Gospel Story Finder

Similarly, the Lord knows each of us and has chosen us to come forth into mortality in a time and place that is best for us. He can mold us through our callings to serve in the home or Church. My wife and I gained a greater appreciation for this principle when we were called to preside over the Fiji Suva Mission. We did not speak fluent English, and my wife was particularly overwhelmed. She received a special blessing for this gift when she was set apart. She studied hard and practiced English at home and with the missionaries. Soon she was able to speak in English to the missionaries in zone conferences in Fiji, Vanuatu, and Kiribati; then in turn, she taught the missionaries working in New Caledonia in French. She felt that the Lord had called her to serve people of both languages; therefore, she needed to be able to speak both languages. This experience has molded and blessed her, our family, and the people she has had the opportunity to teach, even if her English has a slight French accent.

On the opposite end of the continent, in the world’s southernmost city of Ushuaia, Argentina, the promise of eternal families caught the attention of Amanda Robledo and her husband, Ricardo. Following the death of her mother, Amanda visited different denominations, hoping the teachings of Jesus Christ could heal her heart. When missionaries later found the couple and taught them that families could be sealed together, Ricardo felt the Holy Spirit and sought baptism. Amanda was similarly touched but remained uncertain due to rumors she had heard. Eventually, her love for her family and desire to be with them forever convinced her to join the Church and be bonded to them through temple ordinances.

While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.

Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.
“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”
With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!
On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.
On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.
Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

We were still living in our home country, Argentina, when my husband and I started our family. We were returned missionaries and knew it was a blessing to be married in the Lord’s temple. We were excited to walk the path back to Heavenly Father together.
We knew that the plan of salvation included trials, but we trusted that we would be able to overcome anything through faith and prayer. But we did not expect adversity to come upon us without stopping. Trial after trial seemed to rain down upon us.
One afternoon I was alone, feeling very sad and crying inconsolably because of our trials. I didn’t know what to do. Every time I tried to stop crying, I only felt more depressed and anguished.
I then thought about the many men and women who shared with me how valuable prayer had been for them during difficult moments. I had a testimony of prayer, but my mind and spirit were so tormented that I thought I wouldn’t be able to find the words to say.
In tears, I knelt by my bed and with all of my heart, I asked Heavenly Father for comfort and peace. I didn’t ask for a solution or even for the trial to disappear. I just asked for peace.
While I was praying, I heard a knock on my front door. I opened it, with tears still in my eyes, and saw a sister from Relief Society. She told me she was working in the area and had stopped by on her motorcycle. All I could do was hug her. She said, “I don’t know why, but I felt I needed to stop by and see you.”
We sat at my kitchen table and she helped me calm down. After talking with her for a few minutes, I finally started to feel that I wasn’t alone and that Heavenly Father had heard my prayer.
It is a blessing to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father through prayer. He listened to me in my hour of need and sent one of His children to help me. I’m grateful this sister heard the inspiration of the Spirit and followed it.

Illustrations by Mark Jarman
Amelia walked through the front door after school, a worried look on her face. She found her mom in the kitchen making an after-school snack.
“Mom, Chloe and I are really upset.” Chloe was Amelia’s good friend and lived just next door.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“It’s Ryan,” Amelia sighed. “The kids on the bus are bullying him again.”
Mom put her arm around Amelia.
“Mom, we are so tired of seeing how sad Ryan looks when kids say mean things to him.”
Amelia remembered that when she was baptized, one of the things she had promised Heavenly Father was that she would bear others’ burdens. She and Chloe had always been kind to Ryan. They talked to him on the bus and even invited him to a group activity. But today Amelia knew she wanted to do something more—something special to make Ryan’s burden lighter.
“Mom, we want to do something to make Ryan feel better.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, Chloe and I thought we’d make his favorite treat and leave it on his doorstep.”
“That’s a good idea, Amelia. Why don’t I call Ryan’s mom and ask her what his favorite treat is.”
“OK, Mom, but don’t let Ryan know. We want to surprise him.”
Mom nodded and picked up the phone to call Ryan’s mom. Mom explained the girls’ idea and found out that Ryan loved lollipops. She also found out when Ryan would be home that afternoon so the girls could drop off the treat.
Amelia called Chloe and invited her over to make lollipops for Ryan. The girls laughed excitedly as they made the lollipops, imagining Ryan’s face when he opened the door. Then they got out a piece of paper and wrote a note telling Ryan all the things they liked about him. They signed it, “The Bully Busters.”
The girls ran up the street to Ryan’s house with their bunches of lollipops. They carefully placed the treat and note on the porch and rang the doorbell. Then they raced behind some bushes to watch. Ryan opened the door and looked around in surprise to see who had left the treat.
Amelia and Chloe waited until Ryan closed the door. Then they burst into giggles. They skipped home, happy to have done something to cheer Ryan up.
Later that evening Ryan’s mom called Amelia’s mom. She said that Ryan had been praying for others to be kind to him. When he saw the treat and note from the Bully Busters, he told his mom, “I knew God would answer my prayers!”
The next day on the bus, Ryan had a big smile on his face. Almost as big as the smiles on the faces of the Bully Busters.

Margie sat quietly on the back seat of the car, her dark eyes staring out at the city buildings whirling by in the soft evening light. The weight of her sadness felt like a stone on her chest. How she wished she could have moved to Chicago with the Petersen family. They had seemed as unhappy as Margie when the unexpected word came that Brother Petersen had to report at once for his new work. She had spent two school years with them, and it was almost like parting with her own family in Arizona when she had to say good-bye. The Petersens had taught her much about their ways, and they had been eager to learn of her Apache world.
“Well, Margie,” said Brother Randall, the Church social worker, interrupting the girl’s thoughts, “a week from tonight is Christmas Eve.”
Suddenly Margie realized that she had no gifts for her new family. She had given beads she had made and a few things bought with her allowance to the Petersens. Now she had no money to buy gifts and no time to make more.
“How many children did you say the Strattons have?” she asked Sister Randall who was sitting beside her.
“Four. Vicky is ten years old—the same as you. Paul is seven, Ted is five, and the baby is the age of our Tricia.” Sister Randall reached down to pat the baby, who laughed and then grabbed the bracelet on her mother’s wrist.
“We’re in Reseda now, Margie,” Brother Randall said. “Look at the tall palm trees on both sides of the street. We turn right at the next light.”
Margie felt her heart beat faster. What if the Strattons don’t like me, she thought, and what if I don’t like them? She wondered if she would ever see the Petersens again. Then, longing to be back on the reservation, she closed her eyes and could see her mother frying bread and hear her gentle voice talking to the little ones.
The car pulled into a driveway and stopped. When Margie opened the car door to get out, she heard a shout. The front door burst open and six people rushed out of the house to greet her. Margie remembered to look into their faces as the Petersens had taught her, but it was hard to think of anything to say. Quickly her bags were carried into the house, and she waved good-bye to Brother Randall and his family.
Vicky showed Margie where to put her clothes as she unpacked in the room they would share. Before prayers and bed that night, there was time to admire the Christmas tree. There were already some brightly wrapped packages under it, and Margie saw that her name was on some of them.
Later in bed, Margie lay listening to Vicky’s quiet breathing and let the tears run silently down her cheeks. She felt sad because she missed her other families and because she had brought no Christmas gifts for this new family who had so warmly received her into their home.
The next morning Margie stood at the bedroom window watching Paul and Ted playing games on the back lawn. Vickie had already gone downstairs. There was a light rap on the open door, and Sister Stratton asked, “May I come in?”
Margie nodded and smiled shyly.
“Margie,” Sister Stratton explained, “we have a Christmas tradition in our family that we have followed for several years. Each Christmas Eve we have a special program where we learn something about the cultures of our brothers and sisters in other lands. This year we have not prepared anything, hoping that you could share with us some of the traditions of your people.”
Because of her shyness, Margie was tempted to say that she couldn’t, but seeing the kind and expectant look in Sister Stratton’s eyes, Margie nodded that she would.
On Christmas Eve Margie wore the beautiful squaw dress her mother had made for her last summer. When they had bought the trim for the yards and yards of material, Margie had remarked that it must be a mile long. Now she smiled with satisfaction as she looked into the mirror. She divided her long black hair into two sections and tied each strand with yarn to match the dress.
When it was time for the Christmas Eve program, Vicky started the record for Margie’s part, and all the other Strattons smiled their pleasure when she entered the room. Slowly, rhythmically, Margie moved with grace and ease to the beat of the drum and the chanting voices. After the dance was over, the Strattons clapped enthusiastically and then Margie told them about her family in Arizona and the customs of her people. “Now,” she said, “if you will excuse me for just a minute, I’ll make you some Apache frybread.”
In the kitchen Margie stretched the dough she had prepared earlier and dropped it into hot oil. She could hear the children’s excited chatter in the other room. Vicky and Paul were eager to learn the Apache dance. Ted insisted that he wanted to play the drums and “say” the songs.
Brother Stratton came into the kitchen and put his arm around Margie. “Margie, this has been one of the nicest Christmas Eves we have ever had. Thank you for giving us so much!”
Margie smiled shyly and handed him a plate of frybread.

“My father isn’t a member and wouldn’t let me go to FSY or be baptized,” says Jesiana, 16. “But then branch members fasted for me, and my grandmother talked with my father. After that he said I could go!”

At FSY, she experienced many firsts, such as, “participating in the lessons and activities and bearing my testimony helped me understand what it is really like to feel the Holy Ghost. I had never felt the Spirit like that before, and I was so happy and excited. I bore my testimony for the first time.”

In the late 1850s many converts from Europe were struggling to reach the Great Salt Lake Valley. Many were so poor that they had to walk, pushing their meager belongings in handcarts.
Archer Walters, an English convert who was with one such company, recorded in his diary under July 2, 1856, this sentence: “Brother Parker’s little boy, age six, was lost, and the father went back to hunt him.”
The boy, Arthur, was next to the youngest of four children of Robert and Ann Parker. Three days earlier the company had hurriedly made camp in the face of a sudden thunderstorm. It was then that Arthur was missed. His parents had thought that he was playing along the way with the other children. Finally someone remembered that when they had stopped earlier in the day, the little boy had been seen settling down to rest under the shade of some brush.
For two days the company remained where they were, and all the men searched for him. Then on July 2, with no alternative, the company was ordered west.
Robert Parker, as the diary records, went back alone to search once more for his little son. As he was leaving camp, his wife pinned a bright shawl about his shoulders, with words such as these: “If you find him dead, wrap him in the shawl to bury him. If you find him alive, use this as a flag to signal us.”
With their three other little children, she took the handcart and struggled along with the company. At sundown on July 5 the Parker family saw a figure approaching from the east. Then, in the rays of the setting sun, they saw the glimmer of the bright red shawl! The mother’s prayers were answered.
On July 5 Archer Walters recorded: “Brother Parker came into camp with a little boy that had been lost. Great joy through the camp. The mother’s joy I cannot describe.”
We do not know all the details. A nameless woodsman had come upon the little boy and had cared for him until his father found him.
So here a story, commonplace in its day, ends—except for a question. How would you feel toward the woodsman had he saved your brother or your friend? Would there be an end to your gratitude?

Last summer my Primary teacher taught us that we should be getting ready to be baptized. She gave us each a paper to take home. It said that after I am baptized, if I try to be good, repent when I make mistakes, and remember Jesus Christ, that Heavenly Father will forgive me when I do something wrong. I put the paper on our fridge so that I would remember.
One day I wanted to climb the trees in my front yard. Mom and Dad asked me to wait for their help so that I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t want to wait, so I climbed up by myself. It was fun until I fell out of the tree. I was hurt, but I didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad that I hadn’t waited for them, so I lied. I told them that I fell off a little fence in our yard. They asked if that were true, and I said, “Yes.”
When I went in to eat lunch, I saw the paper on the fridge. I felt bad that I had lied. I told Mom that I had really fallen out of the tree. I also said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for lying and said that I would do better. I felt good inside after that.

While I was on my mission, I traveled for a few days with Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I was his temporary driver and companion. It was the first time I had been so close to an Apostle of the Lord. I heard him pray and testify. I saw what he focused on, what he talked about, and what he was like when he was not in public. I saw how he treated other people and how thoughtful he was of their needs. I decided that this was the kind of man I wanted to become.

Clop-clop, clop-clop.
Joseph watched horses tug their wagons down the main street of Provo, Utah.
People walked quickly past the brick buildings that lined the street, eager to get home at the end of the day. Joseph had only one more newspaper to sell, and then he could go home too.
“Get your paper!” He waved it over his head.
Some newsboys thought this job was boring, but not Joseph. It reminded him of the busy marketplaces in Syria, where his family used to live.
“You are the oldest son, and your siblings look up to you,” his father had told Joseph one day as they walked through the market. “You must set a good example.”
Joseph’s memories were interrupted by a man walking toward him.
“Would you like to buy a paper?” Joseph asked him.
“Yes. Thank you, lad.” The man handed a few coins to Joseph. He couldn’t wait to add them to his savings at home!
A few minutes later, Joseph stepped onto his front porch. He took a deep breath. The air smelled delicious. “Lahmajoon,” Joseph said with a happy sigh. He loved the taste of the pizza-like meat pies from his home country. He hoped it was time to eat.
But when he opened the door, instead of seeing dinner already on the table, he saw his mother struggling to take the meat pies out of the oven. His little sister, Leah, cried loudly and tugged at Mother’s skirt.
“Let me help you with that,” Joseph said.
“Thank you.” Mother strained to lift Leah.
“She’s getting too big to carry,” Joseph said.
“My children are never too big for me to comfort,” Mother answered.
A few days later, Joseph
walked down the street, thinking of all Mother did for their family. And that’s when he saw it! A baby buggy in the furniture store window. Suddenly he knew what he needed to do.
He ran inside.
“What can I do for you?” a gentleman asked.
“I want to buy a baby buggy for my mother.”
“That is thoughtful, but do you have enough money?”
“I have two dollars now. If you will keep the buggy here, I’ll come in every week and give you more until I’ve paid for it.”
The man nodded. “Let’s go and pick one out.”
Joseph chose a brown leather buggy. It cost five dollars. He thought about how long it would take to earn the money.
Helping Mother will be worth it, he thought.
Weeks later, Joseph opened the kitchen door.
“You’re home early,” Mother said. She was facing away from Joseph, and he quietly pushed the buggy inside behind her back.
“Mother,” he said, “I got you something!”
Mother turned around and saw the buggy. Her brown eyes grew round with surprise, and tears started flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, thank you, son,” she said, hugging him tightly.
Later that night, when Joseph’s father came home, Mother showed him the buggy. Father put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder.
“I am proud of you. Very, very proud. You are a good example to the family.”
Joseph couldn’t stop smiling. It was amazing what hard work, stacks of newspaper, and a baby buggy could do.

Then there is the remembered Christmas tale by O. Henry about a young husband and wife who lived in abject poverty yet who wanted to give one another a special gift. But they had nothing to give. Then the husband had a ray of inspiration: he would provide his dear wife a beautiful ornamental comb to adorn her magnificent long hair. The wife also received an idea: she would obtain a lovely chain for her husband’s prized watch, which he valued so highly.

Christmas day came; the treasured gifts were exchanged. Then the surprise ending, so typical of O. Henry’s short stories: the wife had shorn her long hair and sold it to obtain funds to purchase the watch chain, only to discover that her husband had sold his watch so that he might purchase the comb to adorn her beautiful long hair, which now she did not have.

During World War II he had served in an infantry battalion in an area where constant combat covered the earth with blood, pain, and death. His squad was commanded by a sergeant who had earned the hatred of his men through extraordinary harshness. One terrible night a mortar shell exploded not far from the sergeant, critically wounding him. The commanding officer stopped a dilapidated truck that often passed by to pick up the wounded and dying and take them behind the lines to be cared for or buried.
The squad watched the fate of their dying leader from a distance. Not one went to help him. The officer asked for a volunteer to carry the man to the truck and accompany him behind the lines. No one volunteered.
Then, after something of a pause, Brother Thamas stepped forward. “Moved by compassion,” he told us, “I decided to carry the unfortunate fellow and go with him on his trip. I took care of him the best I could during his long and painful ride.
“I returned later in search of my squad. When I reached the front, I learned that fierce bombardment had wiped out a large number of men on the awful night of my departure. Not one man from my squad had survived apart from myself. And then I understood. I thanked God for having moved me to compassion. He saved my life and gave me a chance to hear the restored gospel.”

My wife, Everjoyce, and I are from the small town of Mutare, on the eastern border of Zimbabwe. Soon after we were baptized and confirmed, we became excited about doing missionary work. We read that “the field is white already to harvest” (D&C 33:7), and even though we didn’t know a lot about how to be missionaries, we decided we needed to “thrust in [our] sickles, and reap with all [our] might, mind, and strength.”
We were members of the newly created Dangamvura Branch located in one of the townships of Mutare. At that time, 1991, the branch had 25 members. Soon we were called as branch missionaries. We learned a lot from a senior missionary couple serving in our area. One suggestion they made was that we set goals.
We wanted to share the gospel with everyone, so we set the goal of sharing it with 100 people during the first year we were branch missionaries. Maybe we were naïve, but it seemed realistic to us. We trusted that the Lord would help us.
By singing hymns at Church meetings, we discovered that we had a hidden talent for music. We decided to use our talents, so we started singing for—and with—people who showed interest in the gospel as we met to teach them. The Spirit accompanied us as we sang sacred music, and He touched the hearts of those we were teaching. So did the message of the restored gospel. We encouraged everyone to join our branch choir, and many did, whether they were Latter-day Saints or not. As more people learned about the gospel, many entered the waters of baptism.
As we continued our missionary efforts, we continued to fast and pray for the families who had joined the Church. We felt that others in the community were witnessing these families’ righteous examples. We received more and more invitations to teach families, and our teaching pool filled with prospective members.
As a result of learning and living the gospel, newly baptized couples became closer and more loving. Parents were able to leave behind traditions that were not compatible with gospel culture. They abstained from alcohol and tobacco. They taught their children correct principles. Many who had been overly absorbed in worldly things in the past were now able to accept callings in the Church. They became a blessing to their branch and their community. The hand of the Lord brought a mighty change to their lives.
With the Lord’s help, we ended up sharing the gospel with many more than our original goal. Because we were willing to look for ways we could reach out to others, we were able to witness a mighty change in the lives of many in our whole community.

Robert was in third grade when he designed his first website and has since been teaching himself more about computers and programming.
How did you learn about programming and computer design? My older brother Steven, who is in college now, was into computers, and I saw him programming and making websites, and I thought that was pretty cool. So he probably got me interested in computers and programming, and from there I just taught myself.

One who exemplified charity in his life was President George Albert Smith (1870–1951). Immediately following World War II, the Church had a drive to amass warm clothing to ship to suffering Saints in Europe. Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and Elder Marion G. Romney (1897–1988), an Assistant to the Twelve, took President George Albert Smith to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City to view the results. They were impressed by the generous response of the membership of the Church. They watched President Smith observing the workers as they packaged this great volume of donated clothing and shoes. They saw tears running down his face. After a few moments, President Smith removed his own new overcoat and said, “Please ship this also.”

The Brethren said to him, “No, President, no; don’t send that; it’s cold and you need your coat.”

But President Smith would not take it back; and so his coat, with all the others, was sent to Europe, where the nights were long and dark and food and clothing were scarce. Then the shipments arrived. Joy and thanksgiving were expressed aloud, as well as in secret prayer.

“When I was only 15 years old,” said Colleen Webb Asay, “I committed myself to living the gospel.”
At the time, having proven herself capable and dependable, she was called to serve as the stake organist. In those days stake officers were set apart by visiting General Authorities. Elder John A. Widtsoe, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, laid his hands on this young girl’s head and, with the authority that he held, pronounced a blessing.
“I’ll never forget that,” she said. “It’s hard to explain it, but it was like an electrical feeling that went clear through me, and after it was over, I didn’t want anyone to talk to me or shatter that feeling. I remember thinking how great the gospel is. I guess the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that day how important it is. I remember the feeling I had. I wanted to serve the Lord however or whenever I could. That was a great day. I made a commitment.” And that early commitment has made a difference in all the rest of her life.
For Sister Asay many challenging days followed that commitment. On those days she always went to the Lord first, “to receive comfort and direction.” She had learned from experience that he would hear her. “I just know He’s there,” she stated in a reverent tone of unquestioning faith.
“Another thing that has made a difference for me,” she explained, “is my patriarchal blessing. One of the first things it says is that ‘this blessing will help you over the slippery path of youth.’” With a radiant smile of confidence, she remembers how, if she ever got discouraged, she would read her blessing. In her words, “It made my self-worth come back.”
But there were times when she really didn’t feel that self-worth. In fact, “I’ll tell you of a real heartbreak I had,” she said, reflecting on her youth. During her first year at college two of her good friends belonged to a social unit. Sister Asay felt like “just a little kid from a little country town,” but her friends assured her that she would be included in their group. She was invited to all the preliminary parties prior to the evening of the final selection for membership in the social unit. That night her friends confidently told her, “Wait for us, and we’ll come for you.”
“That experience is one I’ll never forget,” she said. She waited and waited and waited, and no one came. “I was heartbroken. It seemed as though I was the only one who didn’t make it. My sister, my sister-in-law, and everyone except me, it seemed, was in the social unit.”
How did she handle that situation? “All I can remember,” she said, “was that I went to the Lord and he took away the hurt, and then it didn’t matter so much anymore. I turned to my music and service in the Church. I needed to do the Lord’s work first. I decided that maybe being a big wheel on campus wasn’t that important after all. Looking back, it doesn’t seem so important to me now, but the tests in life come at the times when these things are important to us.”
Sister Asay shared other experiences that strengthened her early commitment. “You know,” she said, “when I was a Beehive girl, just 12 years old, a young man from our ward returned from a mission. That was really something in those days. There weren’t so many missionaries then. He spoke in our sacrament meeting and had the most wonderful spirit. I could actually feel it. I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to marry someone just like him some day.’” She quickly added, with a twinkle in her eye, “And of course I married someone even better.
“Carlos and I were childhood sweethearts. I can’t remember when I didn’t know him.” Her countenance and tone of voice revealed much more in this beautiful relationship than was being spoken. “When we decided to get married,” she said, “Carlos was very much involved in athletics at the University of Utah. He had been offered a contract to pitch for a professional baseball team, and a lot of other opportunities came his way. I believe they came as a test at that time, because those things have high priority in a young man’s life.” And then she said, “Like a flashback to years before, I could see that young returned missionary standing at the pulpit in our little church in Monroe. I remembered my feeling then. I had committed myself to marrying someone who had the spirit of a returned missionary, and Carlos wasn’t a returned missionary.” Then in a matter-of-fact tone, she explained: “I just went to the Lord. ‘Please call Carlos on a mission,’ was my simple request. Do you know,” her smile broadened, “Carlos called two days later and said that the bishop wanted to see him. Then I became anxious again. I went back to the Lord, and this time I fervently requested, ‘Please touch Carlos so he’ll want to go on a mission.’”
She was concerned because of Elder Asay’s desire to get started in school; he had just gotten out of the service, and most boys weren’t that committed to a mission in those days. But Elder Asay accepted his first mission call to Palestine-Syria, trusting in the admonition to “seek first the kingdom of God.” When he came back Sister Asay married her returned missionary.
Sister Asay recalled another incident when she poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven: “Carlos has always made me feel that I’m the greatest person in the world, and I just never want to let him down, or do anything that will slow his progress.” She told of the time she had the responsibility of handling their very meager finances. “We had our money budgeted in little envelopes,” she explained. At that time her young student-husband was teaching school and also going to night school. As he left for school one morning with full confidence in his sweetheart and wife, he said, “I’ll need the tuition money ready so I can register after school tonight.” Colleen had this horrible feeling come over her. She realized that through some misplanning, perhaps paying a bill before it was due or something like that, there was no money for the tuition.
“He trusted me. I just couldn’t let him down. He needed the money then so he could continue his schooling, and there was no money and no way of getting it unless it was to just drop out of the sky.” With a desperate feeling, and yet with the unwavering faith she had developed over the years, she talked to her Father in Heaven: “There is no money. What am I going to do? Carlos thinks there is, and he is coming home, and I just can’t disappoint him.” Sister Asay hesitated a minute, then leaned forward and reverently bore testimony: “That was one of the greatest spiritual experiences I’ve had,” she said, “and I’ve had a number of them.
“You know, when I got up from my knees, I looked out of the window. I saw the postman coming down the walk. The thought came to me immediately, ‘There will be some money in the mail.’ I confidently walked to the mailbox and—nothing. I could hardly believe it. My heart sank. There was no money. Disappointed and heartsick, I turned to go back in the door, full of concern, thinking of Carlos’s education and our future. At that moment the postman came back around the corner of the house. ‘Here is a letter,’ he said. ‘It was in the bottom of the bag and I didn’t notice it.’” She quickly opened the letter to discover a seminary check—two payments in advance—for the exact amount of the tuition. “I just started to cry,” she said. “The Lord did hear my prayers. I said to the children, ‘Look, here is some money from the Lord.’” Those dear little children sensed their mother’s excitement and ran all the way up and down the block, where there were nonmembers, and publicly announced to all their friends, “The Lord has sent us some money.”
“That’s how instantly I’ve had prayers answered,” Sister Asay explained. “Sometimes answers don’t come that quickly, but sometimes they do!”
On one occasion her fervent prayer was actually interrupted because the answer came so quickly. She told of the time when, with four little children under four years of age, she was called to be the ward Relief Society president. It was a frightening experience for her. She felt inadequate. She was concerned about her relationship with the other sisters who were all older and more experienced. She was new in the ward. She told of the great expectations the bishop had when he called her and outlined some of the special challenges in that ward. She felt the tremendous responsibility but knew that if the Lord called her there would be a way provided for her to fulfill this assignment. The first meeting was to be held in her tiny, modest apartment, with makeshift furniture and four small children. Her husband was at school, and he wouldn’t be there to tend the children. She spoke of her desire to establish a trusting relationship during that first meeting and to share a spirit of love and harmony that would set a foundation for the future. She felt this just couldn’t be accomplished if she had to keep running to the bedroom to hush crying children.
She planned the entire day very carefully and had everything ready for this special meeting. “I had everything done,” she said. “Then I bathed the children, hoping they would go right to sleep. Well,” she continued with increased intensity in her voice, “they didn’t. After their baths they seemed to get new life and energy. There wasn’t a thing I could do to settle those children down. All four of them were in one bedroom, so they just kept each other fired up.” With only 15 minutes before the meeting was to begin, this young mother, full of faith and anxious to serve the Lord effectively, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and knelt down to pray. She told her Heavenly Father that she wanted the sisters to feel his Spirit and to feel her spirit. She explained how she really did want to serve him and to make the Relief Society one the sisters would enjoy. She told the Lord about the problem with her four small children.
“When I knelt down to pray, it was just like bedlam all over, but right in the middle of my prayer, all of a sudden, it became quiet. It shocked me so much, I don’t think I even finished my prayers. That’s how surprised I was.” She immediately hurried into the bedroom to find, to her surprise, each child in a deep sleep. “All four of them,” she emphasized. “It was amazing, and I just knew that my prayer had been answered right on the spot.” Sister Asay recalls with humble gratitude the spirit of the meeting that evening. She described it as a time when “the Lord was there to bless us. I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to a group of women than I was on that occasion.”
With many years of precious and sometimes challenging experiences shared with her husband and family of eight children, she now reflects with deep gratitude on their many accomplishments, trials, challenges, and victories. “Yes, we have our challenges,” she said, in a gentle tone of warm acceptance. And then as if by way of testimony, she declared: “The Lord can do anything. The Holy Ghost can bear testimony to you at any time. I remember just looking at the sunset or watching my children go out the door and feeling as if I were going to explode with happiness. It’s the spirit of the Holy Ghost. I don’t know how to explain that feeling, but I remember once when I was a little girl, riding my bicycle down the street. All of a sudden, the world seemed so great! Everything was so good! The Lord had been so good to me that I just swelled up with happiness. At that age you don’t always know what those feelings are; you don’t recognize the Holy Ghost bearing witness to you and being a part of your life every day.”
Sister Asay, thoughtfully, as if making an inventory of all of her blessings over the past years, looked straight ahead as she said, “You know, if the Lord is with you, everything is right and you can feel that.” And now, with her unwavering faith born out of loyalty to her childhood commitment, she faces the future with confidence as a helpmeet to her husband, Elder Carlos E. Asay, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. She stands at his side well-prepared to be a source of constant and continuous strength, a daughter of God.

Twenty-one years ago last April, I came for the first time to the Salt Lake Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the immensity of the building, but even more by the room-filling presence of the General Authorities who were assembled there.
In my growing-up years, many of them had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on an April day 21 years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was seated with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest heightened when President McKay arose and announced the next speaker. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over six feet tall. He was a man with a Ph.D., a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed serene and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. A little girl leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row, and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’?” Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply, “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed.
Many times since that day I have remembered that message—Pray for dad, the patriarch of the home. Pray for him as he serves as district president or home teacher. Pray for him when he becomes executive secretary of a civic group, when his business flourishes, or when he takes a cut in salary. Pray as he gives counsel in family home evening. Pray for dad who works long hours so that Jerold can go on a mission and Diane can go to college. Pray for him as he speaks in sacrament meeting or gives mother a blessing that she might be made well again. Pray as he baptizes William or gives a tiny, newborn baby a name and a father’s blessing. And in the evening, should he come home tired or discouraged, pray for him. Pray for dad in all that he might do—the small things and the great.
As years have passed, general conferences have come and gone, and each time President Benson has stood to speak, I have thought, “His children, who are scattered across the continent, are united now in prayer for their father.”
And I have come to believe that the brief message that passed along the row some 21 years ago is the most important message a family can share. What extraordinary power and faith any man can have to meet the daily challenge of his life if somewhere in the world his daughter or son is whispering, “Pray for dad.”

One of my good friends asked me to go to our Senior Ball, and I was really excited to go with him. I wanted to look nice, and I knew I wanted to wear a modest dress. My mom and I shopped at a few stores, and I found a beautiful, modest dress that I was excited to wear.
A group of four couples had decided to go to a nice restaurant for dinner before the dance. My date and I and another couple arrived at the restaurant first. We chose to be seated at a table while we waited for the other two couples to join us.
About five minutes after we were seated, our waiter came over to our table and asked for our order. Since we were waiting for the other couples to arrive, we were not ready. Our waiter paused and said, “There is someone in this restaurant who would like to pay for your dinner, and they need to leave soon.” My mouth dropped open. The four of us were astounded. We placed our order but asked our waiter to bring our food when our entire party had ordered. After the other two couples arrived, we told them that our meal had been paid for by an anonymous patron of the restaurant.
After we ate our dinner, our waiter brought us the folder for the bill. My date picked it up and, with the other young man watching, opened it. They both looked up at each other and then looked at me and the other young woman. “This isn’t for us. It’s for you ladies,” my date said. I opened the folder and read a note that was left inside. It read, “Thanks for dressing modestly! You look great!”
We never figured out who was kind enough to pay for our dinner, but it made our dance even more memorable. I had never thought that wearing a modest dress would be noticed by anyone, but I am glad that I made the choice. Dressing modestly is a choice, and this experience made me want to continue to dress modestly.