Gospel Story Finder

The young men and young women in Welland, Ontario, Canada, get excited about seminary. Winters in Welland are long and harsh, and during the greater part of the school year, going to seminary means a trek to the church in the dark and cold. Of course, teenagers in Welland are no different than teenagers anywhere else. Getting enough sleep is a paramount concern—something that can be a bit of a challenge when you get up for an early-morning class. But a few years ago, the Welland seminary students had a teacher who changed their lives, and their mumbling and grumbling about the early hour seemed to shrink, while their excitement about seminary seemed to grow.
Despite the fact that he had been ill with cystic fibrosis all his life, their teacher, Brother Ron Cunningham, wouldn’t have traded his calling as a seminary teacher for anything. In terms of his health, some days were better than others. But every day he taught seminary, he said, was a good day.
“He was our friend,” says James Burton, 17. “We all had such a good time, even though he was sick. He had such a great sense of humor, even about things that made him look silly. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of class before everyone was fully awake, he would fall asleep—while he was teaching.”
Because cystic fibrosis fills the lungs with fluid, breathing is difficult, causing extreme fatigue. Consequently, it seems that just about everyone has a favorite “Brother Cunningham fell asleep” story.
There were other ways he filled the seminary with laughter and fun, too. There were games and contests for scripture mastery, treats and stories to make lessons easier to understand.
“One year, Brother Cunningham brought an entire set of army men for us to use to reenact battles from the scriptures,” says Craig Dumoulin. “At first we thought it was crazy since none of us have played with toys like that since we were little, but it really did make it easier to understand. And it was a lot of fun.”
But Brother Cunningham taught his students much more than how to have a sense of humor. Make no mistake, the gospel was his life, and he wanted to help his students feel the same way.
“Because of his illness, he was pretty small physically,” says Matthew Glanfield, 18. “But I have never known such a spiritual giant.”
It was that spirit, that great feeling, that kept the students excited and happy about getting up before dawn to study. Even in the Toronto area’s brutal and icy winter. Even during exams when time was scarce. Even when it would have been easier to stay in bed and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Everyone knew that no matter how hard it was for them to get out of bed in the morning, it was harder for their teacher. If he could do it, they knew they could too.
The young men in the ward seemed especially responsive to his style of teaching. Although he didn’t fit the stereotype of macho strength and he was unable to participate in many athletic activities, the young men all say that he was exactly the kind of man—an honorable priesthood holder who was married in the temple—that they all aspire to be.
“There were a lot of things he couldn’t do, but he worked hard at the things he could do,” says Matthew. “He always told us that it was his number one wish for us to go on missions and be great missionaries. He couldn’t go on a mission because of his health, but he could contribute to the missionary effort by training others to share the gospel.”

I am three years old. Today is my last day in nursery. Everyone in nursery listens to stories, sings, and plays. I will miss my teacher.
Next week I will go to “big” Primary. My new teacher’s name is Sister Gray. She has a pretty smile. I like her.
I have visited Primary. I had to be quiet, sit still, and listen. This is called reverence.
I sat with Sister Gray and sang songs. The older children were there, too. It was fun!
In nursery, I learned about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I know They love me. I will learn more about Them in Primary.
I’m too big for nursery now. I’m glad I get to go to Primary and be a Sunbeam!

The prophet has asked us to “love thy neighbor” as Jesus Christ did. My sister, Lynn, and I like to build tepees in our yard out of sticks and leaves. Our next-door neighbor likes building tepees, too. She took our sticks and said that they were hers. We argued about it.
We apologized for arguing, and she invited us into her yard. “But,” she said, “if you come into my yard, you have to promise that you will not take my sticks.” She wanted us to swear by Heavenly Father’s name. We told her we can’t do that because of our religion. We explained that we use Heavenly Father’s name reverently because we love Him.
She didn’t know what reverent means, so we told her. We promised in our own way that we wouldn’t take her sticks, and we’ve been friends ever since.

“Come on,” Benjamin said to the other man on guard duty. “We can’t stop.” Benjamin Platt’s throat felt tight. Swallowing was difficult. He talked between clenched teeth to keep his throat from hurting. If he had felt this sick back in England, he would have gone to bed. As a member of the Martin handcart company, however, he couldn’t stop and wait to get well.
Blowing snow blocked the two men’s vision. The frozen ground was uneven, and they often stumbled.
“We have to keep moving.” Benjamin spoke with as much force as he could. “We need to check the other side of the camp.”
“Why?” his friend asked. “What are we guarding?”
“The camp’s provisions.”
The other man laughed quietly. “We have no provisions. We have nothing.”
Benjamin knew the man was right. The camp had very little. His stomach hurt with the pain of no food. His breath was shallow, his fatigue great. All he wanted to do was lie down on the frozen ground and sleep, but he knew that doing so meant sure death. So he urged himself and his companion on. They shuffled around the borders of the camp, waiting for light to ease the cold blackness.
Yesterday the handcart company had made little progress from the Platte River. Much of the snow had melted during the day, turning the trail to mud. Mud caked onto the travelers’ clothes. When the sun set behind the gloomy clouds, the heavy mud had frozen. No one was clean. Benjamin recognized most of the handcart company by their eyes and voices rather than their faces. What was not covered with rags was covered with mud and dirt.
“I can’t go anymore,” his partner said now. “I’ve done my best, and it isn’t enough.”
Benjamin looked at his tired companion. Dirt caked his face and was frozen into his hair. His hands were wrapped with rags. His pants were ripped and showed skin purple from the cold. Tears slid down his face as he grieved over not being strong enough.
Benjamin put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and helped him around the camp. “It’s OK, Brother. Just remember a poem my father used to tell me:
“For great and low,
There’s but one test.
’Tis that each man
Shall do his best.”
After one more painful tour of the camp, Benjamin’s companion crawled into a tent to rest. Benjamin began his rounds again. He heard the wind blow, and the branches of a few scattered cedar trees creaked with the weight of the snow and force of the wind. As the wind heaved one hearty blow, Benjamin saw that the large tent the man had just crawled into had collapsed.
Benjamin started forward. His wife, Mary, and at least 20 other people had been sleeping in that tent too. They were all now trapped beneath tent poles, tent fabric, and heavy snow. With numb hands, Benjamin struggled to pull up the icy fabric. The snow weighed the canvas down, smothering those underneath. The tent stakes had been pounded into muddy ground. Now the ground was frozen. Those on the inside of the tent could not pull the stakes out.
Straining every muscle, Benjamin pulled harder. A small girl was screaming under the tent. A woman started sobbing as she tried to free herself from the icy canvas that was suffocating her. Unseen hands punched upward at the tent. The group was trapped.
Scrambling frantically around the outside of the tent, Benjamin found the opening. Quickly scraping off snow, he forced himself into the opening and under the wet material. Slowly, a little at a time, he stood up with the tent on his shoulders.
Benjamin yelled, “This way. Crawl this way.” Few people heard the soft voice coming through his sore throat. Benjamin shouted louder. This time, two men understood and crawled toward his voice. When they got to where Benjamin had lifted the tent, they stood up and helped him support more of the wet material. Gradually all the people in the tent crawled out into the snowy night.
With frying pans and cooking pots, the awakened Saints scooped the snow off the downed tent. Dawn streaked the sky with soft light, so they rolled the tent up and prepared for a long day’s trek in the snow.
When the first three rescuers arrived from Salt Lake City seven days later, the Saints cheered. Benjamin didn’t join in the cheering. His throat was raw and tight. But he had yelled his best when it had mattered most.

Perhaps I can illustrate to a degree what I mean by sharing with you something that happened a year or so ago. Sister Larsen and I attended church meetings in the little Idaho town where Sister Larsen was born and where she lived during her girlhood years. During priesthood meeting I was participating in a discussion with the high priest group of the ward. The subject of the lesson being reviewed that morning had to do with honesty and integrity. The discussion had led us into a consideration of how honest, in strictly legalistic sense, may not always be adequate in our dealings with others. There were comments about the need for being fair and equitable also. The men in the group came mostly from farming backgrounds. Their sense of values was basic and unencumbered by some of the subtleties we are so often afflicted with.

To illustrate a point he was attempting to make, one of the men in the group said, “Let me tell you a story about Uncle Otto.” I was immediately alert with interest. I knew the Uncle Otto referred to was my father-in-law. He had passed away more than ten years before. He was actually of no blood relationship to the man who was speaking. He had simply been known as Uncle Otto to some of those whose parents had associated closely with him and who had shared his way of life.

I must explain that my father-in-law had spent his life working a small farm. He had homesteaded part of the ground as a young man just at the turn of the century. In those early years horses were an essential ingredient in the success of the farmer. Living conditions were very stringent by our present standards. Having a good team had much to do with whether a year’s work showed profit or a loss.

My father-in-law was a quiet man. He was not apt to say much about his inner feelings. He worked hard, and he loved the land he farmed. He was never called upon to carry responsibilities of notoriety in the Church or in the community. But everyone knew the principles upon which he stood. The only sermons he ever preached were those that came unspoken from the way he lived.

Returning to the discussion in the priesthood group, the man continued with the story about Uncle Otto. He spoke of a long-term negotiation that had gone on between his father and my father-in-law over the possible trade of some horses. Such a transaction was entered into with greatest care because so much was at stake. This was especially the case in matching pairs of horses as teams. An agreement had finally been reached that appeared to be totally acceptable to both the farmers. The trade was made.

The man relating the story concluded in this way.

It was on the evening of the day the horse trading had taken place. We were sitting around our kitchen table, eating our evening meal. Father had been telling us how pleased he was with the trade he had made with Uncle Otto. Apparently he was totally satisfied with the outcome of the transaction. Suddenly there was a knock at our door, and father went to see who was calling us. It was Uncle Otto. He stood in the doorway to speak to my father, but we at the table could easily overhear the conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about the trade we made today,” Uncle Otto said. “I haven’t felt exactly right because I think I got a little the best of the deal.”

His hand went into the pocket of his overalls and came out with a beautiful pocketknife that he obviously treasured.

“I’ve thought it over,” Uncle Otto said, “and I’d feel a lot better if you’d take this knife.”

The man who shared this story with us told how deeply he had been impressed, even as a boy, by this act of personal integrity that seemed to go beyond basic honesty.

Developing qualities of this kind helps us to move forward toward greater perfection.

As the Maid of Iowa docked in Nauvoo to unload its passengers—more than three hundred British converts—Captain Dan Jones, also a new convert, anxiously searched the crowd of greeters for the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Captain Jones had never seen Joseph Smith, so he was startled when a “large, comely man” approached him and shook his hand, saying “God bless you, brother.” When the man returned a little later, Dan Jones realized that this was the very person for whom he was looking.

Just for the fun of it, the youth of the Knox Ward in Melbourne decided to show their appreciation for their parents by treating them to dinner. They organized a special evening they called, “The Fabulous Fifties and the Surging Sixties.”
A youth committee selected a menu that would fit the theme; then a large group prepared and served a three-course meal. They played music from the appropriate decades, and parents and kids alike were encouraged to dance. For the adults, it brought back fond memories. For the kids, it made new ones.

Applying the doctrine of Jesus Christ in our lives begins with having faith in Him, believing Him, and trusting Him. At age 19, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. A year later, I was called to serve as a missionary and assigned to labor in the Alabama Birmingham Mission. I loved and enjoyed my mission experience, and it was the hardest thing I had done in my life to that point. As a new member of the Church and serving as a missionary, I did not fully comprehend the doctrine of Jesus Christ nor the history of the Lord’s restored Church. In about the fourth month of my missionary service, we taught a lesson to an individual who seemed to know more about the history of the Church than me. The lesson was not spirit-filled or spirit-led, as this individual made several accusations against the Church and its teachings. At this point in my membership, I had never heard such allegations. Please keep in mind this was before Facebook, Instagram, Google, and Wikipedia.

As my companion and I evaluated our conversation with this individual, I was informed that some of the things he mentioned were true. I had never heard that, in the past, priesthood and temple blessings were denied to Black members. I was shocked at first, later confused, and then I felt betrayed. I had felt I had been lied to by my teachers and leaders when I joined the Church. And thus, for the next two weeks, no significant missionary work was done. I continued to follow the daily schedule of missionary life and was obedient as best I could be to the mission rules. However, because of the resentment I was feeling towards God and my lack of trust for people, I did not recognize the Holy Ghost in my life. Because of these feelings, I did not want to speak to anyone, especially my companion. My companion recognized my frustration and feelings of unhappiness, and at the end of each night, he would say to me, “Elder Johnson, I love you.” He did not try to resolve my concerns, nor did he call the mission president. All he did was tell me that he loved me. And finally, after about two weeks, I started to believe him. His love softened my heart and gave me the courage to search the scriptures for answers that I desperately needed. I had stopped praying and reading the scriptures over these two weeks. I was lost, felt alone, and was confused.

Because I felt my companion’s love, I began to feel God’s love again. I was led by the Spirit to a place in the scriptures that I had never read before. The scripture is in Doctrine and Covenants 6:21-23 and reads as follows:
Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am the same that came unto mine own, and mine own received me not. I am the light which shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?[4]You may recall that these words were spoken through revelation to Oliver Cowdery in 1829. At the time, he served as the scribe during the translation of the Book of Mormon. Oliver, like me, may have been questioning his divine appointment. These few words spoken by Jesus Christ reminded me of the day that I had fasted and prayed to know if Jesus Christ was God’s own Son, if His words were found in the Book of Mormon, and if the Lord had called Joseph Smith as His Prophet. Alone in my college dorm room, I received a witness by the Holy Ghost of these sacred truths. I remembered. And as I remembered that experience in my missionary apartment in Alabama, I began again to recognize the Holy Ghost in my life; it had never left me.

Following this experience, I knelt to pray and expressed my gratitude and love to God. In doing so, I felt His love and His gratitude for me. My faith in Jesus was not only restored but deepened. I knew that I had not been betrayed nor had I been lied to, for God cannot lie. From that moment, I have tried to share with friends and family that God lives, Jesus is the living Christ and the Only Begotten Son of a living God, and His Church, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has been restored on earth at this precise time to prepare you and me for the Second Coming of the Messiah. My friends, it is all true! And as we consistently and intentionally apply the doctrine of Jesus Christ in our lives, our faith in Him will deepen and we will recognize and receive His divine power.

In 2015, in the state of Pernambuco, Brazil, 62 members of the J. Reuben Clark Law Society cooperated with the state Prosecutor’s Office in investigating the legal challenges of residents in four different nursing homes. For five hours one Saturday, these attorneys interviewed over 200 residents one by one, each of whom had been functionally forgotten by society.
During their interviews, they discovered several crimes that had been committed against the elderly residents, such as abandonment, mistreatment, and misappropriation of funds. A key pillar of this law society is to care for the poor and in need. Just two months later, the prosecutor successfully filed charges against the responsible parties.
Their assistance is a perfect example of King Benjamin’s teaching “that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”

On the eve of my wife’s and my baptism in 1996, family members and friends tried to prevent it. We endured persecution from relatives who severely criticized our family, saying we had traded our family for the Church and they no longer loved us. Eventually our friends completely abandoned us. Then came difficulties associated with unemployment and with illness.
On the other hand, my family and I felt better with each visit to church. At each class the Spirit was stronger. The members were supportive, and the bishop visited and encouraged our family. We knew from our own experience that people who criticized the Church were wrong. The Church was doing us much good. We learned about Jesus Christ. We learned to love and serve. We gained an eternal perspective. In spite of the appearance that everything had turned against us, nothing could change the fact that we had asked the Lord about the truthfulness of the gospel and He had answered our prayers.

Then there is so much fun in Church service. I remember one hot summer evening when we were engaged in a ward building-fund project. We had contracted to supply the food service at a state fair. I was assigned to the dishwashing detail along with Bay Hutchings, another member of our ward. We were working across the counter from the customers who were enjoying our delicious food. There was a call from the cashier’s cage: “Dr. Hutchings, the hospital is calling you.” Suddenly all the forks were suspended in midair. The customers turned one to another and exclaimed, “A doctor washing dishes?” We had to immediately explain that this was a Church building-fund project. No one was being paid for his services. The waiters, cooks, dishwashers, and busboys were doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs—all having one great time working together for our project. We must never forget that the wealth, the strength, the security of the Church is our ability to labor together. Let us be a righteous example of this fundamental principle in our homes, our places of employment, our neighborhoods, our communities, our states, and our nations.

Several years ago, prior to my calling as a General Authority, Sister Cardon and I attended a dinner for members of the Dean's Alumni Leadership Council at the Harvard Kennedy School. There were about 40 people in attendance, comprising about 20 council members and their companions. We were seated at round tables, eight persons at each table. After the dinner, the president of the council announced that rather than a speaker, he and the dean had decided to invite each council member and companion to stand and introduce himself or herself, using a microphone that would be passed from table to table. He suggested that each person share his or her educational and professional background information, along with what each considered to be his or her most significant accomplishment. The process then began at the table where the president and the dean were seated. Because of the way the room was organized, it soon became clear that our table would be the last to participate.
While this may seem uneventful, there was something rather remarkable that occurred with Sister Cardon that evening. She later explained to me what she had experienced. Sister Cardon had been with me to other similar events with guest speakers and had in those occasions quietly enjoyed the evening. However, on this evening, as she saw all in attendance standing and espousing their many academic degrees and professional accomplishments, she started thinking, "Wait a minute. This isn't what I had planned on."
As the microphone was passed from table to table she thought, "I'm really going to be expected to say something. What am I going to say? What can I possibly say to these people who have been ambassadors, high government officials, educators, professionals, and leaders of gigantic enterprises? I don't even have my bachelor's degree yet. (She would later receive it from BYU after eight devoted years of distance learning.) Sister Cardon's mind continued racing: "I've got to think of something to say. No, I've got to leave. I've got to find an excuse to leave. There is nothing I can say to these people."
Her heart began to pound rapidly and she really didn't know what to do. Then, in an instant, she remembered thinking, "I'm going to pray." With this, she said a silent, earnest prayer, pleading with the Lord for His help and direction. She later told me that in that moment, a voice came into her mind with perfect clarity. "Debbie, who in this room has achieved more important things in this life than you, or has had more amazing experiences than you? You are a mother in Zion. You have brought eight children into this world. They are happily married and are having children of their own. What is more important than that? Debbie, you get up and tell these people with power what you have done."
At about that moment, the microphone was passed from the adjacent table to our table. I had seen Sister Cardon earlier shifting in her chair, a bit uneasy, so I extended my hand to take the microphone, thinking to give her some additional time and space. Imagine my surprise when her hand stretched out in front of mine and literally grabbed the microphone.
She confidently stood, and with an elegance difficult to adequately describe, she said: "A few years ago I accompanied my husband here to the Harvard Kennedy School. And my most important achievement is that I am the mother of eight children and the grandmother of eighteen grandchildren" (the number at the time).
With that statement, spontaneous applause erupted in the room. It was the only applause of the entire evening. She shared a few additional thoughts relating to the central, societal role of the family and the happiness found therein, then handed me the microphone and sat down. I stood and added simply, "I'm her husband."
The significance of what the Lord did through Sister Cardon was evidenced by the fact that for the remainder of the evening we were inundated by questions from those at our table, and later by others at the dinner asking about families, requesting specific counsel in rearing children, and desiring to know how to foster marital harmony--subjects eminently more important than anything else that had been addressed. Because she had earnestly sought direction from the Spirit, and had exercised the faith and courage to respond to what she was told, the Lord had magnified Sister Cardon in a powerful way in furthering His purposes.

An active youth committee in Cache Valley made it their project to take care of the aged and shut-ins. Each week the girls would prepare suppers and the boys would prepare lessons or activities to take to the homes of the unfortunate, giving them plenty of tender loving care in a family home evening situation. What do you think it did for those young people to be involved in such a worthy, compassionate service?
Deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

It was here, during my time as a student at BYU–Hawaii, that I met my husband, Thomas. At the time, it didn’t feel like anything extraordinary—it actually started in a very ordinary way. I was a staff writer for Ke Alaka‘i, and I had been assigned to cover a big event taking place in the ballroom that weekend. I ended up having one circumstance after another pile up, which meant I arrived at the event a little late and by the time I got there, I had completely missed the band that everyone had been talking about. I remember thinking, this is not ideal… I still have to write this article.

I told my friend, “I didn’t even get to see them play—what am I supposed to do?”

And she said, “Well, the good news is I know the drummer. He’s my Gospel Doctrine teacher, and he’s really nice—you can just interview him.”

So, I walked up to this tall, thin haole guy, wearing a skinny tie, and really cool shoes—which I noticed immediately, because I always notice people’s shoes.

And I introduced myself and explained, “Hi, I’m writing an article about your performance… but I didn’t actually see it.”

And he blinked at me a few times, kind of laughed under his breath, and said, “Seriously?”

And I said, “Yep. So… can you give me a quote for my article anyway?”

And he very kindly did. I don’t even remember what he said. But I do remember having a very clear impression at that moment: This person seems like he would be a really good friend. And at that point in my life, I really needed a good friend.

The next week, I was talking to someone from his band and mentioned that I had met their drummer and was going to quote him in my article.

And he said, “Oh—Tom?”

And I said, “I think so…”

And he said, “You two would actually really get along. I could connect you.”

And I said, “Absolutely not. That would be so embarrassing. I’m good—thank you.”

But, he gave him my number anyway. And Thomas called me the next day. We spent time together the day after that, and we have pretty much been together every day since. I went from missing his performance to attending just about every show his band played around the island—and even a few on Maui. And over time, that simple introduction became something much more. We built a life together. We have raised four beautiful children. We have gone through multiple graduate programs together. And we have walked through both joyful seasons and very difficult ones.

It’s a whirlwind BYU–Hawaii, Seasider, slightly punk-rock love story. But looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t fully see then. What felt like a small, even inconvenient moment—missing a performance, arriving late, was actually part of something much bigger. I was exactly where I needed to be. The Lord was quietly shaping my life in ways I didn’t yet understand. And even then, even in that early beginning, I was not alone.

“Now your parents do remember they have an oldest daughter, right?” asked Susan, the girl I had shared a room with for the past two weeks at a BYU-sponsored summer camp. Her parents came to pick her up right on time. Mine were late.
“Well, they’ve always got seven other kids if they forget,” I laughed as we carried luggage down to her car.
Before Susan left she handed me a package. “Here,” she said. “For some reason, I just felt like you should have this.” Inside was a picture of the Savior.
“Thanks,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I loved the gift, but it seemed like an odd present from a girl who had known me for only two weeks.
I took the picture back to the dorm where I was staying and waited for my parents. They were driving to Utah from Arizona, a 14-hour drive, and had planned to split the trip over two days. Maybe they left later than they had planned.
After several hours, I grew nervous. My parents were often late picking me up, but never this late. As evening drew near, I began to panic. Where were they? I tried my house on the off-chance they were still at home, but the phone rang endlessly. I called my dad’s work and my grandparents’ house. No one had heard from them.
Finally I decided to talk to a camp counselor. “I think something’s happened to my parents,” I said, bursting into tears. After I told the counselor my story, she gave me a hug and pulled out her scriptures. “I don’t know what to tell you, Elyssa, except somehow I think everything will be all right.” She began reading to me from John 14:27, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
“You’re welcome to stay and talk with me until they get here, but you seem exhausted. Maybe you should try to sleep,” she said.
A bit calmer, I returned to my room. But as I lay down I was again consumed with worry. I read the verse my counselor had shown me over and over. I looked at the picture of the Savior Susan had given me and imagined Him speaking the words to me. “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help my parents arrive safely. Immediately I felt calm, and the feeling came over me that everything would be all right. I felt peace. After a few minutes, I fell asleep. I awoke later to a knock on my door.
“Your parents are on the phone. They’re okay,” said the counselor. I picked up the phone. My dad was on the line. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You scared me to death.”
My dad apologized and said they were delayed and left much later than they had planned. He had called the number I gave him several times, but there was no answer. He said he left four messages, unaware that I didn’t know how to access the dormitory voice mail. And the camp’s main line had been busy until just now.
“We’re in a town just south of you. We’ll be right there,” Dad said. Relieved, I hung up and went back to my room to say a prayer of thanks.
At home I quickly forgot the trauma of the experience, but I will always remember the power of the Savior’s words in John 14:27. Now, whenever I feel scared or like my life’s starting to unravel, I read the scripture I learned as a 14-year-old at summer camp. And feel peace.

When I was growing up and would have frustrating times, my Dad would always say: “Well, just remember this will pass, it won’t continue forever.”
I found myself in the midst of one of those times recently, wishing that some of my problems would go away and some of my dreams would come true. But neither seemed to be happening. I began to wonder if sometimes things did continue forever. I wondered why some prayers seemed to go unanswered and why some blessings were withheld.
While visiting my parents I found some answers in the corn patch.
It was Saturday and the vegetable garden needed to be irrigated. Since I was home, I volunteered for the assignment.
“Water everything but the corn,” Dad had said as I headed for the ditch with my shovel. I wondered what Dad had against corn.
“Are you sure it doesn’t need any water?” I asked. He decided to come and check. We walked out to the garden together and looked at the corn, which was about 60 centimeters high. The leaves were wilting and had begun to droop from the heat.
As usual, we had planted the garden at our family home evening in the last week in May. A frost had come a few days before the end of the month, and then summer weather had begun.
This year Dad had planted peas, beans, corn, potatoes, and squash. Our garden was growing according to the usual schedule this year. Everything had been watered two or three times since it had been planted, except for the corn. It was getting close to July, and still Dad hadn’t watered it.
“I guess now it’s time to water it,” Dad said as he inspected the droopy leaves. Then he explained to me why he had waited so long.
“If you water corn when it first starts to grow, it’ll shoot right up. But it won’t develop a root system to support its height, so it won’t be good for much of anything.”
As he left me, I began thinking about what he had said. He was disciplining the corn so it would be well developed and there would be a balance between the roots and the stalk.
I looked at my own life and thought how much I was like the corn. Crying for water before I’d developed my roots.
I remembered a talk Elder Neal A. Maxwell gave at Ricks College. He talked about being “grounded, rooted, and established.” Maybe the Lord was allowing me to go a little while without water so I would become grounded and well rooted in the gospel. Perhaps there were roots of patience that I had not established. I could work on tolerance and love. I thought of many areas of my life where my roots were shallow.
I have learned not to mind so much the dry spells in my life because I know the Master Gardener will send water in His own due time. And when it comes it will be, as Elder Maxwell calls it, the Malachi measure: “there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)

Several months later, on one of my trips home, I arrived to find my father reading a book. I was curious, and so was my mother.

“What book is that?” she asked.

“The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ,” he replied, adding, “One of the neighbors gave it to me and invited me to read it.”

Two weeks later, two young men visited the house and introduced themselves as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They seemed to really care about my father. The following day, they began to teach him the gospel.

Because I was living away from home, I was not able to talk to the missionaries. But about a month later, I received word that my father had been baptized. He sent me a message, telling me to come home so his whole family could learn about the true Church. My mother supported my father’s wishes wholeheartedly.

And that is how the missionaries came to teach us all. We were baptized on 19 November 1988. It was the most wonderful day of my life.

I am grateful for my father’s example, and I am grateful for that one person who cared enough to share the Book of Mormon with him.

It had been an aggravating, irritating day—one in which I felt that nobody appreciated my efforts in behalf of the family. All the packing, planning, and preparation for our family’s annual camping trip had been left to me. My husband, David, a surgeon in training, had taken it for granted that I would attend to every detail of the trip. He had stayed at the hospital long past our planned departure time.
Before we had even driven out of the city, the children were restless and bored with the confinement of the car’s back seat. When David said I hadn’t packed enough activities to keep the children entertained in the car, I made some angry remark back at him.
“She’s just angry at Dad,” explained ten-year-old Owen to his little sister. It was then that I switched on a cassette tape of Primary songs for children and sat in bad-tempered silence.
But the joy of the Primary songs was contagious. One by one each family member began to sing along, until even my own anger melted, and I couldn’t resist joining in the chorus of “Listen, Listen.” The Holy Ghost will whisper. Listen, listen to the still small voice” (Children’s Songbook, 1989, page 107). How quickly the music changed the mood of our little family on that long stretch of highway. How quickly and how timely.
“We need to turn the car around,” David said as the sound of the chorus faded.
“What for?” I asked. “What did I forget?”
“Nothing,” he laughed. “I just have this compelling feeling that we need to turn around.”
Just as we had been in harmony in our song—suddenly we all felt the need to turn around. And as crazy as it seemed at the time, we followed the prompting, turned the car around, and started back along the way we had come. Shortly afterward, we reached a parked vehicle, and its driver stood by the side of the road motioning us to stop. As we slowed the car by him, he frantically called out:
“There’s been an accident,” he said. “A young woman was driving a motorcycle, and it rolled over off the highway. I think she’s dying.” He motioned to a still body in the grass at the side of the highway—a wrecked motorcycle beside her. We parked the car, and my husband got out.
We had never carried a first-aid kit in the car, but this time we happened to have an emergency kit with us consisting of medical supplies David had picked up at a hospital sale just three weeks earlier. For the first time in our lives, we had it in the car! Feeling helpless and scared, I held the children close to me as David grabbed the kit and headed for the accident victim.
As he reached the body, my daughter said, “We should pray.” Thankful for her suggestion, we bowed our heads. “Heavenly Father,” we pleaded, “please help Daddy. Help him to know what to do to save this girl’s life. …”
As I watched my husband kneel beside the young woman and assess her condition, I was humbled. The girl was indeed dying—unconscious and not breathing. David took out the last two items he had added to the emergency kit: a tube-like device called an oral airway that opens up the air passage to the lungs, and a bag that pumps in air and allows the doctor to “breathe” for the patient. He used them both. Along with his medical skills, they probably saved her life.
When the ambulance arrived, my husband rode to the hospital with the patient. In the ambulance, he was able to talk over the two-way radio to medical personnel at the hospital, preparing everyone for their arrival.
As I drove the car behind the ambulance, my mind was filled with questions. What if we hadn’t had the first-aid kit? What if David hadn’t gone to the hospital sale? What if he hadn’t been trained for such an emergency? And most of all, what if we had continued to argue instead of sing? Would we have then heard the “still small voice” prompting us to turn the car around? Would we have recognized it?
The cassette tape in the car had continued to play throughout the entire drama. Silent and in wonder, the children and I listened:
“For all his creations, of which I’m a part[,] Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me” (Children’s Songbook, 1989, page 229).

A few years ago, I counseled a man who had very strong political opinions and was very educated about his viewpoints. Because of his knowledge, he had become very prideful. This pride had crept into the way he interacted with everyone in his life, and he would often seek out conflict with others just to prove them wrong. Unsurprisingly, his relationships with coworkers, friends, and family members were falling apart, which caused him to finally seek help.

One of the first areas we focused on to help him work toward healthier relationships was to examine the end goal he had in mind when interacting with others. He recognized that his pride was causing him to focus on his desire to be right. When he decided to stop giving in to that desire and to manage his pride, he was able to have more peace in his relationships. Here are a few key questions we discussed in our meetings that may be helpful to you as you seek to overcome pride:
Are you being driven by compassion and understanding?
Are you wanting to cause hurt and stir up angry feelings?
Are you arguing for the sake of being right?
Are you focused on building a healthy relationship with the other person?
Are you having conversations where the Spirit can be present?

I am very grateful for my affiliation with this university. Five of my children have also enjoyed attending BYU. I remember one of them suddenly becoming aware of changes in his life after he entered BYU following service as a missionary. He had dated in high school and had had a lot of fun just “hanging out” with girls. After his mission he resumed dating and expected the same casual fun and games. He returned from his first postmission date, however, somewhat pale and shaken. When I asked about the date, he replied, “This is not just high school fun and games. These women are playing with real bullets.” Yes, you are not just playing a game at this stage of life. This is for real.