Gospel Story Finder

His next question surprised me. “Didn’t it hurt your eyes when they poured the latex in?” What on earth was he talking about? Nothing of that sort had gone on at all.
“I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning. I followed him upstairs to his room. From the back of his sock drawer, he pulled out a hinged leather case and opened it. On the white velvet lining were two glass balls. No, not balls. I picked one up. Doll teacups, of clear glass, an inch in diameter and an eighth inch thick.
“These are my contact lenses,” Daddy said sadly.
I was horrified. “How could anyone wear those? Why they must cover the whole eyeball!”
“That’s right,” he replied. “I wore them three times.”
My mother peered over my shoulder. “One of the times was on his second date with me,” she said. “His poor eyes watered so much and he was so miserable I made him take them off.”
“They made them by propping my eyelids open with a metal brace and pouring liquid latex over my eyes,” he explained. “The molds were then used for the glass lenses, which fit tightly over the entire eye. It took all my courage to put them in. I didn’t want that to happen to my little girl,” he finished lamely.

Last year my schoolteacher had “class dollars” that we could earn when we did well in class. I kept buying things instead of saving them like my classmates did. The last auction of the school year was nearing, and I had 80 dollars. My teacher was going to sell root-beer floats for 100 dollars each. So I decided to copy the class money I had on the printer at home so I’d have enough for a float.
When I got to school, I showed off my copied money. Five students ran up to the teacher’s desk and told him about my evil mastermind doings. My teacher told me I wasn’t allowed to buy a single item at the auction. I felt bad and guilty, but the worst was yet to come.
My teacher emailed my mom. When I got home, my mom asked about my actions. I was dishonest again and told her that someone else in my class copied the money. My mom was going to email the teacher what I told her. When she was about to send the message, I told her the truth. She was shocked, disappointed, and sad. I knew my Heavenly Father was also saddened by my disobedience.
I had just turned 12 and was looking forward to doing baptisms at the temple. But I knew I shouldn’t enter into the temple unless I was clean, so I repented. After telling the truth, I prayed and asked for forgiveness.
A little while later I walked up the steps to the Sacramento temple. I was excited to do baptisms and amazed by the beauty of the temple. I felt great peace and happiness. My mom was really happy, and I knew that my Heavenly Father was happy as well.
Now I know that wickedness never, ever will bring happiness. I am grateful for all that Christ has done for me. I know that if we keep the commandments, we will live in happiness.

About the time the great depression showed signs of fading away, our great country was disgraced at Pearl Harbor. We were just the right age to take up arms and go to fight to preserve our freedoms.

For the next several years, we witnessed firsthand the waste of destruction. We sat on the fantails of troop ships and listened to chaplains prepare us to meet our Maker as they would tell us frankly what the odds were that we would be alive at noon the following day. We were very close to our God; we pleaded to him for strength. How those prayers were answered, to give us strength and a great inner source of faith as we would go over the side and down those long cargo nets into the landing craft which would carry us to a hostile island.

Then one night a guard came running up the rows of tents where we were sleeping, shouting that he had just heard over the radio the war was over. We literally jumped through our mosquito nets and ran to the one and only radio we had, located in the mess hall. By the time we arrived, the armed forces radio was broadcasting a New York Yankee baseball game. Can you imagine our disappointment to have to listen to a baseball game when such exciting news was about to come forth? We sat glued to the radio all night, but no news came. We even changed stations to see if Tokyo Rose would be good enough to give us the announcement, but she continued on her same theme. It was two days later when we noticed in the harbor shots of tracers being fired into the air, and the big guns trained out to sea set off a fireworks display to announce the end.

A few days later we were on our way to see the waste and destruction of our efforts. Our ship dropped anchor in Nagasaki harbor and we rushed topside to look at the results of an atomic bomb. Sickened by the sight, our souls were cleansed from the hate which had been built up in our hearts against our enemies during those years of battle. As we saw the destruction of this great city, smelled the stench of the dead, and heard the cries of the orphans, our hearts mellowed and we reached out to help them rebuild that which we had destroyed.

The glacier glows from deep within, pulling scarce light from a gray day and turning it an eerie blue. Mostly, the glacier is dirty white. But from parts of the vertical face comes faint, cold blue fire. “Ice blue” is a real color.
At the glacier’s foot a shallow lake of ice melt is dotted with an occasional miniature iceberg. A stream of glacial water tumbles into the lake with a distant, dull rumble. It’s the only sound you hear until—
Splash! “Whoop!” Someone has just jumped into the lake. Or fallen. Or been pulled. Youth of the Juneau Alaska District are holding their annual games on the sandy shore. Relays rage back and forth across a shallow inlet. Put on hip boots, wade-run through thigh-high ice water, take off the boots and hand them to a teammate for the return trip. Splash! Someone else has tried to run too fast. Again, a sharp intake of breath and “whoop!”
Soon, a stout rope is drawn across the same inlet and the teams take sides, muscles straining, heels dug into the sand. Rhythmic chants of “pull … pull … pull” echo across the lake. Inch by inch the losing team is drawn toward the incredibly cold water.
Incredibly, too, some of the youth who didn’t get wet in the relay or tug-of-war give berserk yells and wade into the bone-chilling water for the sheer daring of it. Afterward, when everyone has dried off and is back at the chapel warming up, the kids explain. It’s not insanity, just enthusiasm.

It has been nearly three years since I received one of those dreaded early-morning phone calls. My younger brother Steve had suffered a massive heart attack and died during the night. In an instant, and without warning, my most trusted friend was gone.
During the next few days many who loved Steve and his wife and children traveled to their home in Colorado. But it wasn’t until after the funeral that I realized that seven dear friends of mine had made the long trip from Salt Lake City to attend the service. Not one of them had ever met my brother. They had come to support me. You can imagine my emotions as they encircled me and one of them said, “We just didn’t want you to be alone today.” In word and deed, they taught a divine principle. It is not good, nor is it intended, for any of us to be alone.

Her sister María del Pilar said, “I have a testimony that this is the true church, and I am very happy to be here. My whole family has changed since we joined the Church. My father drank too much, and since we have been in the Church we have been very happy in my family, and my father doesn’t touch wine. We seem to be much more united. I love family home evening. I like everything about the Church, but the unity within our own family is the best thing. We love each other and treat each other kindly. Even though the kids in my school won’t have anything to do with me since I joined the Church, I am very happy to be in it. I wouldn’t leave it for anything.”
She added, “There were two or three weeks when we stopped going to church. I don’t know how my sister felt, but I felt as if something was lacking physically. I didn’t feel well until I returned to church, and now I am happy to be here with all my brothers and sisters in the gospel.”

Last week I boarded a plane to attend a stake conference in the East. My spirit was sagging and my mood less than desirable. I took my assigned seat, opened my briefcase, and began to work on some materials which were quite pressing. The seat adjacent to mine was vacant, and I found myself hoping that it would not be taken. I wanted to travel undisturbed by conversation and other distractions.
Just before the boarding gate was closed, a very hairy and unkempt young man rushed through the door and took the only remaining seat—the one next to mine. I must admit that this annoyed me. He appeared worldly, smelled worldly, and seemed eager for conversation.
I ignored him and continued with my writing. A short distance into the air, my unwelcomed traveling companion turned to me and said, “I feel that I offend you, and I want to make an explanation.” He continued, “I’m from Canada, and I’ve been attending a mechanics seminar in Utah. The seminar concluded with a workshop, and I’ve been deep in grease and grime all day. And as you can see and smell, I didn’t have time to shower or change clothes before catching the plane. I hope you will forgive me.”
Oh, how ashamed I was! Ashamed that I had been so selfish; ashamed that I had prejudged.
I repented of my feelings and apologized for my thoughts. Then, after a brief introduction, a beautiful gospel conversation ensued. Before we landed in Chicago, we were reading the scriptures together and conversing like old friends. We parted with a warm handshake and the promise that he would receive our missionaries.

In a curious parallel 300 years later, Nancy Towle, a famous itinerant preacher in the 1830s, visited Kirtland to personally observe the “Mormons.” In conversing with Joseph Smith and other Church leaders, she sharply criticized the Church.
According to Towle’s record, Joseph said nothing until she turned to him and demanded that he swear that an angel had shown him where to find the golden plates. He good-naturedly replied that he never swore at all! Failing to rattle him, she tried to belittle him. “Are you not ashamed, of such pretensions?” she asked. “You, who are no more than any ignorant plough-boy of our land!”
Joseph calmly responded, “The gift, has returned back again, as in former times, to illiterate fishermen.”11

Sister Yaeko Seki experienced part of this precious promise. She writes:
“My family and I were spending a day at the Japan Alps National Park. … I was pregnant with our fourth child and was feeling rather tired, so I lay down under the trees. … I began thinking about our financial problems. My heart became overwhelmed, and I burst into tears. ‘Lord, we are full-tithe payers. We have sacrificed so much. When will the windows of heaven open unto us and our burdens be lightened?’
“I prayed with all my heart. Then I turned to watch my husband and children playing and laughing together. … Suddenly, the Spirit testified to me that my blessings were abundant and that my family was the greatest blessing Heavenly Father could give me.”

SISTER BENNETT: When I was your age, I knew I was a beloved daughter of God, and my desires came from wanting to be true to that identity. I was attracted to my future husband because I could see that he was clearly guided by his identity as a son of God.
Yes, we each have difficult circumstances and challenges, but we are not our circumstances—or our challenges.[6] We are beloved sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father.
After my father passed away, I decided I wanted to serve a mission and become a nurse. I was preparing to serve a mission while enrolled in nursing school and decided one evening to attend an institute "ice cream social." While there, I noticed a seemingly shy returned missionary who had been home for only 24 hours. I felt compassion for him, filled a bowl with ice cream, approached him, and said, "Hi, I'm Shelley. Would you like some ice cream?"
ELDER BENNETT: When Shelley offered me that bowl of ice cream, I immediately fell in love—with the ice cream! I was, however, curious about this wonderfully confident, assertive, courageous, and beautiful young woman. Over the course of a few months, we became friends; in fact, we became best friends. I learned that Shelley knew who she really was, and her greatest desire was to return to live with her Heavenly Father.
As I studied the scriptures, pondered, and prayed, I realized that my best friend would make the very best eternal companion for me. After fasting, I knew that God approved of our being together forever. So I summoned the courage and asked Shelley to marry me. She smiled and then said, "NO—I promised God I would serve a mission."
I was crushed! How could I negotiate with that answer? Disappointed but not discouraged, I continued studying, praying, and fasting. Several weeks later, I again asked for her hand in marriage. This time she looked very touched, smiled, and after a long pause said, no—again. But I knew what I felt from the Spirit, and so after a few more weeks, I asked again. This time her answer was absolutely not!
SISTER BENNETT: Now, at no time was he overbearing or claiming to have received revelation for me. He was simply an undaunted returned missionary, and he knew I had to receive my own answer. So he actually did ask a fourth time, but this time he shared a general conference talk with me.
I smile today as I remember him showing me that talk, with the appropriate paragraph well highlighted! The message to me was that a young woman could choose to marry in the temple without feeling guilty about not serving a mission.
He also received a prompting I know was from the Holy Ghost and he followed it. He promised that if I would marry him, we would serve missions together after raising our family. With that promise, I said, "I'll think about it!"
As I read my scriptures and that talk, pondered, prayed, and fasted, I felt a sweet calm about accepting his proposal. I still had fears as our futures were very uncertain. I wasn't finished with university, and he had no education. He also had no job, no car, no home, and no money, and my mother thought he had no future! But faith ultimately overcame fear, and several days after his fourth proposal, I said yes.
I still felt determined to serve a mission, but marrying in the temple was a better decision—the best decision for me—and I trusted that we would eventually serve missions together. He has, by the way, kept that promise!

For example, let me give you a brief incident from a family history in Hawaii. It involves sacrifice and temple blessings and true eternal perspective.

In the early 1900s, a young father and his family joined the Church in Hawaii. He was enthused about his new-found religion, and after two years of membership both he and his eldest son held the priesthood. They prospered and enjoyed the fellowship of the little branch. They anxiously looked forward to being sealed as a family for eternity in the temple soon to be completed in Laie.

Then, as so often happens, a test crossed their path. One of their daughters became ill with an unknown disease and was taken away to a strange hospital. People in Hawaii were understandably wary of unknown diseases, as such diseases had wrought so much havoc there.

The concerned family went to church the next Sunday, looking forward to the strength and understanding they would receive from their fellow members. It was a small branch. This young father and his son very often took the responsibility for blessing and passing the sacrament. This was one such Sunday. They reverently broke the bread while the congregation sang the sacrament hymn. When the hymn was finished, the young father began to kneel to offer the sacrament prayer. Suddenly the branch president, realizing who was at the sacred table, sprang to his feet. He pointed his finger and cried, “Stop. You can’t touch the sacrament. Your daughter has an unknown disease. Leave immediately while someone else fixes new sacrament bread. We can’t have you here. Go.”

How would you react? What would you do?

The stunned father slowly stood up. He searchingly looked at the branch president, then at the congregation. Then, sensing the depth of anxiety and embarrassment from all, he motioned to his family and they quietly filed out of the chapel.

Not a word was said as, with faces to the ground, they moved along the dusty trail to their small home. The young son noticed the firmness in his father’s clenched fists and the tenseness of his set jaw. When they entered their home they all sat in a circle, and the father said, “We will be silent until I am ready to speak.” All sorts of thoughts went through the mind of this young boy. He envisioned his father coming up with many novel ways of getting revenge. Would they kill the branch president’s pigs, or burn his house, or join another church? He could hardly wait to see what would happen.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes—not a sound. He glanced at his father. His eyes were closed, his mouth was set, his fingers clenched, but no sound. Twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes—still nothing. Then he noticed a slight relaxing of his father’s hands, a small tremor on his father’s lips, then a barely perceptible sob. He looked at his father—tears were trickling down his cheeks from closed eyes. Soon he noticed his mother was crying also, then one child, then another, and soon the whole family.

Finally, the father opened his eyes, cleared his throat, and announced, “I am now ready to speak. Listen carefully.” He slowly turned to his wife and said, meaningfully, “I love you.” Then turning to each child, he told them individually, “I love you. I love all of you and I want us to be together, forever, as a family. And the only way that can be is for all of us to be good members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and be sealed by his holy priesthood in the temple. This is not the branch president’s church. It is the Church of Jesus Christ. We will not let any man or any amount of hurt or embarrassment or pride keep us from being together forever. Next Sunday we will go back to church. We will stay by ourselves until our daughter’s sickness is known, but we will go back.”

This great man had proper eternal perspective.

The daughter’s health problem was resolved; the family did go to the temple when it was completed. The children did remain faithful and were likewise sealed to their own families in the temple as time went on. Today over 100 souls in this family are active members of the Church and call their father, grandfather, and great-grandfather blessed because he kept his eyes on eternity, because he used his priesthood to bless his family, and because he recorded his feelings. How the heart of this father turned to his children, and how his children’s hearts turned to him.

As he grew older, however, Hal discovered a major difference between himself and his father.
Henry Eyring encouraged his sons to study physics and to prepare for a career in the sciences. Hal dutifully majored in physics at the University of Utah, but one day when he asked his father for help with a complex mathematical problem, it became apparent to Henry that Hal did not share his passion.
“My father was at a blackboard we kept in the basement,” President Eyring recalls. “Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hal,’ he said, ‘we were working at this same kind of problem a week ago. You don’t seem to understand it any better now than you did then. Haven’t you been working on it?’ ”
Hal said he had not. He then admitted to his father that physics was not something he constantly thought about. His father paused a moment and then, in tender words that released his son to pursue his own professional passion, he said, “You ought to find something that you love so much that when you don’t have to think about anything, that’s what you think about.”

His grandfather Tom, who lived just up the street and owned a number of properties on the block, was a favorite companion of his. He was named after his grandfather. Grandpa Tom, a man of few words, was a sheepherder and delighted young Tommy with stories of living on the range, riding his horse, and caring for his sheep. Little did Tommy know that he, too, would care for sheep in his adult years. Just not on horseback.
One day Tommy and grandpa were sitting on the front porch swing. Down the road came one of their neighbors, an elderly Englishman named Bob. He walked with shoulders slumped and a sorrowful cast on his face. Tom Condie called out, “Bob, how are you today.”
Bob just shook his head.
Tom continued, “Come up and sit with us a spell.”
Bob joined Tom and Tommy on the swing and after a few minutes, Grandpa Tom said, “So Bob, how are you doing.”
Bob just shrugged at first and then said, “I’ve been thrown out of my place; they’re tearing it down and I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have much. I don’t have any family and I don’t know what I am going to do.”
The three kept swinging. Grandpa Tom. Tommy and Bob.
Finally Grandpa Tom reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little leather change purse with a snap. He opened it and reached in and pulled out a key. “See this key,” he said to Bob? It’s to that house next door. I own it. I want you to take the key and move your things in there.”
Bob protested. “I can’t afford it.”
Tom said, a bit sharply, “I didn’t ask you to pay for it. It’s yours as long as you want to live there. All I ask is that you just be my good neighbor.”
President Monson will tell you, “That lesson was not lost on me.”

After his baptism, Jorge had to forgo many social customs associated with his budding banking career. At first he was the target of teasing and jokes from co-workers who were curious to see how long he could go without a drink or a cigarette. But Jorge remained faithful to his covenants, and his critics eventually became his greatest protectors from those who tried to pressure him into disregarding the Word of Wisdom.

It happened in Japan some fifty years ago-almost fifty-four or -five. I, my dear brothers and sisters (four kids), mom and dad-[we] were happy. They [were a] Buddhist family. War broke out. Father was called to serve. Two weeks before the war ended, he became sick and came home. [He] found no food in his home. [All the] workers [were] gone. He took young people, and boys and also older people to catch fish. By two [o' clock], his engine boats [had] caught a lot of fish. And they [were] heading to harbor and on the way-two weeks prior to the war ending-Americans and Marines bombed and killed these eight people except for one. A fourteen-year-old boy helping [catch fish], caught the debris and spent a day and a half to reach to the seashore. He told everything that [had] happened. This father left behind the four kids and of course the faithful wife and mother, who became poor.

The family [of] four, the boy, [the] third child, when he graduated from his junior high, [there was] no money to send [him] to senior high school. So he found a little tiny shop, a bean curd shop made with soy beans, [and started] working from 4 o'clock in the morning, making tofu. And [he] started selling in the morning for the breakfast, which everyone wanted. Then he would rest a little while and then make the tofu for the evening and rest, looking up at the stars. After 6, he changed, ate, and biked [to] the evening school. He came home at 10:30, and jumped into bed by 11.

One day he was found in a hospital bed, critically ill. His doctor could not diagnose anything. Brothers and sisters, [his] mother called, his big brother called, they said that they cannot make it; they could not help. Brothers and sisters, that night that little boy as a Buddhist boy, prayed, "God are you there? Buddha are you there?" No spirit, no angel, no lights-nothing.He fell asleep and next morning was very fresh; after few days he left hospital.

It was a Monday. Monday, [which was] missionary p-day, knocking doors p-day. They [were] knocking all day, however, no success. Then finally they decided to go home, but somehow, a young missionary from St. Anthony, Idaho, turned to [his] companion, "Can we knock few more doors?" They decided to knock a few doors.

[They] came to the little boy [who] was staying in the grandmother's home. [He had] left that tofu shop because he got sick. He saw Americans. He was told they came from America. The boy said, "You just go, I no like you guys. Americans, you kill my father".The missionary took [off his] gentleman hat, [the] young man from St. Anthony.

"How old are you, young man?" the young man said.

"I said leave."

My dear brothers and sisters, this young missionary [said], "We have a message for you. A message that your Heavenly Father came to a boy just like you and your Savior came to a boy just like you. We want to tell [you] a story." The boy froze, "I give you 10 minutes then."

Missionary walked in and taught that little boy. That missionary taught so beautifully, "I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head above the brightness of the sun." The missionary started crying, telling about the brightness of the sun "which descended gradually until it fell upon me... When the light rest upon me, I saw two personages, whose brightness and glory defy all descriptions...One of them spake unto me, calling me by name pointing to the other-This is my beloved Son, hear Him."[1]

You know what? That Japanese boy believed them. Embarrassed, [he] asked them to come back. Somehow [the] missionaries came back every day, [though they] almost didn't know where to go. [They] taught that little boy, my dear brothers and sisters. He wanted to be baptized, but he was too young and needed permission. [He] called [his] mother, "Mother I found a wonderful church. I want to join and be baptized. Two young men came from America." She hung up.

That missionary fasted and prayed and the boy did also. [The] next day he called, "Mother don't hang up. I've found a wonderful church. Please give me permission." Almost ten minutes back and forth, he was begging and she was pleading [him] not to. Finally, [his] wise mother said, "Son, you're too young to make a decision, but one condition, if you [do] not quit right in the middle, I'll let you join. Remember, don't you ever quit in middle." Missionaries took him the next day to biggest baptismal font, which [is] called [the] Pacific Ocean.

That young boy, that young boy was affected by the Sacred Grove [story] of Joseph Smith by [the] missionaries. My dear brothers and sisters, I have to sit down.

You may wonder who is that boy? Is that little boy still active in the Church? My dear brothers and sisters, I am, I am that little boy who said, "No thank you, go away." Thank God [for] missionary work. Now, I want to make straight-[the] gospel changed my nature. I love you. I love you beautiful American people.

In 1947 Elder Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, called my grandfather, James H. Walker, to be president of the Taylor stake in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. Until that time my grandmother, Fannye Walker, had served for many years as the stake Young Women president. She loved this assignment.

When Elder Benson extended the call to President Walker, he said that President Walker’s wife should not continue to serve as stake Young Women president so that she could support him in his responsibilities and so that others outside their family could have the opportunity to serve. Grandma was unhappy. She loved the young women, loved her calling, and wanted to continue to serve in that capacity.

Years later President Benson recounted the experience to me. He said, “Your grandmother was very disappointed when we released her. But the next time I saw her, she told me that she understood and accepted the need for her to be released.”

I had been much more comfortable last week when I first got this job and was helping Bert Godfrey lay a brick wall to replace an old wooden one that had burned down. How could I help but like that leather-faced but kind-hearted man who had served three missions, two of them building missions.

The company had hired me for ten days, mostly to help build that wall. But Bert and I had worked so well together that we had finished it in a week. He didn’t seem to mind that I was a bit clumsy and lacked experience. He knew I was trying and he knew why. He just kept talking to me about serving the Lord.

Bert hadn’t told me that the real boss was on vacation, and it had come as a surprise when I showed up for work the next Monday morning. So far, though, my strategy seemed to be working. Although I was earning more than I had ever earned before, I figured that if I worked so hard that I was worth still more than they were paying me, maybe the boss would feel he just couldn’t afford to let me go.

I looked again at the long I-beam rail with 13 steel legs extending from it like a giant comb with most of its teeth missing. It had long ago served as a bumper guard, preventing cars in the parking lot from hitting the adjacent building. It had been installed by digging 13 large holes in the ground in a straight line, spaced at eight-foot intervals. A steel post was cemented into each hole, and the connecting bumper rail welded to each post. Recently the entire rail had been removed by having two large “hysters” extract the whole thing in one piece, and it was lying in the driveway with each post encased in a barrel-sized cement block.
As I heard boots scuff the loose gravel on the asphalt pavement leading from the tool shop, I let loose a wild flurry of blows. I was glad that a few beads of sweat had formed on my forehead. “Here, try this,” the boss said as he handed me a heavier sledgehammer. That wasn’t quite the kind of help I had in mind.
I smiled as I traded him the smaller hammer, but I could tell that he sensed it wasn’t a completely honest smile. He watched me for a few minutes more, and then without further comment, turned away to supervise the crew working on the remodeling project in the steel fabrication plant.
“The only difference between the hammers is that this one is heavier and harder to lift,” I grumbled silently as the steel head collided with the stone-hard cement. Finally one small chunk broke off. After several more strokes my arms started to ache, but the cement still remained intact.
At this rate I knew it would take me three days to complete the job. I also knew that if I didn’t show substantial progress by noon, I’d be out of a job and back standing in the labor lines at the Employment Security Office taking any kind of work available. Three days of that had made me especially anxious to keep this job.
Besides, it was 1954, and thousands of striking workers with families to feed were looking for short-term, full-time employment. How was a 20-year-old youth going to compete with them for the few jobs available?
It took only a few more hard but unsuccessful strokes to persuade me that I had reached my limit and that it was time for me to treat the problem as one needing more strength and wisdom than I possessed.
Resting the heavy hammer on the ground and trying to compose my anger and frustration, I felt the need and desire to discuss the problem with the Lord. Without either kneeling or closing my eyes, I started praying aloud to the Lord and explaining the task I faced. In a conversational but sincere way I reminded him that I wasn’t asking for the money so I could buy a yellow convertible. He had called me on a mission, and I knew he wanted me to go. This job had already been an answer to my prayers, but I needed to keep it. I didn’t expect him to send a host of angels from heaven with sledgehammers, but I knew he could help me.
Never in my life has a prayer been answered more immediately or clearly. Suddenly my mind was filled with a thought so lucid and strong that my heart started pounding. It was a simple solution, as I later considered it. To brighter or more experienced minds it might have occurred earlier, but to me it came as a direct answer to my prayer.
The compelling instruction said to me, “Instead of striking the cement, strike the steel.”

Still not fathoming exactly why, I raised the hammer and brought it crashing down five or six times on the steel post right next to the cement. As a large section of the cement cracked into big chunks and fell off, I realized that the blows to the steel had started a series of strong vibrations that were transmitted all along the steel shaft.
I quickly forgot the weight of the hammer. With new energy I struck the steel again and again, then moved on to the next post, amazed at the magnification of my efforts as the steel vibrated and the cement cracked.
Less than two hours later I had removed the cement from all 13 posts and stacked the large chunks in a pile. With the sledgehammer on my shoulder and a prayer of gratitude in my heart, I went to find the boss.
“I’ll need some help moving the railing out of the driveway,” I said, trying to conceal the excitement I felt inside. Thinking I was giving up on the project, he motioned me to follow him to the parking lot.
As we rounded the corner of the building and he saw the railing and the pile of cement, he stopped quite suddenly. His eyes blinked and opened wide. His chin started to drop a bit. For a full minute he stood silently, looking first at the railing, then at the cement. After a moment more he turned, motioned me to follow him again, and said, “Come on, I’ll give you another job.”
Nothing more was said about the incident, but the following morning when I arrived for work, he simply said, “Lloyd, you’re welcome to stay on as long as you like.”
I worked there for nearly three months before entering the mission home. He then let me come back to work again for another ten days until I departed with my group for the mission field. Never after that memorable morning did he, in my presence, make a disparaging remark about the Church or my plans to serve a mission.
Many times since that day the Lord has helped me strike the steel instead of the cement in solving other problems. But as I departed for the mission field in late November 1954, I knew that I was called of the Lord. I knew that he was listening to my prayers. And I knew for myself that he would give no commandment save he would prepare a way for it to be accomplished.

It was going to be a surprise day for the Harmon children. No one knew where they were going or what they were going to do, except their dad. “Hurry! Get in the car,” he said.
“I’m first,” said Julia.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy.
“I’m last,” said Herman as he crawled over Cindy to get in the middle.
Dad started the car and they were on their way. The children looked around excitedly—all except Herman. He was looking at something on the floor of the car.
“What’s in these boxes, Dad?” asked Herman.
“They’re part of the surprise,” answered Dad. “Now, all of you close your eyes and don’t open them until you feel the car come to a stop.”
Everyone closed their eyes tightly. They could feel the car moving down the street and around a corner. Finally it slowed down and stopped. All of their eyes popped open. They looked around. “Oh, Dad, the zoo!” they shouted all together. And they tumbled out of the car and dashed to the turnstile at the zoo entrance.
“I’m first,” said Tony.
“I’m second,” said Julia.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” said Herman, running under the turnstile.
“What would you like for a treat?” asked Dad.
“Popcorn!” “Peanuts!” shouted the children.
Dad bought three sacks of popcorn and two bags of peanuts.
They munched and shared and listened while Dad told them about the many different animals they saw. When they had seen all there was to see, Dad took them back to the car.
Herman remembered the mysterious-looking boxes. So did Dad. He took the smaller box out of the car and put it on the ground. He took the lid off, and the children looked inside. They saw a brandnew yellow kickball. Dad took them across the street to the sunny park to play.
“I’m first,” said Cindy.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Julia.
“I’m last,” said Herman, skipping to the end of the line.
After they each had had several turns kicking the ball, Dad called them back to look in the other box. He put it on a bench while the children stood around and watched. He reached inside and took out potato salad, fried chicken, rolls, potato chips, and chocolate cupcakes.
“Hurray!” shouted the children. “We’re hungry.” Then they all hurried to sit around a picnic table. The children ate and ate until they could eat no more. Then they all helped clean up.
“It’s getting late,” said Dad. “We’d best be on our way home.”
Arriving home, Julia shot out of the car and shouted, “Last one in the house has a purple nose! And I’m first!”
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” laughed Herman, holding his “purple” nose.
They all hugged their mother and told her about the wonderful day they had had with Dad. Mother hugged them back and listened to each one of them tell about their day.
When they were through with their excited talking, Mother told them it was bedtime. “Get into your pajamas and get into bed.”
“I’m first,” said Julia, running upstairs.
“I’m second,” said Tony, running downstairs.
“I’m third,” said Jerry, running downstairs.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy, running upstairs.
“And I’m last,” sighed Herman happily, snuggling on Mother’s lap as she gently rocked him to sleep.

Faith in Sage’s future wasn’t easy. During those first terrible days, Michael and Denise faced the agonizing possibility that Sage would die. “We mourned for the Sage we had known,” they say, “and then we faced the challenge of accepting the new Sage. Spiritually and emotionally, we were healed as she was healed.”
The support from fellow Saints and neighbors was a vital part of that healing. Ruth DeBuck stayed with Denise those first few nights in the hospital. They lay on separate beds pulled together, their heads touching, holding hands.
“We talked through the night, working through the nightmare,” Ruth says. “We talked about what it would mean if Sage died, and what it would mean if she lived. All a mother feels and wants for her daughter had been suddenly ripped away, and Denise had to deal with that loss. Those first few days, we had to let the old dreams go, then dream new dreams.”
Ruth has seen those dreams blossom. “We see Sage some time in the future being married in the temple,” she says. “Some young man, kind and pure, who can see through the physical to her spiritual beauty, is with her. We see her with children of her own, living a life in the gospel, taking the joy offered, living beyong the burn.”

“I needed a personal second witness of Jesus Christ,” says Jodi Burr of Danville, Pennsylvania. “I wanted to know Christ. I had no doubt of his reality and atonement, but I wanted to come to a knowledge of him as a person and as a loving God. As I reread the Book of Mormon, no individual verse or story provided what I was looking for. However, my knowledge of Christ formed piece by piece as I studied about him in the various Book of Mormon settings.
“I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting, and my soul was flooded with the Holy Spirit as I received what I had longed for—a second witness of Jesus Christ. After church, one sentence kept repeating itself in my thoughts: ‘I know the Master; I know the Master.’ This testimony is priceless to me. What I was given that day was exactly what I had been searching for—‘and it came to pass’ through reading the Book of Mormon.”