Gospel Story Finder

Miguel raced down the street clutching a small piece of paper in his hand. His dark hair blew away from his face and his brown eyes shone with happiness as he ran upstairs into the apartment.
“Look what Peter gave me,” Miguel said breathlessly. He handed his mother the piece of paper. It was an invitation to Peter’s birthday party.
“May I go?” Miguel asked. “It’s tomorrow afternoon.”
“Of course you can go,” Mother replied. She had not seen Miguel so happy in a long time.
Miguel missed his old home since his family had moved to the city. The people were nice, but they had different ways and they didn’t speak Spanish. Miguel’s parents spoke some English, but mostly Spanish was spoken at home.
When Miguel’s father came home that night, Miguel told him about the party. “What shall I take Peter?” Miguel asked. “Some of the boys said they were getting cars for his collection, but I don’t know what kind he wants.”
Miguel wanted to take something very special for Peter. When Miguel had first come to school, Peter became his friend. Peter had not teased or made fun of Miguel as some of the other boys had done. In fact, Peter had even asked Miguel to teach him some Spanish words.
After supper Miguel and his father sat at the table. Miguel watched his father pick up a block of pinewood and begin to carve with his pocketknife. His father carved small animals, and Miguel thought they were beautiful. But tonight Miguel was more interested in the birthday party and what he should take as a present than he was in his father’s carvings.
At last Miguel’s father looked up from his work and said, “Do you think Peter would like to have one of my little burros?”
Miguel looked at his father in surprise. “Oh, yes,” answered Miguel. “I’m sure Peter would really like one.”
Picking up a burro from the shelf, Father asked, “How about this little burro?”
The burro had large ears and a gentle expression on its face. It had strong legs and a firm neck. On the burro’s head and neck, Miguel’s father had glued thin strips of leather for a halter, and over its back was a harness. Fastened to the harness were two casks for carrying grain. Each cask had been carefully carved out of wood.
Miguel was filled with excitement at the thought of taking such a present to Peter.
The next day when Miguel arrived for the party, he smiled as he handed Peter the tissue-wrapped present and said, “Happy birthday!”
“Hi, Miguel,” answered Peter. “Come in. We’re just about to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey.”
As Peter put Miguel’s present on the table next to the others, Roger walked over and picked up the little white box. “Hey,” he shouted, “it’s so light I’ll bet it’s empty!” Then Roger put Miguel’s box right next to the biggest present there. It looked small next to the large package wrapped in bright green paper.
After the boys played a few games, they all sat down on the floor to watch Peter open his presents.
Miguel had never seen so many wonderful gifts. There was a sports car, an antique car, and a car-building kit.
“Hurry and open mine!” Roger shouted.
Peter picked up Roger’s present, tore away the green wrapping, and opened the big heavy box. Out came a bright, shiny blue metal car with a trailer and boat attached to it. The boys all crowded around to see the car.
The boys were so excited over the car they forgot about the one small gift left on the table. But Miguel had not forgotten. All of a sudden he wished he hadn’t come to the party. His present was not like any of the others. He wished he had a shiny car to give Peter.
As Miguel looked around at all the fancy presents, he thought of the little carved burro. A large lump started to form in his throat as Peter reached up and took the small white box. The lump grew bigger and bigger when Peter unwrapped the tissue paper and held up the little burro.
Slowly Peter turned the burro around in his hands. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly.
“What is it?” Roger asked in a loud voice.
“It’s a burro,” answered Miguel quietly. “My father carved it.”
“You mean it’s homemade?” laughed Roger.
“Yes,” answered Miguel. “My father is the best wood-carver ever!”
“He sure is,” said Peter. “I’ve never had anything like this before.”
Miguel looked surprised. Peter really did like his present.
All of the boys crowded around Peter and wanted to hold the little burro.
“My father makes many little animals and figures,” Miguel explained. “And he is teaching me to carve also.”
“Oh, Miguel!” exclaimed Peter. “Would he teach me too?”
“Sure,” Miguel replied happily.
The little burro was given a special place of honor on the table next to the birthday cake.
As Miguel looked at the burro, he felt a warm glow within him. He was glad he had come. Being different wasn’t so bad after all!

And then there entered into my life another angel. Image going to Young Women's without the experience of Primary--my first experiences as a member of the church were not without failure. One of the first mutual activities I attended was a speech night. This particular night, after opening exercises, the Young Men's president announced that tonight was the extemporaneous speech competition. I had no idea what that was, but he asked each of us to take a place on the stand, so I did. The Young Women's president then gave directions that each of us were to come to the podium when it was our turn. We would be handed a picture showing a gospel principle and we were to give a two-minute talk on that picture. A young man or young woman would go to the podium, receive their picture, take a minute to look at it and then out would come this wonderful talk. I thought it must be a miracle.

In my upbringing, attending church meant you went quietly and did not say a word during the service. How these young people were doing this was beyond me. When it was my turn, I walked to the podium; the Young Women's president handed me a picture. I looked at it and nothing came into my head. I looked around and wondered where the miracle was and then the tears began to flow.

In D&C 88:84 the Lord promises, "...I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you to bear you up." If anyone needed an angel, I did. And there she was, Mary Miyasaki, my young women's leader. She stood all of 4 feet 10 inches tall and she came to the podium put her arm around my waist, and just as your mom or dad did when you were in Primary and were too scared to give your talk, she whispered sentences in my ear, and I repeated them. When we came to the end and said "Amen," she gave me a hug and smiled. I returned to my seat wondering what kind of a religion I had gotten myself into-vowing that I would never do that again no matter what. But the Lord had other plans.

In Ether 12:27 you will find my mission scripture, because I have watched this promise become reality in my life. "And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them." Making weak things become strong requires that we are stretched. Stretching is often painful; trials are often needed, but the promise is sure. He will make weak things strong.

I still remember one:
“An older boy and his young companion were walking along a road which led through a field. They saw an old coat and a badly worn pair of men’s shoes by the roadside, and in the distance they saw the owner working in the field.
“The younger boy suggested that they hide the shoes, conceal themselves, and watch the perplexity on the owner’s face when he returned.
“The older boy … thought that would not be so good. He said the owner must be a very poor man. So, after talking the matter over, at his suggestion, they concluded to try another experiment. Instead of hiding the shoes, they would put a silver dollar in each one and … see what the owner did when he discovered the money. So they did that.
“Pretty soon the man returned from the field, put on his coat, slipped one foot into a shoe, felt something hard, took it out and found a silver dollar. Wonder and surprise [shone] upon his face. He looked at the dollar again and again, turned around and could see nobody, then proceeded to put on the other shoe; when to his great surprise he found another dollar. His feelings overcame him. … He knelt down and offered aloud a prayer of thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife being sick and helpless and his children without bread. … He fervently thanked the Lord for this bounty from unknown hands and evoked the blessing of heaven upon those who gave him this needed help.
“The boys remained [hidden] until he had gone.” They had been touched by his prayer and felt something warm within their hearts. As they left to walk down the road, one said to the other, “Don’t you have a good feeling?” (Adapted from Bryant S. Hinckley, Not by Bread Alone, 95).

In spite of her time-consuming activities, Amelia still felt that she needed to make one more long-distance flight. She told her husband that it would be her last long flight.
On January 11, 1937, Amelia started her flight by flying west from Oakland, California, to Hawaii. Then she had an accident while trying to take off in Honolulu, and she was delayed several weeks until major repairs were completed on her Lockheed Electra airplane. During this time it was decided that Amelia should fly around the world going east instead of west.
It was May 1937 when she finally took off from Oakland again. Amelia said she was just making a test flight. On board with her were Fred Noonan, her navigator; Bo McKneeley, her mechanic; and her husband. Things went so well, however, that they continued on to Miami, where on June 1 Amelia and Fred Noonan took off to finish the eastward flight around the world. A month later, on July 2, 1937, Amelia Earhart’s plane was lost while she was trying to locate Howland Island in the South Pacific Ocean. She had completed more than two-thirds of her around-the-world flight. Neither she, Fred Noonan, nor the airplane were ever found.

That could have happened to me. After graduating from college, I worked for a couple of years at a local nonprofit organization, where I was inspired by the skills of a new manager. I decided to pursue a master’s degree so that I could gain the kinds of skills he had.

Between the time I was accepted to the program and the time I was to attend, we learned that I was pregnant with our first child. Pregnancy is always a challenge, but due to some medical complications, pregnancies are particularly difficult for me. When I arrived to begin my master’s program, the heaviest question in my heart was whether I should be pursuing the degree at all. After all, I was now anticipating motherhood.

In my new ward, I was promptly called to be an assistant nursery leader. The counselor in the bishopric who set me apart for my new calling laid his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me all the usual authority, gifts, and admonitions attendant on a calling in nursery. Then, speaking to my most hidden fears and my deepest questions, he told me, in the name of Christ, to pursue and complete my master’s degree, that this was the will of God.

So I did.

Near the conclusion of my master’s degree, my husband received a good job offer in Washington, DC. I was preparing to be a stay-at-home mom to our then-one-year-old daughter. I felt unsettled by the move, and I wanted the confirmation of the Spirit to help soothe me. But the more I prayed, the more agitated I became. So my husband and I prayed, fasted, and attended the temple to seek guidance about whether or not to take the job.

The matter of our imminent move remained unresolved until the very last day of class in my master’s program. I felt a tremendous and unmistakable outpouring of the Spirit, and a clear, quiet, and calm voice spoke to my mind, telling me I would return for a PhD. I knew why I had been so uneasy about the move to Washington.

I didn’t tell my husband right away what my prompting had been—only that I’d had one and that I was at peace. We decided that when he had the same sense of peace, we could make a plan together based on our individual promptings.

Soon thereafter, he felt strongly that we should make a short-term move to Finland for an internship he had been offered. From Finland I applied for the doctoral program. In Finland my husband started his business.

I finished the doctoral program in about three years and soon found myself—most unexpectedly—on the full-time faculty at BYU. In addition to food, clothing, and shelter, our work has afforded us freedom, family time, fulfillment, challenges, and a great deal of happiness. We now have four children, and they are—individually and collectively—the central joy of my life. This was a future only God could see for me.

I remember telling this story to my friend Kris, who shared that her own story was very similar to mine but had resulted in almost the exact opposite educational path. Kris had always hoped to pursue a PhD. But when she inquired of the Lord, He led her in a different direction. Kris focused on raising her young children at home, finding fulfillment and joy in her decision and trusting the Lord and His guidance.

María Isabel Parra de Uribe of the Villas de La Hacienda Ward, México City México Tepalcapa Stake, tells of an experience common to many who have sought blessings of healing. Five months pregnant, she was suffering intense pain. Tests showed she needed surgery immediately, and she was told she might lose her baby.
“My husband and I were confused,” she says. “We didn’t know whether to have the surgery or not. We decided to ask God if surgery was the right choice. After our prayer, we felt peaceful and calm.
“While I was waiting to be taken to the operating room, my husband gave me a priesthood blessing. When it was over, we felt not only calm but certain our baby would survive.
“After I came out of surgery, a nurse said, ‘Everything is all right. Your baby is fine.’ I smiled to myself, realizing, I already knew.”
The power of godliness had been manifest in her life.

When I think about obtaining confidence in the presence of God, I think of an experience that occurred in the summer of 2006. I was called to serve as a mission president. As I anticipated this demanding role, I began to make a list of questions I could not answer. This list represented my anxieties.

We flew to Provo to attend the MTC for mission presidents. The last speaker was Elder Eyring. He was assigned a topic; "Teaching by the Spirit."  He was instructed not to prepare a written talk. He began by telling of his extended and agonizing preparation. He then told us of experiences with the love of God. I felt power fill the room. By the end, many of the people were weeping. Afterwards, I remained in my chair. I knew that we had just spent time in the presence of God. It was then that I noticed something astounding.

I glanced at my list of questions. The words were still on the page but my problems no longer mattered. I felt no anxiety whatsoever. How could this be? Elder Eyring never talked about my specific issues.
How could they be gone?

In the presence of God, I was taught directly by the Holy Ghost. He ministered to my specific needs. I suddenly had confidence that I had previously lacked.

There is actually one step beyond becoming independent, and that is becoming interdependent - where two or more independent people who can pretty much take care of themselves decide to work together to achieve more like partnering on a research project or business venture, or becoming a part of a well functioning team. I learned something about interdependence when I decided to ask someone to marry me. After dating for a year, I finally determined to ask young woman that I was courting if she would be my wife. I took the answer to the Lord in prayer. The answer was clear: "It will be good for you to ask her." I was overjoyed at first. Then I realized something was missing. The Lord didn't say that I was to marry her. In fact the Lord didn't even say whether she would or should say yes. I learned that marriage requires mutual consent of two independent people - a very valuable lesson for being a peacemaker in the home (and, yes, that was Sister Lucero).

When gold was discovered in California in January of 1848, men of the Mormon Battalion were there and participated in the discovery. Completing their contract, they came to the Salt Lake Valley to join their families. Some of them brought with them gold, and in the hard and desperate days that followed, particularly in the bitter winter if 1848–49, many wanted to go to California, where life was easier and gold was to be picked from the riverbeds. In that time of gloom, Brigham Young stood before the people in the old Bowery on Temple Square and said:

Some have asked me about going. I have told them that God has appointed this place for the gathering of his saints, and you will do better right here than you will by going to the gold mines. . . . We have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. God has shown me that this is the spot to locate his people, and here is where they will prosper. . . . We shall build a city and a temple to the most high god in this place. We will extend our settlements to the east and west, to the north and south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of the saints will gather in from the nations of the earth. This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth will visit us here, while the wicked and ungodly will envy us our comfortable homes and possessions. [Autobiography of James Brown, pp. 119–23, cited by Preston Nibley, Brigham Young, the Man and His Work (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1936), pp. 127–28]

What a remarkable statement under such circumstances!

My heart goes out to those who were cold and hungry that winter. I am sure there was much of grumbling and criticism, and understandably so. But how marvelous when a man looked beyond the winter and spoke as a prophet, under the power of the Holy Spirit, of better days to come.

Those days have come. Last year more people visited Temple Square in Salt Lake City than visited Yellowstone Park. This has become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth constantly visit us here.

The children were enjoying their last day before school started. The day was filled with bike riding, baseball games, pizza, and trying to have as much fun as they possibly could. Toward the end of the day, a new boy appeared looking for someone to play with. My son John began playing with him. Soon afterward, John was invited to go swimming, but his new friend was not. Rather than leave the new boy alone, John turned down the offer. I’m thankful for John’s good example.

On a cold December afternoon, Tia C. walked through the doors of the Church History Library. History is one of Tia’s favorite subjects, so she was excited to help show Friend readers some of the library’s fascinating historical treasures. Tia met Elder Marlin K. Jensen, who is the Church Historian. He showed her some very special journals and photographs. He told Tia it is important for every boy and girl in the Church to keep a journal. “Two or three times a week, sit down and think about how Heavenly Father has blessed you, protected you, and kept you from temptation,” he said. “Mainly, it is important to write about your feelings.”
Tia watched a video about a pioneer girl named Mary Jane Millett. Mary Jane’s father had a special experience that he wrote about in his journal. Mary Jane copied it into her own journal. Mary Jane’s journal is in the Church History Library, and Tia visited the conservation lab to see how it is being preserved.
Tia loves writing stories. Now she knows how important it is to write down her own special experiences. “Visiting the Church History Library was the best experience ever!” Tia said. “I will never forget it.”
But just in case, she went home and wrote about it.

As I listened to President Oaks this morning, I could not help but think of an experience that occurred in my life a few years ago at the University of Southern California. I was the institute director there, and because of my close association with the school I was asked by the First Presidency to be the Latter-day Saint representative at a PTA congress that was being sponsored on campus. A number of great educators from throughout the United States were invited to participate also.

On the appointed day I attended an informal luncheon that the administration was putting on for the participants. I noticed that I was to be seated next to a full navy commander who had been one of the leaders in developing the testing program for the United States Navy. There were the usual place cards, and as we took our seats the navy commander turned to me and inquired, “Mr. Dunn, you’re the Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?”

I checked to see what was showing and I asked, “Well, yes, but how did you know?”

He said, “As we sat down, I noticed you weren’t going to partake of that liquid.” I had turned my coffee cup over.

“Well, that’s right,” I said, “but I know a lot of people who aren’t of my faith that don’t partake of that particular liquid. Why would that tell you?”

“Oh,” he explained, “it’s the way you turned your cup over. You have that Mormon twist in your wrist.”

I immediately started to defend our position—as we all do once in a while—and he said, “Look, I didn’t inquire to get a defense of your position. I’d like to take this opportunity, sir, to salute you. May I do that?”

Well, a full navy commander wanting to salute a PFC? I was not about to stop him. I said, “Please, sir, go ahead.”

He said, “I don’t mean you personally. I’d like to take this opportunity to salute your church, the group you represent here this morning.”

I was interested. “Why would you single us out?”

He replied, “Mr. Dunn, in my official position I have an opportunity to travel throughout the whole of the earth and I watch people very, very carefully and I like what I see about your organization. I am convinced, sir, that the time will come when this country, this world, will look to you people for spiritual direction.”

“Thank you, sir.” The thrill went up and down my spine and I was grateful to be one of you. And I thank God this morning for the kind of example these great performers and athletes and you Latter-day Saints represent to the earth. God bless you.

In 1928, 83-year-old Thomas Biesinger was called to return to Czechoslovakia for a short mission. In Prague he visited police and government officials, requesting permission to preach. Finding no opposition, he reported that the way was open.

When Elder Biesinger was released, no one was sent to replace him. Sister Frantiska Vesela Brodilova wrote to President Heber J. Grant, asking him to send missionaries (see “Czechoslovakia Was Her Mission,” Liahona, September 1995, 26–27). Her request was answered with the arrival of Arthur Gaeth, a tall, energetic young man. His journalistic bent and booming voice enabled him, within 10 days, to arrange for two 10-minute radio talks to be read in Czech, to speak on German radio, to lecture at a German adult-education institution, and to write an article for a German-language newspaper.

Lydia’s birthday was coming.
“What do you want for your birthday, Lydia?” Mom asked.
Lydia thought for a few minutes. Did she want a new toy? Did she want a book to read? Then Lydia knew what she wanted the very most.
“I want to visit the temple,” Lydia said. She wanted to be with her family. She wanted to go somewhere happy. And what place was happier than the temple?
On Lydia’s birthday, Mom, Dad, Lydia, and her sisters got ready to drive to the temple. Lydia even got to invite her friend Grant.
It was a long drive. But that was OK. Lydia told jokes with Grant and her sister Lucy. She told a story to her little sisters, Eliza and Ellie.
And finally, Lydia could see the temple. They had made it!
“Look at the angel Moroni!” Lydia said. She pointed up at the temple.
As soon as she got out of the car, Lydia raced to the temple gates.
There were beautiful trees around the temple. The trees had bright orange and yellow leaves. The leaves on the ground crunched as Lydia and her family walked around the temple.
A big gust of wind blew through the trees. Lydia watched the leaves fly through the air. She ran to catch a leaf before it hit the ground. It was beautiful! She put it in her pocket.
Dad read the sign on the temple. It said, “Holiness to the Lord: The House of the Lord.”
“That means we can feel close to Jesus here,” Mom said.
Lydia felt peaceful. This was a very happy place!
As they drove away, Lydia pulled out her leaf. When she got home she would put it in her special box. That way she could always remember this wonderful day!

My ultimate wilderness experience occurred in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. I was an infantry platoon leader. Our combat missions took us deep into enemy controlled territory. On one occasion, our battalion was engaged in moving at night through "Indian country." We were going cross-country through an area of rice paddies checkered with patches of jungle, employing armored personnel carriers as our means of transport. Sometime well after dark, the vehicle I was riding in became deeply mired in a rice paddy bog. Three other vehicles became similarly mired not far away.

Not wanting to slow the movement or leave the battalion strung out in a potentially vulnerable column, the battalion commander elected to continue moving. He left me in command of the four stranded vehicles with the "reassurance" that he would send a reinforced party back to our aid once it was daylight.

So, there we were; some 20 men in four stranded personnel carriers strung out over about a quarter of a mile in enemy territory. It was tense! I made my way from one to the next to check on the welfare of the troops and their supply of ammunition. This was also an "adrenaline experience"-not only because of enemy soldiers that might be lurking in the blackness, but because my men were anxious and potentially trigger-happy.

Somehow, I made it safely to each one and back to my own vehicle. I then called in artillery fire to register concentrations around our position that might be needed if we were suddenly attacked. In addition, I asked for the artillery to fire flares periodically over the surrounding area, enabling us to see the battlefield more clearly.

It is difficult in the tranquil setting of this devotional to adequately convey the sense of security that came from these flares that would illuminate the landscape. Truly, they were a light in the wilderness!

One of the reasons we must trust God is that we are presently locked in the dimension of time; he is not. This personal experience may be illustrative.

In May of 1945 as a frightened, not-too-effective young infantryman in the U. S. Army in combat on Okinawa, I had several soul-stretching, faith-promoting experiences, including a dramatic answer to my prayers that came during an artillery shelling of our company’s mortar position. It demonstrated to me, again, that the Lord was cognizant of my prayers. In one of those selfish, honest prayers that we offer when we are in real trouble, I promised the Lord that if he would spare me on that occasion, I would seek to serve him all my life. The prayer was answered at once. I foolishly thought then that I could repay the Lord. Since then I am more deeply in his debt than ever.

On a stopover on Okinawa in 1973, I found the same spot, now overgrown by sugarcane, where my foxhole was during that shelling. Just a few hills away, I was privileged to speak in a chapel full of Okinawan Saints and servicemen—not very far from where I and others spent those grim nights so many years before. Soon there will even be a stake of the Church on Okinawa!

I wonder if I had been told in the spring of 1945 that these things would happen later if my mind and heart could have been so stretched? The Lord foresaw, but I did not.

With only three months left on my tour of duty, I was called on another hoist rescue. This time it was in the Ashau Valley. Two casualties had to be moved from a dangerous location in another double canopy area. Once again we hovered between the trees like a sitting duck, protected only by cover shots from our troops but threatened by incoming enemy fire. Things went well until we started to bring the second patient up through the lower canopy.
Rifle fire sprayed around us. The crew chief was going to cut the cable, dropping the wounded man back to the ground and to possible death. “No!” I yelled. “Tell me when he’s clear of the trees.” The crew chief kept the litter bearing the wounded man coming up and yelled, “Clear!” as soon as it got above the trees. I moved the helicopter up, then forward, while the wounded man dangled below, slowly being drawn into the cargo area. Finally the terrified soldier was inside and we were on our way back to the base. What an experience! What excitement!
Back on the ground, the crew hugged each other. We were grateful to acknowledge that we were delivered by the power and mercy of God. We also felt sure we would merit a DFC. The recommendation was written up and submitted with assurance that it would be approved.
The awards ceremony was scheduled for July 8, 1968, two days before my departure from the country. I didn’t have to fly any more combat missions, and I had been informed that the DFC had been approved. I was going home and would be a hero, finally receiving the award I had longed for for so long.
Since many of the officers were receiving decorations, the first sergeant was left in charge of the awards formation. Those of us who were recipients were out in front of the other men. I was second in line, next to the detachment commander, who was also receiving a DFC. This was the moment of glory I had been waiting for since childhood. This was the ceremony of grandeur envisioned in the dreams of my youth.
The commanding general’s helicopter touched down. His aide-de-camp scurried from the craft to talk to the first sergeant, as the first sergeant called us all to attention. The two men exchanged comments, then the sergeant took several steps and stood right in front of me. He saluted.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but your DFC has been downgraded. Take your place as fifth in formation.”
Pow! My dream was shattered. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I had to bite my lower lip to make sure I was in the real world and not having a bad dream. I was angry and hurt. Was this the type of gratitude bestowed for dedicated service which I considered above and beyond the call of duty? I did an about face, took two steps forward, made a right face, and moved to my new location as fifth in formation.
As the detachment commander had his Distinguished Flying Cross pinned on his pocket, I had to fight back the tears. I was happy for my boss and his deserved recognition, but I was disappointed at my own situation. When the general came to me, I snapped a salute. He returned it and pinned another Air Medal with a “V” for valor onto my shirt, saying, “Captain, this represents a lot of flying. I respect you for your contribution and congratulate you.” My heart was filled with resentment. How could he do this to me? I choked out a half-hearted “Thank you, sir.” We saluted and he moved on.
As I stood there with those mixed up feelings, I asked the Lord why this had happened. Surely there must be a mistake! It wasn’t fair! Then my spirit became calm as the words of my patriarchal blessing came to mind once again, telling me not to let Satan keep me from growth and development, telling me that the Lord would try me to prove my worth. The Spirit spoke to my soul, telling me that God had kept his promise to me—I was returning to my loved ones unharmed, I still had work to do in this life, and God had preserved my life. “Seek not after your own heart,” the Spirit whispered, “for the praise and rewards of men.”

David’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he sat straight up in bed. Faint moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, leaving gray shadows on the walls. The only sound came from his brother Thomas’s heavy breathing as he lay asleep.
It had been only a dream. Two Indians had come into the yard. When David saw them, he ran to the house for protection. One of them drew an arrow from his quiver and shot at David, hitting him in the back. Then they entered his home, sneering at his mother and frightening her.
Although it had been a dream, it seemed real. David rubbed his back where the arrow had hit him in the dream. He had felt the blow.
After that David became very afraid at night. Thoughts of people trying to hurt his mother and younger brothers and sisters seemed real to him.
One day David found his father packing a satchel. “Why are you packing, Papa?” David asked.
“I’ll be gone with the cattle for a few days,” his father answered. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long. I’ll just be moving them to some fresh pasture.”
“I don’t want you to go,” David said.
“Everything will be all right,” his father replied. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
David watched sadly as his father took his satchel to the front gate where his horse was tied. After waving good-bye to the family, he rode off after the cattle. David felt sick inside. He tried not to worry, hoping everything would be all right like his father had said. But as evening drew near and the sun went down, his worries grew.
After supper the family prepared for bed. When they had all knelt down at their bedsides and said their prayers, they snuggled under the covers to go to sleep. But David couldn’t sleep. His heart pounded, and his mind raced. Through the open doorway of his bedroom, he could see his mother going to her bedroom.
At last his mother blew out the candle and went to sleep. But David still couldn’t close his eyes. He thought he heard noises around the house. His brother Thomas slept soundly, but the fear in David’s heart grew. What could he do? Tears trickled onto his pillow. The palms of his hands were sweaty, and he could still hear the noises around the house.
David decided to pray as his parents had taught him. He was sure the Lord would help him, but he had one problem: kneeling by the side of his bed. How could he leave the safety of his bed to kneel and pray? What if someone was hiding beneath his bed?
David knew that the only way he would be able to sleep was if he prayed to the Lord for help. At last he slowly climbed out of bed onto his knees. He asked the Lord to protect his mother and his family. All the noises died away, and a calm feeling entered David’s heart. A voice spoke clearly to him, saying, “Don’t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you.” David felt the sweet assurance that he would be safe in bed at night.
Snuggling under his covers, David fell asleep. He didn’t worry at night anymore. Even though it had been a difficult test for him to get out of bed and kneel to pray, he had prayed the way he knew he should. And the Lord answered his prayer.

I’m told that no one can create something out of nothing. How powerfully I realized that truth the day I had a visit from a member of our stake presidency. His telephone call that told me to expect him made me wonder what was the purpose of his visit. But all my questions failed to prepare me for the challenge he brought. He came to ask me to write a stage production for our region. He emphasized that they wanted quality—the kind of quality that would make the production suitable for a major attractions center in our city—to which the nonmember public could be invited. And then he left.
But he left behind him a great burden. Because the expectations of my priesthood leaders were so high and my play writing experience so little, I felt very anxious. The fearful thought occurred to me that the discomfort that had settled in my stomach and my legs might not go away until after the presentation of the play.
How could I possibly live up to the expectations of my stake presidency? I had never done the kind of thing they wanted. I felt almost oppressed by a terrible cloud of doubt and helplessness. I had not even one idea. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any experience in writing, I had. But I had always had a concept to share; some ideas to work with. But now I had nothing. When I went to bed that night, my mind was still blank. I couldn’t think of any ideas that could be developed and built into a stage production.
But when I awoke in the morning I knew what I wanted to say. From the recesses of my mind came the ideas, the building blocks with which I could construct the play.
Where did the ideas come from? They came from a deep and precious source—the scriptures.
Just prior to the beginning of the Church’s program of scripture study, I had completed independently what to me was an intense, thorough, and highly rewarding study of all the standard works of the Church—a search that left my working Bible very well worn. As a result, the scriptures had provided the basic form with which to help me fulfill my assignment to build a spiritually successful stage production. But even more important, I could not help but see a comparison and realize how much more vital the scriptures are as building blocks with which to construct our testimonies, our character, and our eternal lives.
One week after receiving the assignment I was able to present to the stake leaders a rough draft of the first half of our production, a production that in final form exceeded our hopes and had a beneficial impact on many nonmember visitors.
This whole experience added more conviction to an already growing testimony of the value of the scriptures.

After being in college for about four years, I remember not being able to pass one of my classes. It was a requirement for my major and there was no way around it. It was a discouraging time. At that point, I was working full-time, going to school, and raising a young family. I was already into my career as a computer programmer, and obtaining a degree didn’t seem as necessary as it did when I first began college. It was hard to envision getting beyond that trial. I shared with my wife that I felt hopeless and wanted to quit school. I’m so happy for her love and encouragement. She reminded me of my vision of receiving a college education. We spoke of the sacrifice my parents made to give us a better future. With hope renewed and refocused vision, I ultimately made the decision to continue. By the way, it didn’t take me the traditional four years; it took eight years to finish a bachelor’s degree. Quite a long time to finish, I admit, but I did finish.