Gospel Story Finder

And love endures through the hardships of life. The Apostle Paul taught: “Charity suffereth long. … [It] beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth” (1 Corinthians 13:4, 7, 8). I watched a mother’s enduring love for her alcoholic son. She never gave up praying for him and being available for him. In his later years, he finally “came to himself” (Luke 15:17), kept a respectable job, and used his mechanical skills to fix up his mother’s house.

I learned the power of simple faith in prayer and in the Holy Ghost when our children were small. Our oldest son was not yet baptized. His parents, Primary teachers, and priesthood servants had tried to help him feel and recognize the Spirit and know how to receive His help.
One afternoon my wife had taken him to the home of a woman who was teaching him to read. Our plan was that I was to pick him up on my way home from work.
His lesson ended earlier than we had expected. He felt confident that he knew the way home. So he started to walk. He said afterward that he had complete confidence and liked the idea of being alone on the trip. After he had gone about half a mile (0.8 km), it started to grow dark. He began to sense that he was still very far from home.
He can still remember that the lights of the cars as they streamed past him were blurred by his tears. He felt like a little child, not the confident boy who had begun to walk home alone. He realized that he needed help. Then something came to his memory. He knew he was supposed to pray. And so he left the road and headed toward some trees he could barely see in the darkness. He found a place to kneel down.
Through the bushes he could hear voices coming toward him. Two young people had heard him crying. As they approached, they said, “Can we help you?” Through his tears he told them he was lost and that he wanted to go home. They asked if he knew his home phone number or address. He didn’t. They asked if he knew his name. He did know that. They led him to the nearby place where they lived. They found our family name in a phone book.
When I got the phone call, I rushed to the rescue, grateful that kind people had been placed along his way home. And I have been ever grateful he was taught to pray with faith that help would come when he was lost. That faith has led him to safety and brought him more rescuers more times than he can count.

Last year Chantal auditioned for a prestigious gala presentation that the media attend to report on the best new talent in Montreal. Chantal passed the audition and was scheduled to perform, but when she found out the concert was to be held on a Sunday, she withdrew.

“I fasted about it. Even though I really wanted to sing at the gala, if the Spirit says don’t go, you don’t go. So I didn’t. The important thing is always to follow what Heavenly Father wants us to do. But I know that because I listened to the Spirit, other opportunities have come my way,” says Chantal.

She recently found herself singing for a seminary film produced by the Church. Last year both sisters were asked to help with French translations for the film. Chantal told the producer she liked to sing and was asked to record several songs for the project. She went to the studio, put on the earphones, and surprised everybody when she did an outstanding job in record time. A technician told her she had professional talent, which was encouraging.

“If I sing professionally, my commitment to God will always take first priority,” she says. “I look at my singing as missionary work.”

It was a routine she knew well. She would get up a little before 6:00 A.M. to catch the 6:30 bus, which would take her to school. School would last nine hours. But when the bell rang, dismissing classes, it would seem like her day was just beginning. She would leave class and head to the library for three more hours studying the day’s lessons. At 8:00 P.M., she would hop on the bus and ride 40 minutes to her home, where she would shower, eat, catch up on the world’s latest happenings from the newspaper, read from the scriptures, and then go to sleep. The next day Liu Kwan Ling, who also uses the English name Angel, would do it all over again.
Free time wasn’t one of the luxuries in Angel’s life then, and it certainly isn’t now.
Even Angel admits it was a grueling schedule. She will also admit it was worth it. Last year Angel graduated from the Taipei First Girls’ High School and is now in her first year at National Taiwan University, rated the top college in this island country near mainland China.
Having survived the rigors of high school, Angel is probably busier now that she has graduated. Her college schedule, compared to her daily high school routine, really isn’t that much different. In fact, it’s about identical. It’s just that the college courses she is taking are a little more demanding. Yet Angel knows how she has been able to juggle all the things in her busy schedule.
“I can increase my spirituality by reading the scriptures and praying,” she says. “I think without doing that and by not going to my Sunday meetings I would become easily discouraged and depressed about school and life. But if I go to sacrament meeting and listen to the talks, it seems that my life is always more positive and happy. I think the most important thing in my life is my spirituality.”
It was a tough two years on Angel as she both prepared for college and tried to remain active in the Peitou Ward of the Taipei East Stake, where she is her ward’s sacrament meeting pianist.
The bulk of her time was spent studying English, math, Chinese, physics, chemistry, biology, physical education, music, and housekeeping (cooking and sewing).
And that is what is so amazing about Angel. She graduated near the top of her high school class, yet she doubts she could have done it had she not had the gospel’s guiding influence in her life. “The Church was especially helpful to me during my senior year of high school. I noticed a lot of my schoolmates were easily depressed because of school,” she says. “But I knew if I did my best, Heavenly Father would help me. Usually, my grades were better than I expected.”
Today, college life keeps Angel busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her scriptures, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she is doing well in school, and, more importantly, she is finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

When I was 17, I went to live with my aunt and uncle, who were sponsoring my education. When I arrived at their home in Sekondi, Ghana, I immediately noticed unusual things about their family. They had morning and evening prayers together and held family meetings on Monday evenings that seemed to make each family member feel loved and appreciated. Even though I was an active member of another faith, I became interested in finding out about their beliefs.
When I asked Uncle Sarfo about the Church, he explained many of the Church’s teachings. Some I believed, and others I did not understand.
My uncle then asked the missionaries to teach me the discussions, and I received all six of the lessons. But when the missionaries invited me to be baptized, I refused because I did not have a testimony of the Book of Mormon. I found it difficult to read and understand.
To please Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Sarfo, I had already been attending sacrament meeting. Now they encouraged me to enroll in the early-morning seminary course that was to begin in two weeks.
Getting out of bed at 4:30 A.M. was no small matter for me, but the seminary teacher, Solomon Agbo, visited me, encouraged me to attend, and seemed already to care about me. I decided to go to seminary, and once I made that decision, I resolved not to be absent even for a single day. The course of study was the Book of Mormon, and I wanted to see if I might gain a testimony of the book.
As I began studying the Book of Mormon for seminary, I experienced the feelings Elder Parley P. Pratt (1807–57) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described when he first found the Book of Mormon. “I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page,” he wrote. “I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt [1985], 18).
As I read, the Spirit of the Lord bore witness that the Book of Mormon is truly another testament of Jesus Christ. Through seminary the Book of Mormon became much easier to read. Whenever it was hard to follow, my teacher helped me understand. I received a testimony that the Book of Mormon is “the most correct of any book on earth, … and a man [will] get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book” (Joseph Smith, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith [1976], 194).
I was baptized on 5 March 1995. By the time I was 21 I was a seminary teacher myself, helping others know of the divinity and truthfulness of the book that changed my life.

Ellie pulled the zipper up to her chin and shoved her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. Her worn tennis shoes scuffed along the sidewalk. The Saturday morning was dull and overcast. The cold rain had stopped, but everything was wet; her bike had a flat tire, and none of her friends could play, anyway. I hate days like this! She thought as she angrily kicked a rock.
She didn’t lift her head when Mr. Coriman’s front door slammed. “Hey, you, missy! Come here!” Mr. Coriman’s booming voice made her jump. She froze right there on the sidewalk in front of his house.
Mr. Coriman was a crotchety old neighbor who lived four doors down from her house. Ellie and her friends called him “the crank.” Once Marty had dared Alex to ring his doorbell and run away, but Mr. Coriman had caught them. He had stood on his porch, shaking his cane at them, and had shouted at them to stay off his property. Now he was hollering at her!
“Me?” she asked nervously. “I haven’t done anything!”
“I didn’t say you had! Just come here!”
She wanted to run home; instead her feet walked unwillingly up the worn path to his front porch, where he stood staring down at her.
“Do you know why you’re bored? ’Cause you can’t be loud!”
Ellie looked up at him in surprise. This wasn’t what she had expected. Mr. Coriman’s face was scrunched up and angry. She watched his bristly eyebrows shoot up as he opened his watery eyes wide and tottered toward her, buttoning his heavy sweater against the chilly air as he came.
“All day long you and your friends scream up and down this street with your sleds or on your bicycles, and now that you don’t have anyone around to be loud with, you can’t think of anything to do!”
He leaned so far forward that Ellie wondered if he would tumble down the front porch steps. He spoke more quietly now, and the corners of his mouth lifted in what might have been a smile. It was hard to tell—she had never seen him smile before. “That’s a shame. There’s a lot to see and hear if you’re quiet and listen for a minute.”
He turned away from her and scraped a battered old lawn chair across the porch to the top of the steps. As he slowly settled himself into it, Mr. Coriman pointed to the steps. “Sit down for a bit.”
She really didn’t want to stay here with this crabby old man, but since she didn’t have anything else to do, she sat down on the creaky, weathered step. She glanced up warily at Mr. Coriman, but he wasn’t looking at her now. He was squinting and looking into the distance.
“Look at how many birds there are today in my maple tree over there.” He poked her with his finger and pointed towards the far corner of his yard. The maple tree was huge and spreading, with thorny branches from nearby bushes growing around the trunk. Beneath the tree, she noticed that the grass was long and scraggly.
“I bet you can’t name all the kinds of birds in it!” Mr. Coriman leaned toward her, and she saw with surprise that he really was smiling. He challenged her again. “What do you see?”
“I don’t know—I can’t see that far away. And I don’t know their names, anyway,” Ellie admitted.
Mr. Coriman chuckled, “I can’t see them very well, either. But I listen to them singing. You get to know each bird when you listen to its song.”
They both sat quietly and listened for a moment. There were so many birds singing that it seemed impossible to listen for just one bird’s song. This is stupid! Ellie thought. She shifted impatiently on the cold step and turned toward the old man.
He put his finger to his lips, then whispered, “Just listen. You have to wait and be patient.” He looked into the sky above the tree and closed his eyes. “And maybe close your eyes.”
Ellie scrunched her eyelids closed and sat still for longer than she ever had before. At first the birdsongs all blended, but as she listened, they became separate sounds that split and overlapped. She tried to catch up with them, and for a few seconds, Ellie did hear just one song. Her eyes flew open. “I did! I heard a song! It was a ‘tweet tweet tweety tweety tweet.’”
“That was Mr. Meadowlark. Now we know he’s here this morning. Look on a middle branch.”
Hopping to the end of the branch as if to help Ellie see him better, the little brown meadowlark sang again, and she heard his song above all the others.
Ellie moved to the other side of the post and sat closer to Mr. Coriman’s chair. “What others are there?”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Coriman said, his eyes twinkling, “I’m not going to tell you. You have to hear them for yourself.”
Ellie concentrated and looked at the tree. Soon she ventured, “I hear ‘cheep cheep cheep.’”
“That’s Mr. Sparrow—but he’s not in the tree. He’s up on the power lines with his friends.”
Way up high, Ellie saw two tiny birds perched on the power line that stretched across the gray sky to Mr. Coriman’s house.
He leaned toward Ellie and cupped his ear. “Hear that other one?”
Ellie nodded. “It’s really pretty and ends with a ‘brrr.’” She trilled her tongue.
“He’s one of my favorites, Mr. Red-winged Blackbird.”
Ellie stopped listening for a moment and looked at the long grass and overgrown brambles. Then she wondered aloud, “Why is your yard so messy?”
Mr. Coriman pulled his sweater closer around him. “I can’t keep it up. My heart’s bad, and I have to take medicine.” He looked down and shifted his chair. “My nephew used to mow and trim for me sometimes, but then he had to move.”
The silence hung between them. Ellie thought of the lawn mower and clippers in her garage, and of her three older brothers. She should talk to her mom. It would be fun to surprise him.
“Well, Missy, do you hear any more birds?” the old man’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Just then Ellie’s friend Marty screeched to a halt on his bike by Mr. Coriman’s driveway. He looked puzzled. “Uh, Ellie,” he finally said, “you want to come play?”
“Come here, Marty!” Ellie stood up and waved to him. “We’re listening to the birds. Mr. Coriman is showing me how to tell the birds apart!”
Marty leaned his bike against the rusty mailbox.
While he was coming up the walk, Ellie explained, “You need to sit down and be quiet. Sometimes you have to wait and be patient and listen for each bird’s song. Listen to his song, and then you’ll know who he is!”
She looked up with pride at Mr. Coriman, and his wrinkled smile warmed her.

In October 2000 my wife and I and two of our three children were living in Christchurch, New Zealand. BYU had provided us with a generous development leave, and we had made our home in a quaint bungalow—quaint meaning old, cold, drafty, and damp—adjacent to the University of Canterbury, where I was working with a colleague who was to become a good friend.

We had been there for a little more than three months when one of New Zealand’s fabled storms came roaring out of the northeast. It smashed into our little neighborhood, flooding the local schools and uprooting trees and sidewalks. We had been so charmed by the garden-like nature of Christchurch that we were distraught over the wreckage around our home. As an aside, those of you who are familiar with Christchurch know that in recent years the city has suffered several major earthquakes, whose aftermath has unfortunately eclipsed our experienced disaster by orders of magnitude.

During our October storm, however, the most devastating effects were wrought on Lyttelton Harbour, just to the southeast of Christchurch. The marina at Lyttelton was almost completely destroyed, with millions of dollars in ­damage done to boats and infrastructure.

As we followed the news reports and developments, I was most intrigued by the stories of the vessels that had survived the storm and how their owners had effected that survival. As the storm developed, these experienced men and women were intently watching the barometer, and when it began to drop precipitously, they rushed to their boats and headed out to sea. This was entirely counterintuitive to someone of my limited experience. I would have thought that my boat would be safest in a picturesque harbor, tucked in a deepwater inlet in the hollow of an ancient volcano behind a sizable rock jetty. But not so.

The boats that had left the harbor were among the few vessels that successfully weathered the storm. They went to sea and dropped an anchor—not just any anchor but a storm, or sea, anchor. These anchors are clearly not a new invention, although the materials and technology of them have improved over time. Storm anchors are basically underwater kites or parachutes.

There are multiple purposes for this type of anchor. Even in a substantial storm, the anchor prevents the vessel from being significantly moved from its initial position. A boat that gets turned sideways in high seas is apt to capsize and founder. This anchor allows the vessel to maintain stable orientation relative to prevailing winds and predominant waves. The differential movement between the tethered vessel and the underlying waves yields a more responsive rudder, allowing the ship to navigate changes in the oncoming waves. Finally, the anchor prevents a vessel caught on a large wave from sliding headlong down and crashing into the next wave.

Another experience that testifies that faith can move mountains is the experience with our son Nephi his junior season of high school.

In August of 2015, it was the start of another football season for our family. We just sent off our oldest son to college and it was the next son in line to be the focus of high school football. It was the first game of the season and on the third play my son was in man coverage and he broke on the ball and the receiver was in the air. My son lowered his shoulder while the receiver was coming down and when they hit my son fell straight down and couldn’t get up.

Being a football mom anytime something happened to my sons the coaches knew that I was sure to make my way down to the field. I was relieved that my son was able to stand up and walk off the field and knowing my kids no matter how injured they are they always tried to get back into the game. I was glad to see that they took his helmet away. At the time I believe they ruled him out of the game with a concussion. It wasn’t until half time or beginning of third quarter that my son asked if I could go with him into the locker room to take off his jersey. It was then that I noticed that something was not right. He said, “Mom can you help me take off my jersey. I can’t lift my arms.” I quickly helped him take off his jersey and said, “Son, we need to go to the hospital to get you checked.” I then drove him to the hospital and told them what had happened and then they started to run scans and tests on him. My kids know anytime we are at the hospital I am silently saying my prayers and talking to my angels. By this time the game was done and my husband who was an assistant coach at the time joined us at the hospital. The doctor came back and showed us his x-rays of his neck and showed us that he would need to undergo major surgery. With this news I was taken back to the time of our daughter’s incident. I felt peace again knowing we have been here before. I silently said a prayer, saying, “Lord you have worked miracles in our lives before and I know you will work your miracle again.” I remember that was the first time that I didn’t cry. I just had this overwhelming sense of peace that all will be okay. The next morning, he was scheduled for the procedure. Again, grateful for the prayers and faith of those who all were concerned for our son the procedure went well. That Monday after his surgery he was up and walking and showed signs of mobility in hands and legs. But we were in for a long journey to full recovery.

My son had his mind set that he was going to play football again. Every doctor’s appointment he would ask, “Doc, when am I going to be cleared to play?” We all would try our best to help him focus on just fully healing. But, all Nephi was focused on was getting back on the field. Each Friday night game Nephi was there to support the team. But with each loss you can see the sense of disappointment and frustration he had in not being able to help the team. Things got dark for my son and you can see this injury was taking a toll on his spirit. I would always say to my son just as my mother did to me “don’t lose faith.” I remember one of the games he called me to say that he wasn’t going. This was one of those difficult weeks where he was moody. I not wanting to deal with his attitude was content to leave him at home and go to the game myself. But I had an overwhelming feeling to go home and check on him. When I got home and went to his room. I found him laying in the middle of the room with his room flipped upside down. I remember something telling me to just hug him. So, I did and we didn’t say anything and just cried together. All I could say to him was how much I loved him. It was this moment that changed my parenting to, President Monson's quote: “Never let a problem to be solved be more important than a person to be loved.” [2]

The next doctor's appointment, my son brought a piece of paper to show his doctor information about a player in the NFL that broke his neck and was still playing. We could see that he was not going to accept not playing the game again. The next appointment the doctor told Nephi that he made some calls to doctors in the NFL and that they gave 3 things that would clear him to start on the road back to the game. 1) Solid Fusion 2) Range of Motion 3) Cognitive Exam. That was all my son needed to hear. In March 2016—seven months after his incident he was cleared to participate in the Nike Opening in Los Angeles. He was able to participate in the contactless drills. This was the beginning of his road back to playing football again. Many may have thought that my husband and I were crazy to let our son play the sport again. But, to us we were grateful for the light and happiness that we saw in his demeanor. Because it was better than the dark cloud that was trying to consume him. We understood the risk and he understood it, too. We knew this was part of his journey with God and building his own faith. We have watched our son Nephi play his senior year and at the college level. He is now fulfilling his dreams of playing in the NFL. We can honestly say this is the happiest we have seen him. He is currently with the New Orleans Saints and we are forever grateful for the faith he has knowing that Jesus got him no matter what.

All of us need to be intentional about teaching in our families. Recently our daughter had an unexpected occasion to teach with purpose in her home. She and her husband had been planning to talk with their 8-year-old daughter about the “facts of life,” but just had not gotten around to finding a quiet, special time to do so. But the opportunity came one night at the dinner table, while her husband was still at work, and the daughter opened the subject with a specific question. In a split second a hundred thoughts went through our daughter’s mind: “where is Brad when I need him?; should I just stall and tell her I’ll answer her later?; what simple message can I give her in front of the younger children?; and then a silent prayer: “Heavenly Father help me to teach her appropriately with the Spirit, now.” And that is what she did. She used truths and language from the Proclamation on the Family, simple explanations with each ensuing question. The littler ones drifted away as they lost interest, but this daughter felt affirmed, happy, well-taught, and willing to come back for more conversations. This comes from well prepared parents who seek to continually have the spirit, so they can call upon it at the needed moments. This is what purposeful parenting looks like.

Whitney and her mother were cleaning out Whitney’s great-grandfather’s attic after he died. Mother pulled a large tarp off of a dresser, and her eyes filled with tears.
“What’s wrong?” Whitney asked.
“Nothing really is wrong,” Mother responded. “I just remember that when I was about your age, I would watch my grandmother take her hat out of this armoire.”
“What’s an armoire?” Whitney asked.
“That’s what this is,” Mother said, pointing. “It’s a large chest where Grandmother hung her clothes.” Mother lovingly ran her finger over the wood, and Whitney noticed that one of the doors was broken and that the varnish was chipped.
“It’s broken now, isn’t it?” Whitney asked.
Mother got a twinkle in her eye. “It is. But you know, Whitney, I think that I would like to restore this armoire. We could refinish it and make it as good as new.”
Whitney was excited. “We could paint it white and put fancy new handles on the doors!”
Mother shook her head. “No, I want to restore it. Restore means to bring something back to the way it was originally. I want it to look just the way it did when my grandmother used it. Can you think of something that is restored?”
Whitney was puzzled. “I’ll give you a hint,” Mother said. “You learn about the restoration of something when you go to church.”
“The gospel!” Whitney said. “But how was the gospel restored?”
“Jesus Christ brought back His gospel just the way it was when He was on the earth. He didn’t change it or make a new gospel. Jesus restored His gospel through Joseph Smith.”
“And Jesus is still the head of the Church,” Whitney added.
“I think you understand quite a bit about restoration,” Mother said with a smile.

Our Sunday School lesson on keeping the Sabbath day holy had gone well—until somebody mentioned television.
As people chimed in with their opinions regarding whether watching television on Sunday was appropriate, some class members became prescriptive. Before long, other class members became offended. The Spirit, which at first had accompanied our discussion, was replaced by a palpable tension.
Observing the growing discord, Kenneth Payne, a member of our stake presidency, asked to speak. He stood and began telling us about his son Brian, who had served in the Japan Tokyo North Mission. When President Payne and his family greeted Brian at the airport upon his return from his mission in March 2003, he complained of a stiff, sore jaw. Within weeks, Brian was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
A month later he began a regimen of chemotherapy and then radiation. President Payne said doctors had planned a bone-marrow transplant for September 22, but just after the first of that month, “Brian began having difficulty.”
He was hospitalized the second week of September. By then, because of the cancer’s aggressive nature, doctors determined that it was too late for a transplant. The family brought Brian home from the hospital on September 21. He passed away the next morning.
“September 22 is a special day for my family and me,” said President Payne. “On that day we slow down and think about Brian, his contributions to our family, and how he gave the last two years of his life to the Lord and to the Japanese people, whom he loved. We miss him, and on that day we reflect upon his life and honor his memory.”
For all of us, President Payne said, Sunday is a day to slow down and remember.
“We take time out to attend our Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, sorrow for our sins, and ponder the Savior’s suffering on our behalf,” he said. “We serve, we love, and we try not to be distracted by activities that would prevent us from worshipping Him.”
President Payne said that if Sunday activities are in keeping with that spirit, then we can feel right as we engage in them. But if they distract us from remembering the Savior and ministering on the Sabbath as He would minister, then perhaps we should reconsider our choice.
He then sat down and said no more. He didn’t need to. The Spirit had returned to the classroom, and we were all listening.

Late one evening shortly after I had been called as bishop, I received a telephone call from a distressed member. She told me her elderly husband was missing. He had left home to perform some errands and was long overdue. Tearfully, this sister explained that she had called all the hospitals in Southampton to check if he had been admitted following an accident of some sort. The police had also been alerted and were on the lookout throughout the city.
I said I would visit immediately to see if the ward members could help in any way and to give her a priesthood blessing if she wished. She gratefully agreed.
I quickly called the elders quorum president. By now it was after 10:30 P.M. I didn’t normally like to bother members late at night, but this was an exceptional situation and I knew I could rely on Brother Rosser to assist me.
When we arrived at the sister’s home, members of her family were there, and it soon became clear that all that could reasonably be done to help had been done. There was little to do other than to offer comfort and perform the priesthood blessing. We laid our hands upon this dear sister’s head and blessed her by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood. But when I reached the point when one usually adds comfort and insight as directed by the Spirit, my mind was completely blank. I found myself pleading with Heavenly Father for some words with which I might bless her, while simultaneously examining my life to see if some personal unworthiness was acting as an impediment to divine communication. After what seemed a lengthy silence, I was at last inspired to ask Heavenly Father to bless her with the Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter and then I closed the blessing.
After the blessing as Brother Rosser and I walked to the car, I expressed my concerns about feeling nothing other than to make the request concerning the Holy Ghost. The more I dwelt on the matter, the more my fear increased that something dreadful had happened to the missing husband.
It was now past midnight. As Brother Rosser and I drove away, I felt impressed to drive through a particular district of town rather than taking the direct route home. Brother Rosser agreed that we should follow the impression.
After a few minutes we were halted by a red traffic light where I intended to make a left turn. At that moment what seemed to be a loud and distinct voice instructed me to turn right. The light changed to green, and I turned right. As we drove over the junction, I saw a solitary figure seated on a bench in a deserted shopping precinct. I pulled over, and we got out of the car. As we approached the person huddled against the cold, we called out the name of the missing man. He looked up, and we recognized him. We had been sent directly to him!
This elderly brother had fallen and been knocked out earlier in the day. By the time we found him, he had regained consciousness but was in pain and suffering from exposure to the cold. We quickly called the police, summoned an ambulance, and informed his wife that he had been found.
After we had ensured that all was well, Brother Rosser and I started again for home. We reflected upon what had happened. We had been specifically guided by the Holy Ghost. Our tears flowed freely.
I learned a number of things that night. First, we should give only the blessings we are inspired to give, not those we think the recipient would like to hear. Second, a priesthood holder must always keep himself worthy to be called upon at a moment’s notice. Third, Heavenly Father makes known His will in His own time and way. Fourth, we need to recognize the many ways in which the Holy Ghost communicates to us and to act upon those promptings when we receive them. Finally, I learned that at times the Lord does intervene directly to help, and we can sometimes be the means through which His help comes. I am grateful for the many lessons of that cold, dark night.

Wilford didn’t let old age get in the way of his work. One of his favorite activities was gardening outside with his children and grandchildren.
Grandson: Grandfather, may I help?
President Woodruff: Of course. Take that hoe over there, and help me get rid of these weeds.
One day, Wilford was upset when one of his grandchildren finished hoeing a patch of vegetables a little before he did—even though he was 90 years old!
Grandson: Grandfather, I’m all finished.
President Woodruff: I’m getting old. That’s the first time in my life that one of my grandchildren has ever outdone me in hoeing.

Shortly after our marriage in the Salt Lake Temple, Jim and I found ourselves living in a rented cottage on the Oregon coast. Jim was a topographic engineer for the government, in charge of checking and correcting a map of the Oregon coastline. Each morning he would leave with another engineer to continue the work of the previous day. His work was difficult because the coast was heavily forested.
One evening as I was about to start dinner, a strong impression came into my mind that my dinner preparations were not important. Jim would not be home for dinner that night. Another thought followed: Jim was in trouble and needed my help!
I did not hear a voice, but the message came as clearly into my mind as if it had been spoken. I had to help him, but where was he? He worked each day along the coast, but I had no idea where he was working that day. I felt impelled to get in the car and drive to the main highway, but in which direction should I turn? With only slight hesitation, I felt that I should turn south. I then passed many side roads, any one of which could have been the area of Jim’s work.
I was impressed to leave the highway and follow one of the single-lane roads. It was raining, and after a mile or two the road became a muddy trail. I decided I had better turn around and head back. It was getting dark, and I thought, “It was silly of me to have come.”
But no sooner had I turned onto the highway than I came upon two tired, despondent engineers, so covered with mud that no one else would have wanted to pick them up. Jim and his co-worker told me that their truck had become stuck in a mud hole. They had tried to free it but finally left it and hiked through dense undergrowth back to the main highway.
“How did you know where we were?” they wondered, relieved that I had found them. My relief was equal to theirs as I explained how I had been guided by the Spirit.
As Jim and I knelt in prayer that evening, we gave thanks for the influence of the Holy Ghost, which had come to me in answer to my husband’s prayers for help.

When I left on my first mission as a young man, I had practically no understanding of missionary work. I had a feeble testimony of the gospel, but I had faith that what I was doing was right.
Upon arrival in Montevideo, Uruguay, I was assigned to Elder Wayne G. Scheiss, my first senior companion. I immediately found that he cared for me. In our brief three months together, he taught me all I was smart enough to learn of the missionary discussions. He taught me the rudiments of the Spanish language. And he taught me to put my feet on the proper path toward missionary service and to turn my heart toward godly things.
Elder Scheiss let me baptize our first convert. Mario had already been taught most of the missionary discussions by the time I arrived, but my companion thought it best that I perform the ordinance. I studied hard to memorize the baptismal prayer in Spanish. I worked on my accent in order to be understood on that sacred occasion.
I shall never forget finally finding myself standing in the baptismal font at the Deseret Branch with Mario, raising my arm to the square, and saying, “Habiendo sido comisionado por Jesucristo …” “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you. …” (D&C 20:73.)
I had heard of people being commissioned to paint pictures. I had heard of people being commissioned to serve as military officers. But when it occurred to me that I had been commissioned by the Savior to baptize in his sacred name for the remission of sins, I felt a rush of testimony and pride and gratitude that went through my entire soul. I knew that I was in the service of the most important Master of all. I knew I was authorized to perform that ordinance, and I knew that Mario left that font pure and clean and acceptable to our Heavenly Father. I am grateful to my companion for that baptism experience. And I am grateful for my commission from the Lord.

Let me tell you a story of one of our sons.

Our third son is Tyler. Of our six children, I wouldn’t rank Tyler as the smartest or maybe not even near the top of our kids’ smart chart. In high school, he never got quite as good of grades as most of our other children. When he got to college, because of his less-than-superior high school academic experience, he realized that he was behind. In some ways, he hit a brick wall. Tyler could have done two things. He could have given up, or he could try to climb the wall and get over it. Fortunately, he did the latter. He decided that he needed to work extra hard to make up for lost time. He did and, while his grades weren’t all straight A’s, his GPA rose considerably. When it was time to take the Dental Aptitude Test (he wanted to be a dentist), he studied 12-15 hours a day for three months and ended up scoring in the 99th percentile in the country. He has now finished dental school and this summer will start a pediatric dental residency at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

1 Sarah and George Benson were excited when they learned that Sarah was to have a baby. They had just been married a few months, and this would be their first child.
2 When Sarah’s labor started on August 4, 1899, both her mother and George’s mother were there with the doctor to offer their help. Sarah was grateful for their support.
3 It wasn’t an easy delivery. The baby boy weighed more than eleven pounds! He wasn’t breathing when he was born, and the doctor didn’t think that the infant would live.
4 But the baby’s grandmothers refused to give up. They each offered a silent prayer while hurrying to get two pans of water, one warm and one cold.
5 They dipped the baby into the cold water, then into the warm water. They did this over and over, praying all the time.
6 Imagine how excited they were when the small baby gulped his first breath of air and let out a cry! Their prayers had been answered.
7 The infant was named Ezra Taft Benson, and he grew up to be a great man. When he was eighty-six years old, he became the thirteenth President of the Church.

When Sara was 16, she got a tattoo. It was a small flower on her back, where no one would ever see it except when she wore her swimming suit. She did it without her parents’ permission, and they were upset when they found out. She and her girlfriends had gone together to get tattoos at the same time. They had talked each other into it. They thought it was kind of cool.
Sara started regretting her decision shortly after. But she became truly heartsick five years later, when she was getting ready to go to the temple to be married to a wonderful young man. She was worthy in every way to attend the temple, but she wished more than anything that she did not have that mark, that foolish tattoo, on her body. It had come to represent a childish, silly wish to follow the crowd, an attitude that she had left behind long ago. The only thing that couldn’t be left behind so easily was the tattoo itself. Now as newlyweds, with both Sara and her new husband still trying to finish their educations, they are not financially in a position for her to undergo the laser treatments necessary to remove her tattoo. She just wishes that she had never had it done.

My three-year-old granddaughter illustrated the power of innocence and humility to connect us with God. She went with her family to the open house of the Brigham City Temple in Utah. In one of the rooms of that beautiful building, she looked around and asked, “Mommy, where is Jesus?” Her mother explained that she would not see Jesus in the temple, but she would be able to feel His influence in her heart. Eliza carefully considered her mother’s response and then seemed satisfied and said, “Oh, Jesus is gone helping someone,” she concluded.
No pavilion obscured Eliza’s understanding or obstructed her view of reality. God is close to her, and she feels close to Him. She knew that the temple is the house of the Lord but also understood that the resurrected and glorified Jesus Christ has a body and can only be in one place at a time.3 If He was not at His house, she recognized that He must be in another place. And from what she knows of the Savior, she knew that He would be somewhere doing good for His Father’s children. It was clear that she had hoped to see Jesus, not for a confirming miracle of His existence but simply because she loved Him.
The Spirit could reveal to her childlike mind and heart the comfort all of us need and want. Jesus Christ lives, knows us, watches over us, and cares for us. In moments of pain, loneliness, or confusion, we do not need to see Jesus Christ to know that He is aware of our circumstances and that His mission is to bless.

A patriarch received a call one afternoon from a concerned mother of a young daughter who was physically challenged from birth. This dear mother asked if her daughter could possibly receive a patriarchal blessing. The patriarch informed her that if her daughter could obtain a recommend from the bishop, he was sure the Lord had a blessing for her. A short time later the patriarch was informed that the bishop had given this sweet young girl a recommend to receive a patriarchal blessing.

An appointment was made. The blessing was given and gratefully received. Her lineage was given. She received a blessing suited to her needs and unique situation. Lives, focus, and attitudes were changed. She was told that through her cheerful acceptance of the efforts and sacrifices of those who loved and cared for her, she would be blessing their lives, and to accept their offerings graciously and willingly.