Gospel Story Finder

The youth of the Slaterville Second Ward, Ogden Utah Mound Fort Stake, borrowed their fathers’ hammers and set out on an adventure that anticipated Christmas. They contracted to make Christmas tree stands in order to raise money for their youth activities.
The adult leaders were in charge of running the saw, but with an assembly line system and a quality inspector, the youth stayed organized and busy. Each person was assigned a certain number of hours to help, and no one complained as each put in his quota with the help of supportive families.
The project lasted for more than a month until the goal of 24,000 stands was completed. The young people found they enjoyed working together for their mutual benefit and learned something about responsibility. It was also a wonderful opportunity for leaders and youth to work together.

Both Elder and Sister Cordón grew up in Guatemala and speak fondly of their early years there. Due to challenging circumstances, Sister Cordón was separated from her parents at the age of 13, first moving in with an aunt, and then later at the age of 16, moving in with the family of her best friend. In 1984, she was introduced to the Church by her uncle. This is when she felt the Spirit and was counseled to read the Book of Mormon regularly. Her friend’s family was also Christian and were very supportive of her beliefs. Over time, her testimony grew strong.

My first district leader’s motto seemed to be “Work smarter, not harder.” I don’t agree with the second half of this motto, but if I had it to do over, I would certainly try to work smarter. My district leader was quite creative and quite successful. For instance, he organized a volleyball team among the youth in his branch, and they invited their friends to play. It was a fun and simple way to help the youth be missionaries. Teaching opportunities and conversions resulted from this nonthreatening approach to sharing the gospel.

I was probably too rigid and restrictive in my definition of what the Lord’s work should be. I considered myself lazy if I wasn’t out knocking on doors all day long or teaching serious investigators. But the Lord’s work doesn’t have to be hard to be considered work. If I were a missionary today, I would, under the guidance of my mission president, try to be more creative in finding people to teach.

A true champion, after giving everything he can, calls on God for extra help.
Cathy Ferguson, age 17, was struggling in the backstroke swimming event, 15 centimeters behind the leader. She could hardly feel her arms and legs, but kept battling—8 meters, 7 meters, 6 meters, 5 meters. She kept swimming harder, until she pushed through to win. In that moment of glory, she could hardly control her tears, but she said, “I just kept praying, ‘Please God, help me keep going.’”

One Saturday, all of our family, except Dad, hurried into the car to attend the wedding of a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because we were in such a hurry, I had forgotten to take the directions to the church where the wedding would be held. By the time I realized this, we were very far from home, and it was almost time for the wedding.
The first thing we tried to do was phone Dad. But there was no answer. Next, we drove around the area to try to find the church, but there were so many that it seemed impossible to find the right one in time.
Michael said, “Why don’t we ask Heavenly Father to help us?”
I was a bit embarrassed because I had not thought of praying. I asked him to pray, and he asked Heavenly Father to help us find the church where the wedding was.
In just a few moments, we found it—in time, too. We were very happy that Michael reminded us that Heavenly Father answers prayers and that no prayer is too small for Him to hear. He showed us his great faith in the power of prayer.

“Someone’s sure kicking up the dust, Papa. Do you think he’s rushing here to buy our apples?” David asked as he nudged his father’s arm.
David’s father raised his hand to his eyes, squinting into the sunlight. He watched the approaching horse and rider. “I guess word has got around that we have the best apples in the county,” he teased.
“John Chidester!” yelled the man on horseback. The rider waved to signal to John and his son to stop.
“Here, David. You take over,” Papa said as he handed the reins to his son. “I’ll get ready for our customer.” He climbed over the backboard and into the wagon.
As the approaching horse drew near, David exclaimed, “Papa, it’s the Prophet!”
The horse slowed to a trot as it neared the slow-moving wagon. “John, I need your help!”
“Brother Joseph! What can I get for you today? A dozen apples, maybe two?”
“I need the whole wagon!” the Prophet exclaimed. He pulled the reins on his horse and slid off the saddle. “A mob is coming around the bend!” he said as he motioned down the dirt road. “Hide me! Quick!”
“David! Rein the horses!” commanded his father. “Help me rearrange the apples!”
David stopped the horses. He jumped into the back of the wagon and helped his father quickly scoop away armfuls of apples. They made a space big enough to hide a man.
“Hide here,” Papa said. He extended his hand to the Prophet and pulled him into the wagon.
“Thank you, John,” Joseph said. He crawled into the empty space. David and his father covered Joseph Smith with apples.
“Papa, look!” David exclaimed, pointing down the road. “They’re coming!”
Papa climbed out of the wagon. “David, get back onto the wagon seat and turn the wagon around. Take the shortcut back to town. I’ll distract this mob.” Papa mounted Joseph’s horse and galloped off into the opposite direction.
David clicked his tongue at the horses and commanded, “Get home!” The horses trotted toward town. But they were not quick enough. The wagon was soon overtaken by the mob.
“Hey, boy, stop those horses!” shouted a man from behind. David turned to see one of the mob galloping up to the wagon. Other men were close behind. David could not see his father. He felt scared. He pulled the reins on the horses.
“Search the wagon!” commanded the man.
David quickly looked down at the wagon full of apples. To his horror, he noticed the Prophet’s feet poking out of the pile of apples. But it was too late. There was nothing he could do.
Three men got off their horses and ran to the wagon. David silently prayed, Please, Heavenly Father, protect the Prophet. Hide his feet from these men. The men rummaged through the wagon.
“Apples! That’s all that’s here! Just apples!” one of the men shouted to his leader. He turned to David. “Your old man was right, boy,” he sneered. “Bunch of apples. He and his horse didn’t have to be tied up to a tree after all.”
“Joe Smith must be heading to town on foot,” yelled the leader. “Let’s head him off!”
Remounting their horses, the mob galloped off toward Nauvoo.
David was relieved. Heavenly Father, he silently prayed, I thank thee for answering my prayer. David realized that the danger wasn’t over yet. He still had to get the Prophet to safety. And he had to get help for his father. He whipped the reins to start the horses. They again headed toward town.
The wagon came to a fork in the road. David remembered that his father had told him to take the shortcut. He steered the horses to the left.
Suddenly a flash of lightning struck just ahead of the wagon. The horses jumped in fright, and David was thrown backward. He dropped the reins. The horses began to run out of control.
Clinging to the backboard he struggled to reach the reins, pleading to Heavenly Father for help. Finally he managed to lower himself to the footboard and grab the reins. Bracing himself against the seat, he pulled on the reins.
As the horses slowed to a trot, he realized that they had reached Nauvoo. He drove the wagon to the Prophet’s home and delivered him to safety.
“David, that was some ride,” Joseph said as he climbed out of the wagon. He reached up and shook David’s hand. “Thank you. You saved my life.”
“With Heavenly Father’s help,” David answered. “I prayed for protection the whole way. Now I need to help my father.”
“No need to worry about your father, David,” Joseph said. “He seems to be all right.” The Prophet pointed down the road.
David turned to see his father approaching on horseback. “Papa!” David jumped from the wagon and ran to his father. “You’re safe! But how?”
“Some travelers saw me and rescued me,” he said as he dismounted the horse and gave David a hug. “I’m glad you’re safe! How did you get past the mob? Some of those men planned to hide on the shortcut road and take you by surprise.”
“We started down that road, Papa, but there was a lightning strike, and the horses went wild and wouldn’t take the shortcut road. They ran so fast that they nearly toppled the wagon!”
“I believe we were well protected”—Joseph approached them and placed his hand on David’s shoulder—“thanks to your prayers.”

My dear brethren of the priesthood, I am grateful to be with you at this session of general conference on this historic day.
We admire those who risk their lives to rescue those in danger. When I visited Southern California during the devastating Santa Ana wind fires late last year, I came away with two impressions. The first was how the Church members came to the assistance of those in need. The second was how appreciative they were to the firefighters. One homeowner described what he saw the firefighters do. He pointed out that the Santa Ana winds blow from the warm desert toward the ocean. Once a fire starts, these hot desert winds carry the flames at a speed of up to 60 or 70 miles (97–113 km) per hour. The homeowner described his gratitude and admiration as he watched the firefighters standing with their hoses behind a cleared area, facing a wall of fire up to 10 feet (3 m) high descending upon them at this enormous speed. These brave men and women were able to rescue both people and homes while in constant personal danger.
From time to time, as individuals and as a church, we go through periods of crisis and danger. Some arise quickly like a fire. Others are subtle and go almost undetected before they are upon us. Some require heroic action, but most are less spectacular. The way we respond is crucial. My purpose this evening is to reemphasize to priesthood holders the importance of heeding the words of the prophets. This is one sure way to respond to physical and spiritual dangers of all kinds. Some illustrations may be helpful.
Many of you have participated in treks to experience and appreciate the dramatic rescue of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. I first became aware of this rescue when I was a teenager. My mother gave me a book written by Orson F. Whitney, who would later be an Apostle. Elder Whitney’s book acquainted me with the heroic effort directed by Brigham Young to rescue the handcart companies. They had been overtaken by winter storms on the high plains of Wyoming. Some had died, and many others were on the verge of death. Brigham Young became aware of their plight, and at the October 1856 general conference he instructed the Saints to drop everything and rescue those stranded on the plains.
The response was dramatic. Elder Whitney reported, “Brave men by their heroism—for it was at the peril of their own lives that they thus braved the wintry storms on the plains—immortalized themselves, and won the undying gratitude of hundreds who were undoubtedly saved by their timely action from perishing.”
One reason my mother had given me the book was Elder Whitney had made special mention of my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who had participated in the rescue when he was 17 years old. All the rescuers battled deep snow and freezing temperatures during much of the rescue of the handcart companies. At great personal sacrifice, David and his associates helped carry many of the pioneers across the freezing, ice-filled Sweetwater.
This true account greatly impressed me. I wanted to prove my devotion to the Lord through some dramatic act. However, in a visit with my grandfather, he explained that when President Brigham Young sent his father, David, and the other young men on their rescue mission, President Young instructed them to do everything they possibly could to save the handcart companies, even at the peril of their own lives. Their acts of bravery were specifically to “follow the prophet Brigham Young” and by so doing express their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. My grandfather told me that consistent, faithful dedication to the counsel of a prophet is the real lesson I should learn from my great-grandfather’s service. As heroic as it was for David and his associates to help rescue the pioneers, it is also valiant today to follow the counsel of our prophet.
An often-told account from the Old Testament illustrates this principle. Naaman, a prominent leader in Syria, was afflicted with leprosy. He became aware that the prophet Elisha in Israel might be able to heal him. Elisha sent word by a messenger that Naaman should wash himself in the river Jordan seven times. Initially, Naaman was upset with this counsel. However, his servants said, “If the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it?” Then Naaman followed the counsel of the prophet Elisha, and he was made clean.
Like Naaman, you young priesthood holders might aspire to “do some great thing” or participate in something dramatic like the handcart rescue. However, your resolve should be to follow the counsel of the prophet. The First Presidency has reaffirmed its commitment to increasing the worthiness of young people who are recommended for missionary service. Keeping yourselves free from the sins of the world and meeting the high standards for missionary service should be one goal. Preparing yourselves to proclaim the gospel and rescue some of Heavenly Father’s children spiritually would be both significant and heroic. You can meet this challenge.
Throughout history, a loving Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, who is the head of the Church, have blessed us with prophets who counsel and warn about future dangers. In Doctrine and Covenants, section 21, speaking specifically of the prophet, the Lord declares:
“Thou shalt give heed unto all his words and commandments which he shall give unto you as he receiveth them, walking in all holiness before me;
“For his word ye shall receive, as if from mine own mouth, in all patience and faith.”
We have had the great privilege this morning in a solemn assembly to sustain President Thomas S. Monson as our prophet, seer, and revelator and as the 16th President of the Church in this dispensation. Later in this priesthood session of conference we will be blessed to hear his first general conference address as President of the Church. We will want to sustain him with our hearts and our actions as we pay careful attention to what he teaches and what we feel.
My love and appreciation for our previous prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, is planted deeply in my heart and will remain with me throughout the eternities. But just as there is room in our hearts for all the children who come into our families, we have that same love and devotion for each prophet the Lord calls to lead His Church.
Prophets are inspired to provide us with prophetic priorities to protect us from dangers. As an example, President Heber J. Grant, the prophet from 1918 to 1945, was inspired to emphasize adherence to the Word of Wisdom, the principle with a promise revealed by the Lord to the Prophet Joseph. He stressed the importance of not smoking or drinking alcoholic beverages and directed the bishops to review these principles in temple recommend interviews.
At that time, smoking was accepted by society as an appropriate, even glamorous, behavior. The medical profession accepted smoking with little concern because the scientific studies linking cigarette smoking with several kinds of cancer were far in the future. President Grant counseled with great vigor, and we became known as a people who abstained from drinking and smoking.
Starting in the late 1960s, illegal drug use reached epidemic proportions throughout the world. While there were some members who rebelled, the vast majority of LDS youth were able to avoid the devastating use of drugs.
Obeying the Word of Wisdom gave our members, especially our youth, a preventive inoculation against drug use and the resulting health problems and moral hazards. Unfortunately, there appears to be a resurgence of drug use in our own day. Living the Word of Wisdom today will free you from some of the most serious dangers you can face in this life.
Sometimes prophets teach us prophetic priorities that provide protection for us now and in the future. As an example, President David O. McKay was the prophet from 1951 to 1970. One area of significant focus was his emphasis on the family. He taught that “no other success in life can compensate for failure in the home.” He encouraged members to strengthen families by increasing religious observance. His teachings were a protection from the disintegration of the institution of marriage that came after his death. Because of President McKay’s teaching, the Latter-day Saints strengthened their commitment to family and eternal marriage.
As the priesthood holders of the Church, it is our solemn responsibility to follow our prophet. We sustain President Monson and his counselors, President Eyring and President Uchtdorf.
We want you young people to know that President Thomas S. Monson has been prepared by the Lord from his youth to be the prophet. After serving in the navy at the close of World War II, he was ordained as a bishop at age 22 and then served in a stake presidency. At 32 years of age he served as a mission president in Canada with his sweetheart and companion, Frances Monson. He was called to be an Apostle by President McKay when he was only 36 years old. He is the youngest man called as an Apostle in the past 98 years and has served for over 44 years. The last 22 years he has served as a counselor to Presidents Ezra Taft Benson, Howard W. Hunter, and Gordon B. Hinckley.
Section 81 of the Doctrine and Covenants sets forth instructions to a counselor in the First Presidency. It contains important priesthood principles. The first instruction is to be “faithful in counsel.” President Monson has faithfully counseled with each of the three prophets under whom he has served. The unity of the First Presidency in all of their important decisions has been an example to all of us as priesthood holders in the exercise of Church government.
The second instruction is “proclaiming the gospel.” President Monson has been a great missionary all his life. His personal missionary effort, his supervisory work of the Missionary Department, and his calling and training of mission presidents have been undertaken with enthusiasm. He made significant contributions to the new missionary guide, Preach My Gospel. In addition to valuable content contributions, he inspired the inclusion of true accounts to make the guide come alive. With his printer’s eye, he improved the design and layout. He is indeed a great missionary.
The third instruction reads, “Wherefore, be faithful; stand in the office which I have appointed unto you; succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.” Many of our brothers and sisters face devastating problems in their lives. It is in our Christlike outreach to them that we as priesthood leaders, parents, friends, and home teachers can be like the handcart company rescuers.
President Monson’s rescue efforts in this regard have been particularly exemplary. As a bishop he learned to minister to the members of his ward. He has kept in touch with and served their children and grandchildren. Despite a demanding schedule, he was able to speak at the funerals of all 84 of the widows who lived in his ward when he was bishop.
He has reached out to those in need in a remarkable and personal way. His long years of oversight of humanitarian efforts have blessed people all over the world, both members and those not of our faith. His personal ministry has been Christlike and has given comfort and peace to countless numbers of people. One friend of mine who lost a grandson in a tragic accident told me that his grief was almost beyond comprehension. President Monson’s ministering to him turned almost overwhelming grief to the peace that surpasses understanding. His effort to personally minister to those who are sick and afflicted has been extraordinary.
President Monson has done his very best to “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.” He has magnified his calling as a counselor in the First Presidency in a remarkable way. He has valiantly testified of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, which is the primary responsibility of all Apostles.
As the then junior member of the Twelve, participating in my first reorganization of the First Presidency in an upper room of the Salt Lake Temple this past February, I experienced the confirmation of the Spirit as the Twelve individually and unanimously sustained President Monson as the Lord’s prophet and President of the Church.
I am grateful for our Father in Heaven, who loves us, and for His Son, Jesus Christ, who is our Savior and, through the Atonement, our ultimate rescuer from the physical and spiritual dangers of life. He is our advocate with the Father. Of this I bear witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“You know,” Mom said, “there was a girl on my basketball team in high school—Sarah—who had the worst attitude. She was always yelling at everybody and making us feel terrible when we made mistakes.”
“She must be related to Andrew.”
Mom laughed. “Well, I got pretty fed up with Sarah’s bullying. So one day I decided to show her what real team spirit was all about. Every time somebody made a mistake, I jumped in before Sarah had a chance and said, ‘Good job, Karen,’ or ‘Nice try, Susan.’ And if somebody did something really great, I jumped up and down and yelled and screamed and really whooped it up.”
“So did Sarah stop being so mean?” Brian asked hopefully.
“No.”
Brian looked out the window again. “I didn’t think so.”
“But everyone else was too busy watching my spirited pep shows to notice her anymore,” Mom said with a smile. Brian smiled, too, in spite of himself.

Four months after his mission, Kevin Jensen had earned enough money to barely get him through one semester at State College, provided that he room in the basement of his 63-year-old aunt’s home and that he work part-time in the morning as a custodian at the college. There was no money for non-essential items, and with his younger brother now ready to go on his mission, there was no hope for financial assistance from his parents.
On a cold January morning, he left his family, got on a bus, and shivered the 300 miles to the college town. His aunt, who didn’t have a car, had talked a neighbor lady into driving her to the depot to pick him up.
The next day was Sunday. Kevin walked his aunt to church and found himself being introduced to other retired and widowed friends of his aunt, while the Young Adults seemed to be always on the other side of the chapel.
The chorister for Sunday School was a girl his age with a smile that lit up the room, at least for Kevin. Although a common complaint of choristers is that people never look up from the hymnbooks, on that day Kevin didn’t look at the book at all but happily kept his attention on the chorister. Referring to the Sunday School bulletin, he found that her name was Jenny Wells.
On Monday, Kevin registered for classes. Afterwards he went to the college bookstore to buy books. One look at the prices and he decided to check them out of the library.
While in the bookstore, he saw Jenny buying some books. He waited until she got in the long checkout line and then stepped in behind her.
He was still rehearsing in his mind how to start a conversation when she dropped one of her books. He bent over to pick it up for her. Unfortunately she bent over at the same time and they bumped foreheads.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “You stay there and I’ll get it.” He bent over and picked it up for her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“This sounds corny, but I think we’re going to be good friends.”
“Are we?” she smiled. “Why?”
“Because we’re both LDS, and we’re both going to college here.”
“You’re LDS? Have you been to church before?”
“Yesterday. I didn’t get to the Young Adult class because the bishop wanted to talk to me. I just got back from my mission.”
“Oh,” she smiled, “that is interesting.”
He walked her home to the dorm. Their breath made little puffs of clouds as they walked.
“Do you like to walk?” he asked.
“Yes, why?”
“In a minute I’m going to ask you out. If you say yes, you should understand that I don’t have a car, so we’ll be walking wherever we go.”
“I definitely like to walk.”
“Good. There’s one other thing. Money is a little tight now, but I’ve budgeted a dollar a week for dating. This means I can either go out once a month and spend four dollars, or go out once a week and spend one dollar. So you need to decide if you want the four-dollar date or the one-dollar date.”
They stopped on a small bridge to look at the icy patterns made by a small stream that meandered through the campus. He turned to look at her, and for a second their eyes met, and he felt they both were communicating much more with their eyes than either of them would dare vocally.
“You’re nice to look at,” he said softly.
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” she said.
A little embarrassed, they continued walking again.
“One other thing,” he continued. “I can’t buy you a hamburger after our date, so eat a big supper before we go out.”
“Do you want me to eat my vegetables, too?” she teased.
“Whatever you’ve been eating in the past will be fine. It’s done wonders.”
“Are you ever going to actually ask me out?” she laughed.
“Okay, will you go out with me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want the four-dollar date or the one-dollar date?”
“The one-dollar date.”
“For the one-dollar date we can go to the art exhibit on campus, or we can go to a seminar on aging, or we can watch the swim team practice, or we can go to the library and read old issues of Life magazine. If you want more action, we can go to the last hour of a dance at the student union building.”
“The last hour?”
“After they quit taking tickets. It’s up to you. The world is at your feet, all for a dollar.”
“I’ll take the art exhibit and the dance.”
“An excellent choice.”
Although they were joking, he found himself more enchanted by her each moment. He thought about just stopping and telling her that he was falling in love, but he was afraid to do that. Besides, the joking was fun.
“Afterwards we can stay on campus and buy a cup of hot chocolate for a quarter a cup, or we can pick up an entire box of hot chocolate mix for 89 cents and go back and mix up two cups in the lobby of your dorm. Your choice?”
“Have you ever worked for Burger King?”
“No, why?”
“I keep expecting you to break into singing, ‘Have it Your Way.’”
It was snowing on Friday night as he walked to her dorm. When she came out of her apartment, he was again taken back by her beauty.
“I’m ready,” she said breezily. “I ate a good supper, I ate all my carrots like a good girl, and I’ve got warm clothes.” She stopped as she saw he wasn’t smiling. “Is anything wrong?”
“You’re such a classy lady. You deserve better than this.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself because you’re not rich?”
“If I just had a car and a little more money.”
“I like you fine the way you are.”
As he helped her on with her coat, she noticed the clipboard he had brought with him.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a clipboard.”
“I know that!” she laughed. “But why did you bring it?”
Suddenly the fun was back with them again. “You don’t know about clipboards?” he asked.
“What’s there to know?”
“You’ll see,” he grinned.
They walked to the art show on campus. It was the first night of the exhibit. Hanging up their coats in the lobby, they entered the exhibit hall and stood in front of the first painting.
“I like the overall balance in the picture, don’t you?” Kevin said, with an official ring to his voice.
“Yes.”
Kevin made a point of writing something on his clipboard. Up and down the exhibit, people respectfully observed them, believing they were the judges for the exhibit.
Kevin stepped back, his hand touching his chin. “Notice how the brush strokes create a definite lifting effect.”
Jenny was blushing a crimson red. A few people came closer to hear what Kevin was saying.
They walked to the next painting, called “Bird in Flight.” It looked as if someone had put paint on tricycle wheels and ridden over the canvas. There was nothing to indicate a bird, or flight, and the entire canvas was one blotch of yellow, red, and blue.
Kevin assumed the art judge pose, hand stroking his chin, and said finally. “Oh, yes. I see the bird, don’t you?”
By this time there were six people directly in back of them, straining to see a bird in the blotches.
Kevin stepped to the canvas and began to randomly assign separate sections of the canvas to parts of the bird, saying with great authority, “This, of course, is the beak, and this is the left wing, and this is a tree, and this is a lake, and this is the right wing.”
None of it, of course, made any sense, but people began to whisper, “Oh, yes, I see.”
Jenny’s face was bright red, and she fought to avoid breaking down with laughter. With some difficulty, she whispered, “May I have a word with you privately?”
They walked quickly out of the exhibit area and up one flight of stairs. There they broke down with peals of laughter.
Finally she gasped, “They think we’re art judges.”
“Why should they think that? I don’t know anything about art.”
“It’s your clipboard, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the magic of a clipboard.”
“That was so funny.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“But is it the right thing to do?”
“I don’t know. We never said we were art judges.”
“No, that’s true.”
“And if somebody came up and asked us if we were, we’d tell them no.”
“Still,” she said, “we’re LDS, and we need to set a good example. Maybe we should go back there without the clipboard.”
“Whatever you say.”
They left the clipboard with their coats and returned. As they passed “Bird in Flight,” someone who had watched Kevin was now pointing out enthusiastically to others the various parts of the bird.
At 11:00 they walked to the dance. As Kevin had predicted, the people taking money had long ago shut down. They danced until midnight, then walked to a small store that stayed open all night, bought some hot chocolate mix, and returned to her dorm.
At 1:00 he got up to leave.
“Jenny, thanks. You’ve been a good sport.”
“I’ve enjoyed it.”
“The only expense was for the box of hot chocolate mix.”
“Oh, I’ll get it for you,” she said. “You can take it home.”
“How about if I left it here and we used it on another date.”
“That’d be fine.”
“Would you like the three-dollar-eleven-cent date? That’s how much is left for the month.”
“A certain young man,” Jenny began, sounding like a teacher, “can spend four dollars a month on dating. He can go out twice a month and spend two dollars a date, or four times a month at one dollar. How many times can he go out with the same girl at fifty cents a date?”
“Eight,” Kevin answered.
“At a quarter a date?”
“Sixteen.”
Jenny stopped and smiled. “I’ve never enjoyed mathematics so much.”
Kevin left the dorm and started to walk home, still in a trance. He went over in his mind the way she was, and the excitement and fun he felt just being with her, and the way they had looked at each other a few times during the evening.
“Hey, Kevin, is that you?”
Kevin looked over to the car that had pulled over to the curb. It was Harly Mitchell, a former missionary companion.
“Want a ride, elder?”
Kevin got in the car. “Harly, I didn’t know you were here!”
“One more year.”
“Do you still go to church? I was there Sunday and didn’t see you.”
“We were visiting my in-laws. Showing off our baby.”
Harly enthusiastically told Kevin about his wife and baby and what a financial struggle it was to stay in school. He was just then returning from a night job at a gas station.
“And what about you?” Harly asked. “Why are you up so late, elder?”
Kevin told him about Jenny.
“Do I hear wedding bells ringing?” Harly teased.
“No, we just like each other. Besides, I’m not going to get married until I’m out of school.”
“Famous last words.”
“I can’t afford to be married.”
“Who can? Say, why don’t you bring Jenny over to our place for dinner next week? It’d give us a chance to talk some more.”
Kevin accepted the invitation, but because of previous commitments to home teach on Harly’s night off from the gas station, he had to schedule it for two weeks later.
On Wednesday of the next week, Kevin phoned and asked Jenny to go with him to a movie.
“Can you afford it?” she asked.
“Don’t worry. I’m a big spender.”
On Friday, the auditorium in the Agriculture Building was still only half filled as Kevin and Jenny sat down.
“Our first film tonight,” a man in a western suit shyly announced, “will be ‘Your Modern Poultry Industry.’” Kevin pulled out a large bag of homemade popcorn and shared it with Jenny.
“I’ll never look at a chicken in the same way,” Jenny joked as they left the auditorium after the movie.
Later they went to a dance for the last hour. Once after a song was over, while they still faced each other, he reached over and took hold of both her hands. Their eyes met and he felt himself wondering how he could stand to ever be apart from her again. He felt a sensation as he looked into her eyes of being allowed into a place in her heart she’d never let anyone else enter.
Fighting his feelings, he broke the spell by turning away and making a joke about the band.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Jenny asked quietly.
“About what?” Kevin asked nonchalantly.
“About what’s happening to us?”
“What’s happening to us? We’re just learning about chickens.”
She started to cry.
They stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching others dance. And then the dance was over, and they were alone except for those in the band carrying away their instruments.
“Why won’t you talk about it?” she finally asked.
“I’ve got three more years of school, Jenny. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded her head.
On Saturday he took her to visit her aunt. They helped make bread. When it was finished, they sliced a loaf and had the warm bread with butter and honey and a glass of milk.
Sunday after sacrament meeting they went to a Young Adult fireside.
“I talked to my parents on the phone today. They’d like to meet you.”
“Oh.” He felt himself tense up.
“They like to meet all my friends,” she quickly added.
“They’ll be in town Wednesday, and they’ve invited us out to dinner.”
“What does your father do for a living?” Kevin asked.
“He works in a bank.”
“Teller?”
“Vice-president.”
They ate with her parents, who were not members of the Church, at the most expensive restaurant in town. At the end of the meal, they sat and talked.
“This isn’t too bad a place, is it?” Jenny’s mother said. “I think it was all rather decent food, don’t you?”
“Actually, Jenny and I have been here before.”
“Oh, what did you have?”
“Nothing,” Kevin answered. “See that sign on the wall that says, ‘Ask to visit our kitchen’? Well, that’s what we did.”
“With a clipboard,” Jenny said with a smile.
“But surely you must have had something.”
“Kevin’s on a very tight budget,” Jenny added quickly.
“Oh.”
Kevin was angry at the way he felt. On one hand, he wanted to impress her parents. But he resented the feeling that he was being looked over as a possible future son-in-law. Then, too, he still felt it was ridiculous to even consider the possibility of marriage until he was out of school, and so there was no reason why he should try to impress them at all. Let them see just how poor he was.
“Yes,” he said, “do you suppose I could get a little bag to put the extra food in. That is, unless you want it?”
Aware that he was probably losing points with Jenny’s parents, but angry about their obvious wealth, Kevin dropped every spare morsel of food on the table into the bag the waitress had brought him. Once he looked up from his efforts to clear the table of food to see that Jenny was hurt by what he was doing—trying to discourage her parents from liking him.
A few minutes later, Jenny and her mother left the table to visit a store in the building.
Jenny’s father ordered a second cup of coffee. “How do you think I got to be a banker?” he asked Kevin.
“I don’t know.”
“Hard work. I had to struggle through college the same as you. Don’t ever be ashamed because things are tight.”
Kevin found himself looking at Jenny’s father with new admiration.
“It’ll sharpen your goals and make you ten times more effective than if things had been easy.”
“I appreciate you telling me that,” Kevin said.
“Second, I don’t think you’re in any position to marry, do you?”
“No sir, I don’t.”
“Of course, Jenny hasn’t mentioned it, but after spending all these years studying people who come in for a loan, one gets a little skill in observation, and I’d say you and she were in love.”
“Yes.”
“Marriage now isn’t something I’d recommend. Maybe in a couple of years.”
“I feel the same way,” Kevin replied.
“Good. Don’t make the same mistake we made. We were both headstrong and in love and got married when I was still in college. Can you picture me selling cookware on weekends and mopping floors in the morning? Or my wife working as a seamstress in a clothing store? She’d hate to admit it now, I think. Yes sir, don’t make the same mistake.”
“No, sir.”
“Still,” he said, his eyes wistful, “in some ways those were our happiest years.”
A few days later, Kevin and Jenny went to have supper with Kevin’s former missionary companion and his wife and baby. Harly and Janet Mitchell lived in the basement apartment of a home. The apartment had been hastily built a few years before, when the college appealed to local citizens to help meet the housing needs of a growing student enrollment. The furnace room was stuck in the middle of the apartment, and the ceiling was filled with air ducts carrying heat upstairs. A shower spout stood outside the bathroom in the kitchen, with only a plastic curtain and a drain. Harly explained that they also mopped the floor after every shower.
They had a casserole of macaroni and cream of mushroom soup, a plate of carrots, a bowl of peas, and a jello salad. But the hit of the evening was their six-month-old baby who stole the show.
“Oh, she’s precious,” Jenny said, holding the baby in her arms. “It’s such a nice outfit for her, too.”
“Thanks to grandparents and friends,” Janet said. “Because of them, she’s taken care of for clothes.”
A few minutes later, Harly asked the inevitable question. “What about you, Kevin? About time you got married, too.”
“After I finish college,” Kevin said firmly, his jaws set tightly.
Kevin and Jenny walked home afterwards at a quick pace.
“They have a beautiful baby, don’t they?” she said.
“Every shred of clothes it has came from relatives,” Kevin snapped.
“So?”
“So, I’m never going to be in a situation where my children have to depend on other people for clothes.”
“Funny, the baby doesn’t seem to mind,” Jenny observed quietly.
“They are in no position financially to have a baby!” Kevin said, stopping to confront her.
“The General Authorities counsel that married couples shouldn’t postpone having children, not even for schooling.”
“Then they shouldn’t have married until he was through school.”
“They love each other. Doesn’t that count for anything? I’m sure they didn’t want to wait for two years.”
“What if the baby gets sick? What then?” Kevin asked harshly.
“Then Harly might have to quit school and get a job.”
“And just throw away his schooling?”
“You’re not really that concerned about the baby, are you?” she shot out.
“No, and this conversation’s not really about them either, is it?”
She looked at him for a long time and then said, “No, I guess not.”
“Jenny, I’m going to finish school in three years. Nothing’s going to stand in my way.”
“I see.”
He didn’t kiss her when he said good-bye at the dorm.
He didn’t call her for three days after that.
Finally, unable to stand being apart, he phoned her and asked her to go with him to a Young Adult party that Friday night.
Everything went fine Friday until it came time for the entertainment. The girl in charge gathered everyone close to her in the cultural hall and announced a game. She asked the young people to take off their shoes and put them in a pile.
Kevin got up and quietly walked into the hall.
A minute later, Jenny joined him in the hall.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked.
“I have holes in my socks,” he said quietly.
“Oh.”
“I can’t even afford a pair of socks.”
Jenny touched his hand.
“All I’ve got for shirts are white shirts from my mission, but they’re falling apart. This shirt has a big hole in the sleeve where my elbow has worn through, so with this shirt I always have to wear a sweater, and never take it off.” He pulled the sleeve of the sweater to show her the ragged shape the shirt was in. “I’ve got slacks where the back is getting so thin that I have to wear a sport coat to hide the seat of the slacks.”
“I love you, Kevin, not your socks.”
“But don’t you see, things aren’t going to get any better for three more years.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Look, Jenny, I know I’ve avoided talking about us. I’d ask you to marry me, but how can I? I couldn’t even afford the license.”
She snuggled against him. “I’ll chip in a couple of dollars,” she whispered. “It’s for a good cause.”
“Your father doesn’t want you marrying a guy who can’t provide for you.”
“It’d only be for a little while. I could quit school and work.”
“You should finish your education.”
Jenny stayed close to him, and he felt a tear fall from her cheek on to his hand.
“There are too many shoulds in all this,” she said.
“It’s going to torment us all the time now,” he said, stroking her hair. “I can’t stand being away from you, and now I can’t stand being with you. If we could just put things on hold for two years and then start it up again.”
“How do we do that?” she asked.
As gently as he could, he said, “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No, but let’s try it for a while.”
He walked her to the dorm, said good-bye, and left.
The days that followed were terrible. He’d sit down to study and find himself looking at her picture 20 minutes later. Whenever he saw a phone, it haunted him, and he had to rush by so he wouldn’t break down and phone her. He’d sit down to outline a chapter and find himself going over the figures estimating how much money he’d need to be able to marry her. The answer was always the same.
In church they could hardly stand to be in the same room. He offered his services to the bishop, hoping to be called to teach a Sunday School class so he wouldn’t have to be in the Young Adult class with her.
Once he rounded a corner in church and found himself facing her.
“Hi, Jenny,” he said brightly. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” she countered quickly.
“Fine,” he said breezily, but then his depression seeped out across his face. Instead of moving on, they stood there silently in the hall, staring at each other, both of them in agony.
“It’s tough, isn’t it?” he asked. “Unbelievable,” she replied. Then he walked away.
He fasted and prayed. He called his father collect and asked for advice. Strangely enough, the answer came in a personal priesthood interview with his elders quorum president.
“Oh, Kevin, before you go, would it be all right if we gave you another family to home teach? I just found out that Bill Morrill is graduating in May, so we need someone to pick up a couple of his families.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Boy, he’s really had a good job while he’s been in school. It’s been perfect for him and his wife.”
“What job is that?”
“Managing a motel.” Kevin pressed for more details, phoned up Bill Morrill at the motel, visited with him the next day, and applied for the job. The owner hired him, starting in May.
Kevin phoned Jenny from a pay phone next to the motel, but her roommate said she’d gone away for the weekend and wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.
He nearly went crazy waiting for Sunday to end. Between church meetings he spent his time writing a long list of ways to save money. Every possible idea was there. They’d drink straight powdered milk. They could get a free Christmas tree by asking some students in the dorm if they could have their tree when they went home for the holidays.
They’d save money for a room because a small apartment went with the job at the motel. At night all he had to do was man the desk and switchboard. He could get a lot of studying done at the same time. They’d never be able to afford a car, but they could get a small wagon to carry home the groceries from the store. They’d ask his aunt if they could help her with her garden during the summer in exchange for some vegetables.
Sunday evening after sacrament meeting he phoned her again.
“Hello,” she said.
“We can get married!” he shouted.
There was a long pause, and then she said quietly, “I bet this is Kevin. Right?”
“How many other guys have you got about to propose?”
She laughed, and he said he’d be right over.
When she opened the door, he handed her his ten-page list.
“It’s all there. We can do it.”
She sat down and went over the list with him.
“It’s very interesting,” she said.
“That’s all you can say?”
“What should I say?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes to what?”
“Yes to my question.”
“I didn’t hear a question.”
“WILL YOU MARRY ME?” he shouted, causing couples in the dorm to stop their conversation and stare at them.
“Yes,” she laughed.
He kissed her.
A few minutes later they left the dorm to walk to their bishop’s home.
“We’ll be poor,” he warned.
“No we won’t,” she said. “Not us. We won’t be poor. We just won’t have any money.”
They walked quietly, holding hands, happy with the world.
“Wait a minute!” he said. “You haven’t told me where you’ve been this weekend.”
“I went home. My mother taught me how to mend socks.”

Of these women, the only one I had known was my cousin Olga.
Olga, who was from Italy, married at a very young age, but sadly, her husband was violent and unfaithful to her. With the help of her father and her brother, Olga decided to escape when she was expecting her fifth child.
She went to live with her parents and brother. After the birth of her child, Olga passed away. Olga’s parents never recovered from the shock of her sudden death.

“Last month, I was grateful to participate in the priesthood ordination of three of my grandsons from the same family on the same day—John as a priest, David as a teacher, and Will as a deacon. The following week, we attended the temple together. John was able to baptize his brothers, along with his older brother, Jason, who is preparing for a mission. Will was in the temple for the first time. What a blessing to have the priesthood in our families! What a blessing to have the temple for our grandchildren! These two family moments are precious memories I will always remember.
“Performing temple work and living up to sacred priesthood duties will unite families on both sides of the veil—just as these two events did for my family. In the temple, we feel power from on high to face challenges in our personal lives and within our families. Our love for one another and for the Savior grows as we focus on the eternal nature of our relationships.”

One dear sister had been a faithful member of the Church all her life. But she carried a personal sorrow. Years before, her daughter had died after a short illness, and the wounds from this tragedy still haunted her. She agonized over the profound questions that accompany an event such as this. She frankly admitted that her testimony wasn’t what it used to be. She felt that unless the heavens parted for her, she would never be able to believe again.

So she found herself waiting.

There are many others who, for different reasons, find themselves waiting on the road to Damascus. They delay becoming fully engaged as disciples. They hope to receive the priesthood but hesitate to live worthy of that privilege. They desire to enter the temple but delay the final act of faith to qualify. They remain waiting for the Christ to be given to them like a magnificent Carl Bloch painting—to remove once and for all their doubts and fears.

The truth is, those who diligently seek to learn of Christ eventually will come to know Him. They will personally receive a divine portrait of the Master, although it most often comes in the form of a puzzle—one piece at a time. Each individual piece may not be easily recognizable by itself; it may not be clear how it relates to the whole. Each piece helps us to see the big picture a little more clearly. Eventually, after enough pieces have been put together, we recognize the grand beauty of it all. Then, looking back on our experience, we see that the Savior had indeed come to be with us—not all at once but quietly, gently, almost unnoticed.

This can be our experience if we move forward with faith and do not wait too long on the road to Damascus.

“FIRE! Fire!” Frantic pleas for help broke the stillness of the quiet afternoon in Nauvoo. But it wasn’t a barn or a shed that was in flames that February 9, 1846.
Eleven-year-old Aurelia Spencer was nearby and could see men on top of the temple, swinging their hats and calling for assistance. Many members of the Church were busy preparing to leave Illinois for Utah, but when the alarm sounded everyone left whatever they were doing to help save the temple.
Willard Richards, a leader in the community, was on the temple grounds when the fire started and he immediately took charge. He shouted for everyone, including women and children, to rush to the closest wells to fill buckets with water. Two rows of men were formed on the stairs leading up to the attic roof of the temple where the fire had started. They passed full buckets of water up one row of fire fighters and returned them empty down another. Aurelia ran back and forth carrying pails of water to the men in the bucket brigade. But the wells were soon emptied, and teams of horses were driven to the river to obtain water.
There were a few moments of confusion when another alarm called some of the Saints to help rescue the victims of an accident nearby involving two riverboats. But in spite of this interruption, the temple fire was put out after about half an hour.
Hosea Stout, one of the fire fighters, said that a hole about 3 1/2 meters square had been burned in the roof. Later it was found that the temple fire had been caused by a red-hot stovepipe that ignited some clothes drying in an attic room.
When the fire was completely extinguished, Aurelia joined with the Saints as they rejoiced with loud shouts of Hosannah. Brigham Young, President of the Council of the Twelve, had seen the smoke from some distance and arrived just as the crowd began to celebrate. The Nauvoo band then climbed to the top of the roof and began to play for those gathered below.
Aurelia felt privileged to be able to help put out the fire that could easily have destroyed the Saints’ beloved temple. She later wrote, “Child as I was, I could not help noticing the order that prevailed and the calmness of the men that superintended the work.”
Aurelia grew up to become the president of the first Primary organized in the Church.

I am now a great-grandmother, but I shall never forget a Christmas I experienced as a young child.
I was one of 14 children in my family, and we lived in a farming town. We were very poor as far as worldly goods are concerned, though I didn’t know it then. A family in our town was even poorer than we were. The mother had died, and the father was working away from home, leaving the older children to care for the younger ones.
After we had opened our Christmas gifts, my father spoke to us about this motherless family and how they might not receive gifts. He suggested that each of us choose one of our new gifts to be placed in a box, along with food and other goodies, for this family.
I had three presents—a doll, a necklace, and an article of clothing. What a hard decision it was for me! I needed the clothing, and I wanted the doll badly, but the necklace was so pretty and sparkly. After a time, I reluctantly dropped the necklace into the box.
It was dark on Christmas night when Dad buttoned our coats and placed all of us in our horse-drawn sleigh. We left the box on this family’s doorstep, with no indication of the giver.
The next Sunday, I saw the necklace around the neck of a girl my age. She excitedly told me that Santa had left a box of gifts for them on Christmas night. Of course, my parents had sworn us to secrecy. Dad had told us that being anonymous was the best part of giving. But I can’t say it felt that good to see what had been my necklace on someone else’s neck.
Though it wasn’t an easy lesson then, I now realize the great impact this experience has had on my life. As a child I thought my father was asking me to give up a gift, but later I understood that he was actually giving me one of the most precious gifts I have ever received. How much he must have loved me, to teach me that loving someone is far more important than having something! My father’s example of love has helped me understand the love of Heavenly Father, who presented us the greatest gift of all when He gave His Only Begotten Son.

When I was young, my father was often away from home because of a serious alcohol problem. My mother had to work full-time to support us, and I began to do many of the household chores for her.
Mother taught me how to scrub floors and how to wash clothes in an old washer. In those days we had to put the clothes through a wringer on the washer, and we had to be careful that we didn’t get our fingers caught, because it could do a great deal of damage. We always washed and rinsed the clothes twice. When I hung them out to dry, I hoped that they would be as white as the neighbor’s wash.
Mother was not a member of the LDS Church at that time, and she let us decide whether or not we went to church. I made the decision to go. I ironed all my clothing and shined my shoes to prepare for Sunday.
When I was about 11 years old, many of Mother’s relatives came from out of town to have dinner with us one Saturday night. Such visits were rare, so she spent the whole day getting the dinner ready. She prepared a pot roast and all the vegetables to go with it, mashed potatoes and gravy, salads, hot rolls, and dessert. She cooked all day, and soon the dirty dishes started stacking up.
After dinner, everyone brought the leftover food to the kitchen, then went into the living room and began to visit. I remember going back to the kitchen, thinking, Mother works all week long, and now she’ll have to do the dishes late at night after everyone leaves. Then I thought, I’ll do the dishes for her.
In those days, we didn’t have a dishwasher; the dishwasher was either me or someone else. I filled up the sink and started washing. I stood there for three hours, washing every dish—and I learned that when dishes or pans are dirty, it’s best to clean them immediately, before the food hardens!
Finally I finished drying the last dish, wiping off all the counters, and scrubbing the floor. I heard the relatives walking out onto the porch, and I heard Mother bidding them good-bye.
The kitchen door swung open, and Mother entered. She stopped and looked around and then looked at me. I cannot describe the look on her face. I think that at first it was shock, then appreciation, and then I think it was more than that. It was a feeling of love and pride, and of something I couldn’t measure. I think you understand. There was a light in her eyes. I made the decision then that I would like to always put that kind of light into people’s faces.
Mother hugged me and thanked me, and I went to bed contented and happy, knowing that she wouldn’t have to stand there doing dishes until two o’clock the next morning.
I learned that serving family members is one of the most Christlike things we can do. It’s easy to be kind to people outside of our homes—we would probably never offend them. Yet we shouldn’t offend the people in our own homes either. We ought to love, appreciate, and serve them the most.

While I was on my mission in Taiwan, one Christmas I was feeling a little discouraged. I knew that Christmas should be about remembering the Savior and sharing the gospel, but I was looking forward to getting a package from home and going to the annual mission Christmas Eve celebration to help bring some Christmas cheer into my life. Although the other missionaries in my apartment had already received large packages, by Christmas Eve I still had not received anything.

I was feeling pretty miserable as my companion and I rode our bikes through pouring rain to the mission office to meet up for the celebration. I hoped that a package would be waiting for me, but when we arrived, not only were there no packages, but there were also no missionaries. We were late enough that the other missionaries had already left for the party. I don’t believe I’d ever felt so empty, so depressed, and so utterly alone. It did not feel like Christmas.

Sitting in the dark, all I could think about was how lonely and miserable I felt. Tears started to fall.

Then I heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle outside. It was the evening mail delivery. I looked out and saw the mailman carrying a package to the mission office.

To my surprise, the package was addressed to me. It was from the young women of my home ward. Inside I found the most wonderful, crushed, delicious, three-week-old chocolate chip cookies I’d ever tasted! They were like manna from heaven. My companion and I ate them together, with smiles on our faces and a little more of the Christmas spirit in our hearts.

The young women who put together that package probably had no idea how much it would lift the spirits of a discouraged missionary clear across the Pacific Ocean. The true meaning of Christmas focuses on our Savior, and the Christmas gift from those young women served as a gentle reminder to me that God is aware of our simple struggles. I have since learned even more that there’s much more to Christmas than merely receiving gifts. But to this day, that simple package has been one of the most meaningful Christmas gifts I have received, and it’s one I will never forget.

It’s interesting, too, how we create, cumulatively, expectations in the lives of our grandchildren even when we are not aware of it. Some years ago, when our grandson Robbie was about five, we dropped by to see his family in Orem. He was asleep upstairs, and his mother called, “Robbie, Grandpa Neal is here!” A tired little voice floated downstairs saying, “Shall I bring my scriptures?”

Of course he was too young to read them, but he carried them, as so many do in the Church today in that fine new pattern!

Build spirituality. Young people are capable of rising to meet spiritual challenges. For a youth conference a few years ago, stake leaders took the young people to an amusement park. The next year they tried a different type of activity. Following the counsel of Church leaders, they decided to take the focus off entertainment and put it on experiencing true joy by planning spiritual workshops and service projects. At first the teenagers weren’t very excited about the change, but as the conference progressed, they began to see things in a new light. The testimony meeting at the end of that conference was far different from the one a year earlier when, as one of the leaders described it, “Most of the youth just sat and giggled and poked each other.” This time, the young people were eager to express their joy at having served others and their love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

As we choose that good part and put the Savior in the center of our lives by praying daily for His guidance and help, God gives us “power and wisdom.” We are blessed with spiritual insights that can fortify our families. When Doug, the father of three small children, unexpectedly lost his job, unemployment benefits plus their small savings and some help from the extended family were the means of his family’s support. His wife, Lori, tried to be positive as they both took odd jobs to help cover their expenses. They continued doing all the right things—praying, reading the scriptures, attending the temple, and paying tithing. Yet in spite of hundreds of résumés and many inquiries, job interviews were few, and no job offer was forthcoming.
One day after almost six months of job searching, Lori called her mother. Tearfully and with some anger in her voice, she said: “I don’t think Heavenly Father is listening to us. I don’t think I can pray anymore. It doesn’t do any good.”
During that telephone conversation, inspired words and thoughts came to Lori’s mother as she bore her testimony and reminded her daughter of things she already knew: “Lori, you know better. You know that Heavenly Father loves you and is aware of your needs. But sometimes you have to wait. Perhaps this is your refiner’s fire. I don’t know. But what I do know is this: You need to go into your bedroom right now and kneel and pray, asking the Lord to comfort you and give you peace. Doug will find a job, but it may take a while longer. Remember all who love you and who are praying for you and who are helping you. You are very blessed.”
What Lori realized was that when she knelt down and prayed—because she was focused on the Lord—she redirected her thoughts. She brought the Savior’s love into her own life and into her home.

Nathan slid around in his hard wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. He yanked at his tie and scratched his neck. His clothes were so itchy. It was boiling in this room! This was no time for a piano recital.
“Welcome,” Mrs. Kendall said to the audience. Nathan’s piano teacher was nice. He didn’t mind playing for her, but for all these people? Nathan sat stiff in his seat. He cleared his mind and tried to imagine the room empty.
“We’re so pleased to have such a large audience …” Mrs. Kendall’s voice drained out of Nathan’s head. When did he have to play? He looked down at the program. He had to go second! Now he really didn’t want to play his piece anymore.
“Hey,” Mom leaned down and whispered in Nathan’s ear. “Are you nervous?”
“Not really,” Nathan said. Somehow he thought saying he was afraid would make it worse.
“Good. You’ve practiced really hard. You’ll do great.”
Nathan slumped down in his seat. What good would all his practice do if he froze up now?
“And remember,” Mom said, leaning down again, “it always helps to say a little prayer and ask Heavenly Father for help.”
Mrs. Kendall announced the first performer, and the audience clapped as Cassie sat down at the piano. How could she look so calm? Her fingers glided through her song.
Nathan’s heart was pounding, and his hands felt cold and stiff. How could he play the piano if his fingers were numb?
Cassie lifted her hands off the piano keys. The audience clapped, and Cassie bowed.
“And now we’ll hear from Nathan Gibbs, playing …” Nathan’s heart skipped a few beats. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. He walked like a zombie to the piano. It looked so much bigger than before. Was it bigger? What was it his mom had told him to do? Oh, right. Nathan sat down on the bench and closed his eyes for a moment. Heavenly Father, I’ve practiced really hard. Please help me perform the way I practiced. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
He took a deep breath, positioned his fingers for the first notes, and pressed down. Nathan couldn’t even think what came next, but his fingers remembered. His hands glided through scales and chords as if they had a mind of their own. Oops! One wrong note in that scale. His heart did a little jump, but his fingers kept going, just as he had practiced so many times. Near the end, he felt almost as calm as if he were playing in an empty room.
Finally he reached the last chord and held out the final notes. He slid his hands off the piano and let out a long breath as people began clapping.
Nathan beamed as he slid off the piano bench. He quickly lowered his head for a bow and hopped down the stairs.
“Great job,” Dad said after the recital was over. “I knew you’d be awesome.”
Nathan felt his cheeks go a little red, but he had a warm feeling inside.
“Ice cream for everyone!” Dad said.
His sister gave Nathan a high five. “You were really good.”
“Thanks.”
“I knew you’d be fine,” Mom said. She put her arm around Nathan. “And you played beautifully. There’s nothing a little practice can’t do.”
“And a little prayer,” Nathan said.
Mom squeezed him tight.
As they walked out of the recital room, Nathan said another prayer. Thank you, Heavenly Father. I couldn’t have done it without Thee.