Gospel Story Finder

Across from me a woman sat sobbing. With tear-filled eyes, she told me, “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” She spoke of having struggled and prayed many days to know how to make a vitally important decision in her life, without success. She anguished, “I don’t know what to do. If you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.” With her hand on the scriptures, she said, “God told us He would help us. He answers everybody else’s prayers. Why won’t He answer mine?”
She said, “God told us He would help us. He answers everybody else’s prayers. Why won’t He answer mine?”
When one is caught in a whirlpool of emotion, it is difficult to find a way out alone. My prayer is to help you who have similar feelings.
When answers to urgent prayer don’t seem to come, it can be that we don’t understand some truths about prayer or because we don’t recognize answers when they come.
Communication with our Father in Heaven is not a trivial matter. It is a sacred privilege. It is based upon unchanging principles. When we receive help from our Father in Heaven, it is in response to faith, obedience, and the proper use of agency.
It is a mistake to assume that every prayer we offer will be answered immediately. Some prayers require considerable effort on our part. True, sometimes impressions come when we have not specifically sought them. They generally concern something we need to know and are not otherwise able to find out.
We are here on earth to gain experience we can obtain in no other way. We are given the opportunity to grow, to develop, and to gain spiritual maturity. To do that, we must learn to apply truth. How we face challenges and resolve difficult problems is crucially important to our happiness.
To better understand prayer, I have listened to the counsel of others, pondered the scriptures, and studied the lives of prophets and others. Yet what seems most helpful is seeing in my mind a child approaching trustingly a loving, kind, wise, understanding Father, who wants us to succeed.
Don’t worry about your clumsily expressed feelings. Just talk to your Father. He hears every prayer and answers it in His way.
When we explain a problem and a proposed solution, sometimes He answers yes, sometimes no. Often He withholds an answer, not for lack of concern, but because He loves us—perfectly. He wants us to apply truths He has given us. For us to grow, we need to trust our ability to make correct decisions. We need to do what we feel is right. In time, He will answer. He will not fail us.
I have described the absolute reality of our relationship with our Father. There is nothing about us He does not know. He is conscious of our every need and could provide all of the answers. Yet, because His purpose is our eternal happiness, He encourages us to make the correct choices.
Like many of us, Oliver Cowdery did not recognize the evidence of answers to prayers already given by the Lord. To open his—and our—eyes, this revelation was given through Joseph Smith:
“Blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou hast inquired of me, and behold, as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time.
“Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:14–15; emphasis added).
If you feel that God has not answered your prayers, ponder these scriptures—then carefully look for evidence in your own life of His having already answered you.
To help each of us recognize answers given, the Lord said:
“If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?” (D&C 6:22–23; emphasis added).
The Lord provides further insight by counseling us to study a problem out in our mind and then to ask if it be right:
“If it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.
“But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought” (D&C 9:8–9; emphasis added).
It is vitally important to recognize that the Lord also responds a third way to prayer by withholding an answer when the prayer is offered. Why would He do that?
He is our perfect Father. He loves us beyond our capacity to understand. He knows what is best for us. He sees the end from the beginning. He wants us to act to gain needed experience:
When He answers yes, it is to give us confidence.
When He answers no, it is to prevent error.
When He withholds an answer, it is to have us grow through faith in Him, obedience to His commandments, and a willingness to act on truth. We are expected to assume accountability by acting on a decision that is consistent with His teachings without prior confirmation. We are not to sit passively waiting or to murmur because the Lord has not spoken. We are to act.
Sometimes answers to prayer are not recognized because we are too intent on wanting confirmation of our own desires.
Most often what we have chosen to do is right. He will confirm the correctness of our choices His way. That confirmation generally comes through packets of help found along the way. We discover them by being spiritually sensitive. They are like notes from a loving Father as evidence of His approval. If, in trust, we begin something that is not right, He will let us know before we have gone too far. We sense that help by recognizing troubled or uneasy feelings.
Illustration by Brian Call
Nephi’s efforts to obtain the plates of brass show how the principles work (see 1 Nephi 3:6–7). After two unsuccessful attempts, Nephi remained confident. He crept into the city toward the house of Laban without all the answers. He observed, “I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do,” significantly adding, “nevertheless I went forth” (1 Nephi 4:6–7; emphasis added).
Nephi was willing to try time and again, using his best efforts. He expressed faith that he would be helped. He refused to be discouraged. But because he acted, had confidence in the Lord, was obedient, and properly used his agency, he received guidance. He was inspired step after step to success, and in his mother’s words was “given … power [to] accomplish the thing which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Nephi 5:8; emphasis added).
Nephi knew he was required to confide in God, to exercise faith, and to act so that he could receive help, step by step. He did not murmur nor ask for a full explanation. But, observe particularly, he did not wait passively for help. He acted! By following spiritual law, he was inspired and given power to act.
Sometimes answers to prayer are not recognized because we are too intent on wanting confirmation of our own desires. We fail to see that the Lord would have us do something else. Be careful to seek His will.
I confess I don’t know how to make a correct decision except where there is righteousness and trust in a Heavenly Father. The principles simply will not work when agency is intentionally used at variance with the will of God. If there is unrepented sin, we are left to our own devices to flounder and struggle on our own. We can be rescued through our own repentance.
When we seek inspiration to help make decisions, the Lord gives gentle promptings. These require us to think, to exercise faith, to work, to struggle at times, and to act. Seldom does the whole answer to a decisively important matter or complex problem come all at once. More often, it comes a piece at a time, without the end in sight.
I have saved the most important part about prayer until the end. It is gratitude! Our sincere efforts to thank our beloved Father generate wondrous feelings of peace, self-worth, and love.
Why is it that the most impoverished seem to know best how to thank the Lord? In the highlands of Guatemala, members barely subsist. Going to the temple requires great sacrifice. A visit takes a year of preparation. There is hard work, sacrifice to save money and food, the spinning, dyeing, and weaving of new clothing. There is the long, barefoot walk out of the mountains, the crossing of Lake Isabel, the bus rides with little food. Tired and worn, they arrive at the temple. They scrub until they shine, dress in their new clothing, and enter the house of the Lord.
Reclothed in white, they are taught by the Spirit, receive ordinances, and make covenants. One highland woman was greatly touched by the spirit and meaning of the endowment. Entering the celestial room, she saw others seated, with heads reverently bowed. Innocently, she knelt at the entrance to the room, oblivious to others. She bowed her head, sobbed, and for twenty minutes poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven. Finally, with her dress soaked with tears, she raised her head. The sensitive temple matron asked, “May I help?” She responded, “Oh, would you? This is my problem: I’ve tried to tell Father in Heaven of my gratitude for all of my blessings, but I don’t feel that I’ve communicated. Will you help me tell Him how grateful I am?”
This counsel about prayer is true. I have tested it thoroughly in the laboratory of my own personal life. I have discovered that what sometimes seems an impenetrable barrier to communication is a giant step to be taken in trust.
If you seek His help, be sure your life is clean, your motives are worthy, and you’re willing to do what He asks—for He will answer your prayers. He is your loving Father; you are His beloved child. He loves you perfectly and wants to help you.

One man who had committed himself to do everything he could to share the gospel with others walked out of his office one day and saw a man running down the hall. He learned this man had stapled his finger. He reached into his big pocket, pulled out Merthiolate and a Band-Aid, and dressed the wound. The shocked individual asked in amazement why he did this. He responded: “I am a Mormon, and Mormons do these things.” This man was prepared to help another whenever possible.

I had an interesting experience a few years ago while attending general conference. I went to purchase some merchandise at ZCMI and to cash a check. Being from out of state, I was sent to the cashier. She asked for some identification. I reached into my wallet and took out some credit cards. Inadvertently, my temple recommend came out. The cashier said, “I’ll accept that.” I said, “You’ll accept what?” She said, “Your temple recommend. It’s current, isn’t it?” I said, “Yes, it’s current.” She said, “That will do.”
Well, I pondered that all the way home. I thought, Wouldn’t it be a great idea if we had a Mormon credit card? A card-carrying Mormon could be depended on to keep his word, to be honest with his employers, and to pay his bills as agreed. Then our professionals, tradesmen, and business people would perform without compromising their ethics for profit, each putting his signature on his work with pride; all of us striving for excellence in every way. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a “peculiar” people known for our honesty and the quality of our services? The Mormon standard of integrity should be the highest standard in all the world, for we are the covenant people of God. The Lord makes no special concessions for culture, race, or nationality; He expects all His Saints to live according to gospel standards.

“Matthew, you must go get the water now.” Mama’s tired voice barely carried above the wind blowing against his pale cheek. Hunching his neck deeper into his heavy woolen sweater, Matthew looked down at his mother and sisters. Mama had stayed awake the whole night, trying to comfort the seasick girls. Alvina, a slender six-year old, tossed restlessly in her blankets while four-year old Ruth slept fitfully in Mama’s arms.
“Please be careful not to spill it again, Son. We’re only given one bucketful for all of us.” Mama laid a gentle hand on Matthew’s sleeve, then pulled a blanket closer around little Ruth.
Slowly, with cold, reddened hands, Matthew reached for the handle of the heavy wooden bucket resting on top of the box holding Mama’s kitchen supplies. His light blond hair was ruffled by the cold sea breeze. Reluctantly he dragged his feet toward the end of the crowded steamship deck, where people were lining up near the big water casks. Matthew picked his way, careful to step around families sitting among trunks, boxes, and blankets. Babies cried hungrily, children played and shouted, and adults talked and argued. Everyone was bundled in blankets and coats against the early North Atlantic spring gusts.
Never in his ten years had Matthew been among so many people. His home in Finland had been in a small town where there had been plenty of open space in which to run and play. The grass in spring had been bright green, the air crisp and quiet except for the cries of birds. Here, there was constant noise, and the dust and the smell from the ship’s smokestack seemed to soak even into the food they ate.
This was the spring of 1895. Matthew, Mama, Alvina, and Ruth were only one family among many hundreds on the crowded ship bound for the United States. Leaving their homeland and relatives behind, they were all now emigrants headed for the port of New York City.
Matthew wished that Papa could have been with him as he got in line, bumping buckets with an old lady in front of him. But Papa had left for America two years before and had just recently been able to send for the rest of his family. Big, gentle Papa, whose huge hands had made such beautiful furniture in Finland, was felling trees in Michigan in order to earn money to buy land. He had written Mama long letters about life in the big logging camps.
The last letter had come with money for four steamship tickets and the information that friends of Papa’s would meet Mama and the children in New York City. Then the family was to board a train to travel to Michigan. Papa’s letter had also contained a special message for Matthew, written in Papa’s bold handwriting. Feeling very small and alone now, Matthew remembered and tried to gain strength from the words Papa had written: “My son, while on the long voyage, you must be the strong one who helps Mama and protects the little girls. You must be a man on this great adventure.”
When he’d first read the message, Matthew had almost heard Papa’s voice, and he’d felt like a man. But now as an elbow jabbed Matthew in the ribs, he felt very little like a man. He wanted to run away and cry.
Three big boys surrounded Matthew and pushed him. One pushed him so hard that he almost dropped his bucket. Matthew held on, hoping the old lady would say something to stop his tormentors. But the old lady only stared ahead at the slow-moving line.
“Going to share your water with us again, little boy?” The tallest boy leaned his thin face into Matthew’s and roughly whispered the question. Matthew’s face stiffened with fear.
“He always shares his water with us,” a boy in a red woolen cap said, laughing. “He’s a good little boy.” The boy slapped Matthew on the back in an unfriendly way.
Matthew gulped down a sob as he looked at the cruel faces.
The third one, a dark-haired boy, swung a wooden dipper from one hand. He beat it against Matthew’s bucket.
One by one the people in line moved forward to get their water. Then they walked back to their families, careful not to trip on the shifting deck of the boat. Matthew’s turn came, and he numbly watched the cold water fill his bucket. He tried to move away quickly without spilling it. But the three big boys caught up with him and blocked his way.
“My, my, I am so thirsty today,” said the dark-haired boy with his dipper raised. “I could use a drink.” He bent forward to scoop water from Matthew’s bucket. He drank a full dipperful with loud gulps. Matthew’s eyes filled with tears as he watched the boy pass the dipper to the second boy.
Suddenly Matthew straightened up, and his blue eyes flashed. He was still afraid, but Papa’s message—“You must be a man”—had come into his mind again, and he’d asked himself, Would Papa let someone take the water that Mama and poor little Alvina and Ruth needed?
Matthew’s mind had shouted the answer: NO! So as the second boy bent to dip water from the bucket, Matthew quickly moved his bucket behind him, placing it on the deck. He took a deep breath, clenched his fists as he faced the boys, and declared loudly, “I won’t let you take any more of my water!” Then he clamped his feet on either side of the bucket to stop his legs from shaking, and continued in an even louder voice. “My mother and sisters need this water!”
“Why the little rat! He thinks he can stop us! We’ll show him!” The boy in the red cap moved angrily toward Matthew.
“I know I can’t fight you,” continued Matthew, gulping for air. “But I will kick over this bucket rather than let you steal one more drop of my water!”
As people turned to see what the shouting was about, Matthew looked into each boy’s eyes. The boys looked away and began to look embarrassed.
“Oh, come on, let him go. He’s just a little kid,” the tallest boy said as he walked away. Reluctantly, the other two followed, leaving Matthew shivering in the cold. But he also felt a deep warmth, a pride, because he had fulfilled Papa’s faith in him. He picked up the heavy bucket and carefully carried it to Mama and the girls. Whatever the new country had to offer, he felt ready to meet its challenge.

As my missionary companion, Elder Platt, and I were walking through a market in the streets of Taichung, Taiwan, we stopped at a main intersection and waited at the red light. Just after stopping, I heard a familiar sound behind us. As several scooters pulled up beside us, I turned to see who we could talk to. At that moment, a distinct impression filled my heart and my mind. No voice was spoken, no words were uttered, but I felt impressed that I needed to talk to the man on the scooter just a few steps to my left.
I moved with a sense of urgency to speak with the man. It felt as if someone was actually pushing me from behind and moving my feet for me. I opened my mouth and asked the man, “Are you having a good day today?” He looked at me and responded that he was having a bad day. At that instant the stoplight turned from red to green, and my heart fell. I was afraid the man would drive away. I had said nothing to him of the Restoration of the true and living Church of Jesus Christ, of the Prophet Joseph Smith, or of the Book of Mormon. I had not even told him the name of the Church.
The people around us began to drive off, but the man did not. He suggested that we move to the side of the road to talk more. I was shocked, but I gratefully complied with his suggestion. At the side of the road, Elder Platt and I shared with him the name of the Church and much more.
A few weeks later, that man, Su Meng-Wei, and his two sons and two daughters were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
From that experience, I learned that as we faithfully strive to do the Lord’s work in His way and on His timetable, we are sometimes privileged to witness miracles. The prophet Moroni declared that “God has not ceased to be a God of miracles. Behold, are not the things that God hath wrought marvelous in our eyes?” (Mormon 9:15–16). Miracles can come with the touching of hearts and the changing of lives.
Preach My Gospel contains this promise to missionaries and members of the Church: “The Lord is preparing people to receive you and the restored gospel. He will lead you to them or He will lead them to you. … Such people will recognize that you are the Lord’s servants. They will be willing to act on your message.”1 It was no accident that Elder Platt and I were at that specific stoplight at that exact time.
Heavenly Father knows and loves each of us individually. In no coincidental way, He provides a way for all of us to come to a knowledge of the restored gospel. The Lord was mindful of the challenges and difficulties in Su Meng-Wei’s life. He knew that Su Meng-Wei had recently become unemployed. He knew that contentious words had been spoken in the Su house that morning.
The gospel has brought more peace to the Su family and has strengthened their family relationships. It has helped them find greater happiness and direction in life. They have found the power to face life’s challenges with hope and without fear.
We may not see it at first, but those who have been prepared will recognize that we are the Lord’s servants. They will notice something different about us. They will see goodness and will want to know more about it. As they feel the Holy Ghost, they will be willing to act on our message. Just as this message has touched the hearts and changed the lives of the Su family in Taiwan, so it can and will touch the hearts and change the lives of those we know, wherever in the world we may be.

Years ago, my wife, Ruth; our daughter, Ashley; and I joined other tourists on a kayaking excursion in the state of Hawaii in the United States. A kayak is a low-to-the-water, canoe-like boat in which the rower sits facing forward and uses a double-bladed paddle to pull front to back on one side and then on the other. The plan was to row to two small islands off the coast of Oahu and back again. I was confident because, as a young man, I had paddled kayaks across mountain lakes. Hubris never bodes well, does it?

Our guide gave us instructions and showed us the ocean kayaks we would use. They differed from the ones I had previously paddled. I was supposed to sit on top of the kayak, instead of down inside it. When I got onto the kayak, my center of gravity was higher than I was accustomed to, and I was less stable in the water.

As we started out, I rowed faster than Ruth and Ashley. After a while, I was far ahead of them. Though proud of my heroic pace, I stopped paddling and waited for them to catch up. A large wave—about 13 centimeters—hit the side of my kayak and flipped me over into the water. By the time I had turned the kayak upright and struggled to get back on top, Ruth and Ashley had passed me by, but I was too winded to resume paddling. Before I could catch my breath, another wave, this one truly enormous—at least 20 centimeters—hit my kayak and flipped me over again. By the time I managed to right the kayak, I was so out of breath I feared I would not be able to climb on top.

Seeing my situation, the guide rowed over and steadied my kayak, making it easier for me to climb on top. When he saw that I was still too breathless to row on my own, he hitched a towrope to my kayak and began paddling, pulling me along with him. Soon I caught my breath and began paddling adequately on my own. He let go of the rope, and I reached the first island without further assistance. Upon arrival, I flopped down on the sand, exhausted.

After the group had rested, the guide quietly said to me, “Mr. Renlund, if you just keep paddling, maintaining your momentum, I think you’re going to be fine.” I followed his advice as we paddled to the second island and then back to our starting point. Twice the guide rowed by and told me I was doing great. Even larger waves hit my kayak from the side, but I was not flipped over.

By consistently paddling the kayak, I maintained momentum and forward progress, mitigating the effect of waves hitting me from the side. The same principle applies in our spiritual lives. We become vulnerable when we slow down and especially when we stop. If we maintain spiritual momentum by continually “rowing” toward the Savior, we are safer and more secure because our eternal life depends on our faith in Him.

Consider how the expedition guide helped me after I flipped over in the kayak. He did not shout from afar an unhelpful question such as, “Mr. Renlund, what are you doing in the water?” He did not paddle up and chide me, saying, “Mr. Renlund, you would not be in this situation if you were more physically fit.” He did not start towing my kayak while I was just trying to get on top of it. And he did not correct me in front of the group. Instead, he gave me the help I needed at the time I needed it. He gave me advice when I was receptive. And he went out of his way to encourage me.

Thi-Kinh sat in the shade of an areca tree trying to hide her anger from the happy villagers around her, for today was the day before Tet, the Vietnamese New Year.
“Tet is a joyous holiday,” her father had explained last evening as he gathered his eight children around him. “It is a time of new beginning. We must pay old debts, correct our faults, and forget past mistakes. Most important of all, we must forgive others and make friends of enemies. If we do not …” He looked at each of the listening children. “If we do not, bad luck will plague us during the coming year.”
Thi-Kinh flopped over onto her stomach. “Well, Nan-Tan deserves bad luck after what she did to me.” Nan-Tan had been a friend; now she was not. Thi-Kinh could never think about Nan-Tan without becoming angry.
“Thi-Kinh,” her mother called from the doorway of their mud hut. “I need you. See, the sun is high in the sky, and we must finish our work by noon.”
Already they had thoroughly cleaned the hut and decorated inside and out with fresh flowers. They had prepared special food for the holidays and bought new clothes for everyone in the family.
“Please hurry to the market and buy candles for our Giao Thua celebration,” her mother said.
Returning home, Thi-Kinh couldn’t stop thinking about Nan-Tan. Two full moons ago, during the time of examinations at school, Nan-Tan had begged to see Thi-Kinh’s answers.
Thi-Kinh refused and Nan-Tan, hissing angrily, told the teacher Thi-Kinh was cheating. Thi-Kinh had been disgraced.
“Be kind,” her father had counseled. “Nan-Tan must feel great shame for what she has done.”
But Thi-Kinh ignored his advice. Nan-Tan did not deserve kindness. After school she avoided her, and if they met accidentally, Thi-Kinh turned her face away.
Now it was nearly Tet. Thi-Kinh felt secret satisfaction because Nan-Tan’s New Year was ruined. Hadn’t she wronged someone and not asked forgiveness? She is at fault, Thi-Kinh thought, handing the new candles to her mother. May her New Year be most miserable.
For some reason Thi-Kinh did not enjoy the Giao Thua ceremony that evening. The weather was beautiful. Everything was lovely, bright with flowers and lighted candles. Still, Thi-Kinh felt uneasy.
She went with the family to the pagoda to pray for prosperity during the coming year. She should have been happy. Instead, she grew more and more troubled.
On the way home, Thi-Kinh drew her father aside. “Honorable parent,” she said, “I am most confused. Perhaps it is I who will have bad luck, for I hold anger in my heart for another. What shall I do about Nan-Tan?”
“It is for you to decide,” her father replied. “Sometimes the innocent must point the way.”
All night Thi-Kinh tossed on her sleeping mat. I am the innocent one. But point the way? How?
Thi-Kinh went through the next day automatically, half of her mind busy with the problem of Nan-Tan. She arose early with her family and put on her new clothes. She accepted, without the usual joy, the customary lucky red paper envelope containing pieces of silver. She tried to be cheerful when visitors arrived to offer good wishes for the coming year. As she helped her mother with the betel nuts and sticky rice cakes, her heart felt heavy.
Finally, at sunset, she could bear it no longer. “If Nan-Tan will not come to me,” she told her father, “I shall go to her. I cannot begin the new year with this feeling of wrongness in my heart.”
Her father bowed solemnly to her. “It is a wise person who knows in which direction happiness lies.”
Thi-Kinh took the shortcut through the banana grove to Nan-Tan’s hut. As she stepped clear of the trees, she was surprised to see Nan-Tan running toward her with outstretched arms. Tears were streaming down Nan-Tan’s face as she called Thi-Kinh’s name.
Suddenly Thi-Kinh felt like singing, for she knew that Tet would be a time of new beginning after all.

I recall hearing a man telling of how he came into the Church. He said:
“I had a date with a lovely young woman. When I called for her, I noticed on the table a copy of the Book of Mormon. I had never heard of it before. I began to read. I became interested. I got a copy of the book and read it through.
“I had only the traditional idea of God and Jesus Christ. I had never given serious thought to the matter. But as I read this book there came into my mind light and understanding of eternal truths, and into my heart a testimony that God is our Eternal Father, and that Jesus is our Savior.”

“One day, after listening to a conference message, I had the impression that I needed to talk to the pharmacy technician at the store,” says Hannah Rawhouser, also of Arizona. “The voice inside me said, ‘He is a good person. You need to invite him to a Church activity.’”
The next time Hannah was in the drive-through, she looked for him, but he wasn’t there. Still, the prompting persisted.
“A few weeks later, I pulled up again, and there he was. With the expectation that my time would be brief, I went directly to the matter at hand. ‘Do you go to church?’ I asked. He paused with surprise and then said yes. I handed him my business card. ‘Call me sometime,’ I said and drove away. ‘Well, I did my part,’ I thought. ‘Now I won’t have any more nagging feelings.’”
To her surprise, he called the next day and introduced himself as Greg Eiselin. “He told me later that, because we are both young and single, he thought I was asking him for a date,” she says. “But we ended up talking about religion for three hours, and he began learning about the Church.” Today Elder Eiselin is serving a full-time mission in Montana, USA.

An example of a child listening happened in a fabric store. The store was crowded with shoppers when it became obvious to everyone that a mother was panicked because she had lost her young son. At first, she was calling his name. “Connor,” she would say as she briskly walked around the store. As time passed, her voice got louder and more frantic. Soon the store security officers were notified, and everyone in the store was involved in looking for the child. Several minutes passed with no success of finding him. Connor’s mother, understandably, was becoming more frantic by the minute and was rapidly yelling his name over and over again.

One patron, after saying a silent prayer, had the thought that Connor may be frightened as he listened to his mother scream his name. She mentioned this to another woman involved in the search, and they quickly made a plan. Together they began to walk between the tables of fabric, quietly repeating the words “Connor, if you can hear my voice, say, ‘Here I am.’” As they walked slowly toward the back of the store repeating that phrase, sure enough, they heard a timid, soft voice say, “Here I am.” Connor was hiding between the bolts of fabric under a table. It was a voice of perfect mildness that encouraged Connor to respond.

Samu, a ten-year-old African boy, walked slowly down the village farm road. He smacked at the hedge with every step, trying to spear a leaf on the pointed tip of his msasa stick.
When he finally reached the gate in the hedge, he paused hopefully. Then he reached out and swung the gate open and shut, open and shut. The gate was badly in need of oil and squeaked loudly as Samu swung it backward and forward.
Soon Samu heard the same loud squeak come from the old woman’s front porch. It was the bird—the clever talking bird!
“Squeeeeeeeeek, squeeeeeeeeek! Naughty boy! Who’s there?” called the bird in the yellow cage. Then it barked shrilly like the old lady’s Pekinese dog.
Samu clutched the gate and giggled. “Hello, hello!” called Samu.
“Hello, hello!” replied the bird.
Samu felt very clever. He ran to his home in the village and told his mother that he was teaching a bird to speak. His mother laughed, because she knew nothing of talking birds.
“I will show you, Mother,” Samu said excitedly. “As soon as I get a bird of my own, I will teach it to talk!”
Mother was busy pounding corn into mealie, and she just laughed at Samu’s promise and told him to run away and play.
Samu asked some of his friends to help him catch a bird. “I will teach it to talk,” he told them. But his friends only laughed, for they had never heard of a talking bird.
Next Samu spoke to Old Mwanza, who sat all day by his hut warming his old bones in the sun.
“Birds do not talk. Men talk—and they talk too much,” said the old man, shaking his grizzled head at Samu. “Why teach birds to add to the chatter?”
Samu wandered off into the bush by himself, wondering how he could catch a bird and train it to talk as the old woman’s bird did. He had almost given up hope when he saw a black crow sitting in the branches of a msasa tree hoarsely croaking about nothing in particular.
Why don’t I try to make friends with this bird by feeding it? he thought. I will bring it some of mother’s cooked mealie every day at the same time until it knows me.
Samu quickly ran home and begged for some hard-cooked porridge. His mother gave him a handful, and back he ran to the msasa tree and spread lumps of mealie on the ground. Then he hid in the bushes. After a lot of surprised scraaaking, the crow hopped down and began to peck at the mealie.
Every day for three weeks Samu took a handful of porridge and fed the crow. It no longer flew up into the tree with a scraaaaak of fright when Samu arrived. Now it hopped up close to him and jumped up and down in the dust, waiting for Samu to spread the porridge.
At first when Samu tried touching its feathered back, it hopped out of reach and looked at him with bright beady eyes as it scolded, “Quraaaaaaack?”
But in another week Samu could stroke the crow’s back gently while it pecked up the food.
Now! he decided triumphantly. Now I can teach it to talk.
“Say hello,” Samu told the crow. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaak!” replied the crow.
“You will have to do better than that,” Samu said patiently. “Now try again. Say hello. Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaaak?” repeated the crow, putting its head to one side and blinking at Samu with curious eyes.
“Look,” scolded Samu. “If the other bird can say it, so can you. You’re not trying.”
“Crraasquk,” squawked the crow as it flew up to the lowest branch of the msasa tree.
Samu walked home through the bush, dragging his bare feet and feeling miserable. Why wouldn’t his bird even try to talk?
He went back to see Old Mwanza and told him that the crow refused to learn to talk.
“This bird that talks with many voices and barks like a dog and squeaks like a gate,” said the old man, “must have two tongues. Perhaps your bird only has one tongue.”
I guess my crow does have only one tongue Samu thought sadly. But I will try once more! So back he went to the msasa tree with a handful of mealie. He fed his crow and then squatted down in the dust beside it. “Hello!” he said loudly. The crow danced sideways for a moment and then hopped on to Samu’s knee.
“Squaaaaako!” said the crow, and again it flew up into the tree.
Samu felt quite sorry for himself. All of his work for nothing!
Behind him the old man chuckled. He had followed Samu to see how he was getting along with teaching his bird to talk. “Samu,” he said, “it’s good to try hard to do something. But it is foolish to try to do the impossible. Would you try to teach a hen to swim like a duck or a dog to crow like a rooster?”
“No,” said Samu sheepishly. “But the old woman’s bird talks. Why shouldn’t mine?”
“I have found out about the old woman’s bird,” explained Old Mwanza. “It is a parrot—a talking bird. Your crow will make a fine pet. Why don’t you teach it to come when you call and to hop after you when you go for walks. Then you will be teaching it something it is able to learn.”
“One day I will get a talking bird,” said Samu. Then he started to laugh. “Teaching a crow to talk is like teaching a dog to crow!” he said.
The crow looked at him with its bright beady eyes and said, “Squarrrrrrrrk!”

A short time ago I attended the funeral of a friend’s son. Earlier in the week, the young man was traveling home late at night with friends when the driver of another car fell asleep. The second car crossed the median and smashed head-on into the first. The accident occurred with such swiftness that few, if any, brake marks showed on the highway and both cars were demolished. The accident took three lives, including my friend’s 17-year-old son.
Death teaches that we do not experience a fulness of joy in mortality and that everlasting joy can be achieved only with the assistance of the Master (see D&C 33–34). Just as the lame man at the Pool of Bethesda needed someone stronger than himself to be healed (see John 5:1–9), so we are dependent on the miracles of Christ’s atonement if our souls are to be made whole from grief, sorrow, and sin. If grieving parents and loved ones have faith in the Savior and his plan, death’s sting is softened as Jesus bears the believers’ grief and comforts them through the Holy Spirit. Through Christ, broken hearts are mended and peace replaces anxiety and sorrow. I received a letter from the boy’s parents telling me the peace they have found through their faith in Christ. They know that they will see their son again and be with him in the eternities.

Years ago, while on business in Brazil, I sat next to a man on a flight who had recently lost his only daughter in a car accident. He was heartbroken and without hope. When the moment was right, we spoke of sacred things that can bind families together for eternity. I shared my testimony that through Christ, he and his daughter could be reunited forever. His despair turned to hope, and he wept with this newfound knowledge.
I do not know if this man ever joined the Church, but in that moment, I know he found hope available only through the sacrifice and blessings of Jesus Christ.

One time we were talking about the Savior’s Atonement, and I raised my hand. I just told how thanks to His Atonement, Jesus Christ not only frees us but can also help us become closer to Himself and to God. I talked about my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and how it has been strengthened as my understanding of the Atonement has grown. After class, a man came up to me and thanked me for my comments. He told me he had never thought about things the way I had said them and really appreciated my insight.

Marni Adams has friends all over the United States. Every month, they get together and talk about gospel subjects, ideas for Mutual activities, and what they’ve read in the latest issue of the New Era. No, Marni doesn’t travel a lot, and she doesn’t have a huge phone bill. Every month, Marni and her friends “chat” on their computers.
“Our group includes people from all over the country,” says Marni, a student at Ricks College. “Only a few have actually met in person, but even those who haven’t are still great friends with each other.”
Known as “Smilin’ Sue” on the computer, Marni says that through advanced technology, people who would have never become friends otherwise now really love each other.
“Probably the best thing about making friends on the computer is that appearances and age don’t matter. It’s a lot easier to really get to know people,” says Marni.

For a Personal Progress goal, I started praying to have a missionary experience. I tried to figure out which of my friends would be most willing to join the Church.
Months passed, and I thought I wouldn’t have the experience that I sought—until I met Brenda. It was her first year at our school.
As the year progressed, we became close schoolmates, but it didn’t occur to me to invite her to church until one of our friends invited Brenda to her church. I thought, “I don’t believe it! I should’ve thought of that.”
The next week Brenda said she enjoyed going to our friend’s church and wanted to go again. I thought, “I’ve lost out.” Not that it was a competition, but I wanted to take the gospel to Heavenly Father’s children.
At that time our meetinghouse was being renovated and was scheduled to be rededicated in a few months. The bishop handed out invitations for an open house and the dedication. I invited all my friends who lived near the meetinghouse. The only one who accepted was Brenda. I was excited.
A few days before the open house, Brenda said she might not be able to go because her mother didn’t want her to. I was disappointed, but I understood and told her there would be other opportunities to learn about the Church.
At the open house, however, I was surprised to see Brenda there. She had talked to her mother, who ended up letting her go. I introduced her to the missionaries. We went to each room in the meetinghouse and heard a brief description of each Church organization. Finally, we went to the cultural hall and picked up pamphlets about the Restoration, family history, eternal marriage, and other gospel topics. Brenda said, “I believe in this!”
On Sunday she attended church. On Monday she attended a Mormon Helping Hands service project.
The seed that was planted in Brenda’s heart grew with each passing day. She started changing her habits to conform with the commandments and was soon baptized.
Now, a few years later, she still tells me how happy she is to have found the true gospel and how grateful she is that I helped her find it.

Photo illustrations by David Stoker
The reverberating dance music echoed loudly down the church hallway into the lobby where I sat with a set of scriptures open in my lap. I could hear the other youth laughing and socializing in the cultural hall, and I knew that somewhere down there the handful of young men from my small branch were catching up with old acquaintances.
I was the youngest person from my branch there and was still fairly new to Church dances. I wanted to meet other LDS youth and wanted to dance with some of the young women from my stake, but I always felt too out of place and self-conscious. So, I sat in the lobby.
This wasn’t my first dance, either. I’d been to a handful before, and some of the older young women had even asked me to dance, but that only made me more self-conscious. A hundred personal flaws would rush through my mind, and I knew that they were just being nice to the new kid. I felt that no one really wanted to dance with me.
That’s why this time I decided to stay in the lobby and leave them to enjoy themselves without worrying about me. Several times youth leaders and others from my branch tried to convince me to join the activity, but using the scriptures as a shield, I argued that I was happier studying the scriptures, idly reading about the bravery of Nephi, Captain Moroni, and the stripling warriors without putting their examples into practice. I went home that evening feeling miserable and alone.
At subsequent dances, I began to notice something when I went to the gym: as slow songs were played, most of the young women would sit down and remain seated until the next fast song. Though the more confident young men asked some girls to dance, they always seemed to pick the same two or three young women (generally from their wards). This meant that most of the girls sat through the slow songs watching from the sidelines.
I don’t remember exactly when the dance challenge first came about, but a couple of the young men from my branch decided that the young women should be able to dance to the slow songs. The challenge was simple: Ask a different young woman to dance for every slow song, and never sit out a dance.
Taking strength from the stories of Nephi, Captain Moroni, and the stripling warriors, I took the challenge to heart. For every dance after that, I did what I could to ensure that every young woman at every dance would have the chance to dance.
I started by asking any young women who were away from the center of the dance floor or who were from wards or branches that didn’t appear to have any young men there. I often had enough time to ask some girls twice, having danced with every young woman at least once.
Because of this goal, I had the opportunity to get to know dozens of incredible young women over the years, and a girl declined to dance with me on only two or three occasions.
The last youth dance I attended was held immediately after seminary graduation. I looked around the small gathering and noticed the faces of dozens of young women I’d danced with during the last three years. I felt grateful for the experiences I’d had, so I began the dance challenge again for one last time, inviting many girls to dance. Some of the young women were new, but most were now old acquaintances.
As one young woman eagerly jumped up to dance with me, I remembered the first time I’d asked her to dance three years before. I’d been very intimidated to ask her, because she was very beautiful, modest, and mature, and it seemed to me that if any young woman deserved to dance with someone better than me, then it would be her.
As we talked about our plans for college and careers during that last dance, she changed the topic very abruptly.
“I just want to tell you thank you,” she said with a sincere smile.
Caught by surprise, I croaked out a confused response: “For what?”
“When I first started coming to these dances,” she said, “no one would dance with me or the other girls from my branch. I really wanted to get to know other LDS people, but I’m shy. So I would sit in a chair and wait and wait, but none of the boys would ever ask. It was so humiliating that one time, while sitting and watching other people, I vowed that I would never come to a Church dance again.
“That was just before you asked me to dance for the first time. Because of that, I came to the next dance, where you asked me again. I kept coming to dances these past few years because I knew that even if no one else would ask me to dance, you would. So, thank you.”
I found myself at a loss for words. This amazing daughter of God, whom any young man should be honored to dance with, had experienced the same struggles I’d felt while sitting in that lobby.
I realized that all my fears hadn’t been anything to worry about and that by applying the principles of courage, faith, and consistency, I was able to bring happiness into both my life and into the lives of those around me.

It was Saturday night, and we were bored, so my brother and I decided to go pick up a movie. As I was browsing through an aisle in the electronics department, my brother pointed to a movie and told me his friend had really liked it. I read the description on both the back and front covers. It looked innocent enough, so I told him to go ahead and purchase it.
When we came home with the movie, I opened the case and went to turn the movie on. As I did, I picked up the case, turned it over, and was shocked to find—as I had failed to notice at the store—that the movie was rated R. My mother came in a few seconds later to call us together for family prayer.
During the prayer, my mind was racked with the decision of watching the movie or putting it away. My brother had just spent all this money on the movie, and I had already opened the case, thus eliminating the possibility of returning it! Why hadn’t I checked the rating? I couldn’t possibly tell him he had just wasted his money and I was not going to watch the movie. Maybe I could watch it once and never again.
Suddenly, I was reminded of an upcoming youth temple trip. I knew what I needed to do—keep the standards and be worthy to attend the temple. I could not willingly disobey the words of the prophets. I told my mom and brother of my dilemma and surprisingly, my brother said it was fine to get rid of the movie and would not ask me to pay him back for it. I am glad I made the right choice, and I am thankful that I upheld the Lord’s standards.

I shall always remember the great experiences I had at the open house prior to the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple. For part of a week, I stood in the entrance to the temple as a host to special guests. Those guests included the wife of the president of the United States, justices of the Supreme Court, senators and congressmen, ambassadors from various nations, clergymen, educators, and business leaders.
Almost without exception, those who came were appreciative and respectful. Many were deeply touched in their hearts. Upon leaving the temple, the wife of the president of the United States commented: “This is a truly great experience for me. … It’s an inspiration to all.”

At this time Peter was going though a series of 28 operations to reconstruct his features and correct injuries suffered in his accident. He was approached by his bishop, who asked what he would be doing if he could do anything he wanted.
Quickly it slipped out because it was a great desire of mine, but it seemed so totally impossible. I said, “I’d love to serve a mission.” And without even thinking twice he said, “Well, let’s get you ready.” I said, “Oh, bishop, I can’t do that.” I started to go over my finances and how much I owed and how my leg hadn’t mended yet and all the operations I faced and the way people reacted to me. But he just said, “Let’s get you ready.”
With his confidence in himself established on a spiritual basis, Peter was ready to work toward going on a mission. After submitting his papers and undergoing a special interview with Elder Thomas S. Monson, Peter received his call to the Northern California Mission.
Up until then Peter had always worn dark glasses in an attempt to cover the slits that had been sewn closed over his eyes to compensate for his lack of eyelids. He had been so self-conscious of his appearance that he never went anywhere without his glasses. On the way to his mission interview, he took his dark glasses off and never wore them again. Surgery later corrected the problem with his eyelids.
His new attitude about himself helped him serve a successful mission. He was able to influence people and encourage them to become members of the Church.