Gospel Story Finder

Sweat trickled down Nathan’s back. He fingered the candy bar in his pocket—it would melt if he didn’t eat it soon. But his craving for the chocolate and nuts had disappeared as soon as he walked out of the store with it—a candy bar he hadn’t paid for—in his pocket.
Now it was growing warm and very sticky. Nathan pulled it out and looked at it. Chocolate oozed from under the wrapping onto his fingers. Spotting a trash can, he dropped it inside. I’ll feel better now, he told himself. The candy bar is gone.
But the guilt wasn’t! As he trudged home, Nathan wondered why he’d stolen the fifty-nine-cent sweet.
Later that afternoon Mother asked, “Nathan, will you go to the store for me, please? I need a gallon of milk.”
“From Brother Milligan’s store?”
“Of course.”
“Uh … I’m sort of busy right now. Couldn’t it wait until later?”
“No, I need the milk for dinner tonight.” Taking her wallet from her purse, his mother gave Nathan a five-dollar bill. “Get a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, and a loaf of bread.” She smiled. “There should be enough left over for you to have a candy bar.”
Nathan winced at the mention of a candy bar and stared at the money in his hand.
In Milligan’s Market, he muttered a greeting to Brother Milligan. When Nathan paid for his groceries, the storekeeper put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Nathan, you look like you just lost your best friend.”
Nathan turned and tried to smile but couldn’t. How could I have stolen from Brother Milligan? How could I have stolen from anyone? he asked himself. Aloud, he said only, “Uh … I have to get home,” not meeting the storekeeper’s eyes.
Brother Milligan looked disappointed. “Come by when you can stay a while,” was all that he said.
Nathan barely tasted his dinner that evening, even though his mother had fixed his favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs.
When Nathan knelt beside his bed to pray that night, the words caught in his throat and formed a huge lump. All he could think about was Brother Milligan, his CTR B teacher two years ago. Nathan remembered one lesson in particular, about the Saints building the Salt Lake Temple. His thoughts turned to the temple. He planned on going on a mission when he turned nineteen years old and, later, being married in the temple. How can I do any of those things when I’ve stolen something? He imagined the hurt looks on his parents’ faces if they ever learned what he’d done.
The next morning Nathan skipped breakfast. He’d asked Heavenly Father’s help and decided to fast at least one meal until he did what needed to be done. Milligan’s Market opened at eight o’clock, and he intended to be the first one there.
Inside the store, Nathan glanced around, glad that there were no other customers as yet. He found his old Primary teacher in the back. Nervously the boy cleared his throat. “Uh, Brother Milligan, I have something to tell you.”
“Could you help me lift this box of apples?” Brother Milligan asked. “When a body gets older, he can’t do all the things he once did.”
Nathan helped the storekeeper lift the crate of apples and set it on a shelf. “I stole a candy bar from you yesterday,” he blurted out.
“I know.”
“You know? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I figured that you’d get around to telling me when you were ready.” He stooped to lift another box.
Automatically Nathan bent down to help.
“As I was saying, a body needs some help when he gets older.” Brother Milligan sat on a crate and pushed his glasses on top of his forehead.
“Maybe I could help you,” Nathan offered. “After school and on Saturday. To make up for taking the candy bar.”
“Well now, that’s a good idea. A very good idea.” He patted Nathan’s shoulder. “Did the candy bar taste good?”
Nathan shook his head. “I threw it away.”
“I sort of figured you might.” The storekeeper looked at his watch and said, “You’d best be going. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“I’ll be here at 3:30.”
“I know you will, son.”
That evening Nathan told his parents what he’d done. They didn’t yell at him. In fact, they said that they were proud that he’d done the right thing in the end.
As he knelt beside his bed that night, Nathan didn’t have any trouble telling Heavenly Father what was in his heart.

My heart swelled with happiness and pride. Then, as if in a dream, my mind went back eight years to the time when the doctor told us that our newborn son, David, could not live. I had felt I was losing the fulfillment of my greatest desire, even before I had a chance to hold him in my arms. I rebelled against the cruelty of the situation. Not even my husband could soften my suffering.
Then I found a source of hope. I realized I could ask help from someone even more powerful than the doctors. I knew that God, who had sent us this child, could help us.
I began spending hours in prayer. Gradually, the impression came to me that our family’s lives were going to change. Two and a half months later, the doctors let us take David home, even though his condition was still serious. As Jose and I continued to pray, our feeling of imminent change grew stronger.
Two weeks after we took him home, David again required hospitalization, and the doctors began trying to prepare us for his death. At this low point, we finally experienced the change we were anticipating. Jose had mentioned our problems to one of his colleagues, who said that two young missionaries he knew claimed to have authority from God to give blessings that could heal people if they had faith.
“If what they say is true, tell them to come to our home. We need them,” my husband replied.
Several days later, the missionaries came to our home and began giving us the discussions. Within several weeks’ time, Jose and I had each received a testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the restored gospel, and we were baptized.
I will never forget placing our infant son in the hands of the brethren who anointed him with oil and gave him his first blessing. From the moment of that blessing, I felt certain that our son was under divine protection and that nothing would further threaten his life.
Several days after that blessing, I took David to the hospital for a checkup. When the pediatrician examined David’s X-rays, I knew by his amazed expression that my son had been healed.
“It’s unbelievable. His lungs are intact. There isn’t even a trace of disease … a veritable miracle,” the doctor exclaimed.
“Yes, a true miracle,” I murmured, blinking the tears from my eyes. From that time, David grew normally. His testimony grew, too, strengthened by his knowing the circumstances of his birth.

I used to attend a school where it was really hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and there weren’t many who shared similar standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my freshman year.
During that time life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. But my family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But through the scriptures I found someone else who dealt with family contention.
Lehi counseled Laman and Lemuel “because of the stiffneckedness of Laman and Lemuel; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11–12).
My family was divided. We fought all the time, my parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father; and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
“And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for them. Always I felt lonely.
“But, behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew that Nephi knew sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew that Nephi knew discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew that Nephi knew loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish it ended “happily ever after,” but it hasn’t yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know that he understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Though the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew that the Lord would help him accomplish anything that was commanded, I too know that Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me from my heavenly home as I struggle to deal with a torn earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to that heavenly home.

I learned faith and the application of faith on my mission.

My mission president had a plan to baptize each month. I believe every mission president has that plan. Implementing the plan took great faith. The only thing that changed in regards to the plan was the month and the faith of the missionaries to implement the plan.

I had not baptized for almost three months (one month in my previous area and two months in my present area). Neither did I implement the monthly plan. Finally out of desperation, I decided, as the senior companion, to implement the plan.

The plan required the missionaries to go before their ward priesthood executive committee and prophesize of success. As some of you might know, the ward priesthood executive committee was composed of the bishopric, the HPG leader, the elder’s quorum president, the young men’s president and the seventy’s president (presently known today as the ward mission leader).

The missionaries were to inform the members of the PEC that they had a family that would be presented to the ward on a particular Sunday because we were going to baptize them on the Saturday prior to that Sunday. We were to share their names, where they lived and anything about them. The last thing we were supposed to do was to tell the PEC members that sometimes our families do not get baptized for one reason or another and if the PEC could give us a back-up family. That took faith. To tell someone you’re going to baptize someone and in the same breath tell them they might not get baptize—so do you have a back-up family?

Well, it was the last Sunday in January. We attended PEC meeting. In my journal entry it reads, “This was the day that I showed my faith and went before Priesthood Executive Committee and said I have a family to present before the ward on February 19th and that family will be baptized February 18th.” We presented the name of a mother and her three-year-old daughter. I told them she was married however her husband was not interested. We told the PEC where she lived. I then asked for a back-up family from the ward. The Bishop looked at me and then turned to each member of the PEC and asked, “Do you have a back up family?” High Priest Group Leader, NO. Elder’s Quorum President, NO. Young Men’s President, NO. Seventy’s President, NO.

The Bishop then turned to me and said, “Elder Serrao, we don’t have a back up family but since this a part-member family, I will assign the Seventy’s President to assign her a home teacher.

In all my years as a leader, that has been the quickest that I have ever seen a home teacher assigned to an investigator.

Well, my companion and I left the meeting. My junior companion looked at me, his senior, and said, “What are we going to do now?” He had a legitimate question. We did not know this sister that well. We had visited her once or twice. The sister missionaries taught her at one time but we just didn’t know her that well. My junior companion had legitimate concerns.

I turned to him and told him we are going to work like we have never worked before and we did. We tracted nights and on Sundays and every chance we had. We filled our days with being busy and engaged in the Lord’s work. We saw her and her daughter every chance we could. We introduced her to the members. We made her feel comfortable in church.

We taught her on February 6th and challenged her to be baptized on February 18th. She accepted the invitation to be baptized. On February 7th, she brought her daughter to primary and met the primary presidency. On February 12th, she came to church. On February 14th, she was interviewed for baptism. On February 16th, her husband consented to her baptism. On February 18th, prophesy was fulfilled.

I was transferred out of the area. For the next 6 months, I implemented the plan for the month. I baptized each month and the wards I was in came up with a back-up family and the back-up family was baptized also. Faith became the motive cause of all action and blessings followed faith and works.

A short time ago I toured with the president of the Alaska-British Columbia Mission. His daughter in high school had been successful in converting one of her chums, so she told her father she wanted to spend her summer vacation in the mission field. He sent her up to Anchorage to labor with a lady missionary, and he and I were there to attend a baptismal service when eleven people were baptized. Nine of them were the converts of this girl and her companion. The daughter came up to me with tears running down her cheeks and said, “Oh, Brother Richards, I have never been so happy in all my life.”

“This day,” one of the greatest missionaries of the Book of Mormon is President Russell M. Nelson. When he was a newly called Apostle, he gave a lecture in Accra, Ghana. In attendance were dignitaries, including an African tribal king, with whom he spoke through an interpreter. The king was a serious student of the Bible and loved the Lord. Following President Nelson’s remarks, he was approached by that king, who asked in perfect English, “Just who are you?” President Nelson explained that he was an ordained Apostle of Jesus Christ. The king’s next question was “What can you teach me about Jesus Christ?”
President Nelson reached for the Book of Mormon and opened it to 3 Nephi 11. Together President Nelson and the king read the Savior’s sermon to the Nephites: “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world. … I am the light and the life of the world.”
President Nelson presented the king with that copy of the Book of Mormon, and the king responded, “You could have given me diamonds or rubies, but nothing is more precious to me than this additional knowledge about the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Back in November 1999, I was asked by our college dean to give a presentation to our college's faculty about how to prepare for Y2K. "Y2K" stood for the year 2000--particularly January 1, 2000--when apparently all computers and basically anything electronic was supposed to crash; when life as we knew it would come to a screeching halt. Personally, I did not worry too much about it. I knew that I would be with a group of students up in the Teton Mountains for a weeklong backcountry ski and winter camping trip called Winter Summit. Nothing happened to us. We had no computers and no electricity, just a lot of great new powder snow. I don't believe anything happened anywhere.
But, still there were many who were worried, which is why I was asked to give the talk. Having taught outdoor survival skills, winter camping, and other outdoor courses, I guess our dean thought I could give some suggestions on how to deal with the impending doom. Without asking him, I decided to take a different approach to the topic. Instead of discussing how to prepare for Y2K, I gave my presentation on "YK2?" Here the "Y" did not represent a year, nor did "2K." Rather the "Y" stood for a question: Why? And the K2 stood for just that--K2--the world's second highest mountain and one of the most difficult and challenging to climb.

For me, the question “How does putting Jesus Christ first help with temple and family history work?” was at the heart of the March 2023 Temple and Family History Leadership Instruction. Before I watched the broadcast, I expected to learn more about how to implement family history plans in wards and stakes. Instead, I was inspired to change my focus from the tasks of family history to the power of covenant connection with our Savior.
Jesus invited us:
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; … and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:29–30).
Rest. Lighter burdens. Who doesn’t want more of that? I have loved this scripture for many years. I’ve pondered it, taught it, and rejoiced in it.
But Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles helped me see this verse in a new light: “As we take upon us the yoke of Christ by exercising our moral agency to understand the covenants, accept them, and to receive the ordinances, we are yoked with Him. Two animals yoked together pull in unison.”1
What a powerful concept. We become yoked to Jesus Christ when we make covenants with Him and with our Heavenly Father. Our covenants give us access to power that gives us rest, relieves our burdens, and gives us daily strength.
President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Each person who makes covenants in baptismal fonts and in temples—and keeps them—has increased access to the power of Jesus Christ. … The Savior lifts us above the pull of this fallen world.”2
Sometimes we don’t focus as much on Jesus Christ as we do on the day-to-day tasks of building the kingdom of God. We know He is there. We love Him. We want to serve Him. But He is not always at the forefront of our thoughts. This minimizes the help and strength we can receive through our covenants. As Elder Bednar said, too many people “believe sincerely and serve dutifully, but their covenant connection with the Father and His redeeming Son has not yet become a living and transforming reality in their lives.”3
In the leadership instruction broadcast, Elder Bednar taught the importance of putting Jesus Christ first in the sequence of our efforts. For example, rather than focus on preparing young men and young women to serve a mission and then receive their temple covenants, we need to focus on strengthening their testimonies of Jesus Christ, which then leads them to their temple covenants. The principle of intentionally putting Jesus Christ first applies in everything we do, including family history research.
Keeping Jesus Christ at the forefront doesn’t just happen. It takes effort. President Nelson taught: “Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought.”4
Drawing of Syracuse Utah Temple by Jeremy Beck
So back to my original question: How does putting Jesus Christ first help with temple and family history work?
Changing our focus helps change our approach in gathering our family members from the other side of the veil. Our burdens are eased because we are not pulling alone. We have more purpose, resilience, and joy in our family history service.
As we make Jesus Christ our first focus in this work, we are filled with the fruit of His love, and we want to share His love with our families. We become like Father Lehi, who was desirous to share the great joy he found with his family (see 1 Nephi 8:12). Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said: “We can come to our Savior by covenant. As we come to Him by covenant, we naturally come to those we hold most dear and precious in our lives.”5
At the same time, as we search for and learn about our families, a change happens to us. “Almost every time people begin to think about, search out, talk about, document their ancestors, they begin to feel something,” said Elder Kevin S. Hamilton of the Seventy. “They begin to have these spiritual feelings and experiences.”6 This is often referred to as the spirit of Elijah, which is, as President Nelson has taught, “a manifestation of the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the divine nature of the family.”7
I witnessed this union of generations one time when I was helping a woman in my ward. Her parents had been divorced when she was young, and she knew very little about her father’s side of her family. We found basic records that identified her father’s parents and grandparents. She had never known their names. She was overcome with love and joy. The Spirit of the Lord filled her heart, and she was eager to take their names to the temple so they too could make sacred covenants with God.
When I take family names to the temple, my joy and spirituality are heightened because those family members are connected to me. When I perform their proxy ordinances, they are being connected not only to me but to God as well. With this connection, they too can enjoy the power of their covenants.
I will always remember one time when I performed the sealing for an ancestor. She had lived a difficult life, including the death of her first husband, the death of a toddler, and bankruptcy. During the sealing, the veil was thin, and the joy she felt while receiving her covenants was palpable. The Spirit filled my heart and the hearts of everyone in the room. It drew me closer to my Savior and gave me a surer witness of Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and the eternal nature of families.
All of us can feel a deeper connection to both Jesus Christ and our families through connecting our families to their covenants. This has never been easier than it is now with the use of a FamilySearch feature called Ordinances Ready (see page U14 in this section). With this technology, we can find a family name even as we walk across the temple parking lot on our way into the temple.
Elder Gong taught, “Covenant belonging with God and each other includes knowing … [that] our most precious relationships can continue beyond death with a fulness of joy.”8 When we put Jesus Christ first in this sacred work, we will draw more upon our covenant relationship with Him and find immense joy and peace in His temple as we open the way for our family members to enjoy the blessings of these covenants.
Call for Experiences
What blessings have you felt through temple and family history work? Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles promised blessings such as these:
“Increased understanding of the Savior and His atoning sacrifice;
“Increased influence of the Holy Ghost to feel strength and direction for our own lives;
“Increased faith, so that conversion to the Savior becomes deep and abiding;
“Increased ability and motivation to learn and repent because of an understanding of who we are, where we come from, and a clearer vision of where we are going;
“Increased refining, sanctifying, and moderating influences in our hearts;
“Increased joy through an increased ability to feel the love of the Lord;
“Increased family blessings, no matter our current, past, or future family situation or how imperfect our family tree may be;
“Increased love and appreciation for ancestors and living relatives, so we no longer feel alone;
“Increased power to discern that which needs healing and thus, with the Lord’s help, serve others;
“Increased protection from temptations and the intensifying influence of the adversary; and
“Increased assistance to mend troubled, broken, or anxious hearts and make the wounded whole” (“Family History and Temple Work: Sealing and Healing,” Liahona, May 2018, 47).
Have you experienced one or more of these? Share your thoughts by emailing liahona@ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

This story took place in the USA.
“Let’s start our family council with a prayer,” Trina’s dad said.
Trina knelt beside her brothers and sisters while her brother Taylor said the prayer. Then they all sat back down.
“Mom and I want to talk about Adam,” Dad said. Trina’s brother Adam was a missionary. He left three months ago, and Trina missed him a lot.
“He’s coming home from his mission this week,” said Mom.
Trina gasped. Is he OK? she thought.
“What? How come?” asked Taylor.
“He’s been struggling with anxiety and depression,” Mom said. “That means he has a lot of worry and sadness that won’t go away. He’s going to get some help from doctors here, just like he would if he had broken his leg or gotten sick.”
Trina didn’t know what to say. She had friends whose siblings had come home early from their missions to get help from a doctor. Would Adam be OK?
“We want to do all we can to help Adam. Will you please pray to know how you can serve your brother?” asked Dad.
Trina and her siblings nodded.
“You can ask us any questions and tell us how you’re feeling anytime. We sure love you,” said Mom. Trina ran to hug her, and the rest of the family joined for a group hug.
Over the next few days, Trina thought about Adam. She prayed about what she could do for him. She thought of times when she felt worried or sad and how much her family had helped her. But anxiety and depression seemed like pretty big things.
“What can I do to help Adam?” Trina asked Mom.
“We can’t change what Adam is feeling,” Mom said. “But we can support him and show him we care.”
“We can love him!” said Trina.
Mom smiled and hugged her. “That’s the best thing we can do.”
Trina knew there were lots of ways to say “I love you,” even without saying it out loud. When her family did nice things for her or gave her a hug, she knew they loved her. Trina could do that for Adam!
Trina decided she could start showing love for Adam now. She used chalk to write a message for him on the sidewalk. She hid nice notes around the house. She helped her siblings make a sign. It said, “Welcome home, Elder Dawson! We love you!”
The next day Trina’s family went to the airport. Trina helped her siblings hold the sign they had made. When Adam walked through the gate, Trina and her family ran to hug him.
“I love you, Adam!” Trina said.
When they got home, Trina took Adam’s hand and led him to the sidewalk to see what she had written.
“‘We are so proud of you, Elder Dawson,’” read Adam. He looked up at their parents and siblings. “Thanks, everyone.” He squeezed Trina’s hand.
Adam left to put his suitcase in his room. When he came back, he was smiling. “Does anyone know who’s doing all the nice things around our house? I just found a secret note on my pillow.” He winked at Trina.
Trina grinned. She couldn’t wait to think of more ways to say “I love you”!

I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.

Brother Lind shared his testimony of the power that comes with being about the Lord’s business. He recalled for them the time he was flying into Hill Air Force Base in Utah in order to fulfill a speaking assignment. A raging snowstorm had lowered visibility to zero and made it apparently necessary to divert to the Salt Lake Airport. That, however, would make it impossible to fulfill his assignment. He decided to make one approach before giving up. “I said, ‘Heavenly Father, I’m on your business, and I need your help.’ As I started in north of the Ogden airport, the sky was just like a great gray theatrical curtain, a solid gray wall. The control tower was calling out instructions. The RVR (runway visibility range) had to get up to 1,600 feet or I could not land, and the controller said, ‘You’re at four miles and your RVR is 300 feet. You’re at two miles and your RVR is 200 feet. You’re at one mile and your RVR is 100 feet’—then all at once he said, ‘4,800 feet?’ Just as I got to the critical point it was as if they had opened the curtain, and there was a long crack right down through the center of the snow squall, and there was the runway right underneath it, and I thought of Moses parting the Red Sea. There it was! I dropped onto the runway, and the storm closed over again. The snow was so deep I could hardly taxi in, and nobody landed at Hill Field for the next three and a half hours. Talk about an answer to prayer! I had a church assignment. I had to get there. The Lord literally opened up the snowstorm.”

I was the oldest child in my family, so a lot of people were interested in me as I prepared to be baptized when I turned eight years old. My siblings and all the neighbor kids were curious about my baptism. I was too. I even became quite nervous about being baptized.
My baptism was scheduled on a nice spring day. We lived out in the country, and when I woke up that morning, I decided to take a walk outside. I wanted to look things over for the last time as an unbaptized person. I looked at the trees and the river. I wondered how things would be different after I was baptized because it seemed to be a really big deal.
Then I walked home and got dressed for my baptism. A priest in our ward baptized me. My dad confirmed me and blessed me to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.
After my baptism was over, I didn’t look different at all. My friends came over to see if I had changed. I told them I hadn’t changed—not on the outside. But I had changed on the inside. From that day on, I knew I wanted to be a better boy because of the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.
In the Book of Mormon, we read of some Lamanites who received the Holy Ghost, but “they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20). But on the day of my baptism, I knew the Holy Ghost had come upon me. I also knew I wanted to choose the right. I am grateful for the Holy Ghost. Every day I have tried to live so I could always have His companionship. As you try to choose the right, the Holy Ghost can also be your best friend.

The ambulance bounced and bucked even though we weren’t really going very fast. Its siren kicked on again, screaming to try to clear the way as we brought the woman down off the mountain. I struggled against the movement to hold her head still between the sandbags that cradled it, and I twisted around so I could see out the windshield. The driver in the car ahead showed no sign that he even knew we were there, and I mentally pleaded with him to either turn off his air conditioner and stereo so he could hear us or to look in his rearview mirror for our flashing lights.
The young man sat on the bench beside his mother. Ashen-faced, he stared down at her, saying nothing, doing nothing.
She had been cruelly pinned in the wreckage of their van when we arrived on the scene. A glance told me what had happened. The driver of the van had misjudged his distance and had caught the corner of the rear end of the slowly moving highway department truck—caught it right where she had been sitting.
The jagged metal and glass had folded back around her, trapping her. There had been a small fire, but one of the highway men had worked quickly with an extinguisher and had snuffed it. She had been semiconscious, in sharp pain from the metal biting her body. The first thing I had noticed when I crawled into her twisted prison was the blood and clear fluid coming from her right ear.
While I had stayed inside with her, the others on the scene had worked as quickly and as carefully as they could to tear apart the front of the van to free her. It had taken what seemed like forever. But once freed of the torn van, she was carefully strapped to a backboard and removed. The sandbags were piled beside her head to keep her neck from moving. Straps bound her tightly and uncomfortably to the board and to the stretcher.
She was drifting in and out of consciousness, and she fought the restraining straps as I completed a more thorough examination on the road behind the ambulance. As we loaded her, she managed somehow to pull loose the strap that crossed her forehead. She fought hard as I tried to resecure it, so I decided to leave it loose and cradle her head between my hands.
We were just about to lift the stretcher and its cargo into the back of the ambulance when the young man stepped forward. “Please,” he asked in a quiet voice, “may I ride with her?”
There’s an ironclad rule in ambulance work. Nobody rides unless they’re injured. The last thing you need in the back of an ambulance is a hysterical relative when you’re fighting to keep someone alive.
But for some reason I looked up into his eyes, saw what was there, and said, “Yes. Get in.”
The ride down the mountain was a long one filled with a narrow, twisting road and slow-moving, unheeding tourist traffic. She still fought the head strap, so I still cradled her head in my hands. The blood and fluid still oozed from her right ear. Her level of consciousness seemed to be fading. The words she mumbled no longer seemed to make sense. I looked into her eyes as best I could. The light was bright, yet the pupils seemed dilated. The thought ran through my mind again and again, “This woman’s in trouble. Head hit the windshield. Basal skull fracture. Heavy duty injury. She’s in real trouble!”
We hit the flats at the bottom of the mountain, and the driver stepped hard on the accelerator. The rocking and bucking increased as our speed climbed. I thought of asking him to slow down some and then decided against it, weighing the need for speed against comfort. I could hold her head steady with my hands.
The young man—her son—sat numbly, staring. He had been driving the van.
She pulled against the restraining straps again and mumbled something. Her eyes rolled toward me, and she mumbled it again. I tried to tell her to lie still, but she kept pulling and there was a pleading tone in the mumbled words. I placed my ear next to her mouth and tried to understand.
“Are you Norman?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “My name’s not Norman.”
She tried to shake her head, and I had to hold firmly against her determination. “No!” I heard her say. “Not Norman. Are you Norman?”
I looked up at the young man. “Is your name Norman?” I asked.
He shook his head as she pleaded again, asking for Norman.
“What about your father? Is his name Norman?”
Negative reply.
“Norman’s not here,” I said into her ear, trying to make her hear me above the wailing siren. “You take it easy, and when we get to the hospital, we’ll find Norman for you.”
Her eyes were almost wild with concern as she asked again, “No, no! Not Norman! Mormon! Are you Mormon?”
“Oh! Mormon!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. “Yes, I’m a Mormon.”
“Can you give me a blessing?” she pleaded.
My hands were full, holding her head, and I didn’t want to let go. I looked up at her son. “She wants a blessing,” I said. “What priesthood do you hold?”
“Elder,” came the reply. “We were on our way to Provo and the MTC. I’m going to Norway.”
I nodded. “She wants a blessing. Move up here and help me. My hands are full.”
“Do you have any consecrated oil?” he asked.
“In a little gold canister with the keys on my gunbelt,” I replied.
I could feel him tugging at the keys, and in a moment the key ring with its little aluminum cylinder was in his hand. I nodded to him. “Unscrew the top and anoint her.”
“I’ve never done this before,” he answered, rather plaintively.
“Time you learned,” I smiled at him. “Don’t worry too much about it. Just do it.”
He poured the clear oil onto her head. “I don’t know what to say,” he pleaded.
I pronounced the necessary words. “Now, it’s your turn,” I said to him. “Give her a blessing.”
A stricken look passed over his face for a moment, and he closed his eyes. Then he suddenly sat straight up, placed his hands on her head, and said in a loud, strong voice, “Marge Robinson, in the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to stay alive until we can reach the hospital and medical help.”
Then he sagged back onto the bench, covered his face with his hands, and began to weep.
A smile crossed her face and she relaxed, letting her head slide down between the sandbags. There was no more fighting the straps, no more mumbling. I sat up, startled and concerned, and quickly checked her vital signs. Good. Everything was good. In fact, unless it was just my imagination, her signs were even better than before.
She was asleep when we reached the hospital.
I recited what I thought was my diagnosis to the doctor. He checked her ear and the red and clear drainage from it, nodded and looked grim. We wheeled her to the bright room filled with doctor tools, and the hospital team went to work.
I was restocking the ambulance when the doctor called me into the room again. The ear had been cleaned out, and I could see the laceration inside it clearly. “Take a look.” The doctor smiled and handed me the otoscope.
I looked deep inside the ear. There was the eardrum, clear pink. Intact. There was no clear fluid, no cerebral fluid draining from a basal fracture. The X rays hanging on the viewboard confirmed it.
The woman was awake, alert, smiling. She thanked me and my partner for all we had done. The rest of the family was there, standing in the hall. One of them was on the telephone trying to make arrangements for a rental car to finish the trip to Provo. “We’ll keep her overnight,” the doctor was saying. “But the rest of them will make it to the MTC on time.”
I was shaking hands with them all, listening to their thanks, which I certainly didn’t deserve, when my radio started talking, telling me to let my partner take care of the ambulance and to get back to my patrol car. I had another call. Somebody wanted to complain. Neighbor’s dog was in his trash can.
I left the hospital with a strengthened conviction that Heavenly Father watches over and guides his children. Without knowing why, I had let the young elder ride in the ambulance.
I have since found that many events defy explanation except in light of a knowledge of the gospel and priesthood power.

Q: What do you do to get in shape mentally before a game?
Freed: Everyone is different in that respect. Pressure is an intense thing and hard to actually define. Let me give you an example.
I remember reading about a recent tennis superstar who was going to play in the finals at Wimbledon. He woke up at three or four o’clock in the morning when someone came into his room. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got to go back to sleep for three or four more hours,” and he turned over and went back to sleep. With me, that would have been impossible.
When I was preparing for a match the next day, I’d be tired enough so that I could usually get to sleep; but once I’d get to sleep, if I ever woke up, then my mind would start operating and I’d start mentally playing the match, and I just had no hope of further rest. In fact, many nights I’ve lain in bed before a big match and never slept. I figured I got my rest by just lying down. I’ve seen kids who were the same way. As I got older, I got a little bit better, but I was still excitable. I remember playing in the senior finals at Forest Hills. The fellow I was playing was the defending champ, and he was pretty smart. He won the toss but chose to receive, so I had to serve. When I threw the ball up, my hand was actually shaking so hard I couldn’t let go of the ball. Finally, somehow, I got control of myself and managed to play a pretty fair game.
Many times players lose points by getting what we call the “elbow,” the “steel elbow.” It’s really funny, because I don’t know whether you’re afraid to win or afraid to lose; but you get so scared you’re going to make a mistake that your elbow just won’t let you go. It happens to the greatest players; everybody gets it, to a degree, one time or another.
Q: Experience has a lot to do with that also, doesn’t it?
Freed: Yes, that’s a good point. At one point in my career I said to myself, “Well, I’ve lost plenty of matches by underhitting the ball; from now on, when the big point comes up, I’m going to lose it by overhitting. I’m really going to sock the ball.” So I started losing them by socking the ball! But I really did better in the long run by hitting hard. I lost some good points when I did that, but it loosened me up, and later I won a lot more because I was a little more cool.
Q: What should you do if you get the “elbow”?
Freed: In talking to players and coaches, I’ve found they all agree that it’s a good thing to talk about it and expose it and say, “Maybe I’ll get the ‘elbow.’” It’s better to face it and then get it out of your mind; and, of course, that’s a good rule of psychology anyway.
Q: How important is physical training for a big game? I’ve heard coaches talk about trying to outrun your opponent in a game.
Freed: That’s what I used to do when I was young. I tried to beat people by outrunning them, and I did win many matches that way; but when I played a big hitter who could control a big serve and follow it to the net, he would always beat me. Then I got older and started doing the same thing myself, and I won more than I did when I was trying to outrun my opponents. Today the top college teams do roadwork in addition to their tennis playing. When I was with the Davis Cup team, I had our kids do some running whenever I could. Rope-jumping is another good exercise for tennis players.
Q: What makes the difference between a great champion and an ordinary player?
Freed: The physical equipment that you were born with has as much to do with it as anything. Then you combine that with the right mental attitude and the great determination that you need so much and always see in great champions.
Q: It’s so quiet when you’re watching a match. Can you feel the tension?
Freed: Well, I built up pressure within myself. I always did. So I guess it didn’t matter whether anyone was watching or not. If there were a million people watching, I don’t think the tension level would have gone up. This inner pressure was one of my biggest faults, and it was one of the things I was always fighting.
Q: Do left-handers have an advantage or a disadvantage?
Freed: I’ve always thought they had an advantage, and yet when you look at the records, there have been very few great stars who were left-handed, probably because most people are right-handed. But left-handers can sure make it miserable for right-handers if they know how to curve the ball in to them or slice it in to them.
Q: What should a player do when he comes up against a good left-hander?
Freed: A left-hander always seems to hit into your backhand or hit the ball so that it curves in to you. I got used to playing against left-handers, and I always did pretty well against them, just because I had the right kind of mental attitude. That’s very important. Tennis is quite an emotional game. What you think you can do, you often can. You need confidence and concentration and a good mental attitude.
Q: What about control on the tennis court? I’ve seen friends occasionally lose control and throw their racket on the ground.
Freed: A lot of potentially great tennis players don’t make it because they can’t control their emotions on the court. You know you are under close scrutiny when you are playing tennis. A lot can happen on a football field that the fans never see, but spectators can even tell what a tennis player is saying under his breath.
I think they should and will eventually have technical fouls in tennis, just as they do in basketball, for losing control. I’ve seen some kids start out to be great tennis players, but they never became champions because they couldn’t learn to lose—they couldn’t take the pressure. Thank goodness I was able to teach my children to lose. If they lost a match, okay. It was over; forget about it and go on to the next one.
I think that’s one of life’s great lessons that you can learn from sports. I say can learn because obviously everybody doesn’t learn it.
Q: What would you say to a Mormon who wanted to really get involved in the game?
Freed: Living your religion could only help you be a better tennis player. And, of course, if you ever became good enough and wanted to join the tennis circuit, you wouldn’t have the big problem of playing on Sunday as you do in other sports. One other thing—remember that the Word of Wisdom is a great asset. Living it will not only help a person be a better tennis player, but it is also essential if you are going to be a healthy person.

Then I began dating Kelly, a friend who was not a member of the Church. I related to her my plans to serve a mission. Kelly saw that I had changed and wondered why. This led to Kelly’s having the missionary lessons and joining the Church, and I had the opportunity to baptize and confirm her. At this point I wondered if that missionary effort had fulfilled my service to the Lord. I wrestled with having to go, and I was determined to pray to find out if leaving Kelly and serving a mission was the right thing to do.

I chose a place in the hills on the moors called Saddleworth Dovestones, where I would not be disturbed. I took my lunch, scriptures, and my journal and headed out, climbing to the top to offer the desires of my heart to my Father in Heaven. As I prayed, I listened very carefully for an answer, maybe a peaceful feeling or a burning in my bosom, but I felt nothing.

As I walked back, I noticed a series of rocks on the ground carefully placed to spell out the words “Truth Will Prevail.” “Curious,” I thought, but nothing more. However, when I told my mother, she said simply, “That’s your answer.”

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”

It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasonsin 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1

Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.

I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”

Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

For the last few years in my morning prayers, I have asked Heavenly Father to guide me to someone who needs His help through me. I have had some incredible experiences that have been a blessing because of this simple request. Let me share one with you.

I work in downtown Salt Lake City. A number of years ago, I parked my car about 1½ blocks from the office. One day as I was crossing the street, I noticed a grandmother-like woman standing on the opposite corner. She had her bathrobe on. I walked up to her and asked how she was doing. She said she was fine. I asked what she was doing. She said she was out for her morning walk. I thought that was interesting and asked where she had walked from. She mentioned a place five miles away. I heard what she said and then was shocked. It was 7:30 a.m. How did she walk that far? In my mind I wondered what time she started.

And then I looked down at her feet and noticed she was wearing slippers and the thought came to me and I asked her, "Did you walk from the rest home a block away?" She said, "I think so." I offered to walk her home. Slowly, we walked arm in arm down the street. She told me about her children and that she loved music. She talked about how happy she was.

When we entered the rest home, a nurse hollered out, "Mary, did you leave the home again?" She smiled. I told the nurse who was coming towards us we had just walked from the corner. Mary thanked me and invited me to come again and the nurse whisked her off down the hall. What a marvelous experience. Heavenly Father blessed me to be able to help someone in need. I thanked Him for the experience and walked happily to work.

When schoolteachers in Kaiserslautern, Germany, wonder if holding classes, grading papers, and putting up with noisy students are worth it, the youth of the Landstuhl Military Ward, Kaiserslautern Germany Military Stake, like to remind them of their value. Each year for the past six years, the youth have expressed appreciation for their teachers’ service and caring with a teacher appreciation night.
The youth chose “For the Strength of Youth” as this year’s theme. They made a memory and quote book for their teachers, thanking them for their guidance, knowledge, and service. The youth also treated the teachers to dinner in the Church cultural hall, which they decorated for the occasion, and they put on a show to entertain them. On each table they left copies of For the Strength of Youth for the teachers to take home. Their teachers certainly appreciate being appreciated!

One evident blessing that immediately showered me during this project was the immense peace I felt—not only during the session but also in my life in general. To share a bit of my story, a few weeks before our pilot recording, I was still reeling from the aftermath of Typhoon Kristine. Our house was flooded, and many of our belongings were damaged beyond repair. Chaos and uncertainty surrounded me, leaving me restless and worried.

Despite all this, I never once hesitated to attend the recording session, knowing that I would be edified and strengthened as I gave my best efforts. Throughout the session, we enjoyed what we would consider as among the happiest times of our lives. We worked hard, but it didn’t feel like work: we laughed, joked around, and helped each other while recording the songs in Tagalog. Truly, the Lord is in the minute details of our lives. He knew I needed to step back and experience the peace His music offers, shared with wonderful people.

Some years ago, I found myself in an auditorium at the Churchill College of the University of Cambridge in England for an annual meeting for the company I worked for. On that occasion, I had the privilege to receive from the company’s global president and CEO an award in behalf of my team for the excellent work we performed that year.
As company leaders from all over the world, representing 80,000 employees, clapped their hands and praised our team for our achievement, I thought, “This must be my best day of work ever!” The atmosphere of that moment was exhilarating.
Upon reflection, I decided that receiving an award at Cambridge was my second-best day of work. The best and happiest day at work was in a much more humble setting: a little bakery with no audience or standing ovation. It was just me and my dad. That day, he taught me to love and value work and helped me feel the joy of making something from scratch with my own hands. I learned that hard work is satisfying to both the body and the soul.
I can still hear the applause and the words of encouragement coming from that audience at the University of Cambridge, but more dear to me is the memory of my day at the bakery with my father and the smell of those loaves of bread as they came out of the oven.

Soon the travelers were aboard a train going to Nebraska, where the railroad ended. Then their belongings were loaded onto ox-drawn wagons for the long trek across the plains to Utah.
The route lay along the Platte River that had to be forded several times. On one such occasion, someone took Albertina from her tired mother and set her on one of the loaded wagons being drawn through the water by oxen. All went well until the animals tried clambering up the slipper bank and the load shifted, throwing the little girl into the river.
“Mother! Mother!” Albertina cried as she struggled to keep her head above water.
Anna plunged into the cold water and was immediately caught in the strong current. She managed to catch hold of Albertina, but she was unable to swim as her heavy, sodden skirt wrapped around her, pinning her arms and legs. She struggled vainly to reach the shore as the current dragged them into deeper water.
The captain saw Anna’s plight but stood by helplessly. Suddenly, as though in answer to Anna’s silent prayer, her feet brushed against a submerged sandbar. Still clutching Albertina, Anna’s floundering subsided, and she gained a temporary footing on the sand just below the surface of the swirling water. A moment later a rope was thrown to them and, after a short struggle in the cold water, friendly hands reached out and helped the two to safety.
That evening as they sat by the campfire drying their wet clothes, Albertina looked up at her mother and said, “Mama, I was afraid when I fell in. Weren’t you afraid too?”
“Yes,” replied Anna. “But when those you love are in danger, you don’t let fear keep you from trying with all your might to save them. And remember, Albertina, our Savior is always near to hear our prayers for help.”