Gospel Story Finder

When l think about my conversion, I find comfort in knowing that lasting joy can only be found in choosing to follow Jesus Christ.
I was born into a family of eight children with loving parents. We were not rich but lived happily together. When we embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ, we began to live according to divine principles.
My perception of others changed. I was filled with joy as I embarked on a mission. I had wonderful experiences on my mission.
I saw lives change because of the gospel of Jesus Christ. (See Doctrine and Covenants sections 15 and 16.)
I am married to a beloved daughter of our Heavenly Father and we have four children. The first child has served a full-time mission. I am grateful for our lives and the fruits of the Spirit we enjoy (See Galatians 5:22), even amidst trials. We have the peace the gospel of Jesus Christ brings because we strive to obey Him, and our joy is centered on eternity.

This was an issue with my great-great-grandfather Phineas Wolcott Cook. He was born in 1820 in Connecticut. In his diary he notes that he had made a covenant with the Lord to serve Him if he could find the right way. He attended many churches and at one was asked to “testify [and] join the church [and] be a Christian.” His response was he “could not tell which one to join, there were so many.” He continued to investigate several churches. One doctrine was of particular significance to him. He explained: “Sometimes they found fault with me because I wanted a more liberal salvation for the family of man. I could not believe the Lord had made a part to be saved and a great part to be damned to all eternity.”13 Because of this doctrine, he allowed his name to be taken off the records of one Protestant religion. When the LDS missionaries taught him the true doctrine of the plan of salvation in 1844, he was baptized.

Zamu sped across the yard on his blue bicycle. His two-year-old brother, Zinathi, was right behind him on his red scooter.
“Come on, let’s go again!” Zamu said when they reached the edge of the yard. He turned around and pedaled as fast as he could back to the front. The wind rushed over his face.
“Zamu and Zinathi!” Zamu shouted.
Zinathi laughed. He shouted with Zamu.
“Zamu and Zinathi! Zamu and Zinathi!”
They rode across the yard, back and forth, back and forth, until Zamu’s legs were too tired to pedal anymore.
“Let’s take a break,” Zamu panted.
“Come over here and rest,” Dad called from the trampoline.
Zamu parked his bike and took Zinathi by the hand. He helped his little brother climb onto the trampoline. Then he climbed up and sat beside Dad.
“Were you having fun?” Dad asked.
“Yeah!” Zinathi said.
Zamu lay back on the trampoline with a sigh. The sky above him was bright blue, and the sun felt warm on his skin.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Dad said.
Zamu nodded. He closed his eyes and listened to the birds sing while Dad talked to Zinathi. He was getting sleepy.
“Zamu.”
He opened his eyes. Zinathi was leaning over his face.
“What?” Zamu asked.
“Let’s go!” Zinathi pointed to his scooter.
“Not now. I’m resting.”
Zinathi’s mouth slipped into a frown.
“Sorry,” Zamu said. “I’m too tired.”
Zinathi tugged at Zamu’s arm. “Come on!”
“No! I already played with you!”
“Zamu,” Dad said.
Zamu looked over at him.
“One day, when he’s older, Zinathi will remember how you used to play together. The memories you make now will live in his heart.”
Zamu looked back into his little brother’s big brown eyes.
“Please?” Zinathi asked.
Zamu still didn’t feel like playing. But he did want to make memories with Zinathi.
He smiled. “OK.”
Zinathi’s face lit up. “Yay!”
Zamu hopped down from the trampoline and helped Zinathi get back on his scooter. Then he swung his leg over his own bike.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah!”
Together they rode across the yard. “Zamu and Zinathi!” they shouted again.
Zamu was still tired, but it was a good kind of tired. His legs felt strong as he pedaled behind Zinathi. I hope Zinathi will remember this, he thought. I’ll remember it forever.

To begin with they were all in the same ward, but then the wards were split. Melissa ended up in one of the new wards, and Marny and Nancy were in the other.
“After they split the wards, and we figured out who wasn’t going to be where, we all started crying,” Nancy remembered.
But there were still chances to get together. There are plenty of excuses in this beautiful land, whether on river, bayou, lake, land, marsh, swamp, or sea.
And if none of those places work out, there is one even better spot. Sometimes on a Sunday morning when they get a little lonely for one another, the three friends get together at church. “Sometimes I just stay and go to their ward’s meetings after mine are over,” Melissa says. “And sometimes they’ll come early and go to mine before going to their own.”

One little girl took this to heart after complaining to her mother that her brother was catching little birds in his traps. She then told her mother that she knew he would not do it anymore because she had prayed to God about it. Her mother, not wanting her to be disappointed, said, “Well dear, you can’t always be certain as Johnny has his agency.”

The little girl replied, “Oh, I am certain because after I prayed, I got up and smashed all his bird traps to bits!” By acting on impressions we receive, we can often be prompted to be part of the answer to our own prayers.

When President Ezra Taft Benson was just twelve years old, his father was called on a mission. Ezra was the oldest child in the family, with six younger brothers and sisters. He knew that his mother would need him to help her make their home a cheerful and comfortable place. He woke up early each morning so that he could milk the cows before he went to school. His little brothers and sister laughed as he squirted milk into their mouths when they came into the barn to watch him, and he comforted them when they missed their father. He even dug vegetables from the snow so that they would have enough to eat. Ezra tried in every way to make his home a happy one.
Think about your home. Is it a place of love? Is it a place where people care for one another? Do you show respect, honor, and love for your home and those who live in it? Think about your neighborhood. Is it a good place? Do you show respect, honor, and love for your neighbors?
President Benson lived on a farm in Whitney, Idaho, when he was a child. There were chickens, milking cows, beef cattle, and horses. There were also neighbors. Ezra’s mother taught him to greet people with a polite “How do you do?” One afternoon while the family was seated at the dinner table, little Ezra noticed the bowl of boiled eggs and said courteously, “How do you do, eggs?” Everyone laughed, and it was a family joke that was retold for years.
Ezra helped his neighbors willingly when they needed extra people to do farm work. Some of the neighbors said that they never knew anyone who worked harder than he did.
When we show respect, honor, and love in our homes and neighborhoods, we are showing reverence for them, and in this way, we are letting Heavenly Father know that we are thankful for the beautiful and good world He created for us.

A number of years ago I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance floor show number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a youth MIA dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
The senior Aaronic Priesthood committee, as it was called then, was a group of brethren who worked with men who were older than the normal Aaronic Priesthood age. These were just regular men who were doing what the Lord wanted them to do. They took me under their wing, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary gave our class instruction. He taught the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

I had my own experience seeking and waiting on the Lord. As a boy I loved baseball and dreamed of becoming a professional ball player. I’m sure I didn’t have major league talent, but I had the desire and the love for it. Baseball had surely captured my heart and soul. Then, when I was about 11 or 12, my father took me to the Sacred Grove. Through a simple but meaningful experience there, I began to sense that Heavenly Father had other things for me to do. We both had prayers. As time went on, divinely arranged opportunities helped me recognize that I was not meant to be a professional athlete. His plan for me was to put me on a course that led me to my calling to be an Apostle—and, I might add, led me to my sweetheart. I would not be here without her and have the opportunity to be with you this morning.

To share another example, we must first understand more of the story surrounding the Book of Abraham. It begins, oddly enough, with Napoleon. When he invaded Egypt at the end of the 18th century, he opened the way for European nations to start gathering artifacts from Egypt. It was in the years just after his invasion that most of the great European museums gathered their large Egyptian collections. One of the people who engaged in gathering artifacts from Egypt and shipping them to Europe was an Italian named Antonio Lebolo. One of the many shipments he gathered ended up being sold in America sometime after Lebolo’s death. Eventually, a fellow named Michael Chandler ended up in charge of taking this collection of 11 mummies and several portions of papyri around to various cities as a kind of traveling curiosity show. After some time, he began selling some of the antiquities to various people for their own collections. The last person he visited, when he only had four mummies left, was Joseph Smith in Kirtland, Ohio.

The Prophet felt inspired that he needed to acquire the papyri that accompanied these mummies. Chandler was not willing to sell the papyri separately from the mummies, so Joseph Smith raised the funds to buy the entire collection. He soon discovered through inspiration that the papyri contained the writings of Joseph of Egypt and of Abraham. He began work on translation and eventually published what we know as the Book of Abraham in the Church’s newspaper the Times and Seasons. It was this 1842 serial publication that later became part of the Pearl of Great Price.

After the Prophet’s death, his mother retained the mummies and papyri and supported herself by charging people to see the curiosities. When she passed away, Emma Smith and her new husband, Lewis Biddamon, sold the collection to a man named Abel Combs. Combs sold them to a museum, and eventually, they ended up in another museum in Chicago. That museum burned in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, and sadly, mummies and papyri burn exceptionally well. Thus, all of Joseph Smith’s former Egyptian collection that was in the museum was lost forever. For a long time, we thought that those were all the antiquities Joseph Smith had owned, but that was not the case.

Combs had given a small portion of the papyri, the fragments that had been mounted on paper and framed, to his housekeeper. Her descendants eventually sold them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The people there recognized the drawing that was the source of Facsimile One and knew they were something of interest to the Church. They waited for the right time to make a connection with the Church, which finally came in 1967 when a visiting scholar from the University of Utah did some research at the Metropolitan Museum. He arranged for a meeting with Church leaders, at which time the Metropolitan Museum gave the papyri to the Church. The Church has maintained possession of these few fragments ever since.

In April 2008, the newly called Young Women general presidency—Elaine S. Dalton, Mary N. Cook, and Ann M. Dibb—stood atop Ensign Peak on the northern edge of Salt Lake City and looked out over the valley.
From their vantage point the figure of the angel Moroni sparkled on the Salt Lake Temple, and they knew then what the Lord had in mind for the young women of the Church.
The three women held aloft a walking stick from which waved a gold Peruvian shawl—their banner and ensign to the nations, a call for a return to virtue.
“We cannot get caught up with this new value of virtue without saying the reason for the value is the temple,” Sister Dalton said. “And the temple is the reason for everything we are doing in Young Women, because it will help these young women to come unto Christ.”
Virtue was officially added to the Young Women values in November 2008. It is defined in the Personal Progress book as “a pattern of thought and behavior based on high moral standards. It includes chastity and purity” (Young Women Personal Progress [booklet, 2009], 70).
This value is unique in that all the experiences and the value project are required, where the other values allow young women to choose from several options. In addition, for the first time, mothers have been invited to complete the Personal Progress program with their daughters and earn their own medallions.
In the last year, young women and others around the world have responded overwhelmingly to the call to return to virtue, flooding the Young Women office with letters and photographs from those who have answered the call. Many have climbed mountains and unfurled their own banners.
One group of young women in Hannibal, Missouri, USA, desiring to make a pledge to be virtuous from a high place and not able to find a mountain nearby, climbed a 36-story cement tower, unfurled their banner, and committed to live a virtuous life.
In Mexico, the name of the Young Womanhood Recognition translates to “The Award of the Young Woman of Virtue.” Young women in Mexico were excited about the addition of virtue as a value, Sister Dalton said—it is a value with which they were already familiar.
“The call to virtue has been received with overwhelming praise, from every aspect, within the Church and without,” Sister Cook said. “Leaders love it; priesthood leaders have emphasized it; mothers and grandmothers have been grateful for it.”
The project for the value of virtue is to follow the Savior’s admonition to learn of Him (see D&C 19:23) by reading the entire Book of Mormon and recording thoughts regularly in a journal.
An e-mail to the Young Women presidency from a sister in England reads: “Sadly, we have to apologize. We are not going to complete this as quickly as we had anticipated. The reason is my daughter and I are studying the Book of Mormon in a way we never have before. It is such a sweet experience—we want to take our time.”
The Book of Mormon teaches about societies that prospered and were happy when they were virtuous and pure but that fell when they were no longer virtuous, Sister Dibb said.
Men and women have been equally enthusiastic about the new value, the Young Women presidency said, citing examples of entire groups of young men and singles wards that have worked on the value together.
Sister Dibb emphasized that both men and women must focus on virtue to obtain the greatest blessings. “Men have no power or strength to exercise the priesthood that they receive if they are not morally pure,” she said. “And women receive that power and strength to fulfill their divine callings as wives, mothers, and as women as they practice virtue.”
Sister Dalton said she believes that the value of virtue has been saved for this time, a time when the world does everything but promote virtue.
“It’s interesting to us that in this world so many young women can lose sight of their identity as daughters of God,” Sister Cook said. “We’re just reminding them of that and also of the fact that if you have made a mistake, you can repent.”
The commitment to remain virtuous and pure is possible because of the enabling and redeeming power of the Savior’s Atonement, Sister Dibb said. The fourth value experience focuses on repentance.
In the last year, many women—both old and young—have communicated a desire to return to being virtuous women. “[The addition of virtue] has created an excitement for women who have made wrong choices. Many have said, ‘I can be a virtuous woman again. … It is possible for me,’” Sister Cook said.
Many of those who desire to be virtuous again wonder where they can start. The Young Women presidency shares with them this formula: Pray night and morning. Read in the Book of Mormon five minutes or more each day. And smile.
“If all women in the Church and the world did this, think what the world would be like in five years,” Sister Dalton said. “We really do believe that virtuous young women led by the Spirit can change the world.”

Let me share one last example. Have you ever had a hard time adapting to a change in your life? Have you ever felt like the world came crashing down and it would be hard to continue breathing? Sometimes change can feel this way to me.

I remember feeling this way when I was single after painful changes in relationships. I have felt this way after graduating and not feeling like I had found my next steps forward. I felt this way after my dad died in a plane crash. I felt this way after my wife had a difficult miscarriage. In such times, it takes courage and faith to believe, You can live successfully here if you make Christ the center of your life.

After a particularly difficult change in my life, I was all ripped up inside. I decided I would go on a walk to try to sort things out and search for peace. I started by walking around the temple—this is always a good place to start. As I walked, I began praying. About a half hour into the walk, I had the idea that I needed to quit thinking and praying about the pain I was wrestling with and instead to think about Jesus Christ. To help me focus on Christ, I recited “The Living Christ,” the family proclamation, the Articles of Faith, Doctrine and Covenants 4, and some of my favorite verses from Alma 7. I recited them over and over as I walked for hours. I recited the words to several hymns and listened to many more. I listened to several chapters in the scriptures. I went through these passages trying to exercise faith to focus on Jesus Christ instead of the pain and confusion in my heart. President Nelson has taught, “It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto [Jesus] in every thought. But when we do, our doubts and fears flee.” [23] I testify this is true!

Before dropping exhausted into bed that night, I prayed to find renewal, revelation, and a changed heart in the morning. Sometimes it takes many such walks and many such nights before that morning of hope and renewal. But I testify that if we exercise the mental rigor to make Christ the center of our lives, they come. [24]

Peter McBride was a six-year-old boy who was probably hungrier, colder, and more exhausted than you have ever been. But he couldn’t go inside to warm up or buy food at the store. He could only go inside his tent, which collapsed on him one night and froze to his hair. He could only eat whatever he could find, like boiled ox hide and tree bark. Peter was a member of the Edward Martin Handcart Company.
Members of this company had come from faraway England. Problems delayed their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, and by October they were running out of food. All Peter and his baby sister were given to eat was a little flour each day. Early winter storms came, making pulling a handcart very difficult. Many were dying from cold and exhaustion.
When they came to the North Platte River, Peter said his father “worked hard all day pushing and pulling handcarts through the icy waters of that dangerous river,” helping people reach the other side. Peter’s father had a beautiful singing voice, and before he went to bed that night, he sang about how he longed to be in Zion. “The wind was blowing very cold,” Peter described. “The snow drifted in and covered our tent.”1 The next morning, Peter’s father was dead. Peter cried as he watched his father’s body being buried beneath the snow.
Peter’s older sister Jenetta was left in charge because their mother was sick. Jenetta often walked to the river to get water for cooking, even though her shoes had worn out. Her bare feet left bloody footprints in the snow wherever she went. Realizing they could go no further, the company camped near the Sweetwater River and hoped that help would arrive before it was too late.
A group of missionaries returning home to the Salt Lake Valley passed the struggling pioneers and told Brigham Young about them. Immediately, he called for 20 rescue wagons to be sent. At last, Peter and the pioneers joyfully caught sight of the wagons approaching. Peter said that “men, women, and children knelt down and thanked the Almighty God for [their] delivery from certain death.”2
The rescue teams could not carry enough food and supplies to relieve all the suffering, but they helped give the pioneers courage to continue. Together, they crossed the Sweetwater River and found shelter amid the rocks now known as Martin’s Cove. There, most of the company left their handcarts behind. The weakest pioneers rode in the wagons, and others walked until more wagons came, giving enough room for everyone to ride the rest of the way. On November 30, 1856, Peter and the handcart pioneers arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley—where they remained faithful Church members for the rest of their lives.

Along with six other Latter-day Saints, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they would say, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they would tease me,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”

Debbie Sloan, who attends the same school, is popular with her classmates. “At an integrated school, the effort is to help us all get along anyway,” she explains. “They know I’m Mormon. My close friends know my dad is a bishop, that we spend lots of time at our church. I just talk about it the way it is, and they accept me for what I am.”

Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.

“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”

The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.

After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing and gained my own testimony.”

At the Lisburn Ward, Rachael Edwards, Karen Edwards, and David Schmidt say being fully involved in seminary helps break barriers, too.

“Before I started seminary and I’d explain to my friends what my religion was, they’d have a lot of questions, and I couldn’t answer them well,” Rachael says. “Now, having taken seminary, I feel more confidence whenever I talk to people about the Church.”

“There are 13 students in our seminary class,” Karen explains. “It’s the largest in Ireland. We have home study; then we meet with our teacher, Sister Susanna Thompson, on Tuesday nights. At school, everyone has what we call R.E. (religious education) classes. The R.E. schoolwork helps me with seminary, and seminary helps us have a different viewpoint, more depth than what we get at school. So they balance each other.”

“There’s a lot of videos and anti-Mormon literature that go around to the other churches,” Karen says. “It’s hard because what they hear has been severely twisted, and they really need to start from the basics.”

“A lot of my friends didn’t think we read the Bible,” Rachael says. “So I was really glad I could show them my seminary scriptures. They think it’s just their churches that have Bible study. They’re surprised to find we Mormons have our own study classes as well.”

“We change people’s views,” David says. “Like our teacher said, ‘So, you’re a Mormon. That means you’re not totally Christian?’ And I said, ‘Well, we are actually.’ We talked about it and got that all cleared up.”

David also tells of inviting friends and family to meetings. “Last year when my family was getting baptized, my mother invited our granny and our aunts all to church, and they came along and said they quite enjoyed it. They thought it interesting that we didn’t have just clergy up there, but had everyday people bearing their testimonies. And my friends enjoy our church.”

Rachael, Karen, and David tell story after story—the teacher who wanted a floor plan of an LDS chapel to compare it with other churches, and the exams where Mormons had to explain that they do get baptized in a font, which for other churches is a tiny basin holding water for sprinkling.

But it’s Karen who sums up the overall experience. “There’s lots of opposition here,” she says. “But if we make them aware of the Church, maybe eventually they’ll understand the Church. And that can only do good.”

Talk to the young Latter-day Saints in Northern Ireland long enough, and you’ll find that the youth are doing what Karen says.

Sara Magee of Portadown will talk about standards: “Most of my friends, if someone offered me a cigarette or a drink, they’d say, ‘Nope, Sara, you’re not allowed.’” Karen Weir of Portadown will tell you how having the London Temple reopened and the Preston Temple under construction has made a lot of people curious about the Church. Simon Noble of the Holywood Road Ward describes a stake play that was a missionary play, too. “It was all about the plan of salvation, and we invited non-LDS friends to come and learn about what we believe,” Simon says.

Debra Boyd, of the Cavehill Ward, will join the conversation again to talk about her bishop, Ronald Sloan, and how he has shown her that a bishop can be a great ally in living a worthy life. And Debra will tell of the joy she felt when her friend Leigh-Ann Kelly (and her family) were baptized. “We were crying our eyes out,” Debra says. “That scripture that talks about bringing one soul into heaven? You know that one? It’s really true” (see D&C 18:15–16).

Through the center of Belfast runs a thick scar, a no-man’s-land as ugly as a war zone. Its red bars, brick, barbed wire, and yellow barricades mark the dividing line between two parts of the city. For many, it is a symbol of a hopeless situation, its barriers a monument of mistrust and misunderstanding.

But young Latter-day Saints don’t dwell on such a reminder of despair. They look to a day when the Savior will come, when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord, whose right it is to reign. In that day, if not before, all walls will tumble down. And when they do, they’ll be replaced by hope, love, peace, and understanding.

It was my privilege and opportunity to open the missionary work in the Philippines. At 6:30 on a May morning in 1961 we met in the American military cemetery because we had no other place to meet. We sang hymns together and asked the blessings of the Lord upon that which we were about to begin. We had found one native Filipino member of the Church. He gave us his testimony of this work on that occasion. He was the only member of record then. But when we were there last August, fourteen years later, a great area conference was held. In the vast Arenetta coliseum, beneath that great roof, there were assembled some eighteen thousand members of the Church. It is a miracle, and it is found in many lands, with many people.

Maybe this analogy will help: Six years ago we moved to our present house east of the campus. One of the things that attracted us to it was that it has aspen trees in various parts of the yard, including a cluster along our bedroom window (we like to watch the play of shadows in the moonlight). A couple of months after we moved in, a windstorm came up during the night, and we listened to the trees being blown about, sometimes striking against the eaves of the house. The next morning our daughter Bronwen came in to say that one of the trees had blown over. When we went out to look at it, thinking it broken, we discovered that it was not broken at all—the trunk had no split in it—the tree was simply drooping to the ground like a wet noodle. The trunk was four or five inches in diameter—the same as (maybe bigger than) other aspens in the yard—but it hadn’t the strength to bear the weight of its foliage. Early on it had been tied to the house and had grown with that continual support for years. To all appearances it was no different from other freestanding aspens in the yard. But when the wind came and tore the support away, it hadn’t developed the strength to stand on its own, to move in the wind without toppling. The measure of its creation was thwarted; all we could do was push it back up and cinch it again to the eaves of the house.

As a surgeon, I found that a significant portion of my professional time was taken up with the subject of pain. Of necessity I surgically inflicted it almost daily—and much of my effort was then spent trying to control and alleviate pain.
I have pondered about the purpose of pain. None of us is immune from experiencing pain. I have seen people cope with it very differently. Some turn away from God in anger, and others allow their suffering to bring them closer to God.
Like you, I have experienced pain myself. Pain is a gauge of the healing process. It often teaches us patience. Perhaps that is why we use the term patient in referring to the sick.
Elder Orson F. Whitney wrote: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. … It is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire.”1
Similarly, Elder Robert D. Hales has said:
“Pain brings you to a humility that allows you to ponder. It is an experience I am grateful to have endured. …
“I learned that the physical pain and the healing of the body after major surgery are remarkably similar to the spiritual pain and the healing of the soul in the process of repentance.”2
Much of our suffering is not necessarily our fault. Unexpected events, contradicting or disappointing circumstances, interrupting illness, and even death surround us and penetrate our mortal experience. Additionally, we may suffer afflictions because of the actions of others.3 Lehi noted that Jacob had “suffered … much sorrow, because of the rudeness of [his] brethren.”4 Opposition is part of Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness. We all encounter enough to bring us to an awareness of our Father’s love and of our need for the Savior’s help.
The Savior is not a silent observer. He Himself knows personally and infinitely the pain we face.
“He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children.”5
“Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.”6
Sometimes in the depth of pain, we are tempted to ask, “Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?”7 I testify the answer is yes, there is a physician. The Atonement of Jesus Christ covers all these conditions and purposes of mortality.
There is another kind of pain for which we are responsible. Spiritual pain lies deep within our souls and can feel unquenchable, even as being racked with an “inexpressible horror,” as Alma described.8 It comes from our sinful actions and lack of repentance. For this pain too there is a cure that is universal and absolute. It is from the Father, through the Son, and it is for each of us who is willing to do all that is necessary to repent. Christ said, “Will ye not now return unto me … and be converted, that I may heal you?”9
Christ Himself taught:
“And my Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; and after that I had been lifted up upon the cross, that I might draw all men unto me. …
“Therefore, according to the power of the Father I will draw all men unto me.”10
Perhaps His most significant work is in the ongoing labor with each of us individually to lift, to bless, to strengthen, to sustain, to guide, and to forgive us.
As Nephi saw in vision, much of Christ’s mortal ministry was devoted to blessing and healing the sick with all kinds of maladies—physical, emotional, and spiritual. “And I beheld multitudes of people who were sick, and who were afflicted with all manner of diseases. … And they were healed by the power of the Lamb of God.”11
Alma also prophesied that “he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and … he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. …
“That his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”12
Late one night lying in a hospital bed, this time as a patient and not as a physician, I read those verses over and over again. I pondered: “How is it done? For whom? What is required to qualify? Is it like forgiveness of sin? Do we have to earn His love and help?” As I pondered, I came to understand that during His mortal life Christ chose to experience pains and afflictions in order to understand us. Perhaps we also need to experience the depths of mortality in order to understand Him and our eternal purposes.13
President Henry B. Eyring taught: “It will comfort us when we must wait in distress for the Savior’s promised relief that He knows, from experience, how to heal and help us. … And faith in that power will give us patience as we pray and work and wait for help. He could have known how to succor us simply by revelation, but He chose to learn by His own personal experience.”14
I felt the encircling arms of His love that night.15 Tears watered my pillow in gratitude. Later, as I was reading in Matthew about Christ’s mortal ministry, I made another discovery: “When the even was come, they brought unto him many … and he … healed all that were sick.”16 He healed all that came to Him. None were turned away.

When I was in second grade, I went to choir on Thursdays at lunchtime with my friends. We sang songs, performed at assemblies, and had lots of fun.
One day we started learning a new song. When I listened to it, I heard Heavenly Father’s name in vain. It made me sad.
After school I told my mom about it. I told her that the song had Heavenly Father’s name in vain. She said I could ask the teachers if I could say something different. I knew that’s what I should do, but I was very nervous.
One Thursday I made up my mind to try. I told my teacher how I felt and how special God’s name was to me. I asked her if I could say something else. The teachers told me that I could say different words instead. I felt much better, and I knew Heavenly Father had helped me.
A few weeks later, my teachers said that the whole choir was going to sing the different words to the song during that part. At the assembly I stood tall as I sang. I was happy that I could help my friends and my choir to not say Heavenly Father’s name in vain.

In late December a chill mist shrouds the bare vines in the predawn darkness. The vineyard is silent except for one section, which is filled with voices and a bright, crackling bonfire. It is Christmas morning, and elsewhere in this valley, people are still warm in their beds or gathered around Christmas trees watching excited children. But not the small group in the vineyard. They have come to give a gift.
To understand the meaning of the gift, you must know that this vineyard in Madera, California, USA, is part of the Church’s welfare production system. Each year it produces about 400,000 pounds (180,000 kg) of raisins. Half of the harvest goes to the shelves of bishops’ storehouses. The rest is used for humanitarian response around the world. Wards and branches from eight stakes are assigned certain tasks to complete and rows of vines to care for.
One crucial task is pruning the vines. The tangle of the past season’s growth must be cut out, leaving just the few canes that will grow to produce the next harvest. Without this dormant-season pruning, the vineyard becomes overgrown. Too many vines overwhelm the roots’ ability to sustain them. Too little fruit is produced, and the harvest is greatly diminished.
Why do this work on Christmas day? Because many of the ward members are fieldworkers by trade, pruning vineyards and orchards for their livelihood. Their work is intensive at this time of year, so this is the only day they have off in several weeks. It’s Christmas—and they spend it here in the Church’s vineyard. In fact, they have come here 8 of the past 15 Christmases. For these members of the Spanish-speaking Madera Third Ward, it is their gift to El Niño—to the Christ child.
One worker, Miguel Chavez, explains that it’s a way of giving something back for all of the blessings they receive from the Lord: “We are giving something to needy families. Our small contribution becomes a great blessing to other people.” Another ward member says simply, “This is the best work we can do because this is God’s vineyard.”
And so, on this particular Christmas day, once these members of the Madera Third Ward finish pruning, wrapping, and tying their assigned vines, they finish parts of two neighboring wards’ rows. It is a gift fit for a King.

When we presided over the New England Mission, we lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Across the street lived Dr. Carl J. Friedrich, a retired Harvard professor, a world renowned scholar. We sent our boys over to clear their sidewalk of snow. That opened contact with them. When my wife’s parents came to visit at Christmas, the Friedrichs invited us over for the lighting of their Christmas tree, an old-fashioned tree with wax candles alit. It was a very beautiful experience.

While visiting one day with Dr. Friedrich, he told me of his academic degrees from European universities. He became very agitated and said it really irritated him when people asked what he was going to do with all the knowledge he had gained. He answered sharply, “Why should I have to do anything with it?”

Well, I know that you have something to do with the knowledge that you will gain in this great Education Week for yourself, for your family, and for the Church. You are learning much at this great conference.

I was in the Navy at the end of World War II when I was a very young man. My training took place near San Diego, California. Everyone in the Navy had to know how to swim, or they wouldn’t let him out of boot camp (training camp). I had learned to swim as a boy and could do it quite well.

One day an officer said, “All of you who can swim get to go to San Diego for the day. Those who can’t must have a full day of swimming lessons. So those of you who can swim, line up over here, and we’ll put you on a bus and take you into town.” I lined up with the swimmers—there were about 30 or 40 of us. But instead of having my group get on a bus, the officer marched us into the gym, where the swimming pool was.

I thought, You’re mixed up, fellow. We’re the ones who can swim. But, of course, I said nothing. We prepared for swimming and were ordered to jump into the deep end of the pool.

Most of us obeyed, but about 10 men in our group didn’t know how to swim. They had thought that they could go to San Diego without measuring up. The officer didn’t let them just stand there—he pushed them into the water. He let them go under the water, come up gasping for air, and then go down again. When they came up for the second time, a big bamboo pole was held out to them, and they were pulled to safety. Then the officer said sternly, “Don’t you ever lie to me again!” I tell you, I was glad I hadn’t tried that! The experience taught me the value of being honest and true to yourself at all times.