Gospel Story Finder

On a typical afternoon in the later part of his life, Elder Richards was showing some youth of the Church through the Church Administration Building. They had come to a room lined with beautiful onyx marble. As he spoke to them, his speech became more rapid and his eyes brightened. He recalled the story of a nationally prominent man who had visited the building many years before. Elder Richards had been assigned to accompany the man and make him feel welcome. When they reached the onyx room, the visitor looked around at the craftsmanship, the obvious care, and the resultant splendor with which the early Saints had endowed that room in their headquarters. According to Elder Richards, the man said, “My, my, you Mormons seem to be a going concern.” And then Elder Richards answered, “Yes, sir, and would you like to know more?”

One of my favorite stories is the story of Lambert the Sheepish Lion. It became famous in a cartoon some years ago.
Lambert was a lion cub that had lived with a flock of sheep from the time he was born. Because of that, he thought he was a sheep. One spring night Lambert and the flock were sleeping peacefully. Suddenly Lambert heard the scary howl of a wolf in the distance. Because Lambert thought he was a sheep, he began to tremble.
The howl grew louder, and the wolf came closer and began dragging one of the sheep away. Suddenly Lambert felt a strong feeling inside that he had never felt before. Like lightning, he ran toward the wolf to save the sheep!
Just then Lambert realized something. “I am not a sheep. I am not the son of a sheep. I am the son of a lion!” Lambert thought. When he chased off the wolf and protected the sheep, he knew his true nature.

When Roger awoke he remembered it was a special day. He had circled March 20 on the big calendar in the kitchen and today was that day. Daddy had told him the small blue letters beside the number read, “First day of spring.”
Roger loved spring. He liked the warm sun on his cheeks. He liked the easy wind that didn’t blow up his sleeves and send shivers down his back. And he liked the soft, cool air that didn’t sting the inside of his nose.
Roger put on his slippers, raced down the stairs, and flung open the back door. Then he stopped suddenly; the air was frosty and cold. Snow covered the ground, and an icy wind whistled around the corner of the house and blew his pajamas against his legs. Roger shut the door.
“Today is the first day of spring,” Roger said to his mother who was working in the kitchen, “and it’s cold. Why is there still snow outside?”
Mother smiled and explained, “The calendar keeps track of the time it takes for the earth to tilt on its axis far enough toward the sun so that spring can begin. But it doesn’t happen overnight just because of a date on a calendar. Spring comes slowly.”
“Oh,” said Roger, disappointed.
Then Mother said, “Every day when you go out to play you can look for signs that tell us spring is coming, OK?”
“Even today?” asked Roger.
“Even today,” answered Mother, smiling.
After breakfast, when Roger was bundled up in his snowsuit, cap, boots, scarf, and mittens, he went outside to play. He rode his tricycle on the driveway, making tire tracks in the snow. Then he ran around in the backyard, making footprints in the snow. Just before he went into the house, he ran around to the front yard. Underneath the evergreens that grew in front of his house he spied bits of green poking up out of the ground. He bent down and with a mittened hand pushed the snow away. Bravely sprouting in the frozen ground were the crocuses he and his father had planted last autumn.
“Mother! Mother!” he shouted. “I found it! I found it!”
“Found what?” asked his mother, who had hurried out the front door, wiping her hands on a towel.
“The first sign of spring!” said Roger, pointing to the crocuses.
As the days became warmer Roger found more signs of spring. The crocuses blossomed, skunk cabbages bloomed down by the creek, there were raccoon tracks in the mud along the creek bank, and the pussy willow catkins pushed out of their hard brown hulls. There were even some days when the sun and air were warm and Roger wore only a lightweight jacket and cap outdoors. The robins returned and built a nest in the evergreen tree by the mailbox.
One day it rained and rained, and Roger had to stay inside the house. He pressed his nose against the window and watched the rain streaming down the glass. It rattled in the rain gutters and ran in little streams along the ground.
The next day was warm and sunny, and Roger found brown, pointed spring mushrooms growing under the trees in the backyard. The shrubs around the house were dressed in bright pink and yellow flowers, and the branches of the flowering quince tree were frosted with blooms. Roger reported each new sign of spring to his mother, for she enjoyed this magic season too.
One morning Roger woke up and saw the sun shining in a blue cloudless sky. He put on his warm sweater and baseball cap and went downstairs.
He ran out the back door, down the steps, and through the trees at the end of his backyard. Suddenly he stopped. A cottontail rabbit was hopping off through the trees. A spot on the ground in front of him moved ever so slightly. He bent down and rolled back a soft covering of fur and matted grass. In a small, saucer-shaped nest dug in the ground were four wriggling, lightly furred baby cottontails. Roger stared with wonder at the tiny babies, their eyes still tightly closed and softly whimpering as they tried to crawl under each other. Then he gently replaced the soft covering and walked slowly back to the house.
“Mother!” cried Roger, “I just found the best-of-all sign of spring. A nest of baby rabbits! The mother rabbit put her little babies in the ground so she knows it won’t get cold again. And that means spring is finally here!”

I was lounging in a comfortable living room chair reading a magazine when my four-year-old brother walked into the room, his arms overflowing with toys. Normally I would have told him to play in his room because he is too noisy and I would have to clean up after him. But since I knew he wouldn’t want to do that, I decided not to start a fight I probably wouldn’t win.
He deposited his toys in the middle of the floor and began to play, making appropriate noises for each of his stuffed animals as he picked them up. I laughed, to which he responded with a pouting lower lip.
“Come here, Blake,” I called to him, putting my magazine down. He climbed into my lap. I gave him a hug and said, “I love you,” unconsciously starting his favorite game.
“I love you more,” he insisted returning my hug.
“No way! I love you more!” I demanded squeezing him tighter.
He crawled down from my lap, “I love you this much,” he said stretching his arms out as far as they would go, grunting from the strain.
I stretched my arms out and said, “Well I love you this much,” which was more because my arms are nearly twice the length of his.
“I love you as much as this whole room.”
I came back with, “I love you as much as this house.”
“I love you as much as the whole world.”
“I love you as much as the whole universe!” I thought I had won because he doesn’t know what the universe is.
“I love you as much as Jesus,” he said surely.
I smiled. He had won. I knew I couldn’t beat that. I asked him to give me a kiss and he did, a nice slobbery one on my cheek that I quickly wiped away.
I was not surprised that he had thought of it and I hadn’t. It seems that many of us forget what Sunbeams seem to know so well—that Christ loves us.

Scripture and experience teaches us that where there is no vision, the people perish (Proverbs 29:18). Gertrude Ederle was a woman who knew the power of vision. Long before you were born she became the first woman to swim the English Channel, a feat accomplished in 1926. During her first attempt, after having swum 23 miles in eight hours, some of her support crew thought she was choking when in fact she was just coughing but it was too late, someone reached out and touched her and she was immediately disqualified. Did she give up? No, she planned a second attempt, trained hard and got right back into the water. Before the swim Gertrude was smeared with sheep grease in an attempt to keep out the cold channel sea and as she waded into the choppy water at a little after seven in the morning she quietly said, “Please, God, help me.” A car had been offered to the first woman to swim the 21 mile channel and Gertrude pictured herself driving that red convertible with its white side walled tires in the streets of New York. As she swam her support crew held up signs as the miles clicked by, which read, one wheel, and then two wheels and then a third. As this 20-year-old young woman swam, the tide turned, driving rains began to fall and mountainous waves rose up and for every three stokes forward she was carried back two. The sheep grease was soon gone and fatigue was taking its toll. At one point she rolled onto her back to rest and her support crew motioned to her that all was lost; the task could not be completed. As they reached to take her from the water she saw in her mind’s eye that red convertible and pulled away to swim again. She recounted that her arms felt as heavy as lead as she took one strength draining stroke after another until finally her feet touched the sandy shores of England. She had in fact swum no less than 35 miles that day in 14 hours and 30 minutes and what carried her to success? It was her vision that it could be done, the preparations she made, her work ethic and let us not forget her short but sincere prayer. Create your vision and then go to work with your tomorrow in mind. Whatever you decide to be in life, have the vision of being the very best at it and never give up that vision no matter how big the seas of opposition may become.

In addition to being an early witness of the Restoration, Lucy exercised faith that was undaunted by seemingly insurmountable circumstances. After the Church was organized in April 1830, persecution stagnated Church growth in New York while the number of members increased in neighboring Ohio. By winter, a revelation commanded the Church members to “go to the Ohio” and gather with the Saints there (Doctrine and Covenants 37:1).

Lucy and several dozen Saints responded to the command of the revelation and traveled by boat on the Erie Canal to Lake Erie, then crossed the lake to Ohio. When they arrived at the banks of Lake Erie, however, the water was frozen with no foreseeable passageway. Many Saints on board the boat began to complain. Lucy rebuked them, asking, “Where is your faith? Where is your confidence in God? … Suppose that all the Saints here should raise their hearts in prayer to God that the way might be opened before us, how easy it would be for Him to cause the ice to break away so that in a moment’s time we could be on our journey.”5

After testifying of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, Lucy pleaded with the Saints to pray for the ice to be broken up so they could continue their journey. In that moment, a noise “like bursting thunder” was heard and the ice parted, leaving a narrow passage for the boat that closed no sooner than the boat had passed.6 The Saints then held a prayer meeting to thank God for His deliverance.

When I was a child, my parents took me to church only occasionally. I was baptized and ordained a deacon, but attending church was not a big part of our lives. By the time I was 14, I wasn’t attending church at all. I was in the middle of yet another custody battle between my parents. When I moved in with my mom, I had no motivation to study, because I saw no purpose in my life. A lot of people stayed away from me in my new school because I wore black clothing and combat boots. My grades were terrible. That was the year I entered ninth grade.
One day I was visiting my grandma when she told me that if I would graduate from seminary, she would give me $100. For me that was a lot of money. I said I’d think about it.
When I went to my new school to register, the school counselor signed me up for three shop classes because other classes were full. I didn’t want to take shop, and then I remembered Grandma’s offer. Suddenly the idea of getting out of shop and getting $100 sounded pretty good. I signed up for released-time seminary. I went to class, but I sat in the back and participated as little as possible.
One day I got to seminary class late, and the only seat available was on the front row. I sat down and heard our teacher, Brother Peck, say, “I don’t know why, but I feel like we need to watch this today.”
We watched How Rare a Possession, a movie about how the Book of Mormon affected the lives of different people. As the movie ended and we got up to leave, something unexpected happened: I realized that I felt peaceful. It was such a foreign feeling that I wondered what it could mean. An impression came: I was feeling the Spirit. At that moment I knew the Book of Mormon was an inspired book.
I started going to church with some friends in our neighborhood. But then we moved and I stopped going.
In my new school I signed up for seminary. I began reading the scriptures daily. One night it hit me just how much my life needed changing. I had been learning about the gospel, but I hadn’t been living it. I was still hanging out with people who made it difficult to live righteously. I knew I had to get serious about changing my life. The next day I went and talked to Brother Porter, my seminary teacher. He told me when and where my ward met.
The next Sunday I went to church but sat down in the back of the chapel. It took a while to make friends because of my reputation, but I kept going each week because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. For my 15th birthday, my other grandma gave me a gift certificate for a haircut and some new clothes. A few days later I was ordained a teacher.
When general conference came, Brother Porter gave us an assignment to watch at least one session. I put off the assignment until Sunday morning. When the session started, I rolled over in my bed and turned on the TV. As I watched President Thomas S. Monson, then the Second Counselor in the First Presidency, talk about the history of the Church in the German Democratic Republic, I felt that same feeling of peace. I recognized it as the Spirit testifying that I was listening to prophets. That afternoon my mom and brothers went grocery shopping. I stayed home to watch another session.
By that point I had made two very important decisions: I would live the gospel, and I wanted to get married in the temple. But I wasn’t going to spend two years on a mission. Then our seminary teacher gave some lessons on missionary work. By the end of the week, I knew that going on a mission was the right thing to do.
I went to the bishop to get a recommend for my patriarchal blessing. Through that experience, I learned that God had a plan for my life. That knowledge helped me form my own plans for the future. My grades improved, and I started getting involved in clubs and activities at school. I was assigned to be a home teacher with a neighbor, who taught me about service and how a priesthood holder should live.
Despite the changes I made, my life wasn’t easy. In some ways it became more difficult. Going to church meant more conflicts with my family over the kinds of activities we engaged in on Sunday and the kinds of movies we watched. Most of the time I went to church by myself. I missed out on dinners, movies, and visits to amusement parks. But that was more than made up for by the Spirit I felt. The Holy Ghost comforted me in difficult times and taught me as I read the scriptures.
When I graduated from high school and seminary, my grandma gave me the promised check for $100. I thanked her and told her I didn’t want it, but she insisted. The testimony I had gained of a loving Heavenly Father, the Savior, the Holy Ghost, the restored Church, and prophets who lead us today was worth far more than any amount of money.

One Saturday afternoon I decided to study the Sunday School lesson for the next day’s class. It was on miracles. “If ever we needed a miracle, it is now,” I thought. My mother was a widow, and our family was going through a difficult time financially.
Ever since my sisters and I were little girls, we had devoted ourselves to the art of horsehair weaving. We would wash the horsehair, color it with dyes, and then weave it hair by hair into shapes such as butterflies, mice, and copihues (the national flower of Chile). It is very fine work and unique to our country. All winter long we would weave, and in the summer we would sell our work at art fairs.
The national economy was depressed that year and greatly affected our business. In the past a major source of our income had been an art fair in Temuco, a tourist town in southern Chile. But that year we had not been invited. We had even called the fair’s organizers, but they refused to give us a booth. We worried about how this loss of income would affect us.
But as I studied the Sunday School lesson that afternoon, my attitude changed completely. First I read Mormon 9:19: “[God] ceaseth not to be God, and is a God of miracles.” This promise lifted my spirits. Then as I read verse 21, I felt even better: “I say unto you that whoso believeth in Christ, doubting nothing, whatsoever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ it shall be granted him.”
I thought about the miracle my family needed, and I decided to travel the four hours to Temuco to plead our case.
When I arrived at the office of culture, I was discouraged to see many other people there to make the same request and to learn that all these people had been told no. Still I felt the Lord was with me.
When my turn came to speak to the man in charge, he bluntly told me there was only a remote possibility we could have a booth but that a final decision could not be made yet. I explained that a booth would mean bread for my mother during the winter months, but I felt as if I were talking to a wall. Then without thinking, I told him I believed in miracles and left his office.
I called my husband and asked him to fast with me. My mind constantly reverted to the words of the Sunday School lesson: “[God] is a God of miracles.” I needed a miracle—now.
I waited for six hours at the office of culture, feeling greater anguish with each passing minute. Finally I saw craftspeople arriving from every corner of Chile and also from other countries. The fair was starting. With a lump in my throat, I prayed, “Thy will be done.” Suddenly a feeling of peace overcame me, and I decided to talk one more time to the man in charge.
When I entered his office, I could see his attitude had changed. He courteously told me I could have a booth. Once again I told him I believed in miracles.
We made the money we needed at the fair, and I learned for myself that God continues to work miracles today. My faith grows each day because of all He gives me.

While lining up to return to class, a classmate found a CTR ring on the ground. He asked if anyone wanted it. I knew what CTR stood for and wanted to keep the ring. I wore it for the rest of the day. At home, I told my mom what happened. I thought she’d be excited for me. I was surprised when she said I should return it to the lost and found. She said it wasn’t my ring and someone might be looking for it. I didn’t want to give up the ring. Later that night, I said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. The next day at school I put the ring in the lost and found. I felt really good inside.

Growing up in the Church, Sundays tended to feel tedious and monotonous. It was rare for me as a kid to actually listen to what was being said. Maybe that’s why it’s so interesting to me that to this day I remember a single line from a talk I heard when I was Primary age.
At the time I was sitting in sacrament meeting, wondering why I had to be at church every single week. Then the speaker said, “Sunday shouldn’t get in the way of our lives, Sunday should be the center of our lives.” At the time that idea was so different from what I’d always thought that I wasn’t really able to understand what it meant. Even so, I could tell it was important.
In Primary we learned that we came to church to take the sacrament. I figured these two things were related, but I could never figure out how. I didn’t think too much about the sacrament. It was just something I did, and it didn’t have any meaning to me. Throughout the years, though, those two ideas stayed with me. I knew I was missing something.
Years later, in junior high, I found myself in a hard situation. I had a bad habit I was trying to get rid of. I knew it wasn’t so serious that I had to talk to my bishop, but it was still really bothering me.
I was embarrassed and didn’t want to ask anyone for help. Not even my parents. Not even Heavenly Father. I determined I could overcome this challenge on my own.
Weeks went by. I tried so hard to be better but without result. I was still struggling. I knew the Sabbath should be the focus of my week because of the sacrament. I had also been taught that the sacrament was a tool I could use to access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
After trying and failing for so long, I finally decided to turn to the Lord. At last I set aside my pride, opened my heart, and prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked for help, strength, and forgiveness. I stopped waiting for change to happen to me and started focusing on taking small steps toward improvement, with faith that the Lord would bless my efforts.
For the first time I focused on preparing for the sacrament all through the week. The sacrament became something I looked forward to. I began to see it as an opportunity rather than a routine because it brought the power of the Savior’s Atonement into my life.
I felt change in my life. The things I was struggling with faded. I became more confident in myself. I was able to open up to my parents and seek more assistance. I felt grateful to the Lord for all of the help I had received. I felt forgiven. I felt clean.
I grew to understand what that speaker meant all those years ago. When I centered my life around being ready for the Sabbath, I came closer to Jesus Christ in a way that purified me and made me stronger.
Through prayer and guidance from Heavenly Father, I learned that I could not walk through this life alone, but that the Savior and Heavenly Father truly had to be a part of my life. I learned that when I spent my whole week preparing to partake of the sacrament, I was better able to fully access the power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I learned that Heavenly Father loves us and has created a way for us to be forgiven and receive blessings, but we need to do our part to make it more meaningful. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for all that He has done for me and continues to do for me when I remember to prepare for the Sabbath.

After I had been baptized, I began accepting many calls to serve. My favorite calling was branch missionary. One special investigator, Brother Takezaki, opened my vision of God in an exceptionally transformative way. He was seeking God keenly and was overjoyed to learn of the saving ordinances of the temple for our beloved deceased. He became excited about the prospect of receiving baptism himself and then having his deceased mother receive baptism someday in the Tokyo temple. One well-intentioned but misguided sister in our branch discouraged his excitement for his mother to receive baptism because his mother had committed suicide. The light in his soul seemed to expire, and he stopped pursuing baptism for himself.
I was heartbroken for Brother Takezaki and for the eternal status of his beloved mother, and my own soul became troubled. I prayed for him and for his mother and searched for answers for my troubled soul every day for two years. My prayerful search eventually led me to a special feature article on this precise topic, entitled “Suicide: Some Things We Know, and Some We Do Not.” In this magazine article, Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke in detail about suicide. He quoted another apostle, the late Elder Bruce R. McConkie, on the topic:
Suicide consists in the voluntary and intentional taking of one’s own life, particularly where the person involved is accountable and has a sound mind. . . . Persons subject to great stresses may lose control of themselves and become mentally clouded to the point that they are no longer accountable for their acts. Such are not to be condemned for taking their own lives. It should also be remembered that judgment is the Lord’s; he knows the thoughts, intents, and abilities of men; and he in his infinite wisdom will make all things right in due course. [MD, s.v. “suicide,” 771; quoted in Ballard, “Suicide,” Ensign, October 1987]
As Elder Ballard said in the title of his article, some things we know, and some we do not. Therefore, I have learned that practicing mercy, while withholding judgment and criticism of others, is the best way for me to serve others and be close to God. This experience was my first personal encounter with mental illness.

As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.

On my mission in the Netherlands forty years ago I had an experience that has always stayed with me. Our mission rule was to contact people until 9:30 pm. One night we had a discussion that went until about 8:45. We had no other appointments, and it was a bit late to be knocking on doors, and we were very near the apartment of a man we knew who had served in World War II with American soldiers. He had no interest in the Gospel, but did love to practice his English, which was full of salty soldier slang. My companion and I decided to drop by and see if his interest had changed, but when we stood in front of his door we looked at each other and shook our heads: no, we would rather knock on doors than be immersed in a flood of profanity. Now having the desire to knock on doors was a rare thing, since in my mission at that time we could do that twelve hours a day without being invited in. But knocking was our desire. So we knocked on the next door over. Nobody home. Next door: someone who only spoke Turkish. Next door: nobody home. Next door a man named André opened up. We started to introduce ourselves and before we could get the words out, he invited us in. He asked us how we knew. Knew what, we asked? That he had recently gone to the public library and checked out a copy of the Book of Mormon. We had a great discussion with him that night and many more, but I was transferred and never learned how things turned out.

This event was a miracle. What are the odds in a city of over one hundred thousand people of finding the person who just checked out a book? To us it was already a miracle that someone was interested in the church on their own—that never happened! It was a tough mission with lots of rejection every day. But the lesson was this: we clearly were sent to André. But how? We didn’t feel any promptings. We had no clue of the overall plan. We just desired to do the work instead of wasting time. Our desire was the medium God used to take us where he wanted us. It’s possible if we didn’t desire to work we never would have met this man and history would be different. Breastplates and faith are hard to tell apart!

One Sunday morning some 30 years ago, while I was serving in a stake presidency, we received a telephone call from one of our faithful bishops. He explained that his ward had grown so rapidly that he could no longer provide a meaningful calling to all worthy members. His plea to us was that we divide the ward. While waiting for such approval, we decided as a stake presidency that we would visit the ward and call all these wonderful, worthy brothers and sisters to be stake missionaries.
About the third person I visited was a young female student attending the local university. After chatting for a few moments, I issued the call to serve as a missionary. There was silence for a few moments. Then she said, “President, don’t you know that I am not active in the Church?”
After a few moments of silence on my part, I said, “No, I did not know you were not active.”
She answered, “I have not been active in the Church for years.” Then she said, “Don’t you know that when you have been inactive, it’s not all that easy to come back?”
I responded, “No. Your ward starts at 9:00 a.m. You come into the chapel, and you are with us.”
She answered, “No, it is not that easy. You worry about a lot of things. You worry if someone will greet you or if you will sit alone and unnoticed during the meetings. And you worry about whether you will be accepted and who your new friends will be.”
With tears rolling down her cheeks, she continued, “I know that my mother and father have been praying for me for years to bring me back into the Church.” Then after a moment of silence, she said, “For the last three months I have been praying to find the courage, the strength, and the way to come back into activity.” Then she asked, “President, do you suppose this calling could be an answer to those prayers?”
My eyes started to water as I responded, “I believe the Lord has answered your prayers.”
She not only accepted the call; she became a fine missionary. And I’m certain she brought much joy not only to herself but also to her parents and probably other family members.

We are all struggling and broken in some fashion. We are vulnerable, embarrassed, disappointed, discouraged, weary, insecure, lonely, afraid. Our weaknesses, imperfections, and challenges can easily overwhelm and consume us. We hesitate all too often to reach out and be deeply seen by others. Perhaps this simple story will illustrate this point.
When Carter was in first grade, he and his buddies were out in our backyard jumping on the trampoline. He slipped as he jumped off and came down hard on his arm. Needless to say, he broke it. Not just a little fracture, but a major break. As we headed into the emergency room, he would only let his dad touch his arm. I ended up carrying him, and his dad carefully held a pillow under Carter’s floppy little arm. During our short drive to town, I mentioned that we better call Grandma and tell her what had happened. He just groaned, “Don’t do that. She’ll just worry about me.” I explained that if we told her, then she could pray for him. I will never forget his sweet testimony as he responded emphatically, “Well, then tell everyone!” He understood at that young age that there is power that comes when people pray for you, trusting that God will hear and answer those prayers. As we seek help from the Savior to heal and change us through prayer, fasting, scripture study, worshipping in the temple, and asking for priesthood blessings, may we also invite those we trust into our story to love us, care for us, and pray for us when we are down and broken.

As an exercise, I ask students to keep journals taking note of their spiritual impressions—when and how they occur and how they respond. One student, Moe Graviet, gave me permission to share a portion of her journal. She recorded a set of spiritual impressions she had received shortly before a large assignment was due in another class. She was visiting her family and woke up in the morning eager to get to work but felt distinct spiritual impressions to do things a little differently: to go back to sleep and get a little more rest, to take time to pray and read her scriptures, and to spend time with her family. As the day progressed, she began to worry: If these were spiritual impressions she was receiving, did the Spirit want her to get a bad grade on her big assignment? Was the Lord trying to humble her? I quote here from her account:

I determined whether an impression was coming from the Spirit based on whether it felt peaceful or led in the way of peace. So when my sister wanted to go for a run, I went. When my mom needed help in the basement, I helped—and I wondered how in the world I was going to get my assignment done. But I kept feeling an extraordinary, counterintuitive peace—like the Lord was showing me how I could live life in a state of calm instead of panic. Of course, by the end of the day, the Lord blessed my mind with ideas and energy to get done all I needed to. In reflecting on this experience, I began to wonder if this is what it’s like to actually live under the influence of the Spirit—to live calmly, doing the right things at the right moments, and getting things done with joy and peace instead of stress. And I honestly began to wonder if I had done it all wrong these last four years of college and what things would have been like if I had been intentionally living each day like this. I wondered if I could have saved myself a lot of stress and hopelessness and why I didn’t trust the whole time.

Father’s Day was coming and I didn’t have a clue what to give my dad. What could he need that he didn’t already have? I decided I had to become a detective to find out.
When Dad came home from work, I was ready. I had a small notebook and pencil to write down clues. I listened carefully and watched closely everything that happened.
First, my dad walked in the door and said, “I’m home.” My mom said, “Welcome home, dear,” and gave him a kiss. Then Dad put his briefcase down by the bookcase. He took some coins and keys from his pockets, and put them on a shelf. Then he took off his coat and tie and hung them in his closet. He rolled up his sleeves and washed up for dinner.
After dinner, Dad cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then he read the newspaper and listened to music. After family prayer I went to bed, still clueless about what my dad needed.
The next morning I decided to try again. I got out my notebook and watched. It wasn’t long before I finally had the clue I’d been looking for.
First, Dad came into the kitchen tying his tie. He said, “Good morning, everyone,” and took a sip of orange juice. “I’ve got to hurry today,” he said. He was putting the coins back in his pocket when he stopped and looked around.
“Have you seen my keys?” he asked me.
I jumped up and found them on the floor near the bookcase.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Lucky for me you have such sharp eyes.”
He waved good-bye, and I returned his wave with a big grin. I was happy because now I knew exactly what to make my dad for Father’s Day.
I asked my mom for a clean, empty tin can with the top removed. She made sure there were no sharp edges. I covered the outside of the can with gold paper. From some old magazines I cut out pictures of things that had to do with money and keys—a piggy bank, a treasure chest, a door lock, and a sports car. I glued the pictures onto the gold paper. My mom then sprayed the can with a clear sealant. While I waited for the can to dry so I could wrap it, I made a card for my dad with a drawing of a detective on it.
On Father’s Day, when Dad opened my gift, he looked confused. “This is a very pretty tin can,” he said.
“It’s for your extra coins,” I pointed out. “And so you don’t lose your keys anymore.”
Dad’s eyes lit up and he smiled broadly. Right then and there he got up and put the can on the bookshelf. “Perfect,” he said as he dropped his coins and keys in with a clatter. “How did you know this was exactly what I needed?”
I just smiled.
My dad used that tin can every day after that. Whenever I heard the familiar clatter of coins and keys, I felt happy inside. That sound meant my dad was home. And I felt a surge of love for him, knowing that I had been able to give him something he really needed. All I had to do was open my eyes and look for the clues.

One day Heber J. Grant was playing marbles with some friends when a bookkeeper from the bank walked by.
Friend 1: That man makes a lot of money.
Heber: How much?
Friend 1: As much as you would earn polishing 120 pairs of boots every single day.
Heber knew he wanted to be able to make a living when he was older.
Heber: Someday I’ll be a bookkeeper at the bank, too!
Friend 2: You’d better learn how to write. Your writing looks like lightning struck the ink bottle.
Friend 1: It’s worse than hen tracks!
Heber worked on his handwriting until it was beautiful.
To earn money, he wrote greeting cards, wedding cards, and legal documents. He was offered a large amount of money to be a professional penman in the state of California, but he didn’t take the job.
Eventually, Heber reached his goal of working at the bank. He also became a penmanship teacher at a university.

I love how President N. Eldon Tanner’s father taught him during family prayer. President Tanner said this:

“I remember one evening when we were kneeling in family prayer, my father said to the Lord, ‘Eldon did something today he shouldn’t have done; he’s sorry, and if you will forgive him, he won’t do it anymore.’

“That made me determined not to do it anymore—much more than a trouncing would have done.”

Michael’s older brother Isaac says completing the goals he has set in the program has strengthened him spiritually. When Isaac was a teacher, he was the only active member in his quorum. Duty to God has not only helped him; it has also provided opportunities for him to get the three quorum members who didn’t attend regularly to come to some activities, and one of them has attended church.
“I tried to visit the others and invite them to come to church,” Isaac says. “That was my duty to God.”