Gospel Story Finder

My parents investigated the Church in Germany during World War I, even though no missionaries were allowed in the country at that time. My mother first heard about the gospel from a cousin of mine, older than I, who was disowned by her family because she had joined the Church. Father permitted mother to attend meetings, taking my brother and me with her, but he would have nothing to do with Church himself. Then a fellow worker gave him a Book of Mormon and told him about the Church. Father read the book, studied the gospel, and began attending church with us.
When the branch president suggested baptism to my mother, she told him that she and the children were ready, but she wanted to wait for her husband. Father said, “I am ready, too.” But mother told him he wasn’t ready because he still smoked a pipe. Father broke his pipe into three pieces and threw it into the fire. As a jeweler and watchmaker he had been accustomed to working at a high table, smoking a long pipe that reached to the floor, so it really was an effort for him to give it up.
Since baptisms were illegal at the time, we arranged to meet some Saints at a street car depot at night and go to the river for the baptismal ceremony. On the appointed day, I came home from school so ill I could not eat my supper. When the time came to leave, I felt worse, and mother said I should wait and be baptized later. I insisted that I wanted baptism now and would not wait any longer. We rode the street car for about an hour to get to the Chemitz River, then walked through the park to where the baptism would take place.
By the time we got off the street car I was feeling so bad that I could not talk or walk. My father and some of the brethren took turns carrying me. When we arrived, we found a policeman on guard, but he was sitting against a tree, asleep. Barbed wire was strung across the path leading to the river, but some of the brethren held the wire apart while we crept through. We found the river frozen over, but the brethren broke the ice, and then I was asked if I still wanted to be baptized that night. It was about midnight. I nodded, for I still couldn’t talk, and I was the first of eleven people (three children and eight adults) to be baptized. It must have been the impact of the cold water, but when I was immersed, I felt as if a thick shell was being peeled off me. I was able to climb up the embankment by myself and I felt well again. Mother and some sisters helped me dry and dress. Afterward, I sat on a little folding stool to be confirmed.
Following the baptisms, we returned as we had come, along the narrow path and through the barbed wire fence, past the policeman who was still asleep. A big bright moon made the night seem almost day, and as we walked back to the street car depot we sang hymns of praise to our Father in Heaven.
Sometime after the war was over, the missionaries returned to Germany, and one Sunday morning a new missionary from America who couldn’t speak our language came to our home for dinner. My parents spoke some English, since they had lived in Liverpool, England, for four years. In the evening we all went to sacrament meeting, and the new elder was asked to speak. I remember feeling sorry for him, knowing that he knew no German, and I wondered what be would say. He didn’t have time to copy a talk from one of the other elders who had been there awhile.
But he spoke for over an hour. He told the Saints to go to America because another world war would come which would be worse than the one we had just been through. This was a terrible thing to hear, because the suffering of the recent war was still vivid in our memories. On the way home from the meeting I asked my parents what language the missionary spoke. I knew it wasn’t German and I knew it wasn’t English, although I didn’t understand English; yet I understood every word he said. My father said I should never forget that experience for I probably would never hear anything like that again. This elder had spoken in tongues.
From that day my parents spoke of little else but plans for emigrating to America. My father went first, and about a year later he sent for my mother, my brother, and me. My mother was at first denied permission to leave Germany, because she had heart trouble, but she insisted my brother and I go; six months later she was permitted to join us.
Everything the missionary had predicted came to pass. My sister, who did not accept the gospel and who still lives in Germany, told us about the events there that transpired as the elder had prophesied.

I have been thinking this morning of a friend of mine whom I knew when I was on a mission in London thirty-six years ago. I remember his coming to our apartment through the rain of the night. He knocked at the door, and I invited him in.

He said, “I’ve got to talk with someone. I’m all alone. I’m undone.”

And I said, “What’s your problem?”

And he said, “When I joined the Church a little less than a year ago, my father told me to get out of his home and never come back. And I’ve never been back.”

He continued, “A few months later the cricket club of which I was a member read me off its list, barring me from membership with the boys with whom I had grown up and with whom I had been so close and friendly.”

Then he said, “Last month my boss fired me because I was a member of this church, and I have been unable to get another job and I have had to go on the dole.

“And last night the girl with whom I have gone for a year and a half said she would never marry me because I’m a Mormon.”

I said, “If this has cost you so much, why don’t you leave the Church and go back to your father’s home and to your cricket club and to the job that meant so much to you and to the girl you think you love?”

He said nothing for what seemed to be a long time. Then, putting his head down in his hands, he sobbed and sobbed. Finally, he looked up through his tears and said, “I couldn’t do that. I know this is true, and if it were to cost me my life, I could never give it up.”

He picked up his wet cap and walked to the door and out into the rain, alone and trembling and fearful, but resolute. As I watched him, I thought of the loneliness of conscience, the loneliness of testimony, the loneliness of faith, and the strength and comfort of the Spirit of God.

Many years ago I boarded a plane in San Francisco en route to Los Angeles. As I sat down, the seat next to mine was empty. Soon, however, there occupied that seat a most lovely young lady. As the plane became airborne, I noticed that she was reading a book. As one is wont to do, I glanced at the title: A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. I mustered up my courage and said to her, “Excuse me. You must be a Mormon.”
She replied, “Oh, no. Why do you ask?”
I said, “Well, you’re reading a book written by LeGrand Richards, a very prominent leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
She responded, “Is that right? A friend gave this book to me, but I don’t know much about it. However, it has aroused my curiosity.”
I wondered silently, Should I be forward and say more about the Church? The words of the Apostle Peter crossed my mind: “Be ready always to give an answer to every [one] that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.” I decided that now was the time for me to share my testimony with her. I told her that it had been my privilege years before to assist Elder Richards in printing that book. I mentioned the great missionary spirit of this man and told her of the many thousands of people who had embraced the truth after reading that which he had prepared. Then it was my privilege, during the remainder of the flight, to answer her questions relative to the Church—intelligent questions which came from the heart, which I perceived was a heart seeking truth. I asked if I might have an opportunity to have the missionaries call upon her. I asked if she would like to attend one of our wards in San Francisco, where she lived. Her answers were affirmative. She gave me her name—Yvonne Ramirez—and indicated that she was a flight attendant on her way to an assignment.
Upon returning home I wrote to the mission president and the stake president, advising them of my conversation and that I had written to her and sent along some suggested reading. Incidentally, young men, I recommended that rather than sending two elders to this pretty off-duty flight attendant and her pretty roommate, two lady missionaries be assigned to call.
Several months passed by. Then I received a telephone call from the stake president, who asked, “Brother Monson, do you remember sitting next to a flight attendant on a trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles earlier this fall?” I answered affirmatively. He continued, “I thought you would like to know that Yvonne Ramirez has just become the most recently baptized and confirmed member of the Church. She would like to speak with you.”
A sweet voice came on the line: “Brother Monson, thank you for sharing with me your testimony. I am the happiest person in all the world.”
As tears filled my eyes and gratitude to God enlarged my soul, I thanked her and commended her on her search for truth and, having found it, her decision to enter those waters which cleanse and purify and provide entrance to eternal life.
I sat silently for a few minutes after replacing the telephone receiver. The words of our Savior coursed through my mind: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”

Throughout my life, I’ve lived in great wards with amazing members. It was not until I moved into a ward just west of Rexburg that I witnessed something truly unique. As a fairly new member to the ward, the elders quorum asked for six men to help strip the shingles off the roof of an elderly member's home and repair any damage to the sheathing in preparation for a professional crew to install a new roof the next day. Six of us raised our hands, and we were to meet after work in a couple of days. Internally, I was concerned because, in past wards, not everyone who volunteered would show up to perform the work, and this project had a strict timeframe.

The day of service arrived, and I was running late because of a meeting at work. I quickly dropped by home to change and grab my young son. The evening light was already starting to fade, and I thought to myself, “This is going to be a long night.”

To my surprise, as I drove down the country road to this elderly woman's home, there were many cars parked along the road. Even though the elders quorum had only asked for six men, both of the quorums came, elders and high priests. They came because they could, not because of an assignment. Even though I was only 30 minutes late, the work was done. The wonderful Relief Society sisters even had a table with water and refreshments. People were laughing and socializing throughout the property. Smiles beamed everywhere I looked. There were some very financially wealthy people and some who had very little, and yet they laughed and treated each other as peers, showing no pride or embarrassment.

I learned later that this ward had come together many times before in a like manner of service in building a home, renovating homes, and other activities to help each other. Whenever a need was raised, the ward would answer together. If I had not engaged in that opportunity to serve, I would not have witnessed a Zion culture in action. That night, I saw Zion—not a distant dream, but a living reality, built by hands and hearts united in Christ.

To kick off the project, we invited the Reverend to come and speak in the Luton Ward during the second hour of a fifth Sunday meeting. He talked about the support he and his church were giving and how we could be of help. Members of the Luton Ward were encouraged to start volunteering at the drop-in sessions. The youth planned an activity to sort out their overflowing and disorganised toy cupboard, as well as purchasing needed toiletries from local supermarkets for asylum seekers. The Reverend was amazed to see all the youth there bringing toiletries, and even more amazed that the leaders had made purchasing toiletries a competition for the youth. One ward member even volunteered to be Father Christmas for their drop-in session right before the holidays.

In Acts 27, we read that Paul was being escorted by a Roman centurion named Julius to stand trial before the Roman emperor. The first part of their journey by sea progressed very slowly. By the time they arrived at a harbor called "the fair havens," the ideal season for sea travel had passed, and the scriptural account reports that "sailing was now dangerous." At this point, Paul, as an Apostle with prophetic gifts, warned, "Sirs, I perceive that this voyage will be with hurt and much damage, not only of the [cargo], but also of our lives." That sounds like a pretty ominous warning worth serious consideration!

In the response of Julius and the crew, I believe we can see three reasons people commonly have difficulty heeding prophetic voices. First, "the centurion believed the master and owner of the ship, more than those things which were spoken by Paul." Before we condemn Julius too harshly, remember that the scriptures say Paul was a tentmaker (see Acts 18:3). Whom would you believe: a sea-hardened, experienced sailor or a land-loving tentmaker? In the world today, experts with earthly credentials are often viewed as more reliable sources of counsel and direction than prophets, whose spiritual gifts are unseen and require faith to accept. But let us remember what President Ezra Taft Benson said: "The prophet is not required to have any particular earthly training or credentials to speak on any subject or act on any matter at any time.... We encourage earthly knowledge in many areas, but remember, if there is ever a conflict between earthly knowledge and the words of the prophet, you stand with the prophet, and you'll be blessed and time will vindicate you."[4] A second reason Paul's counsel may have been rejected by some was "because the haven was not commodious to winter in." The place on the southern coast of Crete most commonly associated with "the fair havens" is not what most people would call "pretty."[5] It looks kind of like where I grew up in southern Wyoming, but with a shoreline. I can understand why some of the sailors may have felt the place was misnamed! Obeying Paul's direction on this occasion was viewed as uncomfortable, inconvenient, and just plain not very fun. Prophetic instruction is seldom about our comfort, convenience, or entertainment but always designed to bring us ultimate safety, peace, and joy. The final reason Paul's counsel fell on deaf ears was because "the more part advised to depart thence also." I don't know if they actually took a vote or held an open debate, but Paul's one prophetic vote apparently didn't count for much against the vote of the crowd. Again, we may want to recall an observation from President Benson: "Popularity is never a test of truth. Many a prophet has been killed or cast out [or, as in this case, voted down]. As we come closer to the Lord's second coming, you can expect that as the people of the world become more wicked, the prophet will be less popular with them."[6] If we are not careful today, the prophetic voice can be drowned out by the myriad voices of various scholarly, scientific, or political crowds. In the face of these objections, Paul's prophetic warning was discarded, and the group resumed their voyage.

Some people might think this story would teach a more powerful lesson if they had barely left the harbor when the ship struck ground and sank and everyone drowned-but that wasn't what happened at all. In fact, the record states, "And when the south wind blew softly, supposing that they had obtained their purpose, loosing thence, they sailed close by Crete." In other words, at first everything seemed to go along quite nicely-even better than expected! I can imagine Julius and the ship's captain, or perhaps some of the crew, standing on deck and chuckling toward Paul and his associates, muttering under their breath, "Stupid tentmaker..." Most often, brothers and sisters, there are not immediate consequences for rejecting the counsel of prophets. People who date before they're 16 don't spontaneously burst into flames; those who get body piercings and tattoos don't die from infectious diseases contracted from the needles; and the sky doesn't come crashing down, nor does civilization immediately dissolve because same-gender marriage becomes legal. However, what happens to the passengers during Paul's voyage will just as surely happen to all those who reject the counsel of living prophets-sooner or later.

"Not long after," the scriptures continue, "there arose against [the ship] a tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon." Euroclydon is a Greek word indicating a "violent agitation"-a typhoon, in today's terminology. Those who ignore, neglect, scoff at, or reject the words of prophets in their midst may think that things are still smooth sailing, but sooner or later-Euroclydon! Every time! This storm was so terrible that eventually the crew and captain lost control of the ship and "let her drive." That too has a parallel in our lives. When we refuse to heed prophetic warnings, we will eventually come to the frightening realization that we are no longer in control or have the power to steer our lives where we would like to go. For three days the ship was at the mercy of the storm, cargo and tackling were tossed overboard to lighten the load, and when "neither sun nor stars in many days appeared ... all hope that [they] should be saved was then taken away."

Just in that moment of great despair, Paul offered a prophetic rebuke and message of hope: "Sirs, ye should have hearkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss." That's a little bit of an apostolic I-told-you-so, but here comes the hopeful part: "Be of good cheer; for there shall be no loss of any man's life among you, but of the ship ... howbeit we must be cast upon a certain island." While this may not have been terribly comforting to the ship's owner, at least the group was being assured that no one was going to die. It is interesting to note that just as disobedience did not bring immediate punishment, things did not immediately get better after Paul's promise either. Several more uncertain and stormy days passed before their depth-testing tactics revealed that they were nearing land, just as Paul had foretold. However, their willingness to stand united with a living prophet was about to be put to the extreme test.

The relief that they were approaching a shoreline soon turned to alarm as they discovered that the bottom of the ocean was coming up toward them more quickly than they could stop! Fearing that the ship would be dashed upon the rocks by the still-raging wind and waves, they cast four anchors out of the back of the boat to slow it down and hoped for daylight. But this didn't seem to help, and soon they were all heading for the lifeboat to abandon ship. This makes a lot of sense from a rational standpoint. Paul said the ship would be destroyed, so if you want to survive, it makes sense to get off the doomed vessel as quickly as possible. Now, I don't know if there were enough seats in the lifeboat for all 276 people on board, but I kind of doubt it. Prisoners and servants in the Roman culture were not valued very highly, so there was probably only enough room in the lifeboat for the Roman guards, the captain, and the crew. Just then came the ultimate test of whether this band of struggling voyagers would stand united with a living prophet. Paul instructed them, "Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved." What? If you want to live, you have to stay in a boat that you've been told is going to be destroyed? That doesn't seem to make a whole lot of sense, does it? But something has happened in the hearts of these men: they have learned to trust Paul, a prophet. So the scripture tells us they did something completely amazing, a sure sign that they were going to stand united with a living prophet: "The soldiers cut off the ropes of the [life]boat, and let her fall off." This is what it looks like to be "all in" when it comes to standing with a living prophet. This is what total commitment and faith look like. They were completely willing to do what Paul said rather than listen to experts or look for what might be convenient or do what the majority thought made sense.

After this remarkable demonstration of faith, Paul told them to get something to eat, assured them again that no one would die, and prayed with them. Then something happened that can only happen for those who know that they are following the Lord's servants and are doing what He has ordained for their safety and security. The record says, "Then were they all of good cheer." There they were in the middle of a life-threatening storm, on a boat that was likely to end up on the bottom of the sea, with no way to escape-and they all seemed to be feeling pretty good about the whole situation! That may sound crazy to the world's way of thinking, but that is the peace that comes to those who know they are following the Savior by heeding His servants.

Just around daybreak, they discovered a creek coming out from the island that they could drive the ship into so they could make it as close to land as possible. They took up the anchors, hoisted up the main sail, and headed full-speed for shore. Running the ship aground, the forepart of the ship stuck fast, and the violent waves tore off the rear part of the boat. They knew they were close enough to land that they could now swim or float ashore on the broken boards from the ship. True to their professional code, some of the guards proposed killing their prisoners so none would escape. But Julius, "willing to save Paul," thwarted this traditional solution. He knew by now exactly how valuable a true prophet and Apostle was! So they cast themselves into the sea, some swimming and some on boards, and the account concludes, "They escaped all safe to land"-all 276 of them, because they stood united with a living prophet.

Later, I offered to assist two members of a family that lived nearby who were struggling. They accepted my help and became part of my household.
I didn’t have the financial means, however, to support us. So I had to work harder than ever, supporting three people instead of one. It was a big lifestyle change.
To navigate that change, I knew I needed to follow my mother’s words and hold tight to the iron rod. Holding on to the iron rod includes remembering the Savior and studying the word of God. I needed to set a good example, communicate more with God, and study the scriptures every day. So, we started studying the scriptures together. Soon, the Spirit became abundant in our home.
The most fulfilling and wonderful times of my life have come from holding to the iron rod. I have also learned that “as you hold on to the iron rod, you will walk hand in hand with Jesus Christ. He will be guiding you, and He will be teaching you.”

Both Emily and Amanda chose to not attend parties, even though they wanted to go to them. Emily decided to not go to her friend’s house when she learned that her friend’s parents were not going to be there. Amanda decided to not go to a swimming party when she learned that it would be on a Sunday. Neither girl knew that her sister had turned down an invitation, but both were trying to follow the Savior’s commandments. Emily wanted to honor her parents’ rules and choose the right; Amanda was sad to miss the party, but she knew that her decision “would make Jesus happy.” Both felt good about their decisions.

Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”

Cerebral palsy has a devastating effect on most of its victims, but not on Steven Roach of Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Thanks to his involvement in martial arts classes, Steven can walk mostly without canes or crutches.
Ward members are now thrilled to see Steven walk unaided back to his seat in the congregation after blessing the sacrament. Steven takes his priesthood seriously. “It’s a very special part of my life,” he says. “I am beginning to understand the priesthood more and more each day as I read my scriptures and study the gospel.”
Steven is also serious about his karate. He’s been able to earn a yellow belt, and is working on his green. Both his sensei (teacher) and his mother have worked hard to help and support him. “I know I may never be able to fly through the air with kicks,” he says. “But I always try to do my best.”

President Kimball once interviewed a man when he was reorganizing a stake. He said:
“What is your occupation?” And [the man] said, “I operate a service station.” And I asked, “Do you operate on the Sabbath?” His answer was, “No, I do not.” “Well, how can you get along? Most service station operators seem to think they must open on the Sabbath.” “I get along well,” he said. “The Lord is good to me.” “Do you not have stiff competition?” I asked. “Yes, indeed,” he replied. “Across the street is a man who keeps open all day Sunday.” “And you never open?” I asked. “No, sir,” he said, “and I am grateful, and the Lord is kind, and I have sufficient for my needs.” [TSWK, p. 227]

Clown Post 207 was born when the ward youth planned a visit to the Shriners Hospital. The explorers decided to present a clown skit as their part on the program. Their adviser, Ron Buchanan, enlisted the help of his neighbor Howard Pressy, who just happened to be a well-known professional clown. With Howard’s help the post prepared an act and presented it at the hospital. Brother Buchanan (alias Classy Clown) recalls, “It gave us all a new perspective. Those young patients weren’t worried about the dance next Saturday. They were worried about whether they were ever going to be able to walk! You can’t be the same after that experience. You come out of there changed.
“We talked afterward about the words of King Benjamin, ‘when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God’ (Mosiah 2:17). We decided to keep right on clowning. We would serve through laughter.”

Elva Jean Grauel of Burtonsville, Maryland, has spent a lot of time on the bench—the organ bench of her ward chapel, that is.
Following her early-morning seminary class every day, Elva had a 40-minute wait for her school bus. She put the time to good use by practicing the organ. Her efforts were rewarded when she won first place on both the local and regional levels in the classical keyboard category in a National Association of Christian Schools competition.
Elva serves as president of her Mia Maid class and as assistant organist in the Colesville Ward, Seneca Maryland Stake.

That sure foundation comes in trusting the Lord. Addison Pratt, a missionary in the first company sent to the Pacific in Eighteen Forty-Three, placed his trust in the Lord God. Like Pratt, I have been to the islands of the Pacific on assignment and found as he did, that the people are both beautiful and believing. Pratt wrote to his wife after a year of no correspondence from home, “Often at dusk in the evening when all is still and silent, but the distant roar of the breakers upon the coral reef… I take a long and lonely walk upon the beautiful sand beach that skirts the island; and as I gaze upon the broad ocean that separates us…I ask—has grim death made any inroads [in my family]? I am led to say there are none gone; for I committed you to the care of my Heavenly Father when I left you, and when I have done so, I have never been disappointed.”

Pratt’s work in the Restoration was to follow the call of the “Master.” It took him far from home, but never did he falter in his faith and trust in the work. You too, may be far from home, and you must guard your faith and trust in the Lord. In Proverbs we are reminded to, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding . . . and he shall direct thy paths.”

Karla taught me many important lessons. Half the time she didn’t realize it. She never preached or condemned or lectured. She taught by example. The way she lived, the words she spoke, all she did helped me to think about myself, about my own life. I was a bit rebellious by nature when I first met her, but slowly that changed. I began to consider the reality of serving a mission. I hadn’t made up my mind yet to go, so that was quite a big step.
The most important lesson I learned through her came in early January that same school year. I had just flown back to Utah after Christmas vacation. Karla’s family picked me up from the airport in Salt Lake City on Saturday. I stayed at their home that night, since her parents had offered to drive us to school the next day after church.
Early Sunday afternoon following church, I found myself sitting on the living room sofa, waiting to leave and reading the comics from the morning paper. Karla’s eight-year-old brother came in, sat down across from me, and opened his Book of Mormon.
“Hi,” he said simply, and started to read.
“What are you reading?” I looked up and asked.
“Nephi,” he replied. “I’m reading it myself.”
“Good for you.” I tried to think if I had ever attempted to read scripture when I was so young. “How many times have you read the Book of Mormon?” I asked, half joking.
His answer put me in my place.
“Twice,” he responded, “with my family.” Then he turned the tables. “How many times have you read it?”
I felt foolish. I hadn’t ever read it. “Well, I’ve started it a few times,” I mumbled. Karla was sitting next to me. Her mother was close by as well. I knew they wouldn’t judge me, but that didn’t lessen my uneasiness. Here I was, three months away from being 19 years old, and I had yet to read a book that I had testified to be true. This eight-year-old child was on his third round. I knew nobody was keeping score, but I was very humbled. If I was going to go on a mission, what kind of missionary would I be if I hadn’t even read the Book of Mormon?
That night, back at the dorm and in bed, I opened the book and began to read. I literally could not put it down. Moroni’s introduction, the testimonies of the witnesses, Joseph Smith’s testimony, First Nephi, and on and on. Each word called to me, strengthened me. I could feel a great spiritual power begin to flow into my life. I knew it was true, I had felt it before, and now the feeling grew stronger. Not quite two weeks later I read the parting words of Moroni and closed the book. I had done it! Tears of joy filled my eyes. I knelt down and thanked my Heavenly Father.
After my mission I lost touch with Karla, but I never forgot the lessons she taught me. Through her and her little brother, the Lord inspired me in ways I can never repay. Most importantly, I learned it is never too early or too late to read the Book of Mormon. And then, read it again and again.

A young woman’s heart was touched as her institute teacher taught about Lehi giving blessings to his children. He encouraged the students to ask for a father’s blessing. After the class, she asked the teacher if he would give her a blessing because she was sure her father was not prepared to do so. The teacher encouraged her to write to her father and ask him if he would give her a blessing when she was home for the holidays. When she returned to school, she reported with joy that her father had made a mighty change. He was reading the scriptures and attending church again. The blessing he gave her was beautiful. The entire family was blessed and strengthened.

I would like to share with you a “But if not” moment in my life.
In early 2002, my husband and I were living in Rexburg. He was teaching junior high school, I was working here at the University, and we had four young children ages 12 to 2 years old. During this time, Dave was having some health issues. After discussing with medical professionals, our parents, and counseling with each other, we decided to move forward, and Dave was going to have laparoscopic surgery that was to help with the health issues he was experiencing. So in mid-July, we drove to Jackson, Wyoming, for the surgery the next day. That evening, we had a wonderful time by ourselves going to a movie and getting dinner.
The next day, the surgery went as planned. As Dave came out of the anesthesia, he was in a significant amount of pain. So we worked with the doctors and other medical providers to address the pain. By the next morning, the pain was still unbearable for him. The physician ordered tests and scans to try to determine why this was happening. The tests came back without any information as to why he was in so much pain. We were told that Dave needed to have another surgery to determine what was wrong. This time it would be more invasive and not completed laparoscopically. My parents came to support us during this time while Dave’s parents watched our children. Dave and I were both given priesthood blessings before his surgery.
I was so relieved that we were on a path forward to determine what was wrong and that he would be out of pain. As I waited for him while he was in recovery, a nurse I had talked with previously had told me that everything went well and the surgeon was very thorough. With this good news, my parents returned to Rexburg. So on that beautiful July day, I was filled with hope. I waited in his hospital room while he was in the recovery room. I was told it would not be long when he would be joining me. I waited and waited.
Eventually, a nurse came to me where I was waiting and asked me to go with her to speak with the doctor. He informed me that during the surgery he searched for anything that would be an indication of what would be causing the pain. He checked the sutures and looked for infection. He could not find anything wrong. He then proceeded to tell me Dave was unresponsive to their attempts of bringing him out of the anesthesia and they were going to transfer him from the recovery room to the intensive care unit. He asked if I would wait a bit longer as they continued to treat him. As the doctor went to the ICU, I slumped against the hallway wall and slid to the floor in tears. I have never felt so alone.
As I sat on the floor sobbing, I thought to myself that “I can’t do this.” Dave was always first in my life. We had known each other since high school and have always been together. I was later allowed to be in the ICU room with Dave while the doctors and nurses worked on him. At this point, his heart rate was a steady 160 beats per minute, his blood pressure was dropping, and his temperature was rising. This wise doctor informed me that the best thing he could do was to have Dave transferred to another hospital with a trauma unit. He did not think Dave would make it through the night if he continued to treat him.
After the initial shock of his statement, I felt I needed to find a quiet place to pray to my Heavenly Father. I recalled there was a small individual restroom in one of the hallways in the hospital that I had walked by many times. Once I was there, I knelt down on the cold tile, and through many tears I poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. I told Him I couldn’t do it, and then cried some more. I finally asked for peace. I needed to know I wasn’t alone. I needed to know all would be okay. I asked my Heavenly Father to take this hard moment away from me—but if not, please grant me peace. At that moment, my anxiety left and I knew that I needed my Savior to be first in my life and that all would be okay. This was my “But if not” moment during this time. I left that restroom not knowing what “okay” would mean. Again, I was in tears. I kept thinking, “But if not, I know my Savior loves me and that I was not alone.”
There were many more “But if not” moments for me during the next two weeks. Dave was life-flighted to another hospital. He remained in a medically induced coma for several days. During this time, the doctors could not give me a positive prognosis for him. Over time and after many uncertain nights sitting in his hospital room, his health did improve. He remained in the hospital for over two weeks until we were able to go home.

I have two younger sisters, both of whom are mothers. My youngest sister, Shirley, has eleven children. Sharon, another sister, has a little girl who was born to her after six years of anxious waiting. Ten years later, through the fervent prayers of the extended family for the wonderful blessing of adoption, a little boy came into their family and was sealed to them in the temple for time and eternity. What a blessing he and the other children have been to all of us!

Over the years my sisters and I, with our husbands, have prayed for each other and with each other and about each other. We have come to know that the Lord has answered our prayers differently and not always in the affirmative and not always according to our timeline. But we have all felt the warm assurance of his approval and love.

Now may I take you down to Melbourne, Australia (I hate to bump you around so much). In Melbourne, as in many of our missions in Australia and New Zealand, we were using a technique called “Harvesting the Field”—here again this little heart-to-heart feeling that I was talking about a moment ago. In this “Harvesting the Field” program the missionaries approach the head of the home with something like, “Good evening, sir; we are representatives of the Lord Jesus Christ. May we come in and leave a blessing in your home?” It is as simple as that—representatives of the Lord Jesus Christ offering to leave a blessing in that home. And so, as the missionaries step in, they request the privilege of meeting all the members of the family. Every father is anxious to have the missionaries meet his two daughters and his son, and down comes the mother. Then the missionaries go to their knees—and this is kind of new to these people, but they kneel because the missionaries are kneeling—and then the missionary blesses the home, using terms they can understand. He blesses the children in school; he blesses Dad at work; he blesses the family that they might have peace in their home, that they will always espouse truth, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ might be the light of their home.

Then, as the missionary finished praying on this one occasion we heard about, the wife was the first one to speak; she said, “I like the way you pray.” She had never heard a prayer like that before.

The father of the home, as he was lighting a cigarette, said, “I feel better already.” (He had not heard the Word of Wisdom. But he heard about it the next day, and that was probably one of the last cigarettes he smoked.) But it is beautiful and it is wonderful to see how it is happening in a simple way, and how people respond to missionaries who are honest in heart and who have prepared themselves in every way to represent the Lord Jesus Christ.

During summer vacation, this group participated in a not-so-typical youth conference: five days of hard work. And many of them even knew in advance that it would be hard work, because they had done the same thing last year.

“Sure it’s lots of work,” said 16-year-old Shirley Frazier. “But it’s also lots of fun. We play when we work. It’s not every day you get to work side by side with members of your ward. A bond is established, and I feel closer to the members of my ward and to the Lord.”

How much work can 47 youth do on a ranch in five days? Plenty. For example, they built fences with wooden posts and barbed wire, and they built a small bridge across a creek. They tilled and weeded a garden. They even finished constructing a barn (where they would perform plays and skits). As if that weren’t enough, they also cleaned up an old farmhouse once inhabited by barn swallows and mice, built a retaining wall with rocks they had gathered in a field nearby, and planted flowers.

You’d think that would be enough to tire them out. But there was also time for the fun usually associated with youth conferences. They boated, they fished, they swam. They played baseball in a pasture, organized and participated in a lip-synch contest where they imitated singers from the ’50s to the ’80s, and enjoyed a hayride on a wagon pulled by a team of Clydesdale horses.

Like the unique focus of the conference, The Ranch is also unique in its character. The young men and women are quick to point out some reasons why. For example, there is an outdoor eating place known as the “Chuckwagon,” located where cattle used to roam the fields. The building that is now the kitchen was a place of shelter where the cattle sought refuge from the hot, blistering sun, or the hard, cold Idaho winters. Sister Hamnett still laughs as she explains how they had to borrow a tractor and clean two feet of manure off the ground when the transformation from cattle lounge to Chuckwagon began. But the youth don’t mind the Chuckwagon’s past. In fact, as soon as they arrived Monday afternoon, they were scrubbing down tables, and sweeping and mopping the floor in preparation for some “good fixin’s.”

And if you take a walk up the hill above the lake to look at The Ranch, you’ll get a bird’s-eye view of the six sheep wagons. Built by Carlisle himself, they provide cozy sleeping quarters for some of the guests. The six wagons are arranged in a tight circle in a small meadow, as if part of an old western movie set. You’d almost expect a few cowboys in chaps to come walking out of one of them.

And the garden. Well, that’s where an 80-year-old barn stood, until the weight of winter snow on the roof caused the structure to buckle. Youth from the ward helped weed and till the ground where the barn used to be in preparation for planting flowers and vegetables.

“Here, weeding is fun,” said 17-year-old Lisa Patterson. “I think working together seems to make it more fun, especially because we’re giving service.”

Corey Wride, 17, agreed, and added, “I was surprised at how the adults passed responsibilities on to us.” Even with all that good food at the Chuckwagon ready to be eaten by hungry, hardworking teenagers, Corey’s favorite expression seemed to be, “Well, I’m ready to get back to work.”