Gospel Story Finder

While serving a mission, I had many opportunities to use the musical skills that I had learned. I relished the many opportunities to sing and play the piano and played nearly every week in sacrament meeting. I will always remember listening to those faithful Guatemalan members singing the hymns. I taught members new hymns that they weren’t familiar with. I taught some basic piano lessons. My companions and I would sing to the people we were teaching. Even if we sang off-key, the Spirit was always there to touch the hearts of the people.

Nine-year-old Annie peered through the chain-link fence. Where is he? she wondered. The shrill bell had announced the end of the school day. Children ran across the playground, clinging to a backpack, a spelling list, or a work of art. But Carl was nowhere to be seen. He was always the last one to leave school. A few more children trickled out.
Finally the gray door of his special-education classroom opened, and Carl plodded across the black pavement. When he saw Annie, he started waving excitedly. He smiled so big that it made his face look lopsided.
“Hi, Carl,” Annie said, walking over to meet him. Ignoring his excitement, she grabbed his elbow and started for home, gently pulling him along. “Hurry up—we’re late.”
Carl’s large feet turned in, and he limped as he walked. Annie was careful where she walked so that she wouldn’t bump him and throw him off balance.
As they made their way up the hill, Annie thought of the cold grape juice bar in the freezer at home. She was eager to get home and relax on the couch. But at the rate Carl was going, she’d probably miss her favorite television show. If only Carl could walk faster! His large shoes stumbled along the sidewalk. He was just so clumsy.
“How are you doing, Carl?” she asked. Carl smiled. “Good, then let’s keep going.” Annie marveled at his twisted hands. On Monday she had tried to open a clenched fist and hold his hand, but she couldn’t unfold his fingers. Today she just guided him by an elbow. When he grunted and rubbed his face with his fist, Annie leaned away, afraid that he might fling his arm at her as he had yesterday. Finally they neared the top of the hill and Carl’s house.
“Here’s a step, Carl. Step up,” Annie said as they reached his front porch. He just stood there. “Come on, Carl, you’re almost home.” She stepped up and tried to pull his large body after her. He resisted. “Come on, Carl.” He didn’t budge. “Oh, Carl!” Annie whispered in despair, throwing her hands up.
Carl turned and headed for the grass. He sat down clumsily and began rubbing his fists over the green spears. The grass tickled his hands, and he began giggling.
Annie set her backpack on the porch and walked over to him. “Get up, Carl, it’s time to go inside,” Annie said. She tugged at his arm, but he was much too big for her to lift. “Oh please, Carl!”
Now what do I do? she wondered as she looked down at the chunky boy gleefully stroking the grass. She felt totally helpless.
The door opened, and Mrs. Rich walked outside. “Oh dear. I hope Carl hasn’t been too much trouble today,” she said. “The people at school are still strangers to him. When he gets to know them better, he’ll be as good as he is at home.” She took Carl’s face in her hands. “Carl, you need to stand up.”
Carl slowly pushed himself to his feet, almost falling over as he stood. Mrs. Rich took his arm and led him up the stairs to the door.
“Thank you, Annie dear,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re a tremendous help!”
Annie managed a smile, grabbed her backpack, and said good-bye. When she entered her house next door, she didn’t even bother to turn the television on. She knew that her favorite show was over. “Mom,” she called. “Mo-o-o-om!”
“I’m out here!”
Annie opened the back door and went over to the greenhouse. Her mother was on her knees, packing black soil into a pot. The greenhouse was warm and smelled of fertilizer and plants.
“Oh, Mom, I’m through!” Annie exclaimed. She paced the greenhouse as she let off steam. “I don’t think I can do it one more day! He’s so big and clumsy, and his hands are all twisted. It was horrible today!”
“Whoa, Annie. Settle down,” Mom said. “I suppose you’re talking about Carl.”
“Yes! This is only the third day I’ve walked home with him, and I’m going crazy! He’s just so … so strange!”
Mom turned over a wooden crate and motioned for Annie to sit down. “Honey, you’re just not used to him yet. It’s only the third day. Carl is mentally disabled, and in that respect, he is very different than we are, but he is cheerful and kind. He just takes some getting used to.”
“Mom, if I keep walking Carl home, I’ll always be the last kid to leave the playground, I’ll never get to go to a friend’s house after school, and I’ll miss cartoons every day!”
“You’re right—it is a bit of sacrifice. But if you think of Mrs. Rich taking care of Carl every day and night, maybe a fifteen-minute walk home will seem bearable.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s a three minute walk that ends up taking fifteen minutes!” Annie said, shaking her head. “I want to help Mrs. Rich, but I just don’t understand Carl. He doesn’t talk, he slobbers, and sometimes he suddenly makes strange noises. He scares me.”
“Annie, Carl is different, but. …” Mom stopped and looked around the greenhouse. Her eyes stopped on an old tin pot. She smiled and picked it up. The silver tin was rusted and dull, but inside was a brilliant fuchsia-colored begonia plant. “Annie, what do you think of this?”
Annie smiled at the beautiful flowers. Of all the plants in the greenhouse, this one always caught her eye because of its beautiful color. “I love your begonias, Mom!”
“But do you think it’s beautiful even in this old pot?”
“You don’t even notice the pot because of the flowers.”
“Exactly! That is why I put this flower in this pot. It’s the same with Carl. His spirit is so beautiful that it shines brightly even in an imperfect body.”
Annie stared at the flower.
Mom held up the clay pot she had just filled with soil. “We were given bodies that are whole and nice-looking—like this one,” she said, running her gardening glove over the soil. “There is a flower buried deep inside, but you can’t see it yet. With a little light, water, and tending, it will be beautiful too. It’s the flower that counts, not the pot.”
“Do I have a flower in my pot?”
Mom smiled and reached over to give Annie a hug. “Of course! You have a beautiful spirit too. I just think that you and I may need to work a little to make our spirits as loving and kind as Carl’s.”
“Give ourselves some water and light?”
“Exactly.”
“Mom, do you think that walking home with Carl will give some water and light to the flower in my pot?”
“Definitely! Whenever we do the right thing or help others, our spirits become more beautiful.”
Annie picked up the tin pot. “Well, it was nice when he was so happy to see me. … I think I’ll keep walking with Carl.”
Mom smiled. “I thought you might.”
“But Mom, Carl will still act crazy and stumble up the hill. He’ll still make strange noises. Will I ever be able to see the beauty inside him?”
“I think you already see it at least faintly—and you’ll see it more and more clearly as you help him each day.”

This was way back in 1996. Not long into my first semester, I received a call from the Honor Code Office asking me to come in for a meeting. I had no idea what they wanted to discuss, but I scheduled an appointment and went. When I arrived, the staff member asked if I had shaved within 24 hours of taking my last test in the testing center. I told him I was only shaving about once a week, since I was sixteen years old and didn’t have much facial hair. He explained that I had committed to being clean-shaven and that I hadn’t been following that commitment.

At the time, I was annoyed, confused and even a little offended. I thought he was taking this too seriously. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself, thinking “I hardly need to shave at all. They’re overreacting.” I also wondered, “with everything going on with other students, they are worried about me and my facial hair?!”

Ultimately, the Honor Code Office wasn’t the problem. I was. I was struggling to fully embrace something that I chose to accept and committed to follow. This happens to even the best of us, so I guess I am in good company.

Consider that prophets like Moses, Jonah, and Lehi made commitments to follow the Lord and occasionally struggled to resist the temptations of the natural man. At times they complained and even hesitated to follow through on their commitments.

Each of them repented when reminded of their responsibilities and the associated blessings. For the record, I repented too—from that point on I shaved every day until I graduated. I have to admit, shaving still isn’t my favorite thing, but the blessings that have been brought into my life through the gospel and the Church Educational System are undeniable.

Not long after, it was time to serve a mission. I received my call to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. I proudly shared the news with my family, and they were happy for me, and I thought all was well with the family about my decision to serve. But a few days before mission, my family was still opposed to my decision and requested that I postpone my mission instead of leaving in December 2019, to go in 2020. It became evident that my family was unhappy with my decision to go on a mission. I knew that the God I serve lives, He knows me, and He had called me to serve Him and that the time is now or never.
I needed to make a choice between my family and my mission. I was stuck, but I prayed fervently and amidst all that was happening, I stood firm with unwavering and unshakable faith knowing that He can see me through those trying moments.
The Lord comforted me at that time, and I knew that I was not alone, and He was there for me. I felt at peace even though things had not been settled between me and my family and with less than 24 hours left, the family accepted my decision to go and serve and I was able to leave for my mission. My family has embraced my service and I am happily serving my mission with love and a cheerful heart, knowing that all things are possible with God if we look unto Him in every thought, fearing not and doubting not with faith that whatever you ask you will receive.

“Want to get yourself a glass of milk, Frankie?” Granny Bebe asked, smiling across the table. Frankie jumped up. He found a glass and pressed it against the stainless steel lever under the milk cooler. Milk poured into his glass.
Granny Bebe owned the restaurant, and she let Frankie help himself to whatever he wanted. Mama and his sister, Mary, had left Frankie with Granny Bebe to spend a few hours while they went shopping. He loved everything about the restaurant, especially the pretty colored lamps and all the people hurrying about. Frankie didn’t want to hurt Mama’s feelings, but as soon as he was big enough, he planned to come and live with Granny Bebe. This is where the action is, he thought as Granny Bebe introduced him to some customers.
Too soon Mama and Mary were back at the restaurant. Granny Bebe gave Frankie a big hug and told him to visit her again soon.
As they drove down the highway toward home, Frankie was already missing the restaurant. The only excitement in the part of the country where he lived was an airplane flying over now and then, headed for the airport ten miles away. Frankie loved airplanes almost as much as Granny Bebe’s restaurant.
The highway passed the airport and, as they neared it, Frankie saw cars parked all around the airstrip.
“Look, Mama!” Mary said. “This is the day that the planes are taking passengers for a ride.”
Mama turned the car off the road and pulled into a parking space. Sometimes Mama did unexpected things. “I’ve never been up in a plane,” she said. “Come on, kids, let’s go.”
Almost before Frankie knew what was happening, he was flying! Two pilots sat in the front seats, he and Mama sat behind them, and Mary and another passenger sat in the rear seats. The engines of the yellow plane made a thunderous noise. Frankie leaned as far forward as his seat belt permitted so that he could hear the pilots’ conversation.
“Where to, young fellow?” one of them asked him.
“Fly over Granny’s restaurant. You know—‘Bebe’s’!” Frankie had to shout to make himself heard.
“Roger,” said the pilot.
It took only a moment for the plane to circle toward Granny’s restaurant. The buildings in town looked like a model village, and the cars looked smaller than his pocket racers. The restaurant was in a crowded area, and Frankie had a hard time locating it among the other buildings. Finally he spotted the dome-shaped building with cars sticking out like little feet around it.
Mary tapped Mama on the shoulder. “Now ask him to fly over our house!”
Mama gave the pilot directions to their home in the foothills north of the highway.
As they flew along, Frankie pressed his nose against the small window of the plane, trying to identify places on the ground. He looked at the winding river and could see miles of it all at one time. He saw the tiny houses in their tiny yards and the cars crawling like ants along the highway. He leaned forward to listen to the pilots again.
“Look over there to your right,” the man flying the plane shouted. “See that house with the bright green roof on the side of the mountain? That house is my beacon. I always spot it before the airport.”
“Me, too,” said the copilot. “When I see that green roof, I know that I’m almost home.”
“Why,” Mama exclaimed, “that’s our house!”
Frankie could see that indeed it was their house that the pilots were talking about! The green roof shone like a jewel among the gray winter trees, and their very own yellow dirt road ran along the ridge next to the sloping fields of winter wheat. And the pond at the very edge of a cliff was the most beautiful of all. Frankie had helped Grandpa Townsend build it for a fish pond. He hadn’t realized before just how pretty it was.
“I wish everyone could see his home from the air,” Mama said. “Sometimes we are too close to things to properly appreciate them.”
“It sure looks different from up here!” Mary declared.
Now Frankie could see a silver-roofed house father down the little yellow road. An old truck was parked in front of it. “Look, Mary!” Frankie cried, pointing. “There’s Grandpa Townsend’s old orange pickup! I bet that he doesn’t know that we’re way up here!”
“No!” shouted Mary in agreement. “He’s probably waiting for you to help him feed the fish!”
Suddenly Frankie could hardly wait for the plane to land. He wanted to rush home and tell Grandpa Townsend about his flight and about how different the farm looked from the air.
Maybe I won’t move to Granny Bebe’s, after all, he thought. It’s pretty special living in a house that pilots use for a beacon. And pretty soon they’ll be talking about the boy on the yellow dirt road who waves to them when they fly over.

My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.

In January of 1961 we were expecting our second child. We already had a son, so we hoped for a daughter. My wife Anne went to the doctor and he became concerned because he could not hear a regular heartbeat and sometimes not a heartbeat at all. As my wife went into labor and we went to the hospital, I waited a particularly long time before the doctor asked me to come and speak with him.

The cord had been wrapped around our daughter’s neck. She had not had an ample supply of blood for a number of hours, perhaps for several days. He gave no promise that she would be normal. I left feeling lonely, frightened, and concerned, with tears streaming down my face. I drove home at three in the morning praying that if our Heavenly Father would let her be normal, all that we had and all that we ever would be would be the Father’s.

I also had an unforgettable spiritual experience when I was seventeen years old the night I received my patriarchal blessing. Several marvelous experiences in the mission field also had turned me toward the Lord, but that night I knew everything was our Heavenly Father’s. We named and blessed the daughter of that daughter today.

Somehow in our lives, brothers and sisters, we must commit ourselves to building the kingdom where suddenly wealth, position, and status do not matter. What matters is that we are part of this great work and have surrendered ourselves to Him.

A story is told of a woman who was upset that her son was eating too much candy. No matter how much she told him to stop, he continued to satisfy his sweet tooth. Totally frustrated, she decided to take her son to see a wise man whom he respected.
She approached him and said, “Sir, my son eats too much candy. Would you please tell him to stop eating it?”
He listened carefully then said to her son, “Go home and come back in two weeks.”
She took her son and went home, perplexed why he had not asked the boy to stop eating so much candy.
Two weeks later they returned. The wise man looked directly at the boy and said, “Boy, you should stop eating so much candy. It is not good for your health.”
The boy nodded and promised he would.
The boy’s mother asked, “Why didn’t you tell him that two weeks ago?”
The wise man smiled. “Two weeks ago I was still eating too much candy myself.”

“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.

I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

In 1988 I was struggling in my business. After I consulted with my stake president, my wife and I decided to sell the business and find other work. I followed numerous leads in pursuit of employment, but each one left my wife and me frustrated, heartbroken, and without a steady income.
After a year our funds were running low, and I felt weighed down by a burden that seemed unbearable. We had a son on a mission and six more children at home, and I felt that I was failing them.
One day while feeling this burden, I realized that I had been repeating a tune in my mind for several days. I soon realized that it was a hymn, and the Spirit comforted me as I recalled the lyrics:
Be thou humble in thy weakness, and the Lord thy God shall lead thee,
Shall lead thee by the hand and give thee answer to thy prayers.
(“Be Thou Humble,” Hymns, no. 130)
Instantly my burden seemed lifted, and I realized that Heavenly Father knew my situation. Although we struggled financially for several years, I felt comfort knowing that He would guide our decisions if we sought to do His will.
We moved to a new town and eventually acquired a new business. With the help of others, our family was able to buy a home and make the business successful.
Even though that financial challenge is now gone, I continue trying to listen when hymns come to mind. I have learned that Heavenly Father often answers my prayers through sacred music.
Warren C. Wassom, Idaho, USA

“Mom, guess what?” Nathan said as he climbed into the car after church. “The Primary president asked me to give a talk in Primary next Sunday.”
“Great!” Mom exclaimed. “What are you supposed to talk about?”
“I’m supposed to talk about all the blessings that I have from being a member of the Church.”
“Well, I think that you can give a talk about that. First, you should think about all the things that you are thankful for; then we can write them down on a blessings list,” Mom said.
“Mom,” said Nathan, “I want to be able to give my talk all by myself, with no one helping me this time, just like the big kids do.”
“OK, we’ll work on it,” Mom said encouragingly. “You keep thinking about the things that you’re grateful for.”
During the week, Nathan told his mom the things that he thought should be on his blessings list and Mom wrote them down. Every night before he went to bed, he and Mom sat down with the list and he tried to memorize it. But try as he might, he just couldn’t remember it all.
When Saturday morning came, Nathan was worried. “Mom, I still can’t remember my talk. What am I going to do?”
“Maybe if we say a prayer together, Heavenly Father will give us an idea.”
They knelt in the living room, and Nathan thanked Heavenly Father for all the things on his blessings list. Then he asked Him for help to find a way to give his talk all by himself.
After the prayer, Nathan and Mom sat quietly to listen for Heavenly Father’s answer.
Nathan’s mom jumped up. “I think that Heavenly Father gave me an answer. You sit right here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Nathan sat very still, anxiously awaiting her return. When she came back, she had a big smile on her face and she was holding a big piece of paper. “Here are your talk ‘notes.’ Do you think you can read it all by yourself now?”
Nathan looked down at the paper. This is what he saw:
I am happy to be a member of the Church. I get blessings from Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. The blessings are: my family, food, sunshine, my home, flowers, and my teachers. I am happy I can give my talk all by myself. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
“When you see the pictures, say their names,” Mom explained. “You know the word my. The cloud with the sunlight coming through it stands for blessings, and you’ve already memorized the first part and the last two sentences. Do you think that you can give your talk now?”
On Sunday Mom and Dad came to listen to Nathan give his talk. He gave it perfectly. But before he said the last sentence, he looked up from his notes and said, “And I’m glad that Heavenly Father answers our prayers.”

Illustration by Sam Lawlor
As sister missionaries, we were sharing the gospel with a woman who lived in modest circumstances at the bottom of a large hill near a small city dump on the outskirts of Asunción, Paraguay.
Soledad and her husband, Oscar, lived in one room of a long, narrow house that was actually a series of connected rooms, side by side, with very thin walls. Each room was a tiny residence with one window, one door, one table, and one bed. There were several such buildings in this area, constructed of wood, with a thatched roof and dirt floors. Clay that had been pushed into the crevices kept out some of the cold.
Soledad was the mother of three young children, and she was young herself—and overwhelmed. It was all she could do to take care of her home and the daily demands of her children. But she seemed to welcome our visits and to recognize a need for God in her life.
Soledad expressed her thoughts and feelings freely. She had fallen in love and run away from home with Oscar, even though her parents didn’t approve. Neither she nor her husband had any education or a job, and their future was bleak. She wondered if God had abandoned her and if He was punishing them for the poor choices they had made.
Oscar peddled trinkets door to door in an effort to help his family survive. When he had a successful day, he would buy food and, sometimes, small gifts for the children. But when sales were poor, he would often return home depressed, angry, and drunk.
We felt challenged to help them deal with so many temporal concerns. But we also felt urged by the Spirit to continue loving and teaching them, even though at times their progress was disappointing. After several more visits and after praying sincerely, we finally felt we needed to give them some time to consider what we had taught, study the Book of Mormon, and pray by themselves.
We explained our concerns to Soledad, and she was upset. She felt we were abandoning her family. She also told us they were expecting a fourth child and didn’t know how they would survive. In anger she told us to leave and never return.
Unknown to us, however, the neighbor next door, Juan, had been listening through the wall to what we had been teaching. He was young, curious, and painfully shy. As he had listened, he had had many questions about the plan of salvation, the Book of Mormon, and repentance. He had even been borrowing Soledad’s copy of the Book of Mormon, reading it, and praying regarding all that he had been quietly learning.
Days passed. Juan began to worry when we did not return to teach Soledad and Oscar. Then one night, as a heavy winter storm was brewing, he asked Soledad where we lived and how he could contact us. She said she didn’t know, and he began to cry. He bore his testimony to her of the truthfulness of our message and ran out into the stormy night to look for us as rain poured down, turning the streets into muddy rivers.
Hours later, tired and cold, he continued to search. He began to pray as he made his way through the darkness, promising his Father in Heaven that if He would help him find us, he would be baptized and serve Him all the days of his life. In the meantime, Soledad, impressed by Juan’s testimony, started praying that we would return. Juan came home but continued to pray and read the Book of Mormon for the next two days. Soledad also prayed earnestly and talked with Oscar. Together they began reading the Book of Mormon.
Two days after the storm, as my companion and I knelt in prayer, we felt compelled to return to the tiny little homes at the bottom of the hill. We went immediately, and when we arrived, we were greeted with happy tears and excitement by Soledad, Oscar, their children, and Juan. They told us all that had happened, and from that time on, all of them were eager to learn about the gospel. It wasn’t long before Juan was baptized, and Soledad and Oscar soon followed.
I remember wondering why we were so strongly impressed to keep teaching even when Soledad and Oscar weren’t responding well. I remember wondering why we felt such an urgency to return when we had been chased away in anger. But as I saw the joy that came into Juan’s life and then into Soledad and Oscar’s family, I knew that not only was Juan listening through thin walls but that Heavenly Father was listening to prayers from each of us in turn, prayers that came from the heart.

Indeed, most discoveries require lots of hard work. As a tax lawyer in Los Angeles, I repeatedly saw the value of the Mormon commitment to hard work. In one case, I represented movie star Burt Reynolds. A tax issue over whether he was a California or a Florida resident had arisen, and his case hung in the balance. People had been over the documents many times. A couple days before our hearing in Sacramento, I decided to double-check everything. I even went back over Burt’s appointment books to see if any detail might have been missed. And there it was: every year Burt was always in Florida on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Well, I walked into the hearing humming “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The legal issue of residency, after all, is all about where home is. I introduced this new fact into the record, and the state asked for a recess. When they returned, they dropped the case. The point of this little story is simply that I was glad to have gone the extra mile.

A reporter for the Washington Post visited one of our Church meetings in Nigeria. The reporter interviewed one new member and told of his conversion. The reporter states:
“[He] said … he jumped off a city bus and walked into the [LDS Church building]. … He immediately liked what he heard inside [the chapel], especially that no one preached that people of other faiths were going to hell.”28 This echoes the feeling of numerous converts to the Church since its organization.

Hastily, John Salinger wrote down the details of the assignment on the back of the list of materials to read: three-page paper due on the fifth, about world hunger, use the list of materials to be read.
The bell rang, and John walked down the hall toward the cafeteria.
When the Mormon students who ate lunch together were seated in their usual places in the cafeteria, John asked the question: “Did Mr. Perkins give your class an assignment on population and hunger today?”
Soon it was established that not only had John’s government class received the assignment, but also Kamio Kamura’s economics class, as well as Julie’s history class.
“It seems as though I’ve received a similar assignment at least once each semester from one teacher or another for the last three years. If it isn’t overpopulation, it’s abortion or world hunger,” added Lisa.
“And the material in the reading list makes it pretty clear what your conclusions are supposed to be: The world is overcrowded. No one should have a large family. Abortions are needed to control population growth. We don’t have enough food! But, I don’t believe all that!” protested Julie.
“Maybe we’re being unfair to the teachers,” said John. I think Mr. Perkins and the other teachers give assignments on these subjects because they are really concerned about them. And many of them agree with what the Church teaches.”
“Maybe so, John,” answered Lisa, “but how do we do the assignment when the teacher’s opinions don’t seem to agree with what the Church teaches?”
These young people have asked some interesting questions. Frequently, the opinions of teachers will differ from Church policies, the statements of Church leaders, and the scriptures.
“Let’s go talk to Mr. Morgan,” said John. “He has taught at this school for a long time and he has been a bishop and a seminary teacher even longer.”
“I can understand that you have a problem,” said Bishop Morgan, “but it’s not the problem you mentioned. You are assuming that you may use only the sources on Mr. Perkin’s reading list and that you must reach the same conclusions as the authors on that list. I have no doubt,” continued the bishop, “that you are welcome to use other sources, and to state other points of view, and to reach different conclusions if that is what your research leads you to.”
“But are there books and articles that support what the Church teaches?” asked Lisa.
“Certainly,” replied Bishop Morgan. “There are few fields of study without controversy. Honest, sincere researchers, working with the same data, may come to widely different conclusions and then publish documented articles and books in support of their conclusions.
“Some scientists are sure the world is overcrowded with four billion people. Others feel that the earth is capable of providing well for 40 or 50 or even 100 billion people.
“And among social scientists the differences of opinion are probably even greater because they work with the most complex subject of all: people. That’s why you get strong conflicting opinions like these. There are no easy answers.
“As Latter-day Saints, we are fortunate to have revealed truth to guide us in these controversial subjects, and we should be grateful for that. And there are many researchers, both LDS and otherwise, whose writings agree with what the Lord has revealed. Your problem is simply to find these writings and then decide which of them will be useful in your assignments.”
In the next three weeks John, Julie, and Kamio did a lot of hard work. Working together, they carefully read everything on Mr. Perkin’s reading list and then began doing research in both the school and public libraries.
They contacted various social service and government agencies and obtained some useful materials, references and statistics. Other teachers were consulted.
John and Julie and Kamio received top grades for their work in presenting the Church’s position. They were invited to present their findings to their respective classes and to answer questions from other students. They were well prepared with information to support their beliefs.
Best of all, they learned that there really are good and valid reasons for the Church’s position concerning difficult moral issues. They discovered that some teachers with strong opinions respect students who do good, thorough research, even when they disagree with them. And they learned that the gospel of Jesus Christ is always in harmony with the truth from whatever source.

About six months before the end of the war, I was assigned to an unit where the new incoming young people were trained on radar equipment. We were stationed in Seesen in the Harz Mountains, and I was about 17. One day we had to write a composition about Germany, and mine was judged the best one. The officer had me stand in front of the whole unit, and he said: “Congratulations for writing the best composition. I expect you to volunteer now to become an officer for the German Reich. We need people with your potential, and I expect your written application tonight.”
“I don’t have to wait until tonight,” I said. “I refuse.”
He got really furious and wanted to punish me. He said, “Tomorrow, I will ask you again, and the next day again.”
“Well, I’m not going,” I told him. I was not in tune with the spirit of national socialism. My father was a friend of the Jewish people, and we had always prayed for them in our home. The officer asked me what I wanted to do. “I want to go with the rest of the group,” I said. He told me if I didn’t want to volunteer I was ordered to stay behind and train the young people. There was no other choice.
Although I was forced to stay in that group where I didn’t want to stay, once that officer said I had to stay I felt very secure about it, like that was where I was supposed to be. All my friends were sent to Russia. Only one came back—all the others were killed. The Lord guided me to be in the right place at the right time for my life to be spared.

Let me share with you the experience of Barry Bonnell and Dale Murphy, well-known professional baseball players formerly with the Atlanta Braves baseball club. Each is a convert to the Church, Dale Murphy having been baptized by Barry Bonnell.

“‘An experience occurred during the 1978 season that Barry described as ‘life changing.’ He was struggling terribly, batting about .200. Because of his poor performance, he was down on himself and felt miserable. He really didn’t want to go when Dale Murphy asked him to ‘come along to the hospital,’ but he went anyway. There he met Ricky Little, a stalwart [Atlanta] Braves’ supporter, but a youngster afflicted with leukemia. It was readily apparent that Ricky was near death. Barry felt a deep desire to think of something comforting to say but nothing seemed adequate. Finally, he asked if there was anything they could do. The youngster hesitated, and then asked if they would each hit a home run for him during the next game. Barry said [later], ‘That request wasn’t such a hard thing for Dale, who in fact hit two homers that night, but I was struggling at the plate and hadn’t hit a homer all year. Then I felt a warm feeling come over me and I told Ricky to count on it.’” That night, Barry hit his only home run of the season. (Jim Ison, Mormons in the Major Leagues [Cincinnati: Action Sports, 1991], p. 21.) A child’s prayer had been answered; a child’s wish had been fulfilled.

One day I was in the bus line with my friend Mike.* We try to get in line first so we can sit in the very back of the bus. There is this girl named Savannah that is kind of rude to other kids. I’ve known her since second grade. Something I found out was that if you are nice to her, she’s nice back. Mike, on the other hand, thinks that if someone is rude to him, he should be rude back. I admit I’ve done that sometimes.
That day we were at the front of the line. When our line was heading to the bus, Savannah tried to sneak in front of everyone so she could sit in the back. When she was right behind us, we tried to tell her that she couldn’t cut, but she made an excuse that most people make. “We’re all going to the same place,” she said.
When we got to the bus, there was some shoving. Savannah got in first. She quickly ran to the back and put her backpack where she was sitting. “I got here first,” said Savannah. Mike and Savannah started arguing a bit. I told Mike that we could sit somewhere else, but he didn’t listen. I started arguing with Mike. Then I remembered a line from a movie that said when we have a choice between being right or being kind, we should choose to be kind.
So I asked Savannah nicely if we could sit in the seat next to her. Mike doesn’t like sharing seats, but he thought about it. “Only if you guys don’t bother me,” said Savannah. “Fine,” Mike said. On the way home, I had a good feeling inside. You should always be kind, even if it’s hard.

I was faced with an assignment at school that made me very uncomfortable. Our teacher asked half the class to write an essay on why we should keep the words under God in the Pledge of Allegiance (of the United States) and the other half—my half—to write an essay on why we should take them out. I was sad and felt that I could not do this. I believe in Heavenly Father and have a testimony of Him, and I wanted to keep His name in the pledge. I went to my mom with this problem, and she told me to express my true opinion. She also told me to tell the teacher how I felt. So the next day I turned in the assignment and told my teacher why I could not do as she had asked. To my amazement, that is what she wanted. She hoped we would stand up for what we believed, and gave us the assignment to see if we would make that choice for ourselves. I was the only one in the class who did not defend the assigned point of view.

I’m thinking about the faithful young man, a return missionary, who desired, worked, and prayed to become a seminary teacher. He wasn’t chosen. Then he joined the army, aspiring to be an officer, but was washed out of officer candidate school. There was a period of self-doubt and the inevitable asking “Why?” Recently, he graduated with a medical degree and in hindsight, he recognizes all of those disappointments were the Lord’s real answers to his prayers nudging him in the direction he could serve best. All those disappointments gave him experience, maturity, and humility.