was the terrible blackberry bush. It looked higher and wider than it ever had from the ground. Great long brambles covered with vicious thorns reached up almost to where I stood.
I had to turn away the doubting thought: “What if it doesn’t work? What if I don’t fly? What if I land in the blackberry bush?” But I mustn’t doubt! The entire effort might fail if I doubted!
For doubt is the opposite of faith. Then, with simple logic, I decided that if I removed my only protection from the awful blackberry thorns it would prove my absolute, unshakable faith.
I took off my shirt. Joey said he thought that was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen, and he was going to tell my mom.
I told Joey to sit down and be quiet, but he left to tell Mom anyway. Now I had to hurry!
I closed my eyes and reminded the Lord about how he answers prayers of faith and how if someone wants something badly enough and is a good boy and helps his mom and goes to Sunday School, his prayers will be answered.
That done, I began to flap my arms, faster and faster. Then, eyes still closed tight, I jumped upward and outward from the roof of the garage—upward and outward over a huge wild blackberry bush—with no shirt on.
Before I opened my eyes, I knew I was lying on my back on the kitchen table. Doctor Nichols was just leaving, saying something about how you couldn’t possibly break a bone jumping into an overgrown “pillow”—even if it were covered with thorns. I could feel the cool cloth as Mother continued washing the blood from my dozens of scratches and cuts.
After Doctor Nichols left, Mom chased out my wide-eyed friends, and I opened my eyes. I saw that my mother’s arms and hands and face were covered with dozens of scratches—and realized what she had done to rescue me.
She smiled her special tender smile and held me close in her arms. “For injuries sustained in battle, I award you the purple heart,” she said quietly, “and maybe a bronze star for bravery.”
“Do you have a medal for silliness?” I asked. “I feel so stupid!”
“I suppose we all feel that way sometimes,” Mother replied. “We make mistakes, we learn from them, and then we go on with our lives.”
There was a long pause before I asked the question: “You said Heavenly Father answers prayers. …
Mom finished the sentence: “And now you’re not really sure if he does answer prayers.” Somehow Mom always knew what I was thinking.
“Of course he hears and answers prayers,” she said—and I could tell she really meant it. “Only sometimes we pray for things that aren’t good for us. Sometimes we forget to say, ‘Thy will be done.’ And sometimes his answer is a quiet, firm no. But no is an answer, too, isn’t it, son? He can’t always say yes, can he? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I suppose so. But, Mom, I wanted so much to fly! And I tried so hard!”
“Someday, son, when your dad comes home from the Navy, you’ll have the answer to your prayers. You and Dad can go to the airport and pay for a half-hour airplane flight. There are many ways Heavenly Father could give you a yes answer to your prayers for flight. But it won’t come through flapping your arms and jumping off garages into blackberry bushes.”
By now all the bleeding had stopped, a small bandage over each cut and scratch. As she turned to tending her own wounds, Mother smiled at me and pretended to be stern, “And speaking of jumping off of garages into blackberry bushes: Young man, if you ever do that again, I’ll take away your purple heart!”
A voice interrupted my daydreaming. “We are on our final approach to Hamburg International Airport. Please fasten your seat belts.”
Strange about that childish prayer for flight all those years ago. For a while it had seemed that Heavenly Father didn’t really answer prayers. My answer hadn’t come just then when I had wanted it so badly. It had come later—flying over our hometown in a small airplane with Dad. And then aboard a huge jet en route to the Germany Hamburg Mission. Strange how the answers always seem to come—though not always at the time or in the way we expect.
I fastened my seat belt and let a little prayer run through my mind: “I thank thee, Father, for hearing and answering the prayer of a seven-year-old boy. I thank thee for allowing me to fly.”

Elder Cowley’s daily journal entries reflect concerns common to all missionaries. He anxiously awaited letters from home. The first letter did not arrive until more than six weeks after he started his mission.

“The fleas bothered me so much that I was unable to sleep,” he wrote one day. Still, he managed to find humor in the situation. “I call them my best companions because they stick to me so close.”1 He soon began rubbing flea powder over his entire body and sprinkling it liberally on his covers before going to bed. “I trust that this will stupify [sic] them.”2

The “ordinary” life continued: he was sick for two days with a stomach ailment; he performed his first baptism; he was delighted to get a fruitcake from home.

Young Elder Cowley quickly grew to love the people in his mission field. He felt at ease with the Maori people and took an interest in their culture. He and his companion frequently traveled some distance—by foot, bicycle, horse, boat, or train—to meet with members and investigators.

But by early February 1915, Elder Cowley was temporarily without a companion (a difficulty not encountered by present-day missionaries), and he battled homesickness by studying the Maori language and visiting his Maori friends. His journal entry for 8 February is typical: “This is a very lonely place and I am afraid that I would be inclined to be homesick if I didn’t have my books to study. … After studying several hours I took a walk up the road to another Maori home. Here I made some new friends and had a little religious conversation.”3

Elder Cowley’s assurance that his family was praying for him also strengthened him in hard times. “For eight months I was very sick,” he later wrote. “I had boils, sunstroke, tapeworms, was kicked in the abdomen by a horse, and it was just one thing after another. I used to wake up in the morning, and I would say to myself, ‘Well, all of them at home, my father, mother, and brothers and sisters are down on their knees offering up their prayers in my behalf.’ … That meant something to me.”4

As his love for the Maori people blossomed, Elder Cowley had even more of a desire to learn their language. Soon after rising, he would turn to his books. “I studied until noon and then had dinner and took a little rest,” he wrote. “The rest of the afternoon was also spent in studying.”5

Years later, Elder John Longden, an Assistant to the Twelve, told how Matthew, when he was only 17, was blessed to learn Maori. “He had only been out for two and one half months, and a district missionary conference was called. … Brother Cowley had an opportunity to speak. … He spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes in a fluent Maori tongue, so much so that it amazed the older Maori people in the congregation.
“After the meeting … the district president said … ‘How did you master this Maori language in such a short time?’ …
“Brother Cowley said, ‘When I came here I did not know one word of Maori, but I decided I was going to learn twenty new words each day, and I did. But when I came to put them together, I was not successful.’ By this time they were passing a cornfield, and Brother Cowley said, ‘You see that cornfield? I went out there, and I talked to the Lord, but before that, I fasted, and that night I tried again, but the words just didn’t seem to jell. So the next day I fasted again, and I went out into that cornfield, and I talked to the Lord again. I tried that night with a little more success. On the third day I fasted again, and I went out into the cornfield, and I talked to the Lord. … I told him that I had been called by this same authority to fill a mission, but if this was not the mission in which I was to serve to please make it known because I wanted to serve where I could accomplish the greatest amount of good.’
“That was the spirit of Brother Cowley. He said, ‘The next morning, as we knelt in family prayer in that Maori home, I was called upon by the head of the household to be mouth. I tried to speak English, and I could not. When I tried Maori, the words just flowed forth, and I knew that God had answered my prayer and this was where I should serve.’”6
Though he was scheduled to complete his three-year mission in 1917, Elder Cowley had become so fluent in the Maori language that President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) asked him to remain in New Zealand an additional two years to translate the Doctrine and Covenants and Pearl of Great Price into Maori. Elder Cowley willingly complied. He later served as president of the New Zealand Mission and presiding General Authority over the entire Pacific area, never losing his fluency in Maori.
Just months before he died of a heart attack in 1953 at the age of 56, Elder Cowley wrote that his experiences in New Zealand “have since been an anchor to my faith. … It was there that I learned the value of patience, long suffering, kindliness, forgiveness and the other virtues that are so necessary in the regeneration of the human soul … There amidst the fleas and filth, I loved and was loved.”7

Fu Bi Hsia (Foo Bee Shaw) sprinted the last block to her home in a small Taiwanese village. The August sun poured out of the blue-glass sky, and the humid air covered her body like a hot, heavy blanket. To escape the oppressive heat, she ran through the warm grass and along the edge of the benjo (open sewer) where an old woman was beating her clothes clean against a large rock.

Reaching her home, Bi Hsia paused in the front yard to look for her goose, Goldie. A few of her mother’s pigs snorted and rolled in the dirt, her father’s water buffalo lay partway in the benjo, and a stray dog nipped at her heels. But Goldie was not in sight.

Goldie and all the goose’s brothers and sisters had been purchased at the market on Bi Hsia’s ninth birthday. Over a period of many months, they had all been used for food—all except Goldie. Bi Hsia kept Goldie for a friend. They went on long walks together, clucking their way past rice fields and through ditches, walking barefoot in cold puddles, and chasing yippy little dogs down narrow alleys. She even gave her goose an American name, because America was so big and far away and because she believed that everyone who came from there was rich and important. Goldie was important too.

Bi Hsia bounded through the gate and up the stairs to her home. “Mother!” she called.

The two-room house was made of concrete, like most of the structures in the neighborhood. The main room (the living-sleeping area) was bare except for a few chairs, a television, and some rice-straw mats. These were rolled out at night and used for mattresses.

Bi Hsia found her mother in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken-egg soup. She stuck her nose over the rim of the pot and sniffed. “Smells good.”

Her mother’s elbow nudged her aside. “Get out of there. Your father has invited guests for supper.”

“Guests? Who are they?” She stuck her finger quickly into the broth as her mother’s eyes searched the cupboard for more eggs.

“They’re Mormon elders. One is from Taipei, and the other has come all the way from America. He will be staying in Taiwan for two years to teach people about his church.”

Bi Hsia’s finger was in her mouth. She sucked the soup juice off with a loud slurp. “How did Daddy meet them?”

“At the market, quite by accident. And don’t you dare stick your finger in there again, unless you want me to use a bamboo switch on your backside!”

Bi Hsia jerked her hand back. “When will they come?”

“Soon,” replied her mother. “Go get changed into your best dress. And get Sun Ming washed. He’s been trying to eat rocks again and is all covered with dirt.”

The missionaries arrived in a taxi. It had a dented fender and a motor that chugged louder and louder as the car drew near. The elder from Taipei stepped out first. “I’m Elder Lin, Lin De Fu,” he said, in the custom of saying his surname before his given name. (Fu is Fu Bi Hsia’s surname.) “This is my companion, Elder Wheeler.”

“Ni hau ma (How do you do)?” Elder Wheeler stepped forward and offered his hand to Bi Hsia’s father. The American’s words sounded strange and stilted, and his thin face appeared hard and expressionless. His hair was like yellow rice straw, and his pale eyes were cold and as far away as the country he came from. Bi Hsia felt her throat tighten with apprehension.

Her father spoke up boldly. “Ni tsung nali lai (Where are you from)?”

“Utah.”

It was a strange name. Bi Hsia said it quietly to herself, over and over, “Yu ta. Yu ta.”

Her mother smiled, saying in Chinese, “It’s a long way for anyone to come.”

The elder’s brow wrinkled as he studied her face. “Pardon me. I do not understand.”

Elder Lin put his hand on Elder Wheeler’s shoulder and said something to him in English too rapidly for Bi Hsia to understand. Elder Wheeler listened intently, then laughed at himself. “Yes. A long way.”

The adults moved into the kitchen. Bi Hsia sat on the back step to wait for them to eat their meal. It was not considered polite for children to be served with the guests. She held Sun Ming in her arms, listened to the murmur of their voices, and thought about the faraway places she had never been. She wondered if this elder would ever understand her country’s customs and accept her people as they were. She didn’t think so. After all, he’d come from America, where no one ever had to go without; people there always had lots of things of their very own. Bi Hsia sat and reflected, and in the distance a light evening breeze tossed a weightless white feather in the air. A feather! She got up, paused for a moment, then placed Sun Ming on the grass at her feet. “Now don’t go anywhere,” she said firmly. “I won’t be long.”

All of Goldie’s feathers were there in a little pile by the garden. She knew that they were eating her goose for supper. It was not her place to object. Her family was very poor, and her mother needed meat to serve to the guests. Chinese custom was very strict about children honoring and obeying their parents. And Chinese pride was firm on the point of offering the best that one could.

Bi Hsia did not cry. She walked heavily, as if her limbs were lead weights. She sat on the porch for what seemed like forever and watched the sun die in the sky above Taiwan.

When the elders were ready to leave, Bi Hsia followed them out to the front of the house. The elder from America offered her his hand, and she wanted to hold hers back. He took it and squeezed, and she pulled quickly away. He reached down and lifted her chin. “I hope we can become friends,” he said haltingly.

Bi Hsia kept her eyes averted from his face, and she looked past him to where the lights from the houses on their street shone smaller and smaller as they receded into the distance. Her mouth remained silent, but her heart thumped loudly inside her ribs. Never! Oh, never, never, she thought, knowing that if it weren’t for him and his companion, she would still have Goldie. She watched the elders get into a taxi, and she was glad when it drove away.

Bi Hsia awoke early the next morning. The sun was just peeping through the sugar cane, and her parents and brother were still asleep on their mats. She rose quietly and tiptoed to the door. Outside there was a small scrape, the sound of quick footsteps on the porch, a whisper, and a wild, hissing sound. She opened the door.

At her feet lay a huge white goose, the biggest that she had ever seen. It was bound so that it could hardly move, but its head was free, and it was hissing and trying to flap its wings. As she bent to free it, out of the corner of her eye she saw something move down by the benjo.

It was Elder Wheeler! He was sprinting across the grass toward Elder Lin, who waited on the road with two bikes. As Bi Hsia watched, Elder Wheeler reached his bike, paused for a breath of air, and glanced back. Their eyes met across the distance and held. Then a smile spread slowly across his somber face. It was a sad, happy smile, a smile filled with understanding. That’s when Fu Bi Hsia knew for certain that she and the American, Elder Wheeler, would be friends.

Illustration by Dan Burr
Two weeks before my junior year of high school, my entire life was going to be uprooted. My family had always lived in North Carolina, USA, but had recently decided that my dad should take a job on the other side of the country, in Utah. I prayed about this decision, and I knew that this was going to be the best thing for my family, but I was still nervous.
Because of the timing of the move and the school schedule in my new town, I had to move one week before the rest of my family left North Carolina, and I would be starting school a week late. I was terrified. I was going to a brand new high school, I was starting after everyone else, and I had no friends.
On my first day at school, I was incredibly nervous and felt like no one wanted to talk to me. While I was waiting for all the other students to find their seats in French class so that I could take an empty one, a young woman invited me to sit next to her and began asking me questions about myself—why I was starting school a week late and where I was from. She helped me through the class, and then she asked me if I had anyone to sit with at lunch. I timidly replied that I didn’t, and she asked if I would sit with her and her friends. I gladly accepted.
Later that day, she invited me to a pool party that one of the school clubs was hosting and then to the football game. Both were very enjoyable, and I felt like I’d really made a friend. That night, I thanked my Father in Heaven for all the blessings I was receiving. I didn’t really know this young woman all that well, but I felt the love of Christ through her actions.
One day after school, my new friend asked me if I would be interested in coming with her and another friend to the temple to do baptisms for the dead before school the next day. I was excited about the invitation and said that I would go.
The next morning, I dressed in my Sunday best and went to the temple. After coming out of the temple, we took some time to walk around the grounds. I still wasn’t exactly sure how my new life in Utah would turn out, but as I looked over the valley, I knew that this is where my Father in Heaven wanted me to be.

“Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Jessica and her cousins sang at their grandmother’s funeral. It was a sad day for Jessica because she would miss Grandma Tolley. She enjoyed the time they had spent together working in the garden, going for walks, and having weekend sleepovers. But it was also a joyous day because Jessica knew that Grandma had longed to be reunited with Grandpa, who had passed away 17 years before.
Later that day, Jessica and her mother drove to the cemetery to visit the grave site. “The roses and carnations look so beautiful,” Mom said.
“They smell terrific.” Jessica sniffed a pink rose.
“I’m sure Grandma was pleased with all the family and friends who came today. She enjoyed helping others and loved all people. The beautiful flowers show they loved her, too,” Mom said.
Jessica thought for a moment. Then she said, “At the funeral, Aunt Diane said that ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was Grandma’s favorite song. Why was a Primary song her favorite?”
Mom smiled. “I’m going to let Grandma answer that question for you.”
“How can Grandma answer my question when she isn’t here anymore?” Jessica asked.
“We’ll stop by her house on the way home, and I’ll show you,” Mom answered.
As Jessica walked into Grandma’s house, it was dark and quiet. Quickly she turned on a light. Everything was still in its usual place. There were pictures of Jessica and her cousins hanging on the walls. A cherished afghan was folded neatly over the back of the couch.
Mom opened a small closet door. After a bit of searching, she pulled out a pile of worn notebooks.
“What are those?” Jessica asked.
“Grandma wrote in these notebooks throughout her life. They were her journals. There is one here that will answer your question.” Mom glanced through a few of the notebooks before she located the one she wanted. She handed it to Jessica. “As you read what Grandma wrote, you’ll find out why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song.”
The next day was Saturday, and Jessica got right to work doing her chores and practicing her piano lessons. She even skipped watching cartoons so she could have more time for Grandma’s journal. Opening to the first page, she began to read.
Jessica was surprised. She had always thought her grandma and grandpa had been married in the temple. For as long as Jessica could remember, Grandma Tolley had done temple work each week with her friends. Temple work had been very important to her, and she had talked about it often.
All afternoon, Jessica continued to read. She was amazed at how hard Grandma had worked each day. She hung the laundry out on the line to dry. She carried buckets of coal down to the basement to burn in the furnace. She sewed clothes, planted and cared for a large garden, made her own bread, spent time with her daughters, and still did things to help other people. Jessica also enjoyed learning about what her mother was like as a little girl.
Jessica was so absorbed in the journal that she didn’t hear her mother come into the room. “Looks like you’ve been doing some reading.”
“Yes, I have,” Jessica said. “I didn’t know that Grandma wasn’t married in the temple. I think it would be hard to know that after this life you would no longer be together as a family.”
“It was hard for Grandma,” Mom said.
“But that doesn’t explain why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song,” Jessica said.
“Keep reading.” Mom smiled as she left the room.
Jessica read until late in the afternoon. As she neared the end of the notebook, she was a little discouraged at not finding the answer she had been looking for. When she was about to stop for the day, Jessica decided to read one more entry.
“Have you discovered the answer?” Mom asked that evening at dinner.
“I think so,” Jessica replied. “Grandma loved her family very much. But because she was not married in the temple, her family wouldn’t always be together. Grandma prayed and worked toward the day they could go to the temple. The song must have reminded her of the day she was sealed to her family.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”
That night as Jessica knelt in prayer, she thanked Heavenly Father for a wonderful grandma. She also promised to live worthily to go to the temple. She wanted the blessing of an eternal family and the opportunity to be with Grandma Tolley again someday.

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. His wife lay critically ill, and Heber J. Grant called his children into her hospital room and told them that their mother was going to die. President Grant’s daughter, upon learning of this, pleaded with her father not to let her mother die. She pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her behalf. She and his other children left the room and President Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer President Grant said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, ‘In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was a direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”