Gospel Story Finder

Another insight on building a marital relationship on the rock of Jesus Christ is found in Ephesians 4:26: “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” This particular verse has likely been the source of the advice often given to newlyweds, “Never go to bed angry.” My wife, Susan, and I were given this advice by a well-meaning relative when we were married. I joke that there was one time during our first year of marriage when we went nearly three days without sleep! Many married couples may realize, as we did early in our marriage, that late at night when they are tired is not always the best time to resolve conflicts. But undoubtedly the spirit of Paul’s counsel to the Ephesians would motivate us to resolve conflicts quickly so they do not persist and grow more intense over time. The Savior also admonished His disciples to resolve conflicts with dispatch so they could approach their God with pure hearts (see Matt. 5:23–24).

My dad always stopped at the same convenience store near our house to buy gas. After filling up the car, Dad went in to pay. I followed him and was through the door before I heard Cort’s voice. He was working behind the counter.
Suddenly a wave of embarrassment washed over me. I wanted to sneak out, but the store wasn’t that big. In only a second, he would see that I was there.
Cort looked up from the cash register and said, “Hi.”
Dad glanced from Cort to me then back to Cort. “Oh, do you know my daughter Jill?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
He thinks so! my mind was screaming. Didn’t he remember how we were almost friends?
I was tongue tied. I wanted, more than anything, to say something clever and casual to cover up for the fact that I was blushing, but nothing would come out.
“That will be $15.75,” said Cort to my dad.
As Dad pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, he said, “I sure would like Jill to run the car down here and fill it up. She got her driver’s license three weeks ago, but she’s scared to drive the car. It’s a stick shift, and she panics every time she tries to drive it.”
I was mortified. I was standing there listening to my dad humiliate me.
“It’s not too hard to learn,” Cort said, looking at me. “I taught my sister and my girlfriend.”
“I’ve tried to teach her, but I guess there are some things you just can’t teach your own children,” my dad said, collecting his change.
“I’ll teach you,” Cort said. “I get off work at five tomorrow. Meet me here. It really isn’t that big a deal.”
Not a big deal, not a big deal! It was an incredibly big deal. Just wait until Laney heard about this.
“Okay,” I blurted out. Dad was halfway to the door before I made a move to follow him.
The next afternoon, I had changed my clothes three times and was working on my hair. I desperately wanted thick, smooth, straight blonde hair that would swing away from my face when I moved. What I had was no-color brown that kinked and twisted no matter how long I spent with the blow dryer. I was at the point of giving up when my mom stood in the door of the bathroom.
“What in the world are you doing, Jill?”
“Cort Tyler told Dad that he would help me learn to drive a stick shift this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Mom said, distracted by the screams coming from the bedroom where my two little brothers were fighting over a video game. Then she suddenly reappeared in the doorway.
“Why are you getting all dressed up? This isn’t a date, is it?”
“No, this isn’t a date,” I said, on the verge of getting sarcastic. But actually I halfway thought it was. I had even told Laney at school that day that I had to get home because I had to meet Cort at five. I said meet but I knew she would think date, and that was just fine with me.
I walked the couple of blocks to the store. Cort was still behind the counter. He saw me coming and said something to the guy beside him and was out in front by the time I walked up.
“Where’s the car?” he asked.
“It’s home,” I had to admit. “I can’t get it into reverse.”
We walked to my house in virtual silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say, and Cort didn’t seem to notice.
“You drive,” he said abruptly as we walked up to the car.
“But I can’t get it into reverse.”
“Yeah, well, let’s fix that,” he said, opening the passenger door and getting in. I walked around and got into the driver’s seat.
I started the car, pushed in the clutch, and tried to slide the gear shift into reverse. It made a horrible sound.
“Okay, stop,” Cort didn’t seem greatly concerned. “Let up on the clutch. Push it in again, then slide the gear shift over and down. Here, like this.”
He put his hand over mine on the gear shift. I think I remembered to do what he instructed, but I was paying a lot of attention to the feel of his hand on mine.
It took five minutes for me to get out of the driveway and into first gear. I kept letting the clutch out too far and killing the engine. I was afraid Cort was going to get upset, but he stayed remarkably calm. I found that after the car got going in first gear, shifting was a lot easier. I had second down cold.
At the end of the neighborhood, I had to turn onto a busy street.
“Take a left here,” Cort said.
“I can’t. I’ll get stuck in the middle of the intersection.”
“But we need to go left.”
“I’ll get us there,” I said. Desperation made my mind work overtime.
I pulled straight through the intersection and made a right at the next corner. I made another right turn, and another. This time I was at the light again, ready to go straight through. I had skipped making a left turn by making three right-hand turns.
Cort started laughing. “Give me a break. You can’t drive like this. You have to learn to turn left.”
“I can’t,” I said, tears starting to form.
“Sure you can. If the car dies in the middle, I’ll trade you places and get us out of there.”
I took a deep breath, signaled to turn left. But I was done in by self- fulfilling prophecy. As soon as I tried to pull forward in first gear, the car got to the middle of the intersection, jerked, and died. I panicked.
“I can’t do this. I can’t. You do it.”
Cort didn’t move. “Just start the car. Put it in first, and give it a little more gas.”
“You promised. You said you’d drive.”
“You can do it. You have to learn how to get yourself out of this situation. Just try.”
It took me three tries to get the car started and moving forward. I just made the turn before the light changed.
“I knew you could do it,” Cort said. “Now drive me back to work. You’re okay now.”
Secretly, I was pleased with myself. I drove Cort back to work and made a left turn back onto the street. This time I didn’t kill the engine.

A few years ago, our second son was accepted into Pharmacy school pending completion of a couple of classes that he was taking on line. Pharmacy school is a competitive doctorate program and he was concerned about being accepted from the beginning. He was incredibly relieved and delighted to get in. He worked to complete his online classes but it was summer and the teachers were often on vacation and slow to correct and return his homework. To be proactive, he talked to the admissions department at the Pharmacy school to let them know that he was cutting it close on the deadline to finish the classes. He was told that as long as the classes were completed before school started he would be fine. You can appreciate how discouraged he was when a different person contacted him later and told him he had been given the wrong information. If he couldn’t submit his grades the next day he would miss the deadline, would not be admitted for that year and would have to reapply to the program again. Getting the grades submitted in twenty-four hours was impossible. There was nothing he could do to make it happen. He was devastated. His first impulse was to give up completely. Playing video games in our basement for the rest of his life may have been his fall back plan. He was terribly discouraged, it took some time to bounce back, but he didn’t quit. He finished his classes, reapplied to school and was accepted for the following year. He graduated last June and is working as a pharmacist in a Utah hospital.

One of my favorite stories with roots in Islamic traditions illustrates that especially in death we need to look for the hidden purposes of the Lord, which, when understood, turn to comfort and blessings.

It seems that Moses, being in heaven, wondered about the work of a certain angel who was departing for earth. He asked the angel if he might accompany him on his errand. The angel responded, “Nay, thou wouldst not be able to stand that which thou wouldst see.” Moses insisted, so the angel placed a condition. “No matter what thou wouldst see, thou must remain silent.” Moses agreed and the two came to earth.

They left the borders of dry land and went far out over the sea, even beyond sight of land, where they found some humble fishermen in their boat fishing. The angel, unseen, broke the boards of the keel, the boat sank, and the fishermen drowned. Moses started to protest but the angel declared, “Thou must remain silent.”

Next they came upon an Arab boy walking through the sands of the desert. Unseen, the angel breathed in the boy’s face; his blood froze, and he fell to the earth, dead. Moses started to protest but the angel silenced him, “I told thee that thou wouldst not stand what thou wouldst see. Thou must remain silent.”

Then the two came upon a poor home where lived a widow and her two sons. Their only means of survival was the produce from their small garden, protected against the wind and sands of the desert by a tall adobe wall. To Moses’ surprise the angel pushed the wall over, crushing the vines, melons, and cucumbers, which the family sorely needed. Moses could not stand it any longer. He erupted. The angel silenced him and said, “Thou canst go with me no longer. Thou must return. But first, lest thou misjudge Allah who has sent me, I will explain. The fishermen would soon have been captured by a pirate boat approaching over the horizon, and been enslaved, tortured, and killed. This way they die in the profession they loved. The Arab boy would soon have fought with another mother’s son, killing the latter. This way the second boy lives and this one dies blood guiltless. The widow’s husband, before he died, hid a fortune in the base of the adobe wall. Now the boys, rebuilding the wall, will find the fortune, invest it wisely, and prosper. But thou didst doubt. Thou canst go with me no longer.”

Twelve years ago, our twenty-four-year-old daughter was in the MBA program here at BYU. Sister Palmer and I were serving as mission leaders in Spokane, Washington, when she called with the shocking news that doctors had discovered a brain tumor. The personal sorrow of seeing a child face such an uncertain future was profound and deep. As a father, I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, to fix the problem, or even to take her place as she went in for surgery. I realized I would give up any amount of wealth to somehow purchase her health. But none of those things were an option, and it was very humbling to recognize that it was all out of our control.

My journal describes a sleepless night following her surgery. I was tossing for hours with thoughts that were a real test of my faith. The surgeon had just told us that he had been unable to fully remove the tumor, so the future looked dark and uncertain. Even as I tried to look for bright spots, it felt so easy to question God’s seeming lack of response. What about the priesthood blessing I had given her two nights earlier, in which I had felt prompted to make assurances based on promises made in her patriarchal blessing? What about the many prayers and much fasting on her behalf from literally all around the world?

At 4:00 a.m., I knelt in our hotel and poured out my heart to God on behalf of our precious daughter, who was full of faith and living a life centered on Jesus Christ. After that long and sleepless wrestle, I felt an answer that, no matter the outcome, I must go forward with faith and trust in Jesus Christ. All I could do was surrender my will to His. Eventually a sense of peace came, and my pleading prayer changed to a prayer of thanks. I thanked God for His love and for the blessings of the gospel in our lives. As I left my knees, I knew that we would be able to face whatever lay ahead, whether she was healed—or not.

Everyone’s story will be different. In our ­daughter Jasmine’s case, what lay ahead were years of continued uncertainty that included ­radiation and chemotherapy but also beautiful miracles of marriage and children. Through it all, she has continued to center her life on Jesus Christ, and she inspires all with her boundless optimism and with her faith. For she too shares in the assurance that no matter what happens in the future, nothing will ever go permanently wrong, thanks to eternal covenants made with a loving God.

As I searched the scriptures during this time, I noticed there were many couples who suffered from infertility: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel, Elkanah and Hannah, and Zachariah and Elisabeth. This surprised me. The Bible covers only a tiny piece of a vast history. Why would God inspire prophets to include so many stories of infertility? This felt like the beginning of an answer to my prayers; there was something here for me to learn. So I decided to study each of the women in these stories, and as I studied, I learned four important lessons that helped me grow and find peace despite my struggles with infertility.
When faced with infertility, I found it hard not to feel like it was my fault, that God didn’t trust me for some reason. Was I not faithful enough? Would I not be a good enough mother? I would lie awake at night after my husband fell asleep, aching to know what characteristic I lacked. My brain said I was being unreasonable. My heart kept me awake. One of the greatest lessons I learned from studying these women in the Bible is that my infertility was in no way tied to God’s trust or lack of trust in me.
The amount of information I could find about each childless woman varied, but they all had certain things in common. Their lives were not easy, and childlessness was just one part of that. Most experienced the reproach of others as a result of their childlessness. Several had to wait a long time for children. Yet they kept the commandments and they prayed. After Hannah finally had a son, she brought him to Eli the priest and reminded him of her prayers: “Oh my lord, … I am the woman that stood by thee here, praying unto the Lord. For this child I prayed” (1 Samuel 1:26–27; see also verses 10–12).
They all remained strong and faithful women, even when their prayers and supplications for children weren’t immediately answered in the way they expected. And that was the point. Their faith was not contingent on the answer they received or whether they had children in this life. They had chosen to trust in our Heavenly Father. And I could do the same.
When these women eventually had children, they raised some of the most incredible and faithful men to have lived on this earth: Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Samuel, and John the Baptist. As I considered the impact each of these men had on the world, I was struck by the trust Heavenly Father had placed in these women, by the trust He places in anyone He asks to teach His children—mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, Sunday School teachers, bishops, nursery leaders, and others. In the eyes of God, these women were not defined by their infertility, and neither was I. We are daughters and sons of God, and He believes in us.
A Willing Woman, by Caitlin Connolly, may not be copied
I love the story of Elisabeth, the mother of John the Baptist. We know so little about her and yet I learned so much from her. Elisabeth and her husband, Zacharias, had prayed for children, but those prayers hadn’t been answered in the way they hoped. On top of that, others regarded her with disdain because of her lack of children, which I’m sure only exacerbated her heartache.1 Despite this, she and her husband remained faithful to the commandments and ordinances of the Lord. They must have been incredible people.
Eventually they were blessed with a son. I wonder how Elisabeth felt when she realized that the timing of her pregnancy was at least in part caused by the fact that her son, John, would prepare the way for the Messiah. Being the faithful woman that she was, she probably used it as a lesson to teach her son to trust in the timing of the Lord.
Elisabeth reminded me that I can see only a tiny sliver of what the Lord sees. This thought kept me going after each failed infertility treatment. I could not understand why the Lord kept directing us down paths that seemed like failures because they didn’t end with us having a baby. Now, looking back, I can see how each of those seeming failures was an important stepping-stone on our path to understanding His timing.
President Russell M. Nelson once encouraged the “childless sisters” of the Church to “remember [that] the eternal timetable of the Lord is much longer than the lonely hours of your preparation or the total of this mortal life. These are only as microseconds when compared to eternity.”2 I know that there is so much more that He sees and knows about our future, and if we listen to Him, He will always direct us down paths that will eventually lead to great happiness.
Another woman in the Bible whose experience I learned from was Eve. I have always loved and looked up to Eve. She was faithful, courageous, compassionate, and wise. Considering her story through the lens of my struggles with infertility has only deepened my admiration for this incredible woman. I do not know if Eve was fully aware of her inability to have children without leaving the Garden of Eden, but Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explains that Eve “understood that she and Adam had to fall in order that ‘men [and women] might be’ [2 Nephi 2:25] and that there would be joy”3 (see 2 Nephi 2:22–25).
We know how Eve came to view her decision to eat of the fruit in hindsight. After Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden, an angel came and taught them of Jesus Christ and His Atonement (see Moses 5:6–9). Afterwards the Holy Ghost fell upon Adam, causing him to testify. Eve happily said, “Were it not for our transgression we never should have had seed, and never should have known good and evil, and the joy of our redemption, and the eternal life which God giveth unto all the obedient” (Moses 5:11; emphasis added). She found joy in her decision. I cannot imagine how painful it was to be cast out, to leave the presence of the God she loved. And yet, as she looked back on that decision, she rejoiced in the knowledge she had gained, knowing that, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, she could eventually return to our Heavenly Father. Eve taught me to find happiness in the present. She could have spent her life wishing she were still in the Garden of Eden, yearning for the life she had left behind. Instead, she found joy in her current situation: in her children, in the knowledge she had gained, and in the power of the Savior’s Atonement. Eve’s lesson was a powerful one for me. During my struggle with infertility, I was often tempted to focus on only what I lacked, but by focusing on the present I too found joy.
Among other things, I was able to use this time to volunteer as an ordinance worker in the temple. Before, I attended the temple because that was what I was supposed to do. But now I love it even more. I have a deep appreciation for the ordinances we receive in the temple. The blessings promised to those who keep their covenants are incredible! And they are given to everyone. Young and old. Physically fit and disabled. Married and unmarried. Those with children and those without. I am a different person because I served in the temple. I value eternal families more. I have a deeper understanding of the Savior’s Atonement. I pray more consciously. And I know that the greater knowledge and faith I gained from serving in the temple will make me a better mother.
Mothers Teaching, by Caitlin Connolly, may not be copied
Eve also taught me that being a mother does not have to be tied to having children: both God the Father and Adam called Eve “the mother of all living” (Genesis 3:20; Moses 4:26) before she ever bore a child.4 As Ardeth Greene Kapp, who served as Young Women General President and who was never able to have children herself, asked, “Is motherhood reserved only for those who give birth? Was not the sacred mission of motherhood foreordained by God for all women before the world was?”5 She also observed: “I have come to know that we can all … rejoice in the sacred calling of motherhood. To give birth is but one part of this sacred calling.”6 This realization was a soothing balm to my broken heart. I was a mother—not in the traditional sense, certainly, but I had a role to play, a responsibility to bear.
Sheri Dew, former Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, said:
“Motherhood is more than bearing children, though it is certainly that. It is the essence of who we are as women. It defines our very identity, our divine stature and nature, and the unique traits our Father gave us. …
“As daughters of our Heavenly Father, and as daughters of Eve, we are all mothers and we have always been mothers.”7
Through Eve’s experience, I realized that motherhood is a calling to love, nurture, and lead those of a younger generation, and I had that calling regardless of whether I bore children. Within days of discovering that I had infertility problems, I was called as a Young Women leader in my ward. I know this was a merciful blessing from a loving Heavenly Father. As I poured my heart into that calling, each girl became like a daughter to me. I felt a love for them that could only have come from their Heavenly Father. I was able to experience what it means to be a mother without bearing children, and it was beautiful.
I am grateful for the stories of these wonderful, righteous women in the Bible. I never expected to relate so deeply to women who lived in such a different time from my own, but their faith and courage in the face of infertility have meant so much to me. I have learned to more fully trust that I am a daughter of God and that He loves me, believes in me, and has a plan for me. I have learned to love the temple and to find opportunities to learn even in the middle of heartache. I have gained a greater understanding of what it means to be a mother. Most importantly, I have learned that even the smallest details in the scriptures can be used by a loving Heavenly Father to give us knowledge and comfort.

In Belfast, in quieter times, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was dismal, faded, and hard to bear, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister Marian.
I had seen some of the miseries of the slums. The most appalling thing I remembered was a little girl in a torn summer dress sitting on the cold, windy sidewalk molding a lump of filthy clay because she had no other toy. I could not now find and help that child, but I could try to help some others.
Our Christmas tree was two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The room was decorated with a few streamers and a dozen balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and orangeade. Fancy food is almost unknown to ghetto children, and we were afraid they would not eat anything unfamiliar. Besides, we couldn’t afford it. The 12 gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of clay.
The children arrived semiclean and in their best rags. Eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her toddler sister, who had refused to stay at home. That presented a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was dressing little plastic dolls in sturdy clothes for girls to play with. Several such dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it under the tree.
Most of the children stood in a group at the door, but one determined boy about eight years old examined all the gifts through the paper.
“If you don’t mind, Missus,” he declared, “I’ll have this game of blow football for me and me mates.”
Carol smiled but was firm.
“We’re giving out the presents at the end of the party. Right now we’re going to play some games.”
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs and grew decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath and high heels much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand, but?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
“Ye’ve left food on your plate,” objected our blow football elf to his neighbor.
“I can’t eat it, but,” she replied, “for I’ve never had this much food on me plate at once.”
“Give it here, then, for ’tis a shame to waste good food.”
He ate several children’s leavings and then conceded defeat. He could not prevent a few scraps from going to waste.
We gave him the blow football game. We gave the 12-year-old, would-be sophisticate the plastic beads.
We gave the doll’s feeding set to a seven-year-old Raggedy Ann.
“It’s no use to me, Missus. I ain’t got a doll.”
So the Relief Society lost another plastic doll. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree.
“’Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction. “I felt right to home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Missus,” seconded another voice. “For whenever we’uns wanted something, one of you ladies was near.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more. The sophisticate, I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“Sure it’ll do,” she said, trying to rewrap it. The used cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“And would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?”
I produced them, wondering. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “’Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.

At supper that evening Ethan asked, “Dad, do you think that lucky socks can really help someone spell well?”
“Are you kidding!” Ethan’s sister chortled. “Socks have nothing to do with spelling well.”
“That’s true,” Ethan’s father agreed. “Let’s set up a hypothetical situation: All the students have studied and know the words, and one student has a special good-luck charm—”
“Like Blake’s lucky socks?” Ethan broke in.
His father nodded. “This student really thinks that the charm will help him, and because he believes that he has more ‘luck’ than anyone else, he has more confidence and he does do better.”
Ethan thought for a minute. “But what if he doesn’t learn the words and only counts on his lucky socks?”
“What do you think, Ethan?”
“I think that he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“I think that you’re right,” his father agreed, smiling.

My parents moved to St. George a few years after they retired. I loved to visit them and escape from the cold and the smog of the Wasatch Front. After one visit with them, my daughter Laura and I left to drive home. We had just passed the fourteen-mile marker on I-15, north of St. George, when we got a flat tire. I pulled over to the shoulder and quickly reached for my cell phone to call my dad and ask for his help. He was at the neighbors’, but my mom went over to tell him of our plight.

In the meantime, a couple of nice men stopped and began to change our flat tire. They were just finishing when my dad pulled up behind us. He got out of his car and thanked the men for helping me. My dad and I visited briefly and then said our good-byes once more.

I got in my car, started it, and tried to pull forward but could not. Something was wrong. My dad was behind us, so he had not yet moved. We got out of our cars, and he took a quick look at my tire. He went to his trunk and removed a two-by-four piece of wood and a hammer. Something was hanging underneath my car in the wheel well against the tire, preventing it from rotating. He placed the two-by-four along the top of the tire and hit the other end of the board with his hammer, moving the dangling piece out of the way so the tire could rotate freely.

When I looked at my dad, I noticed he was a bit teary. I thanked him, and he said, “There is something you need to know. When I entered the garage to get in the car and come to you, I felt prompted to take a two-by-four and a hammer. Although I wondered why in the world I would need a two-by-four and a hammer to change a tire, I gathered them and put them in the trunk. They were exactly what I needed to fix your car.”

I became teary too. A loving, watchful Heavenly Father had communicated to my dad through the Holy Ghost to help me with a need that neither my dad nor I knew I had when the prompting was given. My heart filled with gratitude for my Heavenly Father, for my wonderful earthly father, and for the Holy Ghost. I felt so loved, so protected, and so safe. Our Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost care about the details of our lives.

Reality: Dr. DuPont likes to tell the story of the time he was visiting with an executive of one of America’s largest breweries. During their discussion, the two men were talking about one of the company’s beer-making operations and the topic of the factory’s employee cafeteria came up. The conversation went like this:
Beer company executive: “We used to serve beer in our cafeteria to the employees on their lunch hours and breaks, but we don’t anymore.”
Dr. DuPont: “Why did you stop?”
Beer company executive: “Why do you think?”
Ask Rob Lane if substance abuse can hurt you, and he’s got evidence it can.
The 18-year-old freshman from the University Second Ward, Rincon Arizona Stake, is part of a research team at the University of Arizona Medical Center studying how alcohol, tobacco, and cocaine abuse influences cells, antibodies, and the immune system.
“It isn’t a question of whether abuse harms you,” Rob says. “It’s a question of how quickly and how extensively.”
Lee Murphy, one of two returned missionaries who work with Rob, states the case even more dramatically. “We test laboratory rats over a period of six to eight weeks. In that time, 60 percent of the animals subjected to cocaine and alcohol will die. It’s like they’re in a trap. When they’re on a drug, their behavior changes severely if they don’t get the drug. But if they continue to get it, chances are it will kill them.”
Chad McRae, the other returned missionary, and Gail Crawford, another LDS student working in the lab, help Rob summarize data. As their computers analyze screen after screen of statistics Rob says, “Isn’t it obvious? Don’t abuse drugs. Once you start down that road, you may never recover.”
Rob, Lee, Chad, and Gail are only students, and their work is in support of a lot of others with more expertise. But ask any one of them what research has taught them about the Word of Wisdom, and their answer is quick and sure: “It’s true.”

I remember when I used to dread fast Sundays. Going without food was awful. My stomach made big growling sounds all through sacrament meeting and Primary. It was embarrassing. All I could ever think about was food. And in sacrament meeting, the men and women always seemed to be crying. Mom said that it was because they felt close to Heavenly Father. I thought that it was probably because they were hungry.
That’s how I felt until something happened when I was nine years old. My younger sister, Millie, was climbing the big old tree in our backyard. No one was paying much attention to her because we were always climbing that tree. I was busy building a castle in the sandbox when I heard tree branches breaking. I looked up just as Millie hit the ground headfirst. When I ran over to see if she was all right, she didn’t move. “Millie!” I screamed. But she didn’t answer. I began screaming for Mom as loudly as I could.
Mom came running out of the house. White-faced, she bent over Millie to listen for a heartbeat and breathing. “Stay here,” she said to me. “I’m going to call the paramedics.” I didn’t know if Millie was dead or alive. I was afraid to even touch her.
Soon an ambulance and the paramedics came. After checking Millie with their instruments and bracing her head, they very carefully lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her to the ambulance. Mom got in too. Sister Lindsay, our next-door neighbor, came over to stay with my brothers, Ben and Jeff, and me. She told us that everything would be all right, but I wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen Millie lying there.
Dad came home about eight o’clock that night so that Sister Lindsay could go home. Looking very sad, he said, “Millie broke her neck. Mom is going to stay at the hospital with her. She’s unconscious, and we can’t make her wake up. Even if she does wake up, there’s a chance that she might be paralyzed for the rest of her life.”
I wasn’t sure what paralyzed meant, so I asked, “Does that mean that she’ll never be able to walk again?”
Dad looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Yes, it does, Beth. She may not even be able to move her arms and hands.”
I was horrified. Jeff began to cry, and Ben pleaded, “Can’t they do something to make her get well?”
As Dad tried to comfort us, he said, “They’re doing everything that they know how to do. But we can do something to help Millie too.”
“If you mean prayer,” I said, “we’ve been doing that. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.”
“I’m glad,” Dad said. “But prayer is only part of it. I called Grandma and Grandpa Wilson and Grandma and Grandpa Abbot, and they have called your aunts and uncles and cousins. Tomorrow they are all going to join with us in a special family fast for Millie.”
The next day we all fasted, and that evening Mom came home from the hospital to get some sleep. Before Dad went to take her place next to Millie’s bed, we all knelt and had a special family prayer for Millie. He told Heavenly Father that we wanted Millie to get well, but we would accept whatever He thought was best. We all felt better after the prayer.
Sometime in the middle of the night the telephone rang, and I was scared. Why would the telephone ring now, unlesssomething is wrong? I strained to hear what Mom was saying. Although I couldn’t understand all the words, she didn’t sound sad at all. I got up and went down to the kitchen.
“Oh, Beth!” Mom said as she hung up the receiver, “Millie is awake! She opened her eyes and said, ‘Daddy.’”
Ben was standing in the hall. “Can she move?” he asked.
Mom’s eyes clouded a bit. “No,” she said. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t. She may just need more time.”
Two days went by. The Relief Society sisters took turns staying with us kids and bringing in meals so that Mom could stay at the hospital with Millie, and Dad could go to work.
On the afternoon of the second day, the telephone rang. Sister Stevens handed it to me. I had barely said hello when Mom cried, “Oh, Beth, she moved her fingers! Millie moved her fingers!”
“Does that mean she isn’t paralyzed?” I asked excitedly.
“At least not from her waist up,” Mom replied. “I was just so happy that I wanted you to know right away. Tell the others, won’t you, Beth?”
Grandma Wilson arrived that night to stay with us. And Mom and Dad were both home for supper. Now that Millie was awake, they dared leave her for a little while. Mom said that the doctors were pretty sure that Millie would soon be able to move her toes and legs. “They said that children’s bodies mend much more quickly and better than adults’ do.”
“Mom,” I asked, “do you think that that’s why Millie is getting better?”
Smiling, she asked, “What do you think, Beth?”
My cheeks felt like they were glowing when I answered, “I think that Heavenly Father blessed her because of our fasting and prayers too.”
Dad grinned at me and said, “I’m sure of it.”
Millie had to stay in the hospital for a long time, and even after she came home, it was a long time before she could run and play like she used to. But she did get completely better.
I’m eleven years old now—almost twelve. I don’t mind fast Sundays anymore. I even understand why some people cry when they bear their testimonies—I did when I stood up to tell everyone that I knew that fasting and prayer really work.

“If choosing the right is supposed to bring you blessings,” I thought to myself, “then why am I sitting alone in the hall of my new junior high?”
I didn’t know many people in my new school. My music class was where I felt most comfortable because I like to sing. After weeks of being the new kid, it was nice to feel like I fit in. Today, however, was different. Mrs. Wyler (name has been changed) had brought a recording of a popular Broadway musical, one my stake president had cautioned us to avoid. Mrs. Wyler turned to the class: “Any comments before we start?” she asked.
I squirmed in my chair. Everyone was looking eagerly toward Mrs. Wyler, the disc in her hand. I thought perhaps I could sing Church songs in my head to drown out the lyrics she would play, but I knew that would be hard for me in this situation. I looked at Mrs. Wyler as my hand slowly went up in the air.
“Yes, Jill?” she said as she inserted the disc into the player. I couldn’t think of what to say. I couldn’t say that my stake president told me not to listen to this musical, because she wouldn’t know what a stake president was. I had no idea how to explain, especially in front of the entire class.
“I have religious objections to this musical,” I said, knowing it sounded lame. The class was now watching me in silence.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Wyler, glancing at the clock, “Why don’t you just take your chair and sit in the hall this period.” As the door swung shut I could hear the wave of laughter as the music began. Sitting in the hall was miserable. “So much for making friends in this school,” I thought.
A couple of weeks later in English class, my teacher passed out copies of some new poems. One student raised her hand. “I have religious objections to these poems,” she said. I glanced over at her quickly, thinking she was making fun of me, but she looked back at me and smiled a real smile.
Instead of having people think I was stupid for having standards, it became the popular thing to do. Sometimes you have to show where you stand by where you are willing to sit.

“Face the music, even when you can’t call the tune,” says a brother forced to take disability leave as his wife returns to the workforce to support their family. He believes that too often we put on a happy face that prevents us from processing our feelings or improving our outlook. “Instead of moving forward with faith, we stagnate as we wait for a miracle or murmur when one doesn’t come,” he says. He copes by listening to scriptures and general conference talks and by visiting with friends and family on the phone.

Years ago, I worked as a senior managing partner at one of the world’s leading private equity firms when my wife and I were interviewed by a senior member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He called us to serve as mission leaders for the Church in Africa. We had many things going on in our life at that time. We were involved in some very challenging family dynamics. We were heavily engaged in large humanitarian efforts across the world while also managing a large and rapidly growing global investment business. As we sat there that day with this beloved Apostle and reflected on our personal situation, we both politely said that this was probably not the best time for us to serve a mission.

Without hesitation, this member of the Twelve turned to my wife and said, “Lynette, you are going to make a great missionary and companion to your husband.” He then turned to me and said, “You really don’t get it. The Lord is calling you to save your life. You are either going to live your life by covenant or convenience. There is never a convenient time to serve. This is a matter of faith. You either believe that the Lord will bless your life with the blessings you need, as you do His priorities, or you don’t.”

Those words changed my life. I left my company, went to Africa, and later found all that we had worried about was answered and resolved.

I remember thinking when I seemed discouraged and everything was going wrong, “Why is life so hard?” Do you ever wonder that? Almost instantly, I felt an impression like a voice in my mind, saying, “Well, would you like it easier?” At that very moment, something hit me and I said, “No, no, no, please, I’m sorry. Leave it as it is. I trust. I trust Thee. I trust thee ways.” I’ve never forgotten that experience. Don’t ever try to think you are smarter than the Lord. Just do what He asks you to do.

Perhaps I can best explain this through a personal experience.
When I was the age of many of you and was attending college at the very challenging Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania, things weren’t going great, at least not academically. It was a struggle for me simply because I didn’t apply myself to the rigorous studies. After my sophomore year I went home and visited with my father. He encouraged me to change my major and to attend a college that was not so difficult. I thought about taking an easier route and remembered the wise statement a radio commentator had recently made. He stated, “Difficulty is one excuse history has never accepted.”1
I returned to college my junior year a reinvigorated, new person. I applied myself. I studied diligently. My grades skyrocketed, and upon graduation two years later I was awarded the university’s highest honors. Thus I realized between my sophomore and junior years that it was my dream I must live and not my father’s, and that I must achieve it through adversity and hard work.

When we arrived in Merthyr, the scene had already been set by those who had been directing our lives for the past year. It felt as though we were in a giant genealogical chess game over which we had no control. Terry was beginning to feel the same forces in action as well. Every morning he would present us with a list of places we would visit that day. One day he showed us his list, which had two sides. He said that he created one list the night before and then this morning, for some unknown reason, he changed it and added a new place: Gadfield Elm Chapel in Gloucestershire. He said he didn’t know why he added it but thought it would be interesting for us to see. Of course, we acquiesced.
Miracle number eight: As we got to Gadfield Elm we discovered the reason. The first ownership of the chapel was given to Wilford Woodruff by the United Brethren, but it rested on or near brother Benbow’s farm. Many of the early members were baptized in Benbow’s pond. And Benbow was the maiden name of Terry’s wife. Terry was stunned. He kept saying he had no idea why he had changed the itinerary for the day, but we all knew why.

More than 35 youth from the Austin Texas Stake recently joined forces with other youth from the Austin area to complete a beautification project at Pioneer Farms, a living history museum. As part of a service project organized by the stake, the teens planted 116 trees and shrubs and cleared away seven tractor-trailer loads of brush and debris.

“The teens worked hard and kept asking what more they could do to help,” said Angela Walters, the museum’s volunteer coordinator.

“It really felt like we helped to transform the farm,” said Rachael Long, a Laurel from the Pflugerville Ward who worked to plant trees. “After we planted the trees, it really changed the look of the park. It was hard work, but really fun at the same time.”

Sister Margaret Easthope, Young Women president of the Pflugerville Ward, said the youth had a good time working together and were excited to see the difference their efforts made. “The youth gained a greater appreciation of what hard work means, and what it takes to plant so many trees!” Sister Easthope said.

Many years ago when our family was young and we lived in Rexburg, our seven children were sometimes almost too "active in the Church." I would often remember the words of our bishop from a few years earlier. He would shake his head and smile at our lively little crowd trying to hold still on a Church bench and say, "the Hafen children - curtain climbers, rug rats, and house apes!" Your family might seem that way sometimes. We can't help seeing each other at our worst, and our best, in the closeness of family life. In the worst moments, we may wonder how we can keep living with each other. But in the best moments, we can't really imagine living without each other.

In the basement of our Rexburg home on the night before our oldest son, Jon, left for his mission, we pulled together "the family slide show," the best and funniest pictures of our family over twenty years. At the end of the show, we knelt in prayer together, and spontaneous tears flowed. No more curtain climbers and rug rats-just imperfect young men and women, and their imperfect parents, who felt an honest love for each other. And those feelings have kept growing, as the constant stretching from family reality toward family ideals gives each of us the desire to live worthy of belonging to each other in time and in eternity.

While serving a full-time mission in the Philippines, my husband, Robert, and I traveled to Cagayan de Oro to set up a Family History Center in the Cagayan de Oro East Stake Center and to do some training. We also invited members from the Malaybalay district to join us. Non-Filipinos are not allowed to go into some parts of the region, and Malaybalay was an area where we could not go. For almost a year, the Malaybalay district had had the equipment for a Family History Center; all they needed was some training to be able to set it up.
We contacted the Malaybalay district president, Leandro Miole, and asked him if he and the Saints in Malaybalay could come to the Cagayan de Oro East Stake Center for our seminar. President Miole responded that they would be happy to come, even though it meant a drive of more than two hours on mountain roads. My husband wrote a letter to President Miole confirming the date, place, and time of our training session.
On the day of the seminar as I was doing my portion of the training, a man walked in and started talking with my husband. The man drew a letter from his pocket and opened it for my husband to read. I could see the conversation was quite serious.
At the end of our training session, my husband informed me that the man was President Miole from the Malaybalay district and that he and 10 members of his district had been waiting at the Cagayan de Oro Stake Center since 8:00 A.M. President Miole had shown my husband the letter stating the details of the training. To my husband’s chagrin, he realized he had forgotten to identify the place as the east stake center. We felt bad that these faithful Saints had waited hours for training that had never come, and we happily agreed to go to the Cagayan de Oro Stake Center to conduct the training session.
The Saints were happy to see us when we arrived. We opened with a prayer and a hymn, then launched into the training.
As I began demonstrating how to use the microfilm reader, I noticed that a film had been left in the reader. So instead of using the film I had brought for the demonstration, I used the film already in the reader. As my husband turned the crank and I showed where to look on the film for names, I heard someone crying softly. Looking up, I realized President Miole was in tears. I quickly asked if I had said something to distress him.
Through his tears he quietly said, “I found them!” Pointing to the names on the screen of the microfilm reader, he told us he had searched and prayed to find these names—the names of his ancestors—for more than three years. And now, there they were—on a microfilm reader he should not have been looking at, in a building he should not have been in.
That day we were reminded that “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).