Gospel Story Finder

Thirty years ago a colleague and I were asked to read through, analyze, and look for patterns in a massive amount of anti-Mormon propaganda. It was drudgery. It was laborious. It carried a bitter and draining spirit, and consequently I had to just push my way through it to complete the assignment. After a period of addressing certain questions, my partner shook his head and indicated that the constant barrage of issue after issue was simply wearing him down, and that he wasn't sure he could stick with it. I suggested that we were almost done, that a few more hours of work would enable us to make our report. He stared at me for a moment and asked: "This isn't damaging to you, is it? I mean, you don't seem to be very upset by what we are reading." I assured my friend that there were obviously other things I would rather be doing, and that the hateful and contentious spirit did in fact weigh on me, but no, I wasn't particularly bothered by it. "Why?" he followed up. "I can't say for sure," I responded. "It's ugly but doesn't really affect my faith."

After I graduated from college, served a mission, and got married, my wife and I moved to the eastern United States, where I found a job. Through a series of what I now see as unusual experiences, I was interviewed to have a job as an engineer in a new and exciting activity: the design and development of nuclear power plants for submarines. As I look back, it should have been virtually impossible for me to get that job. There were more experienced people applying for it. It just worked out that the Lord helped me.

“And now I’d like to end my talk with my testimony,” the speaker in sacrament meeting was saying. Sarah and her younger sister, Beth, were sitting with their family near the back of the chapel. Dad leaned forward on the bench and eyed a clear warning to both of them. They weren’t being bad or noisy, but Dad knew what was coming—the family was sitting right in front of Brother Smith.
The speaker finished, “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Sarah bit her lip and closed her eyes in anticipation. Then she heard it—everyone in the whole county must have heard it—Brother Smith added his “AMEN!”
Sarah tried not to giggle, but when Beth started to, she couldn’t help it. Dad rolled his eyes, and Sarah felt bad. She knew that they shouldn’t giggle in church. “It’s Brother Smith’s fault,” she mouthed to her father while she tried to calm Beth down.
Everyone in the ward said “Amen” after a prayer or talk, but everyone else said it quietly, almost to themselves. Brother Smith belted it out as if he were at a football game.
“He is older,” Dad had explained before. “He doesn’t hear very well.” Sarah knew that people who are hard of hearing often shout. But still, when Brother Smith said “amen,” she was sure even people driving by could hear it.
After church, when the family was riding home, Sarah expected another lecture from her father about reverence. But he didn’t say anything.
Beth broke her silence, “Sorry I laughed again, Daddy.”
Sarah poked her leg and frowned at her for bringing it up, but Dad just said, “After lunch I have something I want to show you girls.”
When the family had eaten, Dad took the two girls into his study. “This is something that belonged to your great-grandfather,” he said, pulling a fist-size metal object out of a box.
“What is it?” Sarah asked. “It looks like a clamp.”
“It’s a seal.” Dad pulled out a sheet of typing paper from his desk and placed the paper between the seal’s two round plates. Using both hands, he squeezed the handles together, then released them and pulled the paper out. “See the imprint it leaves on the paper?”
The girls looked at the intricate design and fancy writing embossed on the paper. “Cool!” Sarah exclaimed. “May I try it?”
“Sure.” Dad smiled and got out another sheet of paper. “Great-grandfather was a very important man in the town where he lived. He was a leader, and people trusted him. This seal was his very own; there were no others like it.”
Sarah pushed the handles together this time, then both girls rubbed the texture now on the paper with their fingertips.
“That’s the way Great-Grandpa sent important messages to others,” Dad told them. “He put his seal on the messages, and the people getting them knew without a doubt that the messages were really from him. You see, if people got married or did things that needed a witness, Great-Grandpa used his seal. People everywhere knew that if his seal was on something, it was true.”
“Wow!” Beth said.
“That’s awesome!” Sarah added.
Dad looked at them. “You mean you wouldn’t laugh at Great-Grandpa’s seal?”
“No way,” Sarah said. “It’s an important thing.”
“Yeah, no way,” Beth agreed.
Dad smiled. “Now, did you know that the word amen is also a seal?”
Sarah had known that something like this was coming. Dad made a lesson out of everything. She waited for him to continue.
“Well, that’s what it is—our own personal seal that we put on ordinances, testimonies, prayers, and talks. It means that we know we have done or said or heard something true. Saying ‘amen’ is our seal that tells everyone that we agree and approve.
“Now,” he said, easing the tension, “who wants to use Great-Grandpa’s seal on some of her things?”
“I do! I do!” both girls squealed happily.
All that week Sarah put Great-Grandpa’s seal on the first pages of all her books and everything else she could find. She made special note cards for her friends and even put a seal in her journal.
The following Sunday, Sarah’s family got to church a little late. Dad found a half-empty bench near the back of the chapel, and they sat down just as everyone was bowing his head for the prayer.
In the prayer, Sister Carter said, “We thank Thee for this beautiful day …” As Sarah listened carefully, she thought of Great-Grandpa’s seal. Would she put her seal on these words? “We are grateful for this chapel to meet in,” Sister Carter was saying now. Could Sarah witness that these words were true? “And please bless the prophet and the missionaries.” Did Sarah approve? Did she agree? Sister Carter ended her prayer, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Picturing herself stamping Great-Grandpa’s seal on Sister Carter’s prayer, Sarah said right out loud, “Amen,” just as she heard Brother Smith’s bellowed “AMEN!”
Sarah didn’t laugh. Beth didn’t laugh, either. Dad patted them approvingly. Sarah moved closer to him and whispered, “It’s just his seal, Dad—his BIG seal.”

Sister Anita Richardson, now 80 years old, is a devoted and faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints from the island of St. Martin in the Caribbean Sea. She joined the Church in 1989. Her story of discovering the Church is remarkable, full of faith, and a powerful example of listening to the Spirit.
Before Anita was a member, she worked at a hotel for 23 years. As a dedicated employee, she earned a month-long vacation every five years. One year she decided to dedicate her vacation to coming closer to Christ by fasting, reading her scriptures, and praying. She planned carefully, visiting her friends and family beforehand, setting up a mattress on the floor, and arranging everything she thought she would need by her bed. She was now prepared.
However, on the first morning of her dedicated time, Anita realized she had forgotten to pay her power bill. She got up early the next morning and headed to the bus stop to take care of it. As she was about to board the bus, she suddenly heard a voice say, “Don’t get on the bus.”
Startled, she turned around but saw no one. She heard the voice again, “Don’t get on this bus.” The bus driver, impatient, asked if she was getting on. Still unsure why, she decided not to.
Then the voice prompted her to walk to a nearby store. This was even more confusing because she had not intended to buy anything and had not brought any money with her. She stood outside, waiting and wondering why she had been brought there. She began to argue with herself, questioning if she was imagining things. Then the voice spoke again, directing her to cross the street.
Feeling bewildered but obedient, Anita crossed the street. She noticed a store owner opening his shop, who invited her in, saying, “I have nice new things.” Anita declined and continued walking. Standing on the other side of the street, she noticed two young men with backpacks. The voice prompted her to go over and talk to them. At first, Anita resisted. Approaching strangers wasn’t something she was comfortable with, and she didn’t feel she had anything to say. But the prompting intensified, and summoning her courage, she approached them and said, “Good morning. What is your mission, and what are you doing?”
The young men introduced themselves as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. At first, Anita was wary. At the time, there were concerns in the Caribbean about cults, and Anita wondered if these young men might be part of something similar. She rudely snatched a book one of the missionaries held, the Book of Mormon. As she flipped through its pages, she grew more agitated.
“Who is this Lehi?” she said. “We don’t have those names in the Bible.” As she read more, Anita’s suspicion grew. She declared the book a “copycat” and criticized it openly. While arguing, she heard a voice telling her to “Slow down. Slow down.” On the cover she saw the words “Another Testament of Jesus Christ.” Could this really be a second witness of Christ? She recalled scriptures about God revealing His word through multiple witnesses and remembered stories of ancient records hidden for future generations. Her heart softened as she began to wonder if this book was part of God’s plan to teach His children. Slowly, her heart began to soften. She asked the missionaries, “Will you sell me this book?”
The missionaries smiled and said, “We don’t sell it, but we’d love to study it with you.”
She read the Book of Mormon, and over the next few weeks, Anita met with the missionaries regularly. “I knew Heavenly Father wanted to teach me something,” said Anita. “It was really something. I read it so fast. I met with the missionaries once or twice a week because it was so interesting.” The missionaries patiently answered her questions using the Book of Mormon, and for the first time, Anita felt satisfied. She realized that this book contained truths she had been seeking for years.
It didn’t take her long to decide to be baptized. “The missionaries told me to ask the Lord,” she recalls. She told them, “I don’t need to ask the Lord; it’s clear to me.”
Looking back on her journey, Anita recognized how the Spirit guided her every step of the way, from the moment she was told not to board the bus to her first encounter with the missionaries. Her faith has blessed her life and the lives of those around her. She continues to serve and inspire others, always ready to share her testimony of how God led her to the truth.

Here is another trial. There have always been a few who want to discredit the Church and to destroy faith. Today they use the Internet.
Some of the information about the Church, no matter how convincing, is just not true. In 1985, I remember a colleague walking into my business office in Florida. He had a Time magazine article entitled “Challenging Mormonism’s Roots.” It spoke of a recently discovered letter, supposedly written by Martin Harris, that conflicted with Joseph Smith’s account of finding the Book of Mormon plates.19
My colleague asked if this new information would destroy the Mormon Church. The article quoted a man who said he was leaving the Church over the document. Later, others reportedly left the Church.20 I’m sure it was a trial of their faith.
A few months later, experts discovered (and the forger confessed) that the letter was a complete fraud. I remember really hoping that those who had left the Church because of this deception would find their way back.

A. Background
In regard to our relationship with God, which is the second fundamental principle that we will consider here today, I refer to one false doctrine, the doctrine of predestination, that should be sufficient for our purposes. This doctrine was expanded upon by the fifth-century Christian theologian Augustine of Hippo and has governed mainstream Christianity for many centuries. According to predestination, the destiny of any soul is predetermined by God,before any act, good or evil, has been committed by any man or woman.8

I will only say here that there is a terrible logic to a belief in a God who prejudges us, even when His judgment is always perfect. There is also the depressing arithmetic of a teaching that holds that nothing we do, or ever will do in the future, will influence God’s grace or deflect His justice: we are thereby left with our final fate fixed, because of God’s prejudgment of us. Any thoughtful believer will readily discern the self-defeating potential of this incorrect doctrine of predestination, as well as the hopelessness it could produce in individuals. It is therefore not surprising that much of mankind over the ages have approached God with great fear and trepidation.

In this regard I refer to the well-known example of Martin Luther, the great reformer. When he was a young man, before he had embarked on the ministry as a monk and some years before his work as a reformer, he had two experiences that greatly affected him. The first of these events occurred in 1503, when a dagger pierced his leg, rupturing an artery, which could have caused him an untimely death. The second event occurred two years later, in 1505. He was caught in a heavy thunderstorm that was so violent that he felt sure he was not going to survive. It was this latter event, in fact, which caused Luther to promise that he would become a monk if his life were spared. However, the most telling part in both of these life-threatening events was that Luther, when in fear of his life, did not once call upon the Lord for help. Instead, and from the Latter-day Saint point of view, quite surprisingly, he called upon two venerated saints for help. In the first instance, when his leg was injured, he implored Mary, the mortal mother of the Savior, to help him. In the second event, during the terrifying thunderstorm, he turned his calls for help to Saint Anne, who is believed to have been the mother of this same Mary. In later years Luther regretted his behavior for not calling upon the Lord during these situations.9

One possible reason for a good man like Martin Luther not to have turned to His Heavenly Father is found in what he said at one time: “If I could believe that God was not angry at me, I would stand on my head for joy.”10 We should also remember that Martin Luther was not unique in these views; in fact, they were typical in a society in which man feared God and stood in terror of Christ as our judge.11

Eighteen-year-old Tam Sun-wan lives in Hong Kong. Four years ago he joined the Church after he was “tracted up” by missionaries. Today he has a strong testimony of home teaching.
It was through the home teachers that Sun-wan was reactivated. Shortly after his baptism, he stopped attending his meetings; now he recognizes he “wouldn’t be active in the Church today if it weren’t for home teachers.” The follow-through concern of what Sun-wan calls “good members” helped him accept the responsibilities that Church membership entails.

Three years later I went to Rome, Italy, to visit my uncle. He kept telling me about this church he went to. One Sunday, he took me with him. I will always remember walking toward the church’s doors for the first time and feeling the love of Heavenly Father when I went in. It felt like home.

I started going to church every single Sunday and to every activity during the week. I loved being with the youth of the Church. They made me happier. They thought and believed in the same things that I did. Then, after three months, my summer holiday finished and I had to go back to Albania.

When I returned home, I told my dad about the feelings I had had and how happy I had felt during all that time. He didn’t like it. He told me he wouldn’t allow me to continue to go to church or learn more about it. So I would have to be patient for the next three years until I turned 18 years old. Then I could decide for myself and get baptized.

During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She had been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.

Even though we had never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.

Finally, after years of being patient, I was baptized just two days after my 18th birthday. And soon I will share with my mother the happiness I felt that day, because I will be baptized for her. I know she will be proud of the life I have chosen.

I feel blessed by Heavenly Father because He was with me during my entire journey in so many ways. I just had to wait and be patient because He had a plan for me. He’s the one who gave me strength to go through all the challenges I faced. He was always there, helping me be happier.

“I’m ready!” six-year-old Nathan called to his nine-year-old brother, Matthew. Mom had just called them to do their dinner chores, so this would be the last shot on goal.
Matthew was bigger and faster than Nathan and a really good soccer player. But Nathan was getting to be a pretty good goalie. Only one ball had been kicked past him today, and that one barely brushed off his fingertips and rolled just inside the tree. Even Matthew said he was playing well.
Most days, Matthew scored a lot of points on him, so Nathan was happy that he was doing so well today. He knew why, too. Before leaving the house, he had prayed that he would play well. Just before Matthew fired the next shot, Nathan closed his eyes and said another quick prayer. “Heavenly Father, please let me stop this shot. Don’t let Matthew score. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Matthew dribbled to the right and faked a kick. When Nathan went to his knees to block the shot, Matthew quickly turned, dribbled around Nathan, and kicked. Nathan tried to reach over, but it was too late. Matthew had scored.
“Yes! Yes! Yahoooo!” Matthew yelled.
Nathan stomped his foot and ran toward the house, crying.
Mom heard Nathan slam the front door and run downstairs to his room. Soon Matthew came strolling in. “What happened to Nathan?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know. I just kicked a goal, and he started crying.”
Mom started Matthew on his dinner chores, then went to find Nathan. He was in the corner of his room, wrapped in his sleeping bag in the little space between the wall and the bunk beds. It was a cozy place, a good place for hiding and being alone.
“What’s wrong, Nathan?”
“I asked Heavenly Father to help me, but Matthew scored anyway,” Nathan sobbed.
Mom stroked his hair. “It must be very upsetting to try so hard and still have Matthew score on you.” She tried to give Nathan a hug, but he wouldn’t let her. She squeezed his arm and let him be alone.
After a few minutes, Nathan came upstairs and started doing his dinner chores. This time he let Mom give him a hug.
“Nathan, do you think Heavenly Father wants us to be unhappy?” she asked.
“I guess not.”
“We don’t always know what will make us happy,” Mom said. “Sometimes what we want isn’t the best thing for us. Do you think Heavenly Father knows that?”
“He knows everything.”
Mom took Nathan onto her lap. “Heavenly Father has told us that He won’t always make things easy for us. There will be hard times. He lets us face them to help us learn and become better people. But He always answers our prayers. Whatever happens, we can be sure that He cares about us.”
“Maybe He was teaching me not to get faked out.”
“Maybe so, Nathan. I don’t know for sure. But I do know that it is a wonderful thing for you to talk to Heavenly Father about everything in your life. I hope you keep doing it. He will help things work out for the best—it just may not be right when you want it or what you think is best.”
Nathan and Matthew played soccer in the yard many times after that day. Matthew often scored, but Nathan often stopped his shots, too. In fact, he stopped them more and more often.
A couple of years later, Nathan tried out for a special soccer team and was accepted. The coach called the team together. “Do any of you play goalie?”
Nathan raised his hand. The coach had Nathan stand in front of the net while other players tried to kick goals. Nathan stopped shot after shot.
The coach was grinning. “I think we have our goalie!”
Nathan beamed as the other players congratulated him. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers.

“CQ … CQ (calling any station) … This is N7NGT, November seven November golf tango. Calling CQ from the state of Wyoming and standing by.”
The static of the radio fills the silence. Then the 16-year-old, red-haired girl, call sign N7NGT, leans over the microphone, presses the button, and repeats her call to the world on her father’s ham radio.
For a moment she wonders, Is anyone out there listening?
Does anyone want to talk to Shauna Richards in Rock Springs, Wyoming?
A moment later a voice answers Shauna’s call. In fact, in a little over an hour Shauna talks to people in Australia, New Zealand, Japan—all over. These people all have amateur radio licenses. They also have their own lingo, called Q signals. Shauna enjoys talking to strangers, who quickly become friends, about what their lives are like and what they like best about their hometowns. And in emergencies, they use their radios to relay messages out of the emergency area to comfort worried relatives and friends when other methods of communication fail. Ham radio is a good hobby for someone who likes to talk. And Shauna likes to talk.
Talking wasn’t always something that Shauna liked to do. In junior high school, she was really shy. But now that she’s a junior in high school, she’s found out there are lots of shy people, potential friends just waiting for someone else to talk first. When Shauna gives advice to her younger sisters, Talia and Crystal, about how to improve their junior high years, she says, “I wish I had talked to more people. I know I would have made more friends if I had talked more. I am still scared to talk to anyone …”
Shauna pauses a moment and glances at her best friend, Kristy Call, who interrupts and says, “especially boys.”
Shauna nods in agreement. “Yes, especially boys. There are people who grow up talking to people, and they are friendly and have no problem doing that. I try to smile and try not to look like I’m nervous, but it’s hard. I’ve been trying to open up more.”
Anyone who is lucky enough to meet Shauna would be shocked to find out that she thinks she’s shy and not able to talk easily with people. This is a girl who won the national Hiram Percy Maxim Award, given each year to one young person in the United States who has done the most to promote amateur radio and still live a well-rounded life filled with leadership responsibilities and good grades in school.
Outside interests are certainly not lacking in Shauna’s life. It takes her a minute to recite the whole list. “I play the piano and the flute and sing in the choir.” Then things start to get complicated. “But choir and band are the same hours at school as orchestra, so I play in the jazz band and orchestra at the college so I can still play my flute. I can’t choose between piano and flute. I don’t have a favorite; I love them both. I’m on the swim team, and we have practices before and after school. I’m in the drama club and the French club. And I’m going to enter the science fair again this year. I want to learn to play the guitar. You can’t carry a piano around with you. You can take a flute, but you can’t sing while you’re playing the flute. If you have a guitar, you can play and sing. I can take guitar lessons at school, but then I’d have to drop one of my other classes, and I don’t want to drop anything. I’ll get a job and pay for lessons. If I can’t, I’ll get a guitar book and teach myself.”
Whew! Remember, Shauna likes to talk now.
But the list isn’t finished yet. She was on the student council and plays the piano at church and loves Young Women activities. She was in dance, but had to give it up for the piano. And she’s really upset that she can’t work a speech class into her school schedule.
We have to ask her dad, Kerry. Do you see Shauna strung out doing too much? He laughs, “All the time.”
Wouldn’t it be a good thing if she just dropped a few things? That’s not an acceptable solution to Shauna. She likes to try lots of things even if she isn’t the star at any of them. It’s the way she has fun. And she’s got a great mother, Johanna, who helps her find ways to learn the things she wants to learn.
“We never told Shauna that anything is too hard,” says Johanna. “If she’s doing something to impress someone or to get attention, then we figure it’s not a good enough reason. But if she really wants to learn something, then we’ll help her find a way.”
One of the things that definitely does not get shoved aside is church. “This past year,” says Shauna, “I would say my prayers and read the scriptures, but it was just words. Then I started really reading the scriptures and listening to other people’s testimonies. I know I got extra help to make it through the day and not fall asleep in classes and get good grades. All this year, I’ve been listening to people and watching my older friends and finding out the special things they know because of the Church and seminary. I don’t have a strong, strong, strong testimony yet, but it’s growing. I know I can feel the Spirit at different times.”
Shauna is quick to acknowledge the help of her family and teachers. “There’s a lot of people who help me and encourage me. I’m not this wonderful person who can do everything on my own—like Joseph Smith who went out and found the truth by himself.”
Pretty neat girl. And she doesn’t let her handicap get in the way.
Wait a minute. What handicap?
What could possibly be wrong with this cute redhead with sparkling blue eyes and great personality?
Not much because she doesn’t let it get in her way. But one of her eyes (it’s hard to tell which) doesn’t work. She was born with sight in only one eye.
“I don’t know what it’s like to see out of two eyes,” says Shauna. “It’s harder for me to do some things, like sports. In basketball, I shoot and it looks like the ball is going to go over the top of the basket, but it doesn’t even get close. I have to practice to get the feel of how I need to shoot.
“When I draw pictures in art, they always turn out different from other people’s. But the art teachers like that, so it’s okay. Just because I can’t see out of one eye doesn’t mean I can’t play the piano.”
Shauna’s differences have made her more empathetic with others. In some important ways, Shauna sees a little more clearly than many people with two working eyes. Her dad says, “She can see when someone is hurting. She sees, in a crowd of girls, when one girl is being left out.”
Actually, amateur radio fits in with Shauna’s overriding interest in helping people. She has helped people who have been in accidents or have broken down on the highway by relaying messages to the police or tow trucks. Everything Shauna learns and every new person Shauna talks to broadens her understanding of the world. She continues to find ways to expand the boundaries of what she knows and what she can know. Shauna’s world continues to get bigger.
But it’s getting late. Time to sign off.
“Thanks for the QSO (conversation). Please QSL (send me a postcard). This is Shauna N7NGT clear. 73s (best regards).”
You can decode this message written in Morse code from Shauna by comparing each group of dots and dashes to the Morse code chart. When you figure out the letters, write them down and you will have Shauna’s message to you.

March 20 of this year was a beautiful day. It was warm and the sun was shining. Some of the trees had started to bud, and early blooms were visible. I had been anticipating this day with great excitement and a good deal of apprehension from the time I received a phone call three months earlier asking if I would play the organ at one of the Provo City Center Temple dedication sessions. I had never dreamed I would have a chance to serve in this capacity, for I knew there were scores of talented and accomplished organists in our temple district, and I was also keenly aware of my own inadequacies.
Surprise and shock were some of the feelings I had when I got the call, but in the few seconds it took me to stammer out an acceptance of this assignment, I felt my Heavenly Father’s love. And even though I was very nervous, I sensed that this was one of His tender mercies.
I was to have an experience similar to one that my beautiful paternal grandmother, Ethel Taylor Robinson, had had, and this created a sense of connection to her that I had not felt before. I never met her, as she died in her early thirties, but I knew of her and of her many talents. My home teacher made sure of that. He repeatedly told me what a wonderful musician she was and how much she was loved and missed by our community.
In October 1927 my grandmother directed a stake choir that sang at the dedication of the Mesa Arizona Temple. Although four of the songs she performed with her choir in that dedication were different from the ones I played at the Provo City Center Temple dedication, we both performed the “Hosanna Anthem.” Realizing that we would both perform the same song in a temple of the Lord almost ninety years apart was a very sweet experience.
I had other sweet experiences while our choir prepared and rehearsed. Choir members shared their testimonies and tender feelings about the temple, the gospel, and our Savior both in words and song. Everyone was focused on offering his or her very best to the Lord.
In my personal practices I often felt inadequate and worried when I thought about performing in the celestial room, only a few feet away from the Lord’s apostles and in front of millions of viewers. I tried to calm myself with the feeling that if I put the time into my practice, the Lord would help me. I therefore practiced every day. The footwork with the organ pedals was my biggest challenge. I drilled the arpeggios and foot crossings over and over and over and over—slowly at first, and then I would attempt to speed them up to the performance tempo. Some repetitions went well, and I thought, “I can do this!” But on the very next repetition I would land on a note just adjacent to the one I was aiming for. So I would try again.
One day as I was going through this process, I remembered something I had learned in an acoustics class many years ago when I thought I wanted to be a music teacher. The thought that came into my mind as I was practicing is the subject I would like to speak about today.
Preparing for the temple dedication gave me the chance to work and practice so that I could offer the Lord my best, and even though my best wasn’t perfect, it was a beautiful experience. The gift I was given of being part of a wonderful choir, performing at the temple dedication, and having a special connection with my grandmother has increased my desire to be in tune with my Heavenly Father and Savior.

“O God, where art thou?”
Things must be pretty bad to ask a desperate question like that. For the Prophet Joseph Smith, who was suffering in Liberty Jail in Missouri, USA, they were.
The year was 1839. Joseph and his friends had been in prison—on false charges—for over four months. It was the coldest winter on record, and they had barely anything to keep warm. His family, his friends, and the rest of the Church had been driven from the county by violent mobs. Joseph had very little contact with them. It was one of the darkest times in Joseph’s life.
At one point, Joseph asked from the depths of this dark prison, “O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place? How long shall thy hand be stayed, and thine eye, yea thy pure eye, behold from the eternal heavens the wrongs of thy people and of thy servants, and thine ear be penetrated with their cries?” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1–2).
Even in a life full of trials, something about Liberty Jail seemed to drain Joseph Smith more than almost any other difficulty.
However, right during the worst of it, a ray of hope shone down into that cold prison cell. Joseph and the other prisoners received some unexpected letters from friends and family—and the darkness of the experience decreased.
About that occasion, Joseph Smith said, “We received some letters last evening … all breathing a kind and consoling spirit. … When we read those letters they were to our souls as the gentle air is refreshing.”1
On March 7, 1839, Emma Smith wrote a letter to her husband, Joseph, who was imprisoned in Liberty Jail.
Of course, those letters didn’t make the jail warmer. They didn’t make the guards kinder, nor the food taste better. But the letters made all the difference as to how the prisoners felt. That simple show of support from friends and family helped Joseph move from wondering where God was, to being able to hear the comforting words of the Savior, “My son, peace be unto thy soul” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1, 7).
Joseph Smith offered this perspective: “Those who have not been enclosed in the walls of a prison without cause or provocation can have but a little idea how sweet the voice of a friend is. One token of friendship from any source whatever awakens and calls into action every sympathetic feeling.”2

I graduated high school at 17 and went to Idaho State University Vo-Tech in Pocatello. I lived on campus in the dorms that were right up the street from the LDS Institute building, which was in the middle of campus and also where the campus student wards met on Sundays. Being only 50 miles from home, I usually went home on the weekends, where I knew everyone and felt the most comfortable at church in my home ward. In those days you could hitchhike fairly safely and easily, the biggest challenge getting a ride from the freeway to the dorms or my house in Malad. As the weather grew colder, I tended to stay more frequently on campus for the weekends. Only problem was when I did, I never went to church. You see, I really didn’t know any active members at school. Oh, I faithfully took a religion class all three semesters I attended there, but I really never became friends with anyone from the campus wards. I was very active at home, totally inactive at school.

There was a very large hill, called Red Hill, right next to the institute building, with fake Greek ruins on top, and I would climb up there occasionally to be by myself and feel lonely. Oh I had friends in the dorm, but they drank and partied most of the time, and by Sunday evenings they were pretty burned out from the weekend. I was still scared of girls at that time and had no car to escape anywhere, so all I had to look forward to was the start of the next week and classes again. I vividly remember sitting up there in the cold late one Sunday afternoon, watching the students coming to sacrament meeting down below—that was when it was separate and late in the day—and thinking to myself how I wished I was going there to church. I sat up there the beginning of one sacrament meeting into the next, watching churchgoers come and go, the campus lights coming on and it getting dark. I knew I should be down there in church. I desired to be obedient, but I felt so alone and uncomfortable. I hated being in Pocatello on the weekends. I really wanted to be in Malad with my family, comfortable and warm in my own sacrament meeting. I knew I was supposed to be in church, and I was sure everyone at home just assumed I was going while at school. No one ever asked. No one ever checked up on me.

I learned that year the easiest place to be truly alone is in a crowd. Who among us is feeling alone, and how do we recognize and help them?

It wasn’t until my second year at school that an elders quorum president found me and made an effort to get me out when I was there and I became somewhat active in the student ward, but I still went home as often as I could.

When I got home, I told Grandma all about camp. I told her it was the best Scout camp ever and that it was really fun being Bryant’s buddy. Grandma read Mosiah 2:17 to me. It says, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” She said that when I helped Bryant, I was serving God too. I’d never thought of it that way before, but I felt the Spirit tell me that it was true. It’s awesome that I could serve God and help my friend.

Nancy Ashby of Draper, Utah, tells the following experience: “I was having my doubts about the Church. Was it really true? Was it really worth all the effort? Wouldn’t it be all right to marry outside of the Church (which I was seriously considering at the time)? After this life is over, is there really anything else?

“Then my mother asked me to do some typing for her. It turned out to be genealogy sheets. She also handed me an article on genealogy that included the statement:

“‘It matters not what else we have been called to do, or what position we may occupy, or how faithfully in other ways we have labored in the Church, none is exempt from this great obligation. It is required of the apostle as well as the humblest elder. Place, or distinction, or long service in the Church, in the mission field, the stakes of Zion, or where or how else it may have been, will not entitle one to disregard the salvation of one’s dead.’ (Joseph Fielding Smith, Doctrines of Salvation, vol. 2, pp. 148–49.)

“I decided to do something about all this, considering the words of the Savior: ‘If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.’ (John 7:17.) I found that genealogy can be fascinating and fun—and for me it has resulted in a firm testimony and conviction of all the other principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It changed my life.”

Oriol Atus, first counselor in the North District presidency, has given up two job offers and a promotion because of his refusal to participate. “To be successful in many places, you must practice voodoo. Several times, my employers or prospective employers have asked me to choose between the Church and voodoo. Of course, I always left the job or gave up the promotion. I work for less money now, but it’s worth it.”

Many years ago in Boise, Idaho, I attended a testimony meeting with Emily. We were young and newly married and I remember a somewhat shriveled old man, a revered and respected long-time member of the ward, got up to speak. He was hunched over the podium, but he spoke slowly and clearly. He said, “Brothers and sisters, when I was young I used to think I knew quite a bit. I thought that by the time I got to be the age I am now, I’d probably know pretty much everything. Well, now I’m old, and I feel like I know even less. But one thing I do know, more than I ever have, is that God loves us and we cannot be separated from that love.”

He sat down, and I remember feeling kind of strange. A little uneasy. Looking back now, I think it was the feeling of paradox. How could this old man who had seen so much claim to know so little? Wasn’t a benefit of growing old becoming more confident in your knowledge, more certain of everything? Nowadays, I am beginning to understand more what this old man meant. In the days of our probation, as we seek to answer life’s questions, often what we find on the other side of those answers are more questions. Some questions seem to have no answers. Some questions we get wrong when we’re sure we’re right. And sometimes other people are right when we’re sure they’re wrong. At times like this, when answers seem to be missing or beyond reach, it is worth remembering that life is not only a test, but a gift. And the most important thing about a gift is that it is given with love.

Two doubts may creep into your mind. You may wonder if you know the doctrine well enough to teach it. And if you have already tried to teach it, you may wonder why you can’t see much of the good effects.

In my own family there is a story of a young woman who had the courage to start to teach doctrine when she was only a new convert with little education. And the fact that the effects of her teaching haven’t ended gives me patience to wait for the fruits of my own efforts.

Mary Bommeli was my great-grandmother. I never met her. Her granddaughter heard her tell her story and wrote it down.

Mary was born in 1830. The missionaries taught her family in Switzerland when she was 24. She was still living at home, weaving and selling cloth to help support her family on their small farm. When the family heard the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, they knew it was true. They were baptized. Mary’s brothers were called on missions, going without purse or scrip. The rest of the family sold their possessions to go to America to gather with the Saints.

There was not enough money for all to go. Mary volunteered to stay behind because she felt she could earn enough from her weaving to support herself and save for her passage. She found her way to Berlin and to the home of a woman who hired her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. She lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the living area of the home.

It was against the law then to teach the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Berlin. But Mary could not keep the good news to herself. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear the Swiss girl teach. She talked about the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, of the visitation of angels, and of the Book of Mormon. When she came to the accounts of Alma, she taught the doctrine of the Resurrection.

That caused some problems with her weaving. In those days, many children died very young. The women around the loom had lost children in death, some of them several children. When Mary taught the truth that little children were heirs of the celestial kingdom and that those women might again be with them and with the Savior and our Heavenly Father, tears rolled down the faces of the women. Mary cried too. All those tears falling got the cloth wet that Mary had woven.

Mary’s teaching created a more serious problem. Even though Mary begged the women not to talk about what she told them, they did. They shared the joyous doctrine with their friends. So one night there was a knock at the door. It was the police. They took Mary off to jail. On the way, she asked the policeman for the name of the judge she was to appear before the next morning. She asked if he had a family. She asked if he was a good father and a good husband. The policeman smiled as he described the judge as a man of the world.

At the jail, Mary asked for a pencil and some paper. She wrote a letter to the judge. She wrote about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, about the spirit world, and about how long the judge would have to think and to consider his life before facing the final judgment. She wrote that she knew he had much to repent of which would break his family’s heart and bring him great sorrow. She wrote through the night. In the morning she asked the policeman to take her letter to the judge. He did.

Later, the policeman was summoned by the judge to his office. The letter Mary had written was irrefutable evidence that she was teaching the gospel and so breaking the law. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long until the policeman came back to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go, on the conditions she had stated in her letter. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had opened eyes and hearts enough to get her cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail (see Theresa Snow Hill, Life and Times of Henry Eyring and Mary Bommeli [1997], 15–22).

The teaching of Mary Bommeli touched more than those women around the loom and the judge. My father, her grandson, talked to me during the nights as he approached death. He spoke of joyous reunions that were coming soon in the spirit world. I could almost see the bright sunlight and the smiles in that place of paradise as he talked about it with such assurance.

At one point, I asked him if he had some repenting to do. He smiled. He chuckled softly as he said, “No, Hal, I’ve been repenting as I went along.” The doctrine of paradise that Mary Bommeli taught those women was real to her grandson. And even the doctrine Mary taught the judge had shaped my father’s life for good. That will not be the end of Mary Bommeli’s teaching. The record of her words will send true doctrine to generations of her family yet unborn. Because she believed that even a new convert knew enough doctrine to teach it, the minds and hearts of her descendants will be opened, and they will be strengthened in the battle.

I hung my schoolbag in the closet and saw my reflection in the full-length mirror on the door. I stopped and looked at my loose ponytail, my wrinkled shirt, and my sagging socks. Words from my Primary teacher came back to me: “You are a special daughter of our Heavenly Father. He has many blessings in store for you in your future.”
I leaned forward and peered into the mirror, wishing I could see the future. What would I be like when I was 12 or 22? Would I be pretty? Would I be smart? Would I marry in the temple? Would I have beautiful children? These were my dreams, but were these the blessings God had in store for me?
“What are you looking at?” It was Mom’s soft voice.
In the mirror’s reflection I saw Mom standing behind me in the doorway.
“Me,” I said. “It’s just me in the mirror.”
Mom came and looked over my shoulder. “‘Just you’ is someone very special,” she said.
“That’s what my Primary teacher said. She said Heavenly Father has many blessings in store for me. What does my life have in store?”
“Come to my room. I want to show you something,” Mom said.
In her bedroom Mom opened a small box and lifted out a silver handheld mirror.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, fingering the letter B etched on the back.
“Did Heavenly Father bless Great-Grandma?” I asked.
“Yes, He did,” Mom said.
“Was Great-Grandma happy with her life?”
“Yes. It wasn’t exactly as she planned. Some of it was very hard, but she put her trust in God, and those experiences helped her become more like Him.”
“I guess I don’t really need to see the future,” I said, placing the silver mirror gently back in its box. “I’ll just trust in Heavenly Father and follow Him.”
“I’m sure God has a wonderful life in store for you,” Mom said. “And if you follow Him, in the end, the face you see in the mirror will reflect His image. And that would truly be a dream come true.”

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that far away country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of fifty stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word-for-word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.