Gospel Story Finder

A year later, I reflected on the previous Christmas and thought about what I could do to have a better Christmas in the mission field. I realized that my feelings of sadness the year before came from focusing on myself instead of on the Savior. I also realized that Christmas is a time to remember the Savior’s birth and that I should be happy to serve Him as His representative.
In talking with my companion, we decided to buy lollipops to give to members, investigators, children, and anyone else we came across on Christmas Day. We also practiced Christmas hymns to sing. Joy flooded my heart on Christmas Day as we met with people, sang hymns, and gave away lollipops.

At one time in my life, I thought that I didn’t need visiting teachers myself. I had a strong testimony of the gospel, and I had no major problems. But one year I was alone on Christmas Eve. My husband was busy shopping, and all my children were married and living out of the country, except for one daughter, who couldn’t come. The house was so empty without the hugs of my little grandchildren. I’m not used to feeling sorry for myself, but that night I sat down in the dark in my living room and let the tears run down my cheeks. Just at that moment the doorbell rang. My visiting teachers! My dear sisters had come to bring me a greeting of Christmas joy. It was as if the Lord himself had reminded me that I was not alone.
By the time they left, my mood had completely changed. I turned on the lights, put on my best dress, decorated the table, and prepared a special supper. When my husband came in, we celebrated Christmas together and gave thanks that we were both alive and healthy.

My brother, Greg, and I participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in New York for two summers. One summer, when I was about sixteen years old, I was really searching for a personal testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I thought that this would be the perfect time to get it. One night after the performance, I decided to go to the Sacred Grove alone. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I thought, This is it—the place, the time. What more ideal setting could I have? I prayed for a long, long time—well over an hour. Nothing happened. I finally gave up and walked back to Palmyra, wondering, What did I do wrong or what didn’t I do right? What was missing?
I’ve since thought a lot about that experience. One of the lessons I learned from it was that you shouldn’t try to dictate to God the timing or the content of revelation. It was later that summer—when I was home by myself in a little basement bedroom, reading the Book of Mormon—that a witness came very powerfully. It just overwhelmed me. I know from that experience the truth of what Joseph Smith witnessed and the truth of the Book of Mormon and the reality of the Savior. That hasn’t been my only witness, but it was a great strengthening of my testimony.
I found that you don’t have to be in a special place to receive that witness. You will receive answers to your prayers if you are earnest and keep asking and searching. I’m glad now that my answer didn’t come to me when I first asked. I might have thought that you have to go to the Holy Land for a testimony of Jesus or to the Sacred Grove for a testimony of Joseph Smith. Anywhere in the world, the Lord will speak to you.

Jamie ran outside, the screen door banging shut behind her. “Can I go for a bike ride?” she asked Mom, who was pulling weeds in the flower bed.
“Sure. Don’t go too far,” Mom replied.
“I won’t.” Jamie wheeled her brand-new bike out of the garage. She loved how the silver spokes gleamed in the sunshine. And she loved how fast it went—much faster than her old bike.
Jamie buckled her helmet and looked up and down the country road in front of her house to make sure no cars were coming. Then she jumped on her bike and started pedaling up the hill. She loved to go all the way to the top and then coast back down. With the wind in her face, it felt like she was flying.
Jamie’s legs ached as she pedaled. When she was halfway to the top of the hill, she saw something square and tan-colored in the middle of the road. It looked like one of the worn-out foam chair cushions she had taken to the trash last week when Mom had reupholstered the kitchen chairs. One of the cushions must have fallen out of the garbage truck and been left in the road.
Then Jamie got a great idea. “What if I run over the cushion on my way down?” she thought. She imagined how it would feel to run over the squishy cushion with her bike’s tires.
Jamie finally reached the top of the hill and turned her bike around with a grin. Now the ride down seemed even more exciting. She wanted to hit the cushion exactly in the middle.
She gripped the handlebars and pushed off. She pedaled hard a few times and then started coasting. The wind whipped through her hair, and the road was going by in a blur. The cushion was straight ahead, and Jamie pedaled a few extra times to get even more speed.
Then, when she had almost reached the cushion, Jamie heard a voice say very clearly, “NO.”
Immediately, Jamie turned the handlebars. Her bike tire whizzed by the cushion, just missing it. She braked hard and skidded to a stop at the side of the road.
Jamie’s legs were shaking as she got off her bike and walked over to the cushion. When she got closer, she saw it wasn’t a cushion at all. It was a big, flat, heavy rock.
Jamie didn’t feel like riding anymore. She pushed her bike the rest of the way home and told Mom what had happened.
“Do you know what would have happened if you had hit that rock?” Mom asked.
“I would have been hurt,” Jamie said.
“The rock would have stopped your bike, and you would have been thrown off. You could have been hurt very badly,” Mom said.
Jamie’s eyes got big. “It was the Holy Ghost that said ‘no,’ wasn’t it?”
Mom nodded. “You were blessed because you listened and obeyed right away.”
Jamie gave Mom a hug. “I’m glad the Holy Ghost was there to protect me!”
“So am I.” Mom hugged Jamie extra hard. “Why don’t we say a prayer of thanks right now and then go move the rock so no one gets hurt?”
Jamie nodded. Her heart felt happy and light. She knew this was also the Holy Ghost telling her that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love her.

“We were so scared. We didn’t know if you’d like us,” said an anglo leader.
“I’ve never known a lot of Lamanites before, and I am proud to be one,” said a Lamanite participant.
The thoughts were being voiced at a testimony meeting concluding a five-day girls camp for Lamanite girls from the Southwest Indian Mission. Also participating were Anglo girls and leaders.
“Sometimes brownskins and whiteskins in our area don’t have the nicest of feelings toward each other,” said a participant, “so we looked forward to this camp so that we could make sure bad feelings didn’t happen in the Church, where we have a real commitment to respect and love each other.”
Besides spirits’ being lifted—many Lamanite girls thrilled at being among the tall fir trees, mountain peaks, and cold streams outside of Farmington, New Mexico—some conversions occurred, and friendships flowered all over the place. It was a worthy goal—elimination of prejudice—and in this instance, a superb way to accomplish it.

A few years ago Sister Packer and I were in Washington, D.C., to represent the Church at an awards banquet held in the reception hall of the Department of State. The elegant and stately surroundings, with a priceless collection of antiques and memorabilia, were impressive. Here, for instance, hangs the painting of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart and other priceless works of art. Both the occasion and the setting were ideal to make reference to the spiritual heritage of our country. And what was the program? A large brass section from one of the service bands played at great length, and with deafening volume, music from Jesus Christ, Superstar.

I sat next to a lovely, dignified woman, the wife of an officer of the government. When the crescendo weakened for a moment I was able to ask, by raising my voice a bit, if she was able to hear them all right. Her obvious amusement at the question soon changed to serious disappointment, as she asked in return, “What would Jesus think?”

Ephraim Hanks is a remarkable example of a young man’s obedience to spiritual promptings. In the fall of 1856, after he had gone to bed, he heard a voice say to him, “The handcart people are in trouble and you are wanted; will you go and help them?” Without any hesitation he answered, “Yes, I will go if I am called.”
He rode quickly from Draper to Salt Lake City. As he arrived he heard the call for volunteers to help the last handcart companies come into the valley. Eph jumped up and said, “I am ready now!” He was as good as his word, leaving at once and alone.
A terrific storm broke as he took his wagon eastward over the mountains. It lasted three days, and the snow was so deep that it was impossible to move the wagons through it. So Eph decided he would go on horseback. He took two horses, one to ride and one to pack, and picked his way carefully through the snow to the mountains. Dusk came as he made his lonely camp at South Pass. As he was about to lie down he thought about the hungry Saints and instinctively asked the Lord to send him a buffalo. As he opened his eyes at the end of his prayer, he was startled at the sight of a buffalo standing barely 50 yards away. He took aim, and one shot sent the animal rolling down into the hollow where he was encamped.
Early next morning, he took the two horses and the buffalo meat and reached Ice Springs Bench. There he shot another buffalo, even though it was rare to find buffalo in this area this late in the season. After he had cut the meat into long strips, he loaded up his horses and resumed his journey. And now I quote from Eph’s own narrative:
“I think the sun was about an hour high in the west when I spied something in the distance that looked like a black streak in the snow. As I got near to it, I perceived it moved; then I was satisfied that this was the long looked for handcart company, led by Captain Edward Martin. … When they saw me coming, they hailed me with joy inexpressible, and when they further beheld the supply of fresh meat I brought into camp, their gratitude knew no bounds. Flocking around me, one would say, ‘Oh, please, give me a small piece of meat;’ another would exclaim, ‘My poor children are starving, do give me a little;’ and children with tears in their eyes would call out, ‘Give me some, give me some.’ … Five minutes later both my horses had been released of their extra burden—the meat was all gone, and the next few hours found the people in camp busily engaged in cooking and eating it, with thankful hearts.”
Certainly Ephraim Hanks’s obedience to spiritual promptings led him to become a vanguard hero as he forged ahead alone through that devastating winter weather to preserve many pioneer lives. Because he listened to the whisperings of the Spirit and obeyed the counsel of the Brethren, Eph became a notable liberating force in the lives of those desperate, struggling pioneers.

Kimberly Martino, 13, along with her parents, four sisters, and her brother, accepted the challenge given them and the other members of the Lewisville Texas Stake to read the Book of Mormon as a family.
“I thought it was neat when we finally finished,” Kimberly said. “We made a goal and we reached it. And at a stake fireside I was able to tell the story about how Nephi’s bow broke when he went into the wilderness to hunt.”
Kimberly’s stake president, President Gordon T. Watts, came up with the idea. “I called it the ‘100-Day Book of Mormon Program.’ It was the end of May, and I challenged everyone to read the Book of Mormon by September 1st.” Kimberly and her family, along with more than 100 members of the stake, received certificates of completion.

In pondering my own experience, I was reminded of a moment when I recognized a weakness as a young missionary. I was riding with a family to the baptism of their eldest daughter. My companion had taught the mother and the youngest daughter and they had been baptized a year previous. The oldest daughter had now accepted the invitation to be baptized. The father, whom we called Oom Piet, sat with my companion and I in the back seat. As we drove, I felt the spirit prompting me to ask Oom Piet if he had a desire to join his family and be baptized. While he was always very pleasant, he had not as yet expressed an interest in learning more about the gospel and particularly not in baptism. It was an hour’s drive, and I could not shake the impression. I kept thinking about how and what to say and feeling like everyone was expecting me to do this. At some point, Oom Piet took out some dried boerewors—smoked sausage—he had made and began sharing it. In my anxious state, I finally managed to self-consciously blurt out in Afrikaans, “Kan ek nog 'n stukkie hê, asseblief?” (Can I have another piece, please?) referring to the boerewors. That is all I said for the entire drive.

I had faith in Christ, I was on my mission. What happened? Why didn’t I say the words? I then remembered the scripture from my seminary days: “But with some I am not well pleased. For they will not open their mouths, but they hide the talent which I have given them, because of the fear of man.”[3]

The Lord had shown me a weakness, and I was humbled. This moment of weakness has been a reminder of my need for Christ for more than 46 years.

The anxiety and fear this sister felt may not have been my weakness, but my fear certainly exacerbated a lack of faith or confidence in the Lord and the promptings I had received. As I turned to the Lord, over time my language abilities and confidence increased. It took faith to know the Lord was beside me and bearing me up. Faith was followed by work, and eventually, I became stronger in that one area. Certainly, I had not overcome all weaknesses, and thereby my weakness, but I had learned something about how the Lord works and how becoming humble and teachable can increase our usefulness to the Lord and to our fellow man.

Getting ready to go to church with everyone in the family wearing two shoes that matched was a major accomplishment at my house. But somehow it seemed worse when I needed to be somewhere on time.
“What’s the matter with you?” I shouted at my younger sister as my father finally started the car and sped out of the driveway toward the church. “Can’t you keep track of your shoes for even one Sunday?” My mom and dad looked at each other with faint smiles as I continued: “I can’t believe this family. Nobody thinks about anybody but themselves! Nobody understands how I feel around here! I’ll be late for sure now!”
When we got to the church, my family quickly piled out, and I hurriedly moved over behind the wheel, anxious to leave as quickly as possible. Mom started telling me to drive carefully and not get home too late because it might storm. Dad was trying to tell me the fastest way to get to the other ward.
“All right,” I said to both parents talking at the same time. “Good-bye!”
“How am I supposed to give a spiritual talk when I’m feeling like this?” I thought as the wheels of the car screeched out of the church parking lot, and I sped toward another meetinghouse.
The meeting had already begun when I got there, and I had to walk to the front of the chapel alone. The bishop looked relieved when I finally sat down. The meeting sped by, and soon I heard my name announced as the next speaker. My heart suddenly began to beat frantically as I walked toward the pulpit. My shaky voice hardly seemed my own as I looked up momentarily at the strange faces in the congregation and began my talk.
“I’m going to talk about bridges,” I said quietly. “We need to build bridges to others if we want to come close together.” I cleared my voice twice and continued, “All the everyday things we do with each other can build bridges if we let them. Just eating and laughing or talking or working or going through the same hard times can be ways of building bridges if we communicate that we care and share our feelings.”
My nervousness made me glance at my paper much more often than I had at home when I had practiced my talk.
“We can build bridges by realizing that we are all basically alike. We all have many of the same fears and problems and desires and hopes.”
My words seemed insincere and forced. My mother had suggested my topic and supplied me with the material for my talk. I was glad to sit down when my talk was over.
After the meeting was over, I quickly jumped in the car and headed toward the mountains near my home. I just wanted to be alone for a while. My family had arranged for a ride home from their meeting, so I wouldn’t be missed for a while. It was always so noisy, and I never felt like I had the privacy I needed at home. The hills seemed an excellent escape for now.
That night the setting sun cast an orange tint over the white softness of snow capping the mountains. Slowly snowflakes began to dance off the windshield and whirl around the car as I headed up the small mountain road. The orange haze of the sun turned to blues and purples as I drove on. In the peaceful winter evening, I felt alone and yet not lonely. Night shadows drifted across the road, and slowly a few stars began to glimmer in the velvet blue sky. I drove on, oblivious of the increasing frenzy of the snowfall.
Soon the snow began to drift high against the sides of the small mountain road. Still I drove farther and farther into the mountains, unwilling to release the peace of the moment.
I began to notice that the storm had become a blizzard outside the car, and the road was beginning to become impassable. I decided I would turn around and start toward home the first chance I got. At a wide spot in the road, I turned the car for home.
The car began to skid out of control, and it rolled slowly over an embankment and hit against a tree. The sudden jolt brought me quickly back to the reality of the situation.
“What a dumb thing to do!” I shouted at myself as I tried to open the door and see how badly I was struck. The snow was almost covering the wheels of the car, and the incline back up to the road looked pretty steep. I started to dig the snow away from the tires and later crawled back, shaking, into the car.
I tried to start the motor again. The wheels spun with a futile sound. I gunned the motor, trying to get the car to move at least a little. But no matter how hard I pushed the gas pedal, there was only the same spinning sound of the wheels, and I could feel the car settling deeper into a hole.
I crawled out of the car again and anxiously worked at the snow around the tires. The wind was mercilessly blowing snow against me. I hadn’t bothered to wear a coat. I hadn’t told anybody where I was going. My high-heeled shoes and white lace dress hardly seemed fitting now. I crawled back into the car and tried the motor again and again. Finally the motor refused to turn over at all. The dead thud as I turned the key made me shiver.
“Well, I can’t stay here all night,” I said to myself.
I crawled out of the car and climbed back onto the road. The stupidity of my situation embarrassed me. I knew better than to start up a lonely mountain road at night with a storm brewing. It hadn’t seemed dangerous until now.
I folded my arms tightly around myself and began to shake as I looked down the long stretch of road. The wind and snow billowed and howled around me as I started to walk down the lonely dark road.
“How stupid can you be!” I began to shout out loud.
The strong storm wind was at my back, pushing me down the steep incline of the road and causing me to continually slip on the icy road. The heels of my shoes wobbled and made even upright walking hard in the wind.
“Just look at the mess you’re in, and it’s all your fault! There’s no one else to blame!” I continued to shout.
The wind continued to blow me down the hill. My dress was completely wet now, and it stung against my skin as the wind whipped it against me.
Farther down the road, I noticed a large piece of wood protruding through the snow. I wrapped my arms around the wooden pole and felt along its side. It seemed to be a large wooden rail of some sort. I thought it was probably part of the bridge that I could remember driving over on my way up the canyon. I held onto the bridge railing and slowly pulled myself forward. As I neared the end of the bridge and the last of its support, I saw a light glimmering in the distance.
“Hey!” I shouted. “I’m over here! Please help me!”
The light came closer and closer, and soon I saw an old man, clad warmly in winter clothes, peering at me as I hung onto the bridge for support. He put his arm around me and helped me walk farther down the road. He was silent as he edged me toward his home, hidden from view off the main road.
Once we were inside, the warmth from an open fire surrounded me. An old woman walked toward me from the kitchen when the old man called.
“Emma, come here. Got somebody in trouble.”
The old woman placed her warm wrinkled hands on my shaking shoulders.
“You just come right in here,” she said as she guided me to her bedroom and shut the door. “You can take off those wet things and wrap up in this and sit by the fire if you like,” she continued as she handed me a handworked quilt. “I’ll go get you something warm to drink.”
“Thank you,” I answered as she left the room.
The old woman smiled warmly and nodded as she shut the door. Later, after my wet clothes were hung up to dry and my cold body was full of hot chocolate, I wrapped up in the warm quilt by the fire. My companions had been strangely quiet, not asking any questions, only offering me anything I needed. I was glad of it. The old man and woman sat together on the love seat in front of the fire, silent and restful.
“I guess you’re wondering who I am and what in the world I’m doing up here in the middle of a storm. I guess you must think I’m pretty foolish. I should have had more sense, but well …”
“Oh, hush now. You don’t have to make any apologies to us,” the old woman interrupted. “We’re just glad we found you. It’s a long way back down this mountain you know.”
“What were you doing on the road at the end of that bridge?” I asked as I turned to the old man.
“Well, Emma and I were just going to bed when we thought we heard a voice in the wind. Sounded like somebody shouting. It was awfully faint, but we both thought we heard it. I took the light and went out on the bridge to see if I could see anybody. That’s where people have had trouble before. Emma and I built part of that bridge ourselves years and years ago. Seems people were always driving off or falling over the side into the river when it got dark or when it stormed. Emma and I built the railing on the bridge with old railroad ties, and nobody’s fallen over the side since then.”
“That shouting you heard,” I interrupted, “that was probably me shouting at myself for being so stupid. I hope you didn’t hear everything I said.”
“Just heard you on the bridge asking for help,” the old man answered. “There’s been quite a few others like yourself up here in the same predicament. All seem embarrassed like yourself too,” he continued.
“Well, I better call home before my family gets too worried about me,” I said as he finished.
“Phone’s back in the kitchen,” the old woman said as she stood up and guided me to the rear of the small house. “Most people who get stuck up here don’t have anybody to call. They just stay the night, and then Ben takes them down to town when the road is opened. One fellow though, he had a family worrying about him like you. He was one of my favorites.”
“Well, I guess I ought to be glad to have a big family that worries about me, but there’s so many of us, they probably haven’t even missed me yet,” I said.
The old woman smiled.
“Dad,” I said as the phone connection was made, “is that you? Looks like I need your help.”
The old woman slipped from the room as I finished telling dad where I was and how to get there. Dad seemed strangely brief and hung up before I could start apologizing. I walked back into the warm living room by the fire and started planning a good comeback for the inevitable lecture I would get from dad on the way home.
“Your father will be here before long,” the woman said as she headed for the bedroom. “You better put on some of my dry clothes to go home in. I’ll put your wet things in a bag for you.”
It seemed only minutes before dad came clanging up the road to the cottage in our neighbor’s four-wheel-drive truck with chains on the tires. He quickly knocked at the door and began hurrying me out of the house before I could say anything.
“Thank you,” I said as I hurried out the door. “I’ll be back to see you soon when the weather’s better. I promise I will.”
“Well, that’s why I gave you my clothes to wear home,” the old woman said. “It’ll give you a good excuse to come back and visit us. Most people need an excuse,” the woman said as she looked at my dad.
“Be careful of the turn at the bridge, John,” the old man shouted at my dad as we started to get into the truck.
“How does he know your name?” I asked dad. Dad interrupted me as he answered, “Oh, I will Ben. I nearly skidded into the river on the way in here. You’d think I’d know better by now. If it hadn’t been for the railing on the bridge that stopped the car, I would have had to spend another night up here.”
I crawled into the truck and sat confused, as far away from the driver’s seat as possible. Dad hopped into the truck and started slowly down the road.
“Dad,” I asked again, “do you people know each other? Have you been up here too? You mean, you did the same thing? Dad?”
My dad brought his broad arm over the back of the seat and coaxed me to slide over next to him. He smiled as I looked up into his face, and then he put his warm arm around my shoulders.

The third example is Linda Petersen of the Unity First Ward in Burley, Idaho, who was the originator for Brighter Beginnings, a mentor program that helps the community reach out to about 40 unmarried mothers each year. “What alarmed us is that a third of the babies born in these two counties are born to young women who haven’t even graduated from high school,” said Sister Petersen, a member of the Mini–Cassia Child Protection Team, a volunteer organization operating in Minidoka and Cassia Counties, Idaho. She has often helped teach the importance of sexual abstinence, but unfortunately abstinence isn’t always the choice young people make, nor is placing the baby for adoption, “so we felt we needed to help those young women who decided to keep and raise their children.” It is important, she says, to give each young mother greater self-worth and the opportunity to learn good parenting skills in order to “make it the brightest future we can for her and that baby.”

A few months after Sister Petersen shared her idea for the program with others on the child protection team, they had lined up a registered nurse and many volunteer mentor moms to help give Brighter Beginnings its start. The group seeks to help young mothers graduate from high school and learn how to care for their children in a nurturing environment. Each mentor mom goes into a young woman’s home once a month to teach parenting and safety skills and also makes herself available to answer the young woman’s questions. It is hoped that the experienced mothers can be role models and “sounding boards” for the young women, Sister Petersen says. A registered nurse will visit and check on the baby’s health at two and four months of age.

More than nurses and mentors are involved. Volunteers help in other ways. Laurel and Eagle Scout projects provide some quilts and wooden toys for the children. Once a month, senior citizens help babysit while young mothers get together at the local senior citizens’ center to talk and receive instruction in such things as nutrition and safety. One of Sister Petersen’s favorite memories is of an older gentleman tenderly cradling a little baby for an hour as the class went on. Brighter Beginnings is funded by a government grant under the title “Building Stronger Families,” but it is the mentor moms and other volunteers who give it life, Sister Petersen says. Without them, no amount of money could make the program work.

I recall a conversation I had with a young Northwestern University dental student while I was serving as president of the Chicago Stake. I was interviewing him to hold an office in an elders quorum presidency and learned that he was not a full tithe payer. He assured me that he kept all the other commandments required to hold office but that his income was too small to cover the expenses of going to school and supporting a wife. After counseling him at some length and explaining that if he lacked the faith to pay an honest tithing he lacked the necessary faith to hold the priesthood office or to enter the Lord’s house and receive the Lord’s blessings, our conference ended. A few days later he called and inquired as to whether the office was still open and reported that he was a full tithe payer. He was soon set apart as a quorum officer. Some time thereafter he and his lovely wife came to my home for a temple recommend. It was a joy to sign those recommends. As they left our home I counseled them to drive their car carefully and observe the traffic laws of the various states through which they must travel, for we needed them in our stake and wanted them to go and return in safety. They assured me they would, and then the young man added with a smile, “I don’t think you have to worry about our having an accident in a car we mortgaged to pay our tithing.” I love our youth for their faith and devotion.

Last year on the first day of school, I met a new student. He made friends with boys who didn’t have good standards. They swore and sometimes made fun of other people. After a few weeks, I joined their group. My mom started to notice some changes in my attitude. I got into trouble with these boys, who I thought were my friends. My mom spent months telling me that if I wanted to make better choices, I needed to switch my friends. But I didn’t believe my mom. I got into a fist fight once. I didn’t feel very happy. I felt frustrated sometimes.
Fast forward four months. … One afternoon I read a story from the Friend called “Game Changer” (April 2017). When my mom and I were done reading the story, I felt in my heart that I needed to change friends or I would continue to have a bad last two months in school.
The next day I went to school and decided to sit away from my friends. I sat beside a girl named Olivia. We started talking, and it took one day to become friends. My mom prayed that I could make a new friend easily after we read the story in the Friend.
From this experience in my life, I’ve learned that your choice of friends affects your life a lot. Making new friends is not that hard if you make them with the right people. The Holy Ghost told me in my heart that I should sit at that different table, not tomorrow or in a week, but that day. I think Heavenly Father wanted to give me a new friend so that I could change. I’m thankful that I read the article in the Friend with my mom that day.
Harrison C., age 9, British Columbia, Canada

Unfortunately, I couldn’t join the Church at that time. My parents strongly objected, especially my father. But I could understand him. His parents never took him to church; he was brought up when the country was under communist rule. Nevertheless, I knew the Lord had prepared a way for me to join the Church someday. I already knew that way would be very hard. But I had learned from the scriptures that tribulations can be for our good.

I went to seminary and later to institute, I attended Church activities, and I even started my own Personal Progress. I couldn’t wait to go to Young Women activities. I will never forget the hours we spent cooking, making postcards or bookmarks, decorating our classroom, or playing games, as well as the wonderful spirit of friendship between us. Each activity helped me understand my divine nature and role in life.

One of the most difficult Personal Progress projects was memorizing “The Living Christ.”1 When I looked at the text, I thought it would be a great challenge to memorize it. After a couple of weeks, I already knew why that project was in the Faith value. It was a test of faith and patience, a test with rewarding consequences. The testimony of the Apostles helped strengthen my faith and testimony. By remembering their inspiring words of Christ’s divine life and ministry, I got the courage to testify of Him myself.

When I was about 16, we had an activity about being a full-time missionary. We divided into pairs and lived like missionaries for a week. That was the first time I learned how important it is to share our testimonies with others. This activity helped me realize not only how hard it is to serve the Lord, but also the joy we feel by sharing the gospel and seeing how Christ’s teachings change someone’s life. It helped me understand what it is like to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.

That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.

I’m grateful to be blessed with knowledge of the restored gospel. I know we can overcome the tribulations of life through faith and patience. We have no greater and more rewarding privilege than being a member of the only true Church on earth. Nothing brings greater happiness than the knowledge we have that as worthy members of the Church, we can live with God again.

The Lord often used parables relating to the land in teaching accountability and stewardship. When I was a small boy, I would visit my grandparents at their ranch during the summer. There was no electrical power, running water, or indoor plumbing. There was, however, a spring of water next to their small ranch house. The spring created a little pond of clear, pure water, where several times a day I would help my grandmother carry water to the house for drinking, cooking, bathing, and washing clothes. My grandparents loved this life-giving spring and took special precautions to protect it.
Many years later my grandfather was in his early 90s and did not live on the property; he was unable to maintain or oversee it. I drove him to see the ranch which he loved. His high expectations at seeing the ranch turned to disappointment when he realized the fences that protected the spring had fallen into disrepair and cows had damaged the spring and the precious, pure springwater had been significantly polluted. He was upset with the damage and the pollution. To him, it was a violation of a trust he had observed all his working life. He felt somehow he had not protected that life-sustaining spring which had meant so much to him.
Just as the pure spring was polluted when not protected, we live in a time when virtue and chastity are not safeguarded.7 The eternal significance of personal morality is not respected. A loving Father in Heaven has provided us with the means to bring His spirit children into this world to fulfill the full measure of their creation. He has instructed us that the wellsprings of life are to be kept pure, just as the beautiful spring on the ranch required protection in order to sustain life. This is one of the reasons why virtue and chastity are so important in our Father in Heaven’s plan.
Because of my grandfather’s reaction to the polluted spring, improvements and protections were undertaken which returned the spring to its original beauty and purity.

At one time I worked on the immediate staff of a very hardworking, demanding, misunderstood man who became the father of the nuclear navy that provided great protection for the United States at a critical time in world conditions. His name is Hyman Rickover. I have great respect for him. After eleven years in that service, I received a call from the First Presidency to preside over a mission. I knew I would have to tell Admiral Rickover immediately. As I explained the call and that it would mean I would have to quit my job, he became rather excited. He said some unrepeatable things, broke the paper tray on his desk, and, in the comments that followed, clearly established two points.

“Scott, what you are doing in this defense program is so vital that it will take a year to replace you, so you can’t go. Second, if you do go, you are a traitor to your country.”

I said, “I can train my replacement in the two remaining months, and there won’t be any risk to the country.”

There was more conversation, and he finally said, “I never will talk to you again. I don’t want to see you again. You are finished, not only here, but don’t ever plan to work in the nuclear field again.”

I responded, “Admiral, you can bar me from the office, but, unless you prevent me, I am going to turn this assignment over to another individual”

He asked, “What’s the name of the man who wants you?”

I told him, “President David O. McKay.”

He added, “If that’s the way Mormons act, I don’t want any of them working for me.”

I knew he would try to call President McKay, who was ill, and that conversation would benefit no one. I also knew that in the Idaho Falls area there were many members of the Church whose families depended upon their working in our program. I didn’t want to cause them harm. I also knew that I had been called by the Lord. I didn’t know what to do. Then, the words of the song we sang tonight began to run through my mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, 1985, no. 237). While I had never contacted a General Authority in my life, I had been interviewed by Elder Harold B. Lee, so I had a feeling to call him. I explained that the admiral would try to call President McKay and would make some negative comments, but everything was all right and I would be able to accept my call. While doing that, my heart kept saying, “Is this going to turn out all right or will somebody be innocently hurt who depends on our program for livelihood?” The song would come back: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.” True to his word, the admiral ceased to speak to me. When critical decisions had to be made, he would send a messenger or I would communicate through a third party. We accomplished the changeover.

On my last day in the office I asked for an appointment with him, and his secretary gasped. I went with a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hand. He looked at me and said, “Sit down, Scott. What do you have? I have tried every way I can to force you to change. What is it you have?”

There followed a very interesting, quiet conversation. There was more listening this time. He said he would read the Book of Mormon. Then something I never thought would occur happened. He added, “When you come back from the mission, I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”

Steve Crandall sat bolt upright in bed.
“Your mother’s pains have started.” His father’s face was lined with worried creases. “Can you come help me clear the road to the highway?”
Steve was already struggling to pull on long underwear, sweaters, socks, pants, parka, boots, muffler, gloves. His heart was racing.
Shoveling snow, opening the garage door, starting the jeep, hitching the drag, swinging open the jeep door for his father—Steve fumbled with numb fingers while his heart beat with the fury of the wind swirling up the snow drifts.
Through the roar and clanking of the old jeep, his father shouted, “Take it easy, Steve. We’ll make it. Your mother has had nine kids before this, including you.”
Steve was glad to be able to hide his face in the parka hood. He was quiet for a moment. Then he let his memory wander and thought back to the time when Mom had Julie. There had been no special precautions that time; Dad had just helped Mom to the car, and they drove off to the hospital.
That seemed a long time ago and many miles away in a place where everything was so much different. This was Alaska. It was 50° F. below zero. The hospital was 51 miles away, and there was no telephone in their house. This time Dad paused to give Mom a priesthood blessing before helping her to the car. This time, Dad, Steve, and his two sisters prayed together in the car that they would make it down the road before the baby came. But this time, too, when it was all over and little Rachael took her place in the Crandall clan, 16-year-old Steve felt older somehow. It was as if he had been a part of something that was much more real than he had ever experienced before.

As a very young elder, I went to the old Primary Children’s Hospital on North Temple Street to provide blessings for the sick children. Upon entering, we noted the Christmas tree with its bright and friendly lights and saw carefully wrapped packages beneath its outstretched limbs. We went through the corridors where tiny boys and girls—some with casts upon arms, some with casts upon legs, others with ailments that perhaps could not be cured so readily—each one with a smile upon his face.
I walked toward the bedside of one small boy. He said, “What is your name?” I told him.
He inquired, “Will you give me a blessing?” The blessing was provided, and as we turned to leave his bedside, he said “Thank you very much.”
We walked a few steps and then I heard his call, “Brother Monson.” I turned. He said, “Merry Christmas to you.” And a great smile flashed across his countenance.
That boy had the Christmas spirit.

President Hinckley has enjoyed marvelous support from his family, none of whom take themselves too seriously—a trait fostered by both father and mother, who have stayed remarkably unaffected by years in the spotlight. Sister Hinckley has filled long absences away from children and grandchildren with letters postmarked from around the world. Virginia says, “The way we came to appreciate Dad’s callings was through Mother, because she made it a shared experience and told us every detail. When they went to the Seoul Korea Temple dedication and told us about the beautiful women in their Korean dresses who lined the halls as they came out of the dedication, we could picture what they’d seen. Dad, on the other hand, said, ‘Dresses? What dresses?’”

Yet while letters filled some gaps, Sister Hinckley longed to share more with their family. When President Hinckley asked her how she would like to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, she responded immediately, “I would like to walk the streets of Hong Kong with my children.” The request seemed far-fetched, but their children determined to save the money such a trip would require. Says Kathy, “I had heard Mother describe the streets of Hong Kong in such detail that when I stepped out into them I felt like I had come home. To finally be in Hong Kong was like stepping into Mother and Dad’s other world.”

Virginia says, “Because we were so certain about what Mother and Dad stood for, none of us had to worry about impressing others or appearing to be more than we are. That is just not Dad’s style. He refuses to take himself too seriously on things that don’t matter—simply because he is so sure of the things that do matter.”

Elder Sorensen loved sports and excelled in football, basketball, and baseball in high school in Salt Lake City. As a younger boy, however, he played baseball with the neighborhood boys in an open field, with a black friction-taped ball, a few gloves, and one old bat. “My mother wanted me to learn to play the piano,” Elder Sorensen said, “and she persevered for about six months, but she had a hard time getting me to practice, especially when I wanted to be out playing baseball. However, I had enough musical training so that when I was in the mission field, I could play about fourteen or fifteen hymns. I wish I had practiced more!
“I remember the excitement of being chosen as a crossing guard in sixth grade and how cold it was walking in the snow all the way to the school on the hill when I was in seventh grade. My biggest challenge was applying myself in school. I was more interested in sports and other things. Then, in junior high school, I was stimulated to learn so that I gained a balance in my life. I was able to pull up my grades and earn a scholarship.
“Serving a mission in Brazil was a great turning point in my life,” declared Elder Sorensen. “When I was twenty and had just completed two years of college at the University of Chicago on an academic/athletic scholarship, I had doubts about my going on a mission. When I returned home that summer, Mom said to me, ‘Well, now you can prepare for your mission.’
“Elder Sorensen told his mother that he had changed his mind and didn’t think that he would serve a mission. “I’ll never forget the hurt look on Mom’s face,” he recalled, “after I told her my decision. She didn’t scold me, but afterward she privately cried and prayed.
“I didn’t go back to school in Chicago that fall. With the help of Mom and Dad and a wise and understanding bishop, I accepted a mission call to Brazil and left for South America in 1940.
“It wasn’t very long after I arrived in the mission field and began studying the scriptures regularly that my testimony really began to grow. Since then it has never wavered but has grown stronger. I’m grateful to the Lord and my parents for guiding me at that very important crossroad.
“Children, listen to your parents. They love you more than anyone else does, except your Father in Heaven, who has an even greater capacity to love. If you follow their good teachings and example, you will always be happy that you did. And remember to follow the counsel and guidance of Church leaders, particularly your bishop.”