Gospel Story Finder

In the summer of 1971 I was an undergraduate here at BYU and had been home from a mission for less than a year. I was in school and working hard in classes and at a part-time job.
I was assigned by my elders quorum president to home teach several people that summer.
My companion and I began contacting our people, two of whom were not much involved in the Church at the time. One of these was an attractive young lady who lived alone in a basement apartment. She seldom attended Sunday meetings and didn’t “do appointments” with home teachers. She would talk to us if we happened to catch her at her apartment. It usually took several attempts each month to connect with her. As the weeks passed, we made a special effort to get to know her. I think she was beginning to trust us, and even like us. She was becoming less evasive and guarded.
She was an interesting and engaging person. Attractive and witty, she held her own in conversation. She resisted being anyone’s service project and telegraphed just enough cynicism and mistrust to keep herself isolated from the well-intentioned. I sensed that she had been injured by people she had trusted the most and that her edginess and cynical humor were worn for self-protection. I was beginning to take on this relationship as a personal challenge, and I’ll admit that I was beginning to enjoy the challenge.
One day, walking alone past her apartment on my way to campus, I decided to stop and knock on her door and see if I could catch her at home. I had some pretext for stopping. I don’t remember what it was, but it was enough of an excuse to make the call seem comfortable. No one answered the door, so I went on my way.
A few days later I was in the company of my brother, Gene, who was serving in the bishopric of the same ward I was attending. He had just extended a calling to me in an interview and we were visiting for a few minutes before his next appointment. He asked me about my home teaching assignments and particularly how our efforts were going at helping this young lady. I mentioned casually that I had recently stopped by her place on my way to the campus but hadn’t found her home.
At that moment the expression on my brother’s face changed visibly. He looked carefully at me, put his hand on my forearm, and with that voice and expression I had come to know so well—the voice of the older brother—he said, “Michael, don’t ever, ever go over there on your own. Don’t risk being alone with her by yourself. Take your companion or call one of your quorum leaders or call me, but don’t go alone.”
I nodded and mumbled something like “fine” or “okay” and changed the subject to something that would let me quickly end the conversation. I ended it and left. I don’t know to this day if my brother heard the edge in my voice or noticed that I was suddenly very turned off. I was eager to get out of there and to get away from him. I was mad. He had given me some very direct counsel, and I had chosen, in an instant—as we so often choose on those occasions—to take offense.
Looking back on it, my reaction embarrasses me. It is very clear to me now why I was so offended. This response from my brother had cut me to the quick. He had felt impressed to tell me in that moment exactly what I most needed to hear. He had spoken the truth in love and courage, and I had retreated in resentment to sulk.
Ironically, his uninvited counsel worked. I followed his advice, and I was a lot more careful about home teaching and lot of other things throughout the rest of that summer. The effectiveness and care of my service improved. I don’t have much to report about the other events of that season. The summer passed quietly with no drama and no heartbreak. By the way, that young lady moved from the ward at the end of the summer feeling better about her relationship with the Lord and with His church.
I truly believe now that through that one moment of unsolicited warning, delivered by an inspired messenger, I had been rescued from a temptation I was beginning to caress in my mind and heart.
But I rewarded my rescuer with a cold shoulder for several days afterward.
A cold shoulder and the resentment of another are often the reward for speaking the truth in love and courage. But that speaking out and reaching out are what great and inspired people do. My brother had put up a guardrail for me to glance off of. I was close to an edge that I did not see—or did not want to see.

I like sharing the gospel by joining the missionaries in their lessons, visiting Church members with my branch leaders, and encouraging my friends to come to church. My brother and I went on visits with the branch president once, and we heard yelling.
We ran to see what was happening and found a member’s son-in-law passed out and hurt. We called an ambulance, and the branch president gave him a priesthood blessing. That taught me that even though we don’t always know when hard things will happen, we can always stay faithful.

Harlow Ward members in the St Albans Stake enjoyed a wonderful morning of outdoor service at a meadow nature reserve in Harlow town in October. Members of all ages, including teenagers and full-time missionaries, helped to rake, clear and dispose of grass cuttings. Their work allowed for the growth of a wild-flower meadow in the spring, which will add to the beauty of the area and improve its ecology.
Ward community outreach specialist, Edith Cells, who organised the activity, was delighted to receive feedback from Volunteer Conservation Coordinator, Andrew Tomlins, who said; “Your efforts have made it possible to mow almost the entire meadow – it is looking a lot more like it should at this time of year. If it was just our small group we would have done only a fraction of what was achieved.”
Andrew hopes the Church members will return in the spring to do more work. This is the second time the Harlow Ward has worked with Andrew on local conservation projects, and the members and missionaries are becoming known to Harlow Council’s parks department as a force for good in the town.

One Sunday when I was twelve years old, I was sitting on the front row with the deacons at the missionary farewell of President Benjamin J. Bowering. In his talk, President Bowering said, “There has never been a time in my life when I have not known that the gospel is true.” The minute I heard him say that, I realized that I felt the same way. At that moment, the stirrings of the Spirit and the strength of my testimony became evident to me, and those feelings have stayed with me all my life. Because of that talk, I recognized what I had—a testimony of the gospel.

I grew up in Salt Lake City on Capitol Hill—many of you know this. But we’ve been talking about how you get hold of your life and how you prepare. Our house was in the foothills at the big, bald, beehive-shaped mountain in back of the capitol. We used to watch it in winter from our kitchen table where the family ate. We’d watch the skiers make herringbone patterns down. We’d watch the summer hikers. We’d go up there as a family and as Church groups with our lunches squashed down into our sweaters tied around our hips. The day came when—I was about your age, a little younger maybe—I felt that I needed to go to the mountain. I needed to be alone and think lofty thoughts and get my philosophy of life intact and all of that. I set out and climbed that peak by myself. Getting to the top of it and seeing the very interesting perspective of my neighborhood—the places that I walked; the paths I took to church, to school, to the Church leaders, to friends, to the little neighborhood store; and all those people who had been in my life—I realized suddenly with a new awareness that all that I was I owed to them, especially that little white stucco house, scene of my tenderest times and most important learnings, our family home. I knew I had a debt to pay. It seemed like a tremendous debt. I knew I needed to be useful. I knew I needed the help of God, and, when I turned to him, my soul was filled with an awareness that he lives, that he cares even about a little stringed-out person sitting on the top of a mountain thinking she can make a difference in the world.

In February 2013, I met a young man named Kurt at a dinner party. He was scruffy, unshaven, and hungover. I didn’t give him much thought. Four months later, I saw a handsome young man who instantly took my breath away. Our paths crossed for all of five minutes, but in that time, I realized that it was Kurt—the same scruffy guy I had met before. I wondered about the change in his appearance.
Two weeks later, I was surprised to receive a text message from Kurt to join his friends to watch a movie. I debated in my head whether I should go. How did he even get my number? I barely knew this guy, my first impressions of him were not the greatest, and it didn’t seem like we didn’t have much in common. Reluctantly I made my mind up to go anyway.
After the movie, Kurt invited me to dinner, and I only said yes because I was starving, but that dinner changed everything. My first impression of him changed as I found out he was someone who genuinely made me smile and laugh. He was so easy to talk with, and we became instant friends.
As time passed, our friendship grew and so did our feelings. Before a romantic relationship could develop, I had this internal battle; he wasn’t a member of the Church. I knew that I wanted to be married in the temple and raise my children in the gospel. I wanted an eternal family. So what was I doing developing a relationship with him?
I knew I needed to do something. One evening we were driving back to my house, and I asked, “What are we doing?” I told him that we needed to take a step back and not let our friendship develop into something more. I said that I didn’t want to break my heart or his heart if we got into a relationship only to have to part ways because I wanted a temple marriage. I told him that life isn’t just about me, or us, but about our futures and future children. I admitted that I knew this was crazy and that I was jumping ahead but that I was just trying to be realistic and spare us future heartache.
He listened and then, to my surprise, replied, “I will take you to the temple.” I doubted him—how could he promise that? He reassured me by promising to take me and asking me to trust him.
I didn’t really know what to do, but it was probably the first time in my life that I had been praying with so much real intent. As I was fasting and praying throughout the whole journey, I always had a reassuring feeling that it was right and to keep going along this path. My previous relationships had felt good, but being with Kurt, for the first time in my life, things felt right—not just good but right, and I felt at home.
With that reassurance from the Spirit, I agreed to trust Kurt and continue our relationship. I knew that things still might not work out, but I also knew that I would stick to my commitment to a temple marriage.
Kurt started meeting with the missionaries. During the lessons, I found out that he had been investigating the Church for over a year before we met. I also discovered that he had purposely not been asking me any religious questions because he wanted to find out the truth for himself and not allow his feelings for me to sway him.
He was baptized, and we were married and sealed in the Hamilton New Zealand Temple a year later. He kept his promise to me to take me to the temple, and he still holds his covenants close to his heart. Six and a half years of marriage later, and we still have an amazing thing going. We have a son whom we cherish, and we strive every day to teach him the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I’m glad that I didn’t let my first impressions of Kurt become my last. He’s not the same person I first met. I’m glad that I trusted him and the Spirit’s guidance in our relationship. And I’m grateful that I stood up for what I believed in, for myself and my future family. I knew I wanted to be sealed in the temple, not just because it’s the “right thing to do,” but because the covenants we make, especially in the temple, put us on a path that allows our family to grow, progress, and become eternal. As President Russell M. Nelson stated so eloquently, “Salvation is an individual matter; exaltation is a family matter” (“Salvation and Exaltation,” Liahona, May 2008, 10).

To supplement his discharge pay of 80 pounds sterling, William found work as a butcher. He was hired at good wages by none other than his former employer at Maldon, Mr. Blaxall, the man who fired him years before for joining the Latter-day Saints. William returned to Maldon and worked for about a year, during which period he had two pressing goals: emigrating to Zion and “selecting me a wife.” At first he dated his employer’s wife’s sister, Lucy Gipp, but their romance cooled when she would not join the Church. Mr. Blaxall once took William aside and offered to set him up in a good meat business if he would relinquish Mormonism and marry Miss Gipp. William told him, “I could never do that because I know Mormonism is true, and I would never marry a nonmember of the Church.”
Early in 1862 the seaman met and fell in love with Elizabeth Gentry, the attractive, 16-year-old daughter of the branch president in Maldon. Her mother had joined the Church in 1853, Elizabeth in 1854, and her blacksmith father the next year. Brother Gentry and William, converts the same year, had served together as priests at preaching services around Maldon before William’s navy service.
When William and Elizabeth became engaged, they counseled with traveling elder Francis M. Lyman about immigrating to Zion. Elder Lyman, later a member of the Council of the Twelve, advised the couple to join the emigrating company he was then organizing. They agreed. The Gentrys felt sad to have their teenage daughter leave them, but they too planned to emigrate as soon as their funds would allow it. Before departing, William introduced his fiancée to his family. “They all treated us kindly,” he recalled, “but expressed their sorrow that we were led away by such a disreputable people.”
The couple joined other emigrating Saints at London and then the group traveled to Liverpool and boarded the old sailing ship William Tapscott, which had been specially chartered by Church emigration agents. For the voyage the vessel received one of the largest Latter-day Saint companies ever to emigrate together across the Atlantic, numbering 800 souls from the British Isles, Denmark, and Sweden. “It was an interesting sight,” William reported, “to see the Saints boarding the ship with all kinds of tin utensils tied in bunches and some were carrying their straw mattresses on their heads, while others were loaded down with all kinds of parcels and lunch baskets. Some had old pieces of furniture … or some old picture of great-grandparents.”
William thought it remarkable how quickly the large crowd, divided into shipboard wards headed by specially appointed presiding elders, became orderly. “I do not think the same number of non-Mormons would have settled down to such order,” the veteran of shipboard life observed. “Nothing but the Spirit of the Lord would produce such harmony.” The ship cleared Liverpool docks on May 13, 1862.
Ward teachers were assigned to each family, and Elder Lyman requested William to be responsible for the welfare of seven emigrants, including Elizabeth. The seaman obtained their rations, arranged for their food to be cooked, and performed other needed services. The slow, six-week voyage, characterized by rough seas and much seasickness, ended at Castle Garden in New York. The company passed health inspections, then boarded trains for St. Louis. Because the American Civil War then was escalating, “we were routed and changed about a number of times. At one place we were hustled on board of a freight train. The cars had been loaded with hogs and they had not been swept or cleaned out, thus we were choked with the dust and could taste it for days afterwards.”
At the Missouri River they transferred to a small steamboat. It arrived near Council Bluffs very late at night, and passengers and baggage were unloaded helter-skelter in the darkness. At daybreak the weary travelers located their scattered luggage, then assembled at the Church’s emigration campground. There they were organized into companies of tens, fifties, and hundreds by Church emigration agent Joseph W. Young. William, being a military veteran, was named captain of the guards.
Wagons and teams had to be readied, baggage loaded, food supplies purchased and packed, and teamsters trained. While this outfitting was underway, the camp was struck by a violent storm with high winds, torrential rains, and vivid lightnings. Cattle broke loose and stampeded, doing great damage. Lightning killed at least two Saints and badly injured several others. Floods washed gullies ten feet deep in places. During the storm William, as captain of the guards, was called on to help a sister give birth under a collapsed tent—and both mother and son remained his lifelong friends in Utah. The company needed two or three days to recover from the storm, and many Saints never found boxes and bags washed away by the flash floods.
A Brother Cooper, noticing William’s skill with cattle, hired him to break his teams to yoke and then drive them to Utah. In return William and Elizabeth were promised free transportation. A few days later, however, their employer announced that he did not intend to go to Zion but wanted them to help him farm nearby. When William refused, he and Elizabeth were ordered out of the wagon and left without food or water.
Elizabeth wept bitterly. William’s thoughts focused on his 50-foot rope that Cooper had taken. Then, with his fiancée following to calm him down, William hiked the half hour to Cooper’s evening camp. When he approached the cow to which his rope was tied, Cooper “drew a beeline on me with his old Yorker.” Without hesitation, William cut loose the cow, coiled his rope, then marched up to the disagreeable man and announced: “Mr. Cooper, I am going to lay off my religion and give you a licking so you won’t forget me.” Which he did.
Fortunately for the stranded couple, Elders Lyman and Charles C. Rich rode in from the West and found them that evening. They arranged for Elizabeth to ride to Utah with a family named Wardell for 40 dollars. Elder Lyman, however, asked William to return to Florence to help with the D. F. Kimball freight train. The fiancé agreed to this separation reluctantly:
“I think this was the greatest trial I ever underwent—to leave my betrothed and go back. However, I submitted and kissed my girl good-bye and gave her a half sovereign, all the money I had in the world, and jumped in the buckboard and off we went, I with a sorrowful heart and a mind full of reflections as to the outcome of it all. Brother Rich found I was in tears and told me to cheer up and have faith and all would be well.”
At Florence the freight train was being fitted out by young men William had met aboard the William Tapscott and by some young Utahns dressed in fringed and tasseled buckskins—“rough looking Saints they seemed to me,” he said. But after hearing one of the Utahns pray, the Britisher became convinced of these frontiersmen’s faithfulness. William received three assignments to perform during the trip to Utah: drive four yoke of cattle, stand guard half of every night, and grease every wagon every 60 miles. For his labors he would receive 30 dollars per month.
His first night in camp provided the other men with a good laugh then and for years after. William, preparing for bed, reached in his bag for what he thought were duck sailor overalls and instead he held up “some sort of ladies’ unmentionables trimmed and adorned with lace.” His comrades roared. He had taken his sweetheart’s bag by mistake instead of his own! But perhaps the seaman had the last laugh: while the freight company members slept on hard ground every night for three months, William rested comfortably in his sea hammock, slung each night between two wagon wheels. On rainy nights he simply covered himself and hammock with canvas.
Day by day the scenery and travel grew increasingly tiresome. Near Chimney Rock some of the cattle became diseased and died, forcing the company to double team the wagons and make shorter drives each day. William began to think he would never get to Utah and rejoin Elizabeth. He became particularly depressed when the company passed places on the plains strewn with bleached bones upon which messages—including declarations of love—had been written by previous companies. “I began to worry that someone would pick up a rib with ‘Miss E. Gentry loves someone or married someone or is to be married to someone.’”
Cattle continued dying, so the company was forced to send for assistance from the valley. Finally one October Saturday, William’s company descended the hills above Salt Lake City, awed by a beautiful sunset across the Great Salt Lake and by the splendid square-blocked city stretched out below them. As they approached the city, an occupant of a nearby cabin called and waved to William. It was Sister Wardell, the woman with whom Elizabeth had traveled to Utah! William hurried to her, but his anticipation was instantly crushed. She informed him that Elizabeth no longer loved him and planned to marry a local polygamist! “This was like a bolt of thunder to me,” he recalled. Heartsick, the young man continued with the company to the valley floor, then returned that night to the Wardells. The woman tried to persuade William to marry her daughter, but he was not interested. “I formed a resolution that I was going to have the ‘love of my youth,’” he said.
Friends from Maldon lived in Centerville, so early the next week William hiked 12 miles to locate them. He arrived at night, and “to my great joy the girl of my heart was found lying asleep on an old home-made lounge and looking fine although almost in rags. She awoke, and her joy was unbounded.” Elizabeth then explained that the Wardell woman had tried to marry her to her own son. That failing, the mother turned the girl out and kept all the clothes and bedding until Elizabeth’s 40-dollar fare was paid in full. The woman then had made up the story about Elizabeth’s loss of affection for William, hoping the navy veteran would marry into the Wardell family.
William returned to Salt Lake City and drove his freight team to Springville where he received his three months’ wages. Then he walked back to Salt Lake, paid off the 40-dollar debt, obtained his and Elizabeth’s belongings, and then got a ride back to Centerville. Two weeks later the engaged couple were married. It was a joyous celebration, William remembered, thanks to neighbors who “came with their old-fashioned squash pies and ground cherry tarts, and … sweet cake and roasted all their roosters, and had roast pork and roast bear and lots of other good things.”
Hard work brought the young couple a fine brick home and prospering meat business in Salt Lake, enabling them to pay for the immigration of Elizabeth’s family in 1867. But the next year the Woods gave up home and career to fill a difficult colonizing mission to Arizona. They returned destitute four years later and took up residence in a tumbledown dugout within sight of their former home. When asked her reactions to this strange turn of fortune, Elizabeth told her husband, “I am glad you filled your mission, and would rather be in this dugout with your mission filled, than in that fine house with your mission unfilled.”
William again left his prospering business and a growing family in 1880 to fill a proselyting mission to his home country. Near the end of that otherwise successful mission he reported:
“I preached the Gospel to my dear ones, my father, mother, brother, and sister, and although none of my own kindred have obeyed, they had to acknowledge they could not confute the doctrine, and they feel to-day that I am not what they judged me to be twenty-seven years ago. When a boy … I obeyed the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They would then say, ‘I believe William is a fool, or he is crazy to join such a deluded people,’ and at the same time say ‘What a pity such a good boy should leave his father, mother, and all to follow after such things.’ They forgot the blessings which Christ promised should follow all who would take up the cross and follow him. … All my dear relations have treated me with marked kindness, as they have any of the Elders that called upon them at the time. I know God will bless them for that.”
Six years after he returned from his mission, his beloved Elizabeth gave birth in her 42nd year to their 13th baby, but within days both mother and baby died. William later remarried, and he and his families went on to gain prominence in Canada where the Wood name became linked with extensive ranching and meat packing interests. William’s son Edward J. served for many years as a stake president and temple president in Alberta.
The year before William died, he wrote up his impressive life story, hoping his example as convert, sailor, pioneer, and missionary might teach young people in the Church that “should their lot be cast away from where they have been taught the gospel … never to yield to any invitation that leads to intemperance or immorality. Always petition the Lord, whether you are called by the servant of God to preach the Gospel or surrounded by the horrors of war—never forget to offer a silent prayer to your Eternal Father. He will not forget you.”
In his youth William Wood received a specific promise by the Spirit that the Lord would be bound to help him if he did what the Lord asked. On his deathbed William acknowledged that during his adventurous life that promise had been generously fulfilled.

“Do you want a ride home, Bryce?” Kendall asked me as we left the baseball field. “I have my bike here. You can ride with me.”
“Sure. I’ll pedal partway, if you want.” Kendall’s bike was chained to the back of the bleachers. A few feet away was another one, lying in the dirt. It was one of the nicest bikes I’d seen.
“I wonder whose bike that is,” I muttered.
“That’s Dusty’s,” Kendall grumbled, shaking his head disgustedly. “His dad bought it for him last month. Dusty just dumped it there before the game. I saw him leave with TJ. If I had a bike like that, I sure wouldn’t leave it lying around in the dirt like a pile of junk.”
I looked at the bike again. Its bright yellow and black paint was beautiful. Grabbing the handlebars, I lifted it to an upright position. For a moment I just admired it; then I swung my leg over and settled down on the seat.
I looked around. We were the only ones still there. I gripped the handlebars and hunched over, pretending to be flying down the road. I straightened up and told Kendall, “I’m going to ride it home.”
“Huh?”
“Dusty lives just a block from me. I’ll drop it by his place on my way home. He’ll thank me. Let’s go.”
Kendall and I had planned to go right home, but on the way, we passed the construction site of the new shopping center. Heavy equipment had been brought in, and there were huge piles of dirt and sand everywhere.
It was an awesome place for dirt biking. The construction crew wasn’t around.
We had meant to stay only five minutes or so, but once I got started, I couldn’t quit.
“I’m going to try that big hill in the middle, where they’ve started digging the foundation,” I called to Kendall.
“You’ll kill yourself. It’s too steep,” he called back. “No, on this bike it will be easy!”
But from the top, it looked higher and steeper than it had from below. When I looked at Kendall, standing at the bottom, gazing up anxiously, I almost chickened out. But I’d worked hard to get up there, and Kendall was watching, so I decided to give it a try.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed off. Immediately I wished I had not. Dusty’s bike went down the hill as if shot from a gun. It was all I could do to stay on as the bike bounced and swerved down the rocky dirt.
About halfway down the hill, I lost my balance and took a tumble. I went in one direction; the bike went in another. Everything was a spinning, twisting blur. My fall ended when I crashed against a rock at the bottom of the hill.
“Are you all right, Bryce?” Kendall was kneeling beside me, his face white.
I groaned and tried to sit up. There was a sharp pain in my right knee. When I tried to talk, my teeth ground on dirt and sand. “My leg’s killing me,” I moaned.
After I got up and walked around a bit, I felt better, even though my knee was still throbbing. I pulled up my pant leg and discovered a scrape. It was bleeding some, but it wasn’t too bad. “I think I’ll be OK,” I finally muttered. “Where’s Dusty’s bike?”
The bike was twisted on its side, next to a pile of iron rods. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was badly damaged. I pulled it up. The handlebars were bent at an angle.
Kendall and I were able to straighten the handlebars, but as we were doing it, we saw that two spokes were broken on the front wheel, and its rim was crumpled. The tire had a small rip in the side. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
“What are you going to do?” Kendall asked me.
I shook my head slowly, wishing I had never seen Dusty’s bike. “Maybe we can fix it,” I said hopefully.
Kendall studied the front wheel more closely, then shook his head. “That thing’s totally wrecked, Bryce.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have just left it lying there in the dirt,” I said, trying to blame Dusty for the accident. “He’s lucky somebody didn’t just steal it. I’m going to take it back to the ballpark. He can pick it up there—if he still wants it. Hey—he might even forget he left it there.”
I didn’t tell anybody at home about my accident. I did my best not to limp. But every time I took a step and felt the pain, I remembered what I’d done to Dusty’s bike. I tried to believe it was his own fault for leaving it there, but that didn’t get rid of the guilty feeling.
Before Primary the next day, I heard Dusty talking to some guys. “Someone ruined my bike,” he complained. “I left it at the park, and someone came along and wrecked it.”
“Well, why did you leave it at the park in the first place?” Tyson asked.
“I forgot it—don’t you ever forget things?”
“I’d never forget my new bike. If I did, that would be the last time my dad ever got me anything.”
“Well, if I ever find out who did it,” Dusty muttered angrily, “I’m going to bust him in the nose.”
I looked at Kendall. He looked away and started down the hall for class. Ducking my head, I followed him.
I had a hard time thinking about the Primary lesson, and when sacrament meeting started, I tried to crowd thoughts of Dusty and his bike out of my mind. But as the priests were preparing the sacrament, I thought of a family home evening lesson Mom had given. She had talked about the sacrament and had pointed out that we should always take it worthily. Taking it unworthily was mocking Jesus.
Until that Sunday, the sacrament was just something we did on Sundays. It was just bread and water that the deacons brought around. But that morning I couldn’t help thinking of the broken bike, and I knew I wasn’t worthy to take the sacrament—not until I made things right with Dusty.
I swallowed hard and bowed my head, feeling horribly ashamed. Heavenly Father knew about the bike, and I knew I couldn’t take the bread and water and renew my covenants with him while pretending I hadn’t taken and damaged Dusty’s bike.
When Mom handed me the bread tray, I started to reach for a piece. Then that sick feeling inside me welled up bigger than ever. I pulled my hand back. Without looking at Mom, I slowly shook my head and stared down at my hands. When the water came a few minutes later, I shook my head again.
It was funny that as soon as the sacrament was over and the deacons and the priests had gone to sit with their families, I felt better. I didn’t feel good about what I had done to Dusty’s bike, but I was glad I’d had the courage not to mock Jesus by taking the sacrament just so people wouldn’t look at me funny. I also realized I was going to have to tell Dusty what had happened.
I walked home after the meeting, reaching the house before the rest of my family. I didn’t wait to change my clothes—I headed straight for the garage, grabbed my bike, and pushed it over to Dusty’s.
My hand shook a little as I rang the doorbell. Sister Baker answered it. “Is Dusty around?” I asked nervously.
“Sure, Bryce,” she said pleasantly. “Why don’t you come in?”
“I need to talk to him out here.”
A moment later Dusty came bounding out. “What’s happening?”
“Hi, Dusty.” I turned and nodded toward my bike. “I brought you my bike.”
“Oh, you heard mine got wrecked. I couldn’t believe anybody would do that to somebody else’s bike.”
“Yeah,” I gulped, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I thought you could use mine until yours is fixed.”
For a moment he stared at me and then at my bike and then back at me. “You don’t have to do that, Bryce.” He sounded surprised and really sincere. “That’s nice of you, though. Thanks a lot!”
I shook my head and looked at the ground. “No, Dusty, I’m not all that nice. I wish I was. You see, I”—I swallowed hard and wet my lips—“I’m the one who smashed up your new bike.”
I looked up. Dusty was staring at me. He wasn’t angry, just shocked. “I was going to bring it home to you. I saw it at the park and figured I’d ride it here—you know, as kind of a favor.” I was speaking fast and furiously, wanting to explain before he decided to bust me in the nose. “Then I came to where they’re building that new shopping center, and I started riding the dirt hills. I wasn’t trying to mess up your bike or anything.”
I told him everything. I even showed him the scrape on my knee to prove I wasn’t lying. Dusty didn’t say much. He just listened. “That’s why I brought you my bike,” I said sadly. “I’ll pay for what it costs to fix yours, but it’ll take me a little while to earn the money. That’s why I figured you needed another bike until then. It’s not as good as yours, but it’ll get you around. I’m sorry, Dusty. I didn’t mean for things to end up this way.”
Dusty stepped over to my bike and walked around it, looking it over.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you still wanted to bust me in the nose,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “I’ve thought better about that.” He poked me in the arm. “I still think this is pretty nice of you. Most guys wouldn’t even have told me.”
“Well, I am sorry. And I’ll make up for it.”
I turned and started down his driveway, leaving my bike behind. “Hey, Bryce,” he called after me. I stopped and turned. “Do you want to play a little catch tomorrow after school?”
I hesitated and then smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
As I returned home, I was smiling, both inside and out. That deep-down sick feeling was gone, and I knew that next Sunday I’d be able to take the sacrament—and I’d appreciate it.

There is one sport that everyone in Brazil loves—soccer. And there is no bigger soccer event than the World Cup. So when Fabiana Silva, a member of the Brasil Ward, Vitória da Conquista Brazil Stake, won a contest and got to attend the 1998 World Cup in France, she was thrilled! But she had no idea it would become a missionary opportunity.
The other contest winners couldn’t help noticing Fabiana’s standards as they attended soccer game after soccer game, and Brazil headed to the final game against France. They respected her modest dress, her positive attitude, and her clean language. That respect turned to disbelief, though, when she told them she would not be attending the championship because it was going to be held on Sunday.
Despite pressure and even ridicule from the group, Fabiana stood firm. Sunday found her reading scriptures in her hotel room because she didn’t know where to find a local chapel. Brazil lost; the group went home.
A few weeks later Fabiana was surprised to receive a letter from Fábio Fan, another contest winner from across the country. He told her he was impressed by her standards and that he was investigating the Church. Later he sent another letter—he had been baptized. Fábio then helped bring members of his family into the Church and served a mission.
Fabiana also served a mission, to Campinas, Brazil, where she was well prepared because she had already learned that “the most effective tract we will carry will be the goodness of our own lives and example.”1

On February 4, 1846, the Latter-day Saints began leaving Nauvoo. They had planned to leave in April, but threats from the mobs forced their early departure. Loading their wagons onto the ferry, they crossed the Mississippi River, leaving their homes behind—again! Traveling west about nine miles, they made camp at Sugar Creek, Iowa.
The first days of February were mild, but snow fell on the fourteenth, and on the nineteenth a storm dropped eight inches (20 cm) of it. Brigham Young had instructed the Saints to bring a year’s supply of food as well as shelter and other supplies, but many left Nauvoo without the necessary provisions. Many had no tents, and others had unfinished tents that did little to protect them from the cold. After the snowstorms, the temperatures dropped and the Mississippi River froze. This was a blessing for those who were waiting for the ferry, because they could cross on the ice, but it was a trial for those in Sugar Creek. Many fell ill, and several babies were born in the damp and cold.
The main body of Saints waited in Sugar Creek until March 1. During this time additional wagons joined them daily, and Brigham Young organized the Camp of Israel into groups of hundreds, fifties, and tens, with leaders appointed over each group.

The next morning, Sunday dawns warm and sunny, with a sky full of puffy white clouds. Buenos Aires is a beautiful city of broad, tree-lined boulevards—think of it as Paris with palm trees. Later in the morning, sidewalks and parks will fill with people out for a stroll. For now, some of the busiest places are the LDS chapels, like the one in the suburb of Belgrano. Here you meet young people like Federico Casco. His dad was going to the United States on business, and Federico had the chance to go along and visit Disneyland. Instead, he stayed home so he could have four years of perfect attendance at seminary. Now he’s graduated, and he says, “It was a light in my life. It helped me obtain a stronger testimony and helped me decide to go on a mission.”

Going on missions is not easy for Argentine youth. The economy is just starting to improve after years of high unemployment and super-high inflation. There are very few jobs available for young people under 18, so saving money is tough. On the bright side, without part-time jobs, friends have more time for each other and for Church service.

Mauro Berta is first counselor in his ward Sunday School and an assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. Florencia Gomez is Young Women’s secretary and teaches the Stars in Primary. And Guillermo Pitbladdo is Sunday School president. Sunday night finds them at the Pacheco chapel with other friends from their stake.

These are not just recent converts, clinging to seminary to learn about their new faith. Many of them come from second- and third-generation Latter-day Saint families. They have been taught the gospel in their homes. But Diego Griffith says, “Everything I had not learned during the fourteen years that I have been a member of the Church I learned in four years of seminary. That’s where I started to become more familiar with the scriptures and where I learned about the promises of the Lord.”

Besides, as Debora Walker points out, when you are a teen, there seem to be lots more temptations around, and without seminary “it would be much more difficult to resist those temptations.”

Maybe Juan José Zopetti sums it up best: “Seminary helps me primarily to increase my testimony of Jesus Christ—his love and his mission.”

That restored knowledge of Jesus Christ—his mission and commandments—that’s the gospel. That’s what Elder Ballard sent rolling forth across a whole continent nearly 70 years ago. And here at the center, where it began, LDS youth are making sure the wave is still building.

Cindy Shropshal, 18, Perth. For Cindy, fellowship in the Church started with friendship in school. She became good friends with a boy in her English class—Cliff Allen. One night they went out with another classmate, who had a reputation as a drinker. Cliff insisted on an alcohol-free night. When they asked Cliff why he didn’t drink, Cindy recalls, “He started telling me about the Church. I started to feel the Spirit. I thought about it a lot that evening. I had been searching for the true church. That night I knew this was the church I should join.”

Several years ago I served as a temple worker in the Santiago Chile Temple. During one evening shift I began to experience difficulty breathing, so I reluctantly requested to leave early.
As I walked to the subway station, I prayed that the train I needed would be there so I could get home soon. I thought my prayer was answered when I saw the train stopped at the platform. But as I approached, I saw the train staff rushing to help a passenger who was experiencing a possible heart attack. The words of my favorite hymn pierced my mind: “Have I done any good in the world today?”1 I immediately felt impressed to help.
I hurried to where the staff took the young man to wait for the ambulance, and they allowed me to stay. I prayed to know what to do and pled with Heavenly Father to spare the young man’s life. I didn’t want to leave him alone and scared, so I held his hand and tried to help him remain calm. I assured him that he had a long life ahead and that God had a purpose for him. I found out his family’s phone number, called them, and let them know their son was on his way to the hospital and was not alone.
When the paramedics arrived, I followed them to the ambulance. I felt I should stay with the young man until his family arrived. To my surprise, the paramedics decided I should come with them, so I held the young man’s hand all the way to the hospital.
Shortly after we arrived, they took him to the emergency room, and I went outside to watch for his family. When they came, his mother broke into tears, threw her arms around me, and said she was so glad there are still good people on earth.
A week later I received a phone call from the young man. He told me the doctors said that remaining calm had been critical during that time before he reached the hospital.
Until that day, he did not believe in God. I was speechless when he exclaimed, “You saved my life, and I am forever grateful to you! Now I know there is a God.”
When I left the temple early that day, the Spirit led me to the right place at the right time. I feel grateful to our Heavenly Father for guiding me and giving me courage to do as the hymn says and not let the opportunity pass by, even if the only thing I could do was hold the hand of a stranger.

Like you returning missionaries, I had to leave home again, because of a call from the Prophet. Four years ago, my husband and I sat across the desk from President Hinckley. He said, "Brother Hafen, I would like to extend to you a call. Your first assignment will be to the Pacific Area. You will be living in Sydney, Australia." Then he turned to me and said, "How does that strike you, Sister Hafen?" To which I could only gasp, "President Hinckley, that really strikes me." He chuckled. I wept. I was NOT thinking of new landscapes of growth for me. All I could think of was how far away Australia was. (Yet now that I am barely back, the Olympics are just making me homesick.)

Honestly, in some ways I didn't want to go. It meant leaving family, friends, and students. We would not be welcoming our son Mark, when he returned from his mission. We would not be decorating the Christmas tree with our youngest, Rachel--in her second year here at Ricks. I would be leaving my mom and dad who were in their mid-eighties. I would be leaving my neighborhood, and the morning bike rides with Mt. Timpanogos directly over my handlebars. I had never lived away from the Utah/Idaho landscape. When it came time to board the plane, I didn't exactly dance down the LA concourse for the 13 hour flight to Sydney. I was scared. But as far as it is to the other side of the world, the journey I was about to begin was less a journey of miles than it was a journey of my heart. I didn't realize it then as I fastened my seat belt, but I was about to discover the depths of my heart reflected in the depths of the Australian landscape.

On the professional and academic side, I'm currently an accountant with my CPA license, but when I first went to the University of Arizona, I wanted to major in music. Yes, music. Growing up, I played many instruments in the band and was in the glee club. But then I changed my major to history and kept music as a minor. I would change my major one more time to psychology with a history minor.

Upon graduating with my bachelor's degree, I was blessed to play four years in the NFL. I battled injuries during my last two years with the Indianapolis Colts, and I could see the end coming. I had initially wanted to be a counselor or social worker. However, my dad always stressed the importance of academics and getting a graduate degree, so I enrolled in graduate school at Indiana University, seeking to earn a master's in business administration.

As a psychology major, I didn't have the opportunity to take the math classes required for business school. However, I made up for it by taking prerequisite courses, studying diligently, and achieving a satisfactory score on the GMAT, which led to my acceptance into Indiana University's business school. During my MBA program, I unexpectedly developed a passion for accounting and working with numbers. This newfound interest prompted me to seek guidance from one of my accounting professors, who happened to be the chair of the accounting department. He not only advised me on the necessary courses to pass my CPA exams, but also informed me that by completing those classes, I could earn a master's degree in accounting alongside my MBA. That's the short story of how I stand before you today as an accountant with a psychology degree, guided by divine wisdom and trust in the Lord's plan.

It was a windy road that brought me here today, and I'm still not sure what the Lord has in store for me and my family. But I know that as long as I put my trust in Him, He will never lead me astray. We all need to trust the Lord with all our hearts and have faith that He knows what's best for us. After four years in the NFL and when I couldn't pass my physical, the Colts cut me a week and a half before my MBA program started anbyd a week before my first child, Emalia, was born. While nobody who plays sports wants it to end, and very few get to decide on their terms when to retire, looking back on it, the Lord was leading me where I needed to be. I now had a child to look after, and that motivation allowed me to focus more on my studies and career after football. The Lord blessed me with the ability to go to school while being able to stay home and spend time with my family.

In 1952 the majority of the families in the Rose Park Third Ward were members whose fathers or husbands held only the Aaronic Priesthood, rather than the Melchizedek Priesthood. Brother L. Brent Goates was called to serve as the bishop. He invited a less-active brother in the ward, Ernest Skinner, to assist in activating the 29 adult brethren in the ward who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood and to help these men and their families get to the temple. As a less-active member himself, Brother Skinner was reluctant at first but finally indicated that he would do what he could. He began personally visiting with the less-active adult teachers, trying to help them see their role as priesthood leaders in their homes and as husbands and fathers to their families. He soon enlisted some of the less-active brethren to assist him in his assignment. One by one they became fully active again and took their families to the temple.

One day the ward clerk came out of a grocery checking line to greet the last of the group to go to the temple. Commenting on his position as the last, the man said: “I stood by and watched as all of that group became active in our ward and went to the temple. If only I had been able to imagine how beautiful it was in the temple, and how it would change my life forever, I never would have been the last of 29 to be sealed in the temple.”

We have lived in Park City, Utah, for over 20 years. Park City was the site of the 2002 Winter Olympics and is home to three world-class ski resorts. It’s a big time ski town. My favorite area is Deer Valley. On a powder day I know where to go to find first tracks in untouched snow. But when we were new to town I had to learn my way around the mountain.
I remember the first time I skied one particular run called The Ruins of Pompeii. It’s a double black diamond. It starts off steep and then in the middle it has an even steeper section. My first time down I wasn’t sure what was ahead so I was skiing carefully. When I came to the steep section I stopped to catch my breath and look down the slope to pick out my line. While I was standing there looking over the run, I heard another skier approaching. He was obviously a good skier and was skiing fast. When he came to the steep section he let out a whoop, caught a little air and went over the edge. I watched him do some nice turns and then ski out of sight. I was impressed.
I pushed off and carefully navigated the steep section with five or six turns. Then I stopped again and looked back up the slope. I was surprised at how much easier it looked from the bottom, especially now that I had completed it. Pleased with myself I completed the run and jumped on the lift.
Returning to the Ruins of Pompeii again I skied the upper section feeling pretty good. When the steep section came in sight I noticed a skier stopped where I had been, peering over the edge. So what do you think I did? Exactly. I picked up a little speed, let out a whoop, caught a very little air, and skied right over the edge. I laid down my turns and continued out of sight.
What was the difference between the two runs for me? Confidence. The first experience gave me confidence to do much better the second time down. And that’s what I want to talk about today. Confidence.

Wyoming can be a cold and snowy place in the wintertime. That’s why one troop decided to make snowshoes. During the fall they were looking ahead to the Klondike derby coming up in January. They wanted an activity that could prepare them for winter camping.
Under the direction of their Scoutmaster and deacons quorum adviser, the young men went online to find a pattern and instructions for making snowshoes out of rawhide and wood. “We realized this project was going to take a long time,” says Sam F., deacons quorum president, “but we were all excited, and we had a plan.”
As the young men worked on their snowshoe frames, they discussed how they could help others in the quorum who were less active, and they made a plan to visit them. “We visited every boy on our list and invited them to come to Scouts,” Sam says. “We told them we were making snowshoes for the winter campout coming up.” Having a clear goal was helpful in drawing other boys to the troop.
As the snowshoes progressed, so did the quorum. Six young men started the snowshoe project, but soon others joined in, including one of another faith.
John B.’s friend, Timothy N., was active in his church, but it didn’t have a Scout troop, so he started coming with his friend. His brother, Thomas, even joined the ward’s 11-year-old Scout patrol and earned his religious award. He was then presented with the award at his own church service.
While the young men and leaders worked, they made religious connections between wrapping the rawhide tightly and bringing their quorum together.
Jacob D. started coming regularly to the Scout meetings. His mother, Heather P., later thanked the troop for welcoming her son and their family. Other young men who had never attended church came to the Scout meetings to make snowshoes.
By January, the snowshoes were finished and each young man had a pair to use during the Klondike derby. Aiden H. said what they all felt about making snowshoes: “It was fun because we got to use them!”
“We learned a lot about enduring to the end on a project and about strengthening our quorum through Scouting,” Sam says. “My snowshoes will last a long time, and whenever I see them I’ll remember this experience, as well as the great friends we made in our troop and quorum.”

When I was about ten, my older brother had a serious health problem. The blood in his hands was not circulating properly, and they hurt very badly. At that time, my family lived in a small town on the border of Brazil and Argentina. The medical facilities there were not very good, so my mother and my brother traveled to the big city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, to see the doctor. Because my father had to work during the day, my baby brother had to stay with another family. So every day I went to visit him. And every day I prayed for my older brother.
The doctors told my mother that they needed to amputate (cut off) my brother’s hands. Mother refused. “No, I know that the Lord will take care of my son,” she said. One night after my mother and brother had returned home, he was in great pain. I shared a room with him, and I remember him crying because his hands hurt so much. While he cried, Mother knelt by his bed, praying. The next morning, I saw him sleeping peacefully. Mother was also asleep, still kneeling at his bedside. We were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but Mother had great faith. Eventually my brother’s hands did get better. He lost the tips of some of his fingers, but he did not have to have his hands amputated.
Mother also had great courage. And she taught us to be of good cheer. She told my brother that even though he had lost part of some fingers, he still had everything else. So my brother did not get discouraged. When he got older, his first job was as a typist. Today he is an attorney.

Tonight, in the presence of our prophet and his counselors, we gratefully remind ourselves and testify to the world that the Relief Society was divinely organized by a loving Heavenly Father acting through the Prophet Joseph Smith. And we witness that it continues to be led by prophets of God. I am humbled to be here with all of you in this general Relief Society meeting to hear the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley, our prophet for our time. We need his voice to guide us now as surely as our sisters needed a prophet’s intervention in 1842 when they brought to Joseph Smith a constitution for a female benevolent society in Nauvoo. They approached the Prophet Joseph and asked his counsel on their desire to serve in the kingdom by organizing themselves by their plan. He said he had something better for them: an order and a purpose which required priesthood leadership so that their good desires could bear even better fruit.
Many organizations compete for our time. In fact, our commitments to callings in the various organizations of the Church can cause us to think we are not “working in Relief Society now,” or we may say, “when I was in the Relief Society. …” Sisters, as members of the Church, we are always in Relief Society. Yet it is not uncommon for women, especially those either new to the Church or new to Relief Society, to ask: “What is Relief Society for?” “Why should I participate?” “How can it help me?” All of us can benefit by reflecting on these questions and on the answers our prophets have given us and will yet give us on occasions such as this.
Quite simply, we participate in Relief Society out of the understanding that this is God’s organization for us and the conviction that, as he promised through his Prophet, because of it, we “shall rejoice, and knowledge and intelligence shall flow down from this time” (History of the Church, 4:607; quoted in History of Relief Society, 1842–1966, Salt Lake City: The General Board of Relief Society, 1966, p. 21). Or, in the words of the Prophet’s mother: Relief Society is where we can “cherish one another … and gain instruction, that we may all sit down in heaven together” (Minutes of the Female Relief Society of Nauvoo, 24 Mar. 1842; quoted in History of Relief Society, 1842–1966, p. 20). Sisters, we do need instruction. We need cherishing, and we need to cherish others. All teachers and most experienced students know the relationship between these two principles. We cannot teach those whom we do not love. We cannot learn from those who do not love us.
Consider how the very powers of modern communications that promise to make of our world an interconnected network are the cause of much public worrying about our increasing isolation from one another. Even privately, in our wards and, yes, in our families too, we sometimes find ourselves, and often hear of others, feeling isolated or downright unloved because there is neither the time nor a sufficiently legitimate purpose to connect across the hall or across the street. It is that increasing vacuum of connecting, one to another or among our families or within our ward family, that calls us increasingly to participate in Relief Society.
Peter gave strong instruction to the Saints of his day which applied to both men and women. May I reference it as it applies particularly to us: “Have fervent charity among yourselves. … Use hospitality one to another without grudging. As every [woman] hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God” (1 Pet. 4:8–10). How I would like to transfer the power of that scripture to every Relief Society meeting yet to be held. Would that something could happen every time that would cause each woman present—whether married or single, working at home or away from home, momentarily secure or immediately desperate—to feel her Heavenly Father’s Spirit and her sisters’ unfeigned love and encouragement.
Remember, my sisters: “Charity never faileth.” This is more than our motto. It is our divine commission. As sisters, let us love one another and love our brethren in this great work. Let us show in our charity our faith.
“Cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all. …
“It endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with [her].
“Wherefore, my beloved [sisters], pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ” (Moro. 7:46–48).
The Relief Society was organized by God’s prophet Joseph and has been led and is led today by a prophet so that we may become true followers of Jesus Christ. That is the answer to the question, “Why Relief Society?” That is why we participate and that is what it can do for us: instruct us more perfectly in our covenant obligations and promises to be disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ. Or, as Joseph Smith instructed those first sisters in 1842: “[This] … Society is not only to relieve the poor, but to save souls” (History of the Church, 5:25). What does it mean to save souls? Let me give one example of the many I have witnessed as I have visited among you. A South African sister once told me that when her husband died and she was left to rear their six children, she relied on the teachings of the Bible for direction. She often pondered the meaning of Proverbs 13, verse 24, which is interpreted widely as “spare the rod and spoil the child.” [Prov. 13:24] When she joined the Church she turned to the Book of Mormon, too, for understanding. There she found mention of another rod, the word of God which leads one along the path to the tree of life. Then she understood that sparing this rod would certainly spoil her children. Thus, she has learned to order her home, to bring the light of the gospel, to save the souls of her children.
I saw Sister Mavimbela again very recently when she received an award at Brigham Young University, and she has enlarged her sphere. In conversation she told me that by participating in her Relief Society in Soweto she has learned to apply its saving ways within her community. Using visiting teaching and welfare principles, such as those described in the Church’s manual Providing in the Lord’s Way, she has supervised more than a thousand children as they learn to garden and raise food for themselves and others. She has also enlisted more than 250 grandmothers in her community to help with the many tasks essential to the temporal and spiritual nurturing of children and the strengthening of families. Sister Mavimbela is saving souls. She is in the same mold as those great women, such as Eliza R. Snow, Phoebe Kimball, and Zina D. H. Young, who began to visit one another in Nauvoo for the purpose of feeding hungry families and shoring up struggling faith in difficult times. This is what Relief Society is for: to make of us women who can nourish body and soul, who can “succor [God’s children] according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12). This is the work our Savior did, and it is the work to which he called us when he ordered this society under the direction of the priesthood.
To speak so simply of Sister Mavimbela’s work can make it sound simple. We know it is not. These are complicated times whether we live in Soweto or San Francisco, Sapporo or São Paulo. It is so complicated in fact that “if possible, they shall deceive the very elect, who are the elect according to the covenant” (JS—M 1:22). What will make it not possible for his disciples to be deceived is the capacity to discern the voice of truth from among all others that ask for our obedience. The word of God given us in scripture is, indeed, an iron rod which leads us on the path to eternal life. There the truth is spelled out; it can be held on to; it has been tried in the experience of generations. But not all truth brings a long tradition of acceptance with it. It requires us to know it when we see it. The Spirit must witness these things to us, make us recognize them as true—as of God.
Consider the Savior’s image when he spoke of the necessity of discerning truth. He likens knowing the truth to receiving “living water”; that is, water that is fit to drink: pure, running water. He tells the woman at the well: “If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water” (John 4:10). When I think of lifesaving water and of wells, I also think of Hagar (see Gen. 21:14–20). Hers is a complicated family story. She is forced alone into the wilderness of Beersheba with her young son, Ishmael. In due time the water and bread she has taken with her into the desert are consumed, and thirst and hunger overwhelm her and her little boy. Because she cannot bear to hear the cries of her son, the record tells us that she puts him in a shaded place and goes “a good way off” (Gen. 21:16). There, she lifts up her voice and weeps. In response, an angel of God speaks comfort to her and reminds her that she is not forsaken. Then, we are told, “God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water” (Gen. 21:19; emphasis added). We, like Hagar, are required to see “a well of water.” We, like the woman at the well, must ask of the Lord: “Give me this water, that I thirst not” (John 4:15). This is the purpose of Relief Society. It teaches us as daughters of God how to see and how to ask for that which we need of the Lord so that we need not thirst again. Remember the Prophet Joseph’s promise to us that through this society we “shall rejoice, and knowledge and intelligence shall flow.”
We must act so as to receive this promise. It does not come by removing ourselves “a good way off.” Sisters, I ask you to stand close to one another. Love one another, even cherish one another that you may have the Spirit to teach you “the truth of all things” (Moro. 10:5). Instruct one another. Look with the discernment God has given you through the gift of the Holy Ghost. Listen for the still, small voice. I ask you to seek instruction in the word of God, both as written in the scriptures to prophets of old and as spoken tonight by a living prophet. See the well. Ask for the water that you “thirst not.” Obtain the promises which are held out to you by a loving Father in Heaven through the atonement of his Only Begotten Son, he who promised, “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give [her] shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give [her] shall be in [her] a well of water springing up into everlasting life” (John 4:14).
I testify that this is true, that we are bound together in his church by his priesthood power to be able to build his kingdom on earth and to rejoice in our knowledge of him. And this I say in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.