Gospel Story Finder

On an earlier trip a woman past 82 traveled with us. She had to prepare at length, exercise, and get constant reassurances from her physician that she could endure the rigors. We were touched that, as we turned our backs on a church that has been built near—and some say over—the ancient site of Gethsemane, she who had come so far and had lived so long was on her knees near the place where tradition says Jesus knelt.

April was here at last. The all-night study sessions and final exams were over and most of our belongings packed into a closet in the old house we had lived in for the past year. Tearful see-you-in-Septembers echoed through the empty rooms as we locked the front door. My roommate, Lanell, and I lugged our bursting suitcases through the slushy snow and into the yellow Renault.
“What a dumb time for a snowstorm,” Lanell grumbled, slamming the car door shut.
“Oh well, we’ll soon be winging our way to Europe,” I consoled, reminding her of our exciting summer plans. We had schemed all year for this two-month vacation, and because we were trying to save money by driving to Chicago and flying from there, it looked as though this sudden spring snowstorm might threaten our plans.
I switched on the radio. Another weather bulletin, this time with bad news. “All interstates in Utah are closed,” the deejay stated blandly. “Students are advised to remain in Provo until further notice.”
“No way,” I declared. “A little snow won’t stop this Canadian!”
I pulled out the road map, and Lanell and I discussed all the alternative routes. We finally chose one that went south of Provo and then east into Colorado. Since it wasn’t an interstate and didn’t seem to be too mountainous, we reasoned that it would be open and fairly safe.
We headed out as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the gray storm clouds and disappeared over the top of the western range of mountains. It was a bad time to leave, I knew, but we were anxious to be on our way.
I drove cautiously on the snow-packed highway and wasn’t too alarmed when snow began falling. We soon noticed, however, that the highway was ascending into the mountains. Lanell checked the map and to our dismay found, in tiny print, the mountain pass we thought we wouldn’t have to cross. To make matters worse, the storm had increased in fury, the snowflakes splattering so thickly on the windshield that the wipers could barely keep up. As the wind howled through the canyon, I realized that conditions were perfect for a blizzard. We considered returning to Provo for the night but were encouraged by the steady stream of cars creeping toward us on the highway.
“They made it over the pass so we will too,” we told each other.
“And the other side probably won’t be so icy,” I said, trying to sound confident. Inside, I was beginning to wonder what we’d gotten ourselves into.
The road was now glare ice and we were steadily climbing. I grasped the wheel lightly as I’d learned to do on icy roads, but as the minutes passed, I felt a knot growing in my stomach and perspiration dampened my ski jacket. I wanted to turn back now but could find nowhere to do so safely. And what would Lanell think if “this Canadian” turned back? On the other hand, what would the downhill side be like, and would I have the nerve to drive it? I mentally tightened my grip on the wheel, silently begging the Lord to help us. If ever I needed a guardian angel, it was now.
Somehow, we reached the summit and I nearly shouted for joy at what I saw in the bright yellow beam of the headlights. Parked across the road, blocking the traffic, was a pickup truck, and standing beside it, a stocky man in a cowboy hat, coveralls, and a heavy parka. He was waving a flashlight, signaling for the cars to turn around and go back.
“The road’s closed. You kids would never make it down the other side,” he said, prying my hands off the steering wheel and kindly suggesting that he turn the car around for me.
As we headed back in the direction we had come, we alternately laughed and cried and prayed. We now knew the truth about all the cars that supposedly had made it over the mountain. All those cars had simply turned around and were coming back as we were now doing. How foolish we had been to ignore the weather warnings and how foolish were those in the approaching cars. Now that the storm had abated somewhat, we could see the ribbon of their lights for miles as we drove carefully down the mountain.
“Bet they’re thinking the same thing we did,” Lanell said with a grin. I grinned back, but silently I wondered, How many times do we make decisions without knowing the whole picture? How many times do we ignore the warnings? And how many times do we continue to tread dangerous paths just because it appears as if everyone is doing it?
We reached Provo late that night, and though I was shaken by the experience, I was grateful for the many insights it had given me. That Utah mountain pass and the angel in the cowboy hat who said it’s never too late to turn around, and who offered to help, will remain forever in my memory.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, Samoa, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered getting on board a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me out through the village and directly up against the face of a perpendicular solid rock cliff. ‘That’s strange,’ thought I. ‘I’ve never seen that here before,’ and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objecting. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toe hold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the climb without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“‘Why has this experience come to me?’ I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and overcome my other problems” (Fenton L. Williams, “On Doing the Impossible,” Improvement Era, August 1957, p. 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

I went to a party one night with a group of my closest friends. As we sat laughing, the conversation turned. My friends started to gossip about a young man we all knew who was my friend. The conversation went on for a while with everyone except me agreeing with what was being said. Eventually I had enough. I expressed my feelings that it was wrong for them to belittle this young man.
The room went silent, and no one stood by me. I had never felt so alone in my life than at that moment. Eventually the conversations moved on, but everyone ignored me. I decided to call my mom to come pick me up. Then I announced that I was going home. No one asked questions, and small good-byes were said as I left.
It was hard for me to go against my friends, but I knew that it was the right thing to do. This experience changed my life, and I feel good about my decision to stick up for this young man. I learned that even if you stand alone, you should always do what’s right. Your crowd may not be the crowd you’re meant to be with. It’s better to stand alone and do what’s right than to stand with others doing wrong.

Upon graduating from high school, three universities with nursing programs accepted my applications. However, I was denied admittance into their nursing programs because of my facial disfigurement and impaired speech. This was not a happy time. I had always wanted to be a professional nurse. So, what did I do? I still attended BYU in Provo and took general education classes, enrolled in all the pre-nursing courses I could, and underwent intensive speech therapy.

The professors at the Speech Center indicated my speech would never be normal and gave me examples of how I sounded. I broke down and cried right then and there. I had never realized or accepted that my speech was as distorted as it was. The following week an actual recording of my voice was made so I could hear what others heard when I spoke. After preparing myself for the worst, it was still a shock. Even I could not understand what I had just said.

That night was one of the worst and yet one of the most spiritual nights of my life. Seeking peace and quiet in our garage, I seriously considered what I should do. I spent a long time questioning the value and purpose of my life. Did I truly have the courage to face the reality of my future? If it had not been for my pleadings with my Heavenly Father and my faith, I don’t think I would be here now. I did not hear His voice, but I felt His presence, His guidance, and His love. I could not give up. Heavenly Father was there for me.

During my second year of college, my zoology professor asked to speak with me. He inquired if I planned to have more surgeries. My quick reply was “No.” By then I had endured sixteen operations and my current doctor stated he had done all he could. My professor then told me of a plastic surgeon who had just relocated to Salt Lake City. This surgeon had taught plastic surgery at Duke Medical College and was a former student of my zoology professor at BYU.

An appointment was made to see the plastic surgeon. After a thorough examination he said he could help me, but it would take a series of operations. He must have seen the distress and concern on my face because he said, “June, God will work through the use of my hands in helping restore your mouth, face, and speech, but only with your faith will we accomplish anything.” Despite my fears, I underwent five additional surgeries while in college. I will not share details concerning these operations. The mind has a wonderful mechanism for not remembering exact pain and discomfort.

That fall while going through the registration process for new classes, I heard the BYU Dean of Nursing call out to me from within the room. She asked if I was the student who had previously tried to gain acceptance into the nursing program. When I responded affirmatively, she surprised me by asking if I still had a desire to study nursing. I responded, “YES!” I was admitted into the BYU nursing program. This was a miracle to me.

Nursing classes were challenging. It took an additional four years to complete all the requirements, but it was worth every minute! My dream of becoming a professional nurse had been accomplished. My first job was working on the surgical floor at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. Two weeks into my new employment I was asked if I would be the Charge Nurse of a support team to care for 40 patients. I loved hospital nursing.

Once I had a measuring tape that didn’t work. I decided to fix it. I began to remove the side cover plate to find what was wrong. In a few moments, I knew I was in trouble. Suddenly, the whole mechanism exploded in my hands. There were tape and spring flying in all directions. My efforts to put it all back together were frustrating and often painful. Irritated, I just about threw the whole thing away. Then I thought, “Someone designed this tape. If I can discover the principles that make it function, I can fix it.” With greater patience, I began to examine the mainspring and found that if coiled in a certain way, instead of resisting and complaining, it easily responded. Soon the spring was coiled, carefully placed in its housing, the tape joined, the cover replaced, and it worked perfectly.

So it is with you. When, through violation of God’s laws, you cease to function properly, force and compulsion will not restore you. You must search out the Designer’s plan. As you follow it, you will become more pliable. You can be “repaired” more easily, and you will function well again under His divine influence.

A few years ago Sister Jolley and I concluded an assignment where I presided over a mission in south Texas. Our missionaries there wholeheartedly embraced the “balanced effort” concept of missionary work, which includes finding, teaching, baptizing, and doing everything possible to retain new converts, and spending several hours each week working with less-active members. Our missionaries, like all missionaries throughout the world, were great kingdom builders.

When my wife and I returned to our home ward in Idaho, I was determined to practice what I preached in the mission field. I therefore asked the bishop to assign me as a home teacher to some of our wonderful families who were not enjoying the blessings of full activity in the Church. He quickly obliged by assigning me to six of these special families.

After several visits to one of these families, I challenged the father, who had been inactive for almost 40 years, to become fully active in the Church and to participate in the temple preparation classes. He responded, “These kinds of things are more than I can understand; they are way over my head.” I was troubled by his response and felt bad that he did not think he could embrace the gospel because it was too difficult to understand. But I knew that the truths of the gospel are for everyone and that everyone can understand them through earnest prayer and scripture study. So our next few home teaching visits were spent talking about the simple and beautiful things of the gospel.

With patience and persistence our visits became more enjoyable and more spiritual. We developed a genuine friendship. As time went on, it became apparent that he could and did understand the principles of the gospel. This made his wife very happy. They grew closer in their marriage. They are now attending church regularly, becoming good friends with all members, and preparing to go to the temple. We had similar experiences with other families. The Lord blesses us as well as these wonderful families when we put forth the extra effort to share these simple truths with them.

Illustration by Bradley H. Clark
As my mission’s zone conference was coming to a close, I stood outside wondering, “What am I doing in this foreign country? How am I going to do all that is expected of me?”
I had been in Sicily, Italy, for little over a week, but already I felt discouraged. My time in the missionary training center had seemed like a wonderful dream, but because of my inadequacies, I now felt as though I were in a nightmare.
“Dearest Father,” I prayed, “I wanted to be a great missionary. Now that I am here, I realize I don’t have the talents, skills, or intelligence to accomplish what I have been sent to do. I thought I knew this language, but everyone speaks so quickly, and any words I try to utter just get tangled up in my tongue. I don’t think my companion likes me. My mission president can barely speak English. I don’t have anyone to talk to. Please help me.”
I knew I had to go back inside, but I lingered on the street just a few minutes longer. Suddenly I felt three tugs on the back of my overcoat. I turned around to find a beautiful little girl and slowly knelt down next to her on the cobblestone street. She wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, “Ti voglio bene.”
“What did you say?” I replied in English, knowing perfectly well she didn’t understand me.
She stared at my name tag. “Sorella Domenici,” she read, “ti voglio bene.”
I knew the meaning of the phrase. It was one of the first phrases we had learned as missionaries. It was a phrase that could speak directly to the soul. It means, “I love you.”
Those words were just what I needed to hear at that moment. The Savior had sent a special messenger to deliver them to me. I led the little girl into the building.
“She must be the child of one of the members,” I thought. I wove my way through groups of missionaries, hoping her mother would spot her.
When I found my companion, I asked, “Have you seen this little girl before?”
“What little girl?” she replied, looking confused.
I looked down at my side. The little girl was gone.
I stood in the open doorway of the building and glanced up and down the deserted street. As I pondered, a whisper I not only heard but also felt echoed through my soul: “Sorella Domenici, ti voglio bene.”
I didn’t know who the little girl was, but I knew that the Savior loved me.
I turned around to find a beautiful little girl and slowly knelt down next to her on the cobblestone street.

A long time ago, before the turn of the 21st century, … I attended BYU–Hawaii. I was a true freshman, arriving here from my home island of Maui. I was eager to start a new adventure in my life and BYU–Hawaii was an exciting place to be. There were people here from all over the world. My first roommate was a Polynesian student from New Zealand. I remember once when he woke me up in the middle of the night because he needed to borrow my pocket knife. He and his friends had a big pan of hot rice and they needed a knife to open their cans of corned beef. They invited me to eat with them and as I chowed down on rice and corned beef I thought to myself, “This is awesome!” It was a true BYU–Hawaii college experience!
This may come as a surprise but as a freshman, one of my goals was to dance in the PCC Night Show. As a youth, my Maui ward would take temple trips to Laie. Laie was the only temple in Hawaii at the time. While our parents were attending the temple all day long, we youth would wander around BYU–Hawaii and the PCC. I saw the night show and knew that’s what I wanted to do when I came to BYU–Hawaii. But there was one major obstacle—I had never learned Polynesian dancing before. I was trained in Navajo hoop dancing, hip hop, and other styles, and I was good at it, but I never formally learned Polynesian dancing. It was kind of a big obstacle, but I had my goal! During freshman orientation week, I auditioned for the Night Show. I remember praying, asking Heavenly Father to help me do well. So, I had the desire and I had prayer! From what I recall from my audition, I was following the kumu but even basic hula moves were difficult. I remember doing the pa oti, the male tahitian dance, and I thought I did ok for that one. Then they wanted me to do some Maori “stomp” moves and I was completely lost. I did not feel confident afterwards. Well, it’s no surprise that I didn’t get the job. Wallowing in self-pity, I came to the realization that I was simply not prepared. Although I was a good dancer, I was not a good Polynesian dancer. I knew I needed to learn Hawaiian, Maori, and Tahitian dancing, but I asked myself, how would I learn these dances? The solution to my problem came through another only at BYU–Hawaii experience—BYU–Hawaii Culture Night! Back then culture night was during the fall semester. I signed up, learned, and danced with the Hawaiian club, Tahiti club, and Kiwi club. I made new friends and really enjoyed performing. So the next semester came along and I signed up to audition for the Night Show again. I remember thinking to myself, “I got this!” However, when I came to the backstage area of the Aloha Theater for the audition there were some tall, good looking guys there trying to get the same job as me! I felt a bit intimidated but I also felt confident in the dances that I had learned. All the guys that were auditioning had to learn brand new bits of dance choreography from each section. Man, those guys that I auditioned with may have been tall and handsome, but most of them had two left feet. I did the best I could utilizing all the hours of preparation I had from those practices for Culture Night.
Back in the day, the PCC would publish the job openings for students and the new student hires on actual paper and stick it on the window of the Human Resources office. A week later, I was at the window to look at the print out and I saw the results of my audition. There it was - Night Show performer, Chad Yuen! [SLIDE 3 UP] I was ecstatic! I did it!
So, what did I learn from one of my first experiences at BYU–Hawaii?
First of all, it’s okay to fail. If you fail, get back up, learn from your mistakes, get out of your comfort zone and learn new skills and strategies, and then try again. Second, when we ask the Lord for help, we need to do our part. Yes, I had a goal. Yes, I had the desire. Yes, I prayed for help. But the first time around I hadn’t done my part…I was not prepared. And third, and most important, the key to success is preparation.

However, this calling was only a stepping-stone to what was to come. Eighteen months later, I was listening to the blessing setting me apart as a Relief Society president. I knew there was much work to do to help uplift and strengthen the sisters, many of whom came from cultural and economic backgrounds different from my own. I especially wanted to encourage those sisters who didn’t attend church regularly to come back into full activity and enjoy the fulness of the gospel.
Almost overnight after my setting apart, I felt a confidence I had never possessed before. My compassion increased noticeably. The Lord was truly magnifying my abilities, and I felt that with his help I could accomplish anything he required of me. As I started visiting sisters in their homes, my love for them grew.
I learned patience as I sat beside the elderly and infirm, listening to them talk of their challenges. With tears streaming down her face, one dear sister in her 80s told me how she no longer felt like knitting or crocheting. Every part of her body hurt, and the days and nights were long and sad.
A year later I sat by her hospital bed, holding her withered hand and stroking her thin arm. As she labored for every breath, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to release her from her terrible suffering if that was his will. Many sisters in the ward had helped her feel loved as cancer ravaged her body; we all longed for her to be at peace.
Forty-eight hours later, she breathed her last breath, and we all wept together. We could envision her joy as she entered into a new life of freedom from earthly cares.
As I sat with her that last night, I knew that even in her terrible physical condition, there was still purpose in her life—not only for her personally but also for us. How could we learn to give of our time and love if there were no needy souls?
There were dear sisters in our ward who could no longer see and who relied on others to read to them and keep them informed. There were sisters with hearing loss who couldn’t benefit fully from the lessons and talks given during Sunday meetings. Yet many of them continued to attend, eager for the fellowship and love found within the walls of the meetinghouse.
I learned to give of my time and to feel it was not a sacrifice. Many Saturdays I woke up feeling burdened. How I wanted to take the day off, to stay home and wallow in my own worries and cares! Sometimes the heaviness of heart almost overwhelmed me. But in every case, when I drove up to a hospital or home to visit someone in need, my own worries subsided and the feeling of peace returned. Once again, I was reminded that the Lord greatly blesses us when we sacrifice to reach out to another soul.
I loved the unity I felt among the sisters in my ward. Amid our differences in backgrounds, interests, and cultures, we felt close and united in our love for one another.
I am grateful for the inspiration I received as I sought to meet the needs of others. Ideas flowed, and as I attempted to implement those ideas and prayed for guidance, more light and knowledge came to me. It was a most humbling experience. I felt myself being spiritually stretched and filled.
The greatest experience I had as a Relief Society president was receiving an increase of love beyond anything I had previously experienced. I know that the Lord increased my capacity to love and care, and this feeling has not left me. Never before have I worked so hard and found so much joy in any calling. Relief Society changed my life.

Soon after Sabrina and Camila returned to church, they began reaching out themselves. When Ana Carolina Batista, age 14, began investigating the Church with her mother, the twins were there to help. The first time she attended church, Ana Carolina’s anxiety melted when the twins sat by her and showed her how to look up scriptures in the lesson. “This made me feel good, because I didn’t know what to do. I felt relieved to see there were people to help me,” she remembers.
Ana Carolina says the twins’ friendship made her decision to join the Church much easier. Sabrina and Camila were also happy; their little class was growing.

I am aware of a group of courageous young men who followed the example of Nephi. After winning a baseball state championship for their age-group, their team, made up mostly of Aaronic Priesthood holders, was invited to represent their state in a tournament to be held in a distant location. Upon arriving at the tournament site, they learned that some of the games were scheduled to be played on the Sabbath day. Each of these young men had to make a difficult personal decision: would he support the team, including several nonmember team members; or if scheduled on Sunday, would he follow what “the Lord commands” in keeping the Sabbath day holy? Their honoring the Sabbath day could mean the team would forfeit their chances of winning the tournament. One by one they quietly approached the coaches, and following the example of Nephi they independently chose to decline participation on the Sabbath day. As it turned out, when Sunday arrived the team’s record, coupled with adverse weather conditions, interrupted the schedule. I have had occasion to closely follow these young men over the years. They have continued to pattern their lives after the sterling example of Nephi. They have gone on missions, and they continue to strive to do and say what the Lord has commanded.

After completing his mission in 1972, Ron found a job, enrolled at the University of Utah that fall, and joined Delta Phi Kappa, a fraternity for returned missionaries. At the fraternity’s social activities, he couldn’t help but notice an attractive young woman named Melanie Twitchell. Melanie was one of Delta Phi’s elected “dream girls,” who helped with the fraternity’s service activities.
Like Ron, Melanie came from an active Latter-day Saint family. Her father, a career military officer, and her mother never let the family’s frequent moves become an excuse for missing church.
Melanie was impressed by Ron’s kindness, courtesy, and gospel knowledge. “I said to myself, ‘He is such an amazing man that it doesn’t matter if I never get to date him. I just want to be his best friend.’”
As their relationship grew, the Spirit confirmed her impressions of Ron and of his commitment to the Lord. Soon their friendship blossomed into what Melanie calls a “storybook, fairytale romance.”
Elder Rasband says she was a perfect match. “Melanie was every bit my equal in gospel devotion and heritage. We became best friends, and that’s when I asked her to marry me.”
They married on September 4, 1973, in the Salt Lake Temple. Since then, he says, his “selfless eternal companion … has helped mold me like potter’s clay into a more polished disciple of Jesus Christ. Her love and support, and that of our 5 children, their spouses, and our 24 grandchildren, sustain me.”3

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.” This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

This story happened in the USA.
Jessica fidgeted nervously in the car on the way to her aunt and uncle’s ward. Christmas was only a few days away, but she didn’t feel like celebrating.
Earlier that week there had been a fire at her house. Everyone was safe, but their home was damaged. Many of their things were ruined. Jessica and her mom, brother, and two sisters had moved in with her uncle and aunt until their house could be fixed.
Jessica’s aunt smiled at her. “I know you’ll have a great time in our Primary,” she said.
Jessica wasn’t so sure. She was nervous to go to a different Primary. I won’t know anyone, she thought. Will they be nice to me?
Jessica tried not to think about the fire as she walked to Primary. She held her little cousin Sam’s hand and helped him find his seat. The Primary sang Christmas songs about Jesus. Jessica thought about how Joseph and Mary were away from their home when Jesus was born. She wondered if they felt lost and alone, like she felt right now.
When it was time for class, Jessica felt even more nervous. Another girl smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Anna. Do you want to sit by me in class?”
Jessica smiled back. “Sure.”
In class they read in the scriptures about when Jesus Christ was born. The teacher, Sister Rios, said that the Savior was Heavenly Father’s greatest gift to the world. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son,”* she read to the class.
Jessica had never thought about Jesus as a gift before. She thought about their Christmas presents that had been ruined in the fire. She loved getting presents and was sad hers were gone. But she loved Jesus even more and knew He would never go away.
At the end of class, Sister Rios took out a few small boxes from her bag. Each one held a tiny carving of baby Jesus.
“I have a gift for each of you.” Sister Rios started passing out the boxes. “It can help you remember that God loves you so much that He sent His Son for you.” Then she looked at Jessica. “Jessica, I’m so sorry. I don’t have one for you. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Jessica looked down at her hands and tried not to cry. She didn’t know she was going to be here either. She wished she could be in her own home, in her own Primary class for Christmas.
Just then, someone placed a box in her lap. She looked up and saw Anna smiling at her. “Merry Christmas! You can have mine.”
Jessica gently touched the tiny baby Jesus figure. “Thank you! Merry Christmas to you too!”
After church, Mom gave her a hug. “How was Primary?” she asked.
“Good! I got this as a present.” Jessica smiled. “And I learned that Jesus is the best gift of all.”

In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

Years ago when Sister Nelson and I had several teenaged daughters, we took our family on a vacation far away from telephones and boyfriends. We went on a raft trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. As we started our journey, we had no idea how dangerous this trip could be.
The first day was beautiful. But on the second day, when we approached Horn Creek rapids and saw that precipitous drop ahead, I was terrified. Floating on a rubber raft, our precious family was about to plunge over a waterfall! Instinctively I put one arm around my wife and the other around our youngest daughter. To protect them, I tried to hold them close to me. But as we reached the precipice, the bended raft became a giant sling and shot me into the air. I landed into the roiling rapids of the river. I had a hard time coming up. Each time I tried to find air, I hit the underside of the raft. My family couldn’t see me, but I could hear them shouting, “Daddy! Where’s Daddy?”
I finally found the side of the raft and rose to the surface. The family pulled my nearly drowned body out of the water. We were thankful to be safely reunited.
The next several days were pleasant and delightful. Then came the last day, when we were to go over Lava Falls, known as the most dangerous drop of the journey. When I saw what was ahead, I immediately asked to beach the raft and hold an emergency family council meeting, knowing that if we were to survive this experience, we needed to plan carefully. I reasoned with our family: “No matter what happens, the rubber raft will remain on top of the water. If we cling with all our might to ropes secured to the raft, we can make it. Even if the raft should capsize, we will be all right if we hang tightly to the ropes.”
I turned to our little seven-year-old daughter and said, “All of the others will cling to a rope. But you will need to hold on to your daddy. Sit behind me. Put your arms around me and hold me tightly while I hold the rope.”
That we did. We crossed those steep, rough rapids—hanging on for dear life—and all of us made it safely.
Brothers and sisters, I nearly lost my life learning a lesson that I now give to you. As we go through life, even through very rough waters, a father’s instinctive impulse to cling tightly to his wife or to his children may not be the best way to accomplish his objective. Instead, if he will lovingly cling to the Savior and the iron rod of the gospel, his family will want to cling to him and to the Savior.
This lesson is surely not limited to fathers. Regardless of gender, marital status, or age, individuals can choose to link themselves directly to the Savior, hold fast to the rod of His truth, and lead by the light of that truth. By so doing, they become examples of righteousness to whom others will want to cling.
With the Lord, families are essential. He created the earth that we could gain physical bodies and form families. He established His Church to exalt families. He provides temples so that families can be together forever.
Of course, He expects fathers to preside over, provide for, and protect their families. But the Master has asked for much more. Etched in sacred scripture is a commandment to “set in order thy house.” Once we as parents understand the importance and meaning of that commandment, we need to learn how to do it.
To set our house in an order pleasing to the Lord, we need to do it His way. We are to employ His attributes of “righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, [and] meekness.” Each father should remember that “no power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned.”
Parents are to be living examples of “kindness, and pure knowledge, which … greatly enlarge the soul.” Each mother and father should lay aside selfish interests and avoid any thought of hypocrisy, physical force, or evil speaking. Parents soon learn that each child has an inborn yearning to be free. Each individual wants to make his or her own way. No one wants to be restrained, even by a well-intentioned parent. But all of us can cling to the Lord.
Ages ago, Job taught that concept. He said, “My righteousness I hold fast, and will not let it go.” Nephi also taught, “Whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and … hold fast unto it, … would never perish.”
These tenets are timeless as the gospel and endless as eternity. Ponder these additional scriptural admonitions:
From the Old Testament Proverbs we read, “Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life.”
From the New Testament: “Brethren, stand fast, and hold the traditions which ye have been taught.”
From the Book of Mormon we learn about multitudes who were “continually holding fast to the rod of iron,” likening it to “the word of God.” Anchored in truth, that iron rod is immovable and immutable.
Not only are parents to cling to the word of the Lord, but they have a divine mandate to teach it to their children. Scriptural direction is very clear: “Inasmuch as parents have children in Zion … that teach them not to understand the doctrine of repentance, faith in Christ the Son of the living God, and of baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of the hands, when eight years old, the sin be upon the heads of the parents.”
That commandment places responsibility and accountability for the teaching of children squarely upon the shoulders of the parents. The proclamation to the world regarding the family warns that individuals “who fail to fulfill family responsibilities will one day stand accountable before God.” Today I solemnly reaffirm that reality.
In discharging these duties, we need both the Church and the family. They work hand in hand to strengthen each other. The Church exists to exalt the family. And the family is the fundamental unit of the Church.
These interrelationships are evident as we study the early history of the Church. In 1833 the Lord rebuked young leaders of His Church because of parental shortcomings. The Lord said:
“I have commanded you to bring up your children in light and truth.
“But verily I say unto you, …
“You have not taught your children light and truth, according to the commandments. …
“And now a commandment I give unto you … you shall set in order your own house, for there are many things that are not right in your house. … First set in order thy house.”
This revelation represents one of the many powerful validations of the integrity of the Prophet Joseph Smith. He did not delete from scripture words of stinging rebuke, even though some were directed to himself.

It was in March of 1845 that Thoreau decided to move out on the banks of Walden Pond and spend two years trying to figure out what life was all about. He settled on a piece of property owned by his good friend Ralph Waldo Emerson. He purchased an old shanty from a railroad worker, and tore it down. From the lumber from the shanty and the lumber from the woods, he constructed his own cabin. He kept meticulous financial records, and he concluded that for a home and freedom he spent a mere $28.12. He planted a garden, where he sowed peas, potatoes, corn, beans, and turnips to help sustain his simple life. He planted two and a half acres of beans with the intent of using the small profit to cover his needs. Small profit indeed: $8.71.
Thoreau lived quite independent of time. He had neither a clock nor a calendar in his little cabin. He spent his time writing and studying the beauties and wonder of nature that surrounded him, including local plants, birds, and animals. He did not live the life of a hermit—he visited the town of Concord most days, and he invited others to come into his cabin for enlightening conversations. When the two years ended, he left his cabin behind without regret. He considered the time he had spent there a proper amount of time to accomplish his purpose—to experience the spiritual benefits of a simplified lifestyle. He also felt he had other life experiences ahead of him. It was time to move on and explore other opportunities.
From his experiences at Walden Pond, Thoreau determined that there were only four things that a man really needed: food, clothing, shelter, and fuel. I would like to expand on each of these four basic needs of life, as well as the spiritual benefits of a simplified lifestyle.

Mom and Dad were thrilled when I was born. I was their only child and they had waited for seven years. When excited well-wishers came to the house to see the new baby, Mom held me up to the window inside the house and the onlookers viewed me from the front yard outside the house. No one was allowed into our home to welcome me and to hold me.

As I grew, we visited my grandmother often. She lived close by. I loved playing with cousins there. They could take their shoes and socks off and play in the grass and dirt. I could play, but only if my shoes remained on. My Mother insisted that my bare feet could not touch the ground. Alarmed with the flies at Grandma's house, Mom would shout at me "Don't let those flies touch you!" She was frightened by what their tiny feet might carry. She didn't like me touching door knobs or anything else others had touched. When it was time to leave, Mom would scrub my fingernails with a scrubbing brush until they would bleed. Mom initiated strict rules and I obeyed or I was beaten. I noticed as young as three years old that Mother acted differently than others. I didn't know why, but in my adulthood, her condition finally had a name and some of my questions were answered.

Mother developed OCD before I was born. She had an intense fear of germs and performed cleaning rituals to eliminate the fear. She viewed herself as germ-free. Everything and everyone else was contaminated. Mother's family knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to help her. In those days, OCD did not have a name or any kind of treatment. Thank goodness, today there are medications and behavior therapies to assist.

My dad was a fulltime National Guardsman. When he received a promotion, we moved from Driggs, Idaho to Idaho Falls and bought a new house. Dad focused his spare time on finishing our downstairs. I hoped the new home would help my mom change from her old ways. It didn't and life only got worse. Dad was tired of her compulsive behavior. He soon divorced Mom and moved out.

I thought my life had ended. I was seven years old and Mom had full custody. It was just Mom and me. She began working full time. Dad remarried and resided within our city. Mom's anxiety increased and so did her OCD. She scrubbed things at work, but most cleaning routines were performed within our home and yard.

Mom moved me to the downstairs bedroom, while my toys and most of my clothes remained with her. I was never allowed again onto the main floor of the house. I lived in the basement for the next nine years. Restrained by Mom's fears, I had no say or control. I was frightened and heartbroken in that dimly-lit basement.

Our house was connected to a one-car garage. I could enter my house only once a day by following a well-established pattern. I disrobed in the garage and Mom carried me down stairs to newspaper that I stood on while she scrubbed the stairs and stairway. When I was too big to carry, Mom allowed me to walk downstairs. After the stairs were cleaned, I could walk from the newspaper to the bathroom, bathe and dress following a certain routine. In my bedroom, I could touch only my light switch and two drawers of my dresser. In my double-sized bed, I could only touch the left-hand side. I didn't understand these rules, but I obeyed.

After Mom finished her rituals downstairs, she would climb to the top of the stairs and shout to me, "Turn off your light." I hated turning off my light! It was very dark. I worried about monsters finding me and I'd hide my head under the covers. I knew if I needed help, Mom would not respond. There was no interaction allowed until morning when Mom would choose my clothes and bring them downstairs with breakfast.

I questioned myself ... if I tried harder, if I were cleaner, if I were nicer, would Mom allow me to live on the main floor with her? I desperately wanted her to change. We never talked about it. Only occasionally did I dare ask her "to please change." She would quickly answer, "I will change tomorrow." The next day she'd be the same or worse. I was helpless, hopeless, and all alone.

The Lord provided me with good people along my path. A kind neighbor friend introduced me to Primary. I began attending with her. It was a happy setting and I looked forward to it every week! My Primary teacher taught me about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and that they loved me. That was survival information! It felt good, it sounded right and it provided much needed comfort. I'm grateful for that Primary teacher who week after week bore testimony of gospel truths. She didn't know I felt unloved and disvalued. She didn't know that Mom could not hug me because of my germs. She didn't know the vital impact of her words, but the Lord knew. He was there. He reminds us "[I] knoweth all things, for all things are present before mine eyes;" He knows our hardships. He knows our pain.

Also, in Primary I learned of prayer. "Pray always, and I will pour out my Spirit upon you, and great shall be your blessing." I began talking with Heavenly Father and sharing my fears. I asked him to save me from the basement monsters and later with maturity, I pleaded that I could escape Mom's compulsive behavior and demands. I felt the Lord near and I held on tightly to His hand. I had hope! I kept praying and waiting, praying and waiting.

I was fearful of Mom and knew I could tell no one about my home life. I knew I'd be punished if I told the "secret."

When school was out, Mom arranged for others to watch me at their homes while she worked. If no one was available, I would be left at my home, locked out of the house, as Mom left for work. I never had a key to open the door and the house was always locked. During the summer, Mom would bring me a sandwich on her lunch hour and I could drink from the garden hose. My bathroom was an empty tin can in the garage or a fast bike ride to the gas station. Reading Nancy Drew books, listening to my transistor radio, weeding the marigolds, watering the lawn occupied some of my time. The best times were spent riding my speedy, blue bike with friends. I have many fun memories!

My mother dated frequently and I'd stay the night with friends. A few families were active in the Church and one in particular demonstrated righteous patterns that I grew to love. For instance, every morning before breakfast was served, they knelt around their kitchen table for prayer. I cherished those moments and the spirit of family unity. Each time I bowed my head in that setting, I noticed the round braided rug we knelt on under their round wooden table. I remember that clearly and the feeling of hope I had for a future time with an eternal family that could kneel in prayer together. Was it possible? I know now that survivors of dysfunction can reverse the trend and start new patterns that follow the Savior. We are not stuck where we started.

In the garage with doors closed, I liked singing Primary songs. The lyrics would echo off the walls. It seemed extra voices sang with me. "I need my Heavenly Father to help me every day. He wants me to be happy and choose the righteous way. He wants me to be happy and choose the righteous way." Those songs helped me then and in the years ahead. Often a musical phrase would circle in my head and remind me of who I was and what I could become.

I remember a Beehive class that left a lasting impression. The topic was temple marriage. The teacher taught enthusiastically and was full of the Spirit. I left that class knowing there was only one way to marry and that's what I wanted. I held on to the Lord's hand.

Several years ago I installed a stake president in England. In another calling, he is here in the audience today. He had an unusual sense of direction. He was like a mariner with a sextant who took his bearings from the stars. I met with him each time he came to conference and was impressed that he kept himself and his stake on course.

Fortunately for me, when it was time for his release, I was assigned to reorganize the stake. It was then that I discovered what that sextant was and how he adjusted it to check his position and get a bearing for himself and for his members.

He accepted his release, and said, “I was happy to accept the call to serve as stake president, and I am equally happy to accept my release. I did not serve just because I was under call. I served because I am under covenant. And I can keep my covenants quite as well as a home teacher as I can serving as stake president.”