Gospel Story Finder

After 34 years in the Church Educational System, my wife and I decided about three years ago to retire and set our feet on some different paths in life. At that point we began to make plans. We changed our residence to be closer to children and grandchildren. I began to develop what I thought were some wonderful projects. Some were absolutely brilliant, I thought. And then one of those pivotal moments in life happened.
It was our privilege at that time to be living across the street from Elder F. Enzio Busche, now an emeritus Seventy, and his wife. One day Elder Busche taught our high priests quorum, and he cited a scripture in the book of Alma where Alma longs to have the voice of an angel. Then Alma immediately repents of those feelings, and in verse four makes a remarkable statement. He suggests that we have to be careful what we desire, for the Lord grants unto us the desires of our heart. And then came what was to me almost a stunning statement: “Whether they be unto salvation or unto destruction.” God will grant unto us, according to our will, the things which we desire (see Alma 29:1–5).
I went home that day—and it’s not that I felt any of my desires were wrong—but in that moment I realized that those desires were mine. That day I began to try to let the Lord know that what I’d like to do is fulfill His desires. Even then, I thought I really meant it, but I came to know that that’s an easy thing to say and a difficult thing to do. As Elder Maxwell said yesterday, only when we truly yield our hearts to God can He begin to accelerate the purification and the sanctification and the perfecting process (see Hel. 3:35). We have found in the three years that have come since that time that the Lord has set our feet on different paths than we expected, and this one is the latest.
Just the other day, after President Hinckley called my wife and me, I was reading in the book of Deuteronomy and found a verse in the 12th chapter that came to mean a lot to me. It’s put in the form of a commandment. The Lord says, “Thou shalt rejoice before the Lord thy God in all that thou puttest thine hands unto” (Deut. 12:18). We are grateful for this privilege to rejoice in the Lord at this new opportunity.
Since starting on those paths, we have come to learn how truly merciful God is, how deeply He loves us, and how perfectly compelling His love is for us. When I was 16 years old and not smart enough to know very much at all, the Spirit touched my heart and I realized the significance of the woman that you marry. Starting at that time I began to pray that the Lord would find for me the woman who would be my eternal companion. Those prayers were answered, and all that we now enjoy in our family with children and grandchildren is largely responsible to her.
I’ve come to know that Jesus is our Christ, that His and the Father’s mercies are infinite and never ending, even when we’re not deserving. I’ve always loved the Prophet Joseph Smith, but it was my privilege to spend about 10 years in an intensive and extensive study of his life, of his writings, of his teachings, and of those who knew and loved him, and I came to know that here is a prophet of prophets, one who was worthy to bring about the Restoration of this last great dispensation. And I’ve come to know with great power that those keys that he restored have continued unbroken to this day and now reside in our living prophet, even Gordon B. Hinckley.
Again, we rejoice in this opportunity to serve. We are deeply humbled and greatly honored, and I leave that testimony with you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When my Great-Grandma Edwards died, my sister, Mia, and I were sad. Even though my parents told us we would see our great-grandma again someday and be a family forever, we were worried.
My dad told us that we could pray to have our questions about Grandma Edwards answered at general conference. I prayed to know if Grandma Edwards was happy. Mia prayed to know if Grandma Edwards was with her husband and daughter, who had already died.
During the Sunday morning session of conference, we listened, and we heard the prophet answer our questions! President Monson said that when people die, it’s as if they go into a room filled with all the family members they love who died before them. So Mia knew that Grandma Edwards was with her husband and daughter. Then President Monson read a part from the Book of Mormon that says the spirits of the righteous go to a state of happiness (see Alma 40:11–12).* Grandma Edwards had always tried to choose the right, so I knew she was happy.
Mia and I were so happy to know that the prophet speaks for God and that God answers our prayers. We aren’t worried about Grandma Edwards anymore. We know that if we follow her example of choosing the right, someday we will see her again.

Heber McBride, then 13 years old, traveled to the Salt Lake Valley in the Martin Handcart Company in 1856 with his parents, Robert and Margaret, and four brothers and sisters.
The following incident, found in his memoirs, occurred one day after the company crossed the North Platte River, just west of present-day Casper, Wyoming.
“That evening as we crossed the Platte River for the last time it was very cold. The next morning there was about six inches of snow on the ground, then what we had to suffer can never be told. Father was very bad and could hardly sit up in the tent. . . . I managed to get Father in one of the wagons. That was the last we ever saw of him alive. . . .
“[That evening] the snow was getting very deep and my sister and me had to pitch our tent and get some wood, but there were plenty of dry willows. After we had made mother as comfortable as possible, we went to find father, but the wind was blowing the snow so hard we could not see anything. . . . We did not find father that night.
“The next morning the snow was about eighteen inches deep and awful cold. While my sister was preparing our little bite of breakfast I went to look for father, and found him under the wagon with snow all over him and he was stiff and dead. I felt as though my heart would burst as I sat down beside him in the snow and took his hand in mine and cried, ‘Oh, Father, Father.’
“There we were, away from everything, away out on the plains with hardly anything to eat or wear, and father dead and mother sick; a widow with five children and hardly able to live from day to day. After I had my cry out I went back to the tent and told mother and the children. To try to write my feelings is out of the question.
“We were not the only family called upon to mourn the loss of a father that morning, for there were thirteen men dead in camp.
“The men that were able to do anything cleared off the snow and made a fire and thawed the ground and dug a hole and buried all in one grave. I can assure you that the men had no heart to do more than they had to do.” [Memoirs of Heber McBride, October 1856; cited in Pioneer Moments, “Oh, Father, Father,”Church News, 28 December 1996, p. 16]
In those terrible, terrible circumstances they were loyal one to another. When they were sick, they nursed one another. When they died, the whole company worked together to bury them against the marauding wolves.
Absolutely unspeakable was the suffering of the James G. Willie Company, the Edward Martin Company, and the Hunt and Hodgett wagon trains in that terrible ordeal in the snow in 1856. But notwithstanding death, notwithstanding frostbite, notwithstanding meager rations, they pressed forward to reach Zion. Loyalty to one another and loyalty to the Church marked their actions.

Elder Harold B. Lee and Elder Marion G. Romney were always teaching, and they would, in a sense, go out of their way to tell me something or teach me something. I think the reason they did it—I’m not sure they ever saw me in this position or calling—is that I had one virtue: I wanted to learn, and I didn’t resent it. And if you don’t resent it, and if you want to learn, the Lord will keep teaching you, sometimes things you really didn’t think you wanted to know.
Both of those great teachers would teach me. When I would see Brother Romney, sometimes he would say, “Kid, I want to tell you something.” I knew it was coming. He was going to tell me I was doing something that I shouldn’t do, and I would always thank him.
I learned early on that there is great value in listening to experience in older people. I had a stake president once who said, “I always tried to be in the presence of great people.” He was in a little town in Idaho, but he said, “If there was a lecturer coming or something special, I would always try to be there, because I could learn.”
I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

I could go on, but I must stop for lack of time. But just in a word, at Red Square we met a wonderful man who also loves the Church but has never been baptized. He wanted to meet us on Red Square just before we left on the last day. And there, out of his little briefcase he took a copy of the three-in-one, and turning to the Doctrine and Covenants read at the top of his voice on Red Square what the Lord said to his children about being patient and waiting on the Lord’s kindness, and eventually all would come. There were guards around, and we were a little nervous. But then he made one last request: would we please sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” for him? So we sang “Come, Come, Ye Saints” at the tops of our voices, and we felt so good about that we also sang “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.” Then this man put his scriptures back into his bag and said good-bye. Hopefully there will be a time when he will be able to receive the fullness of the gospel.

This story happened in the USA.
Weston was playing outside when a car and a big moving van drove up to the house across the street. Lots of kids got out of the car. One of them was a boy who looked like he was Weston’s age.
Weston ran inside his house. “Mom, Dad! A new family is moving in!”
Dad looked up from the project he was working on. “That’s awesome.”
“I want to meet them,” Weston said. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course!”
Weston and Dad walked across the street to their new neighbors’ house. When they knocked, a lady came to the door. The boy Weston’s age was standing behind her.
Weston waved. “Hi, I’m Weston. What’s your name?”
The boy stepped out from behind his mom. “I’m Nate.”
“Want to play at my house?” Weston asked.
Nate looked at his mom.
“You can go,” she said. “Just be home in time for dinner.”
After that, Weston played with Nate almost every day. He was so happy to have a new friend. They rode bikes, swam at the pool, and played pirates at the park. Sometimes Weston played at Nate’s house too. Nate’s whole family was nice!
One day, Nate’s dad got really sick. He had to go to the hospital. The sickness got worse and worse. Nate and his family were so worried.
Weston was worried too. Everyone at church fasted and prayed for Nate’s dad. Weston also fasted. He hoped for a miracle. But Nate’s dad passed away.
As the days went by, Weston saw how sad Nate and his family were. He wanted to cheer them up. He walked across the street and knocked on Nate’s door.
“I don’t want to play today,” Nate said.
“Oh, OK,” Weston said. Was there anything he could do to help Nate?
Weston went home and found Mom. “Nate doesn’t want to play,” he said.
“That’s hard.” Mom hugged him. “Sometimes when people are sad, they just need some time alone.”
Weston nodded. “I guess if my dad died, I wouldn’t feel like playing either.”
But Weston still wanted to help Nate and his family feel better. He had an idea. “Where are the scissors?” he asked. “I want to give Nate something from our garden!”
Weston went to the backyard and searched for something to give to his friend. He looked in the dirt where they’d planted some carrots. But they weren’t ready yet. He searched in the fruit trees but only found bare branches.
Then Weston looked under some vines with big leaves. He pushed aside a few of the leaves and found a tiny green cantaloupe growing on the vine. This was the cantaloupe he had planted and watered himself!
Hopefully Nate and his family liked melons. Weston cut it from the vine and carried it inside. Then he wrote a note to go along with his gift.
When the card was finished, Weston carefully set the cantaloupe and card on Nate’s doorstep. Then he rang the doorbell and ran back home as fast as he could. I hope they like it, Weston thought.
Later, Weston saw Nate’s family at a neighborhood barbecue.
“That was the best cantaloupe ever!” Nate’s sister said.
“We weren’t sure what it was at first.” Nate laughed. “We thought it was a weird coconut!”
“Thank you for the sweet gift,” said Nate’s mom.
Weston felt warm inside as Nate hugged him. He couldn’t take away his friend’s sadness, but even a tiny cantaloupe could help bring a smile.
Illustration by Greg Paprocki

“Quick! His back is turned!” Paisley said, looking at the sales clerk. Ann swiftly reached up and grabbed the small stuffed giraffe from the shelf. The giraffe would look so cool with the rest of her animals. She almost had a complete set.
“Got it,” Ann whispered as she stuffed the soft object into her jacket pocket. “Let’s go.”
The two girls strolled past the clerk, out of the toy store, and into the mall to meet Paisley’s mother. Ann had a funny feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. She kept one hand in her pocket, curled around the animal.
“You know,” Paisley said, holding up a small stuffed kangaroo, “we wouldn’t have to steal these if they didn’t cost so much money!”
When Ann got home, she ran upstairs to her room. She was excited to put the giraffe with her other animals. She took the miniature animals lovingly off the shelf—the horse was the first one she had bought, then the camel. She had been able to buy the dog, elephant, lion, and bear with money she earned from her summer job of weeding the garden.
Her mother opened the bedroom door. “Ann, the bishop called. He would like to interview you next week for your baptism.”
Ann’s face went white. She knew that after she was baptized, she would be accountable for her actions and would have to repent of her sins. Would Heavenly Father forgive her for stealing the giraffe?
Mom noticed the nervous look on Ann’s face. “Oh, honey, don’t be scared. Your dad and I will be there with you. The bishop just needs to make sure that you want to be baptized.”
“I know, Mom,” Ann replied. She was glad that Mom didn’t know about the giraffe.
“Can you play today?” Paisley asked Ann as the two girls walked to school the next morning.
“I … uh … I don’t know,” Ann said. “I tried playing with my animals last night, but it wasn’t any fun. Do you think it might be because I stole the giraffe?”
“Maybe.” Paisley looked down at the sidewalk. “I couldn’t play with my kangaroo, either. We shouldn’t have taken those animals yesterday.”
Ann was quiet all morning. She tried to concentrate on the math lesson, but it was hard because she was trying to block out the awful way she felt inside. She was relieved when the recess bell rang.
“I don’t feel like swinging today,” Ann said to Paisley as she walked out the door, bundling her coat around her.
“Could your mom take us back to the mall after school?” Paisley asked. “Then we could return the animals. I don’t want to play with my kangaroo anymore. I would feel better if I took it back.”
“Me, too. I’ll ask my mom when I get home,” Ann said.
That afternoon, Ann took a deep breath as she opened the door of her house. Tears filled her eyes as she thought how disappointed her mom and dad would be. She walked into the kitchen.
“Hi, honey. How was your day?” Mom said.
“OK.” Ann looked down at her feet. “Mom, I have to tell you something. When I went to the mall with Paisley, we took some stuffed animals from the toy store without paying for them.” Mom listened as Ann told her how sorry she was.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Ann. You know that stealing is wrong. What do you think you should do now?”
“Paisley and I want to take the animals back. Could you drive us to the toy store?”
“Of course.” Mom hugged her. “I’m glad you’ve decided to do the right thing.”
Mom and Ann picked up Paisley at her house and drove to the mall. Then Mom walked with them to the toy store.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Mom asked.
“No, Mom,” Ann answered firmly. “We need to do this by ourselves.”
The girls walked quickly into the store and up to the counter. Placing the animals on the counter, they explained to the clerk that they had taken the stuffed animals without paying for them, and that they were very sorry.
The clerk glared at them. “I’ll have to report this to the owner,” he said. “I’m not sure what he’ll do.” The girls gave the clerk their names and telephone numbers and left the store.
“I’ll never steal another thing as long as I live,” Ann declared as she and Paisley rode home in the car.
“Me neither,” Paisley said. “And even if the owner is mad and won’t forgive us, at least Heavenly Father will.”
The following week Ann had her interview with the bishop. She explained to him what she had done and how she had tried to make it right—and how she had promised Heavenly Father that she would never steal anything again. She and the bishop talked about repentance, and how Ann had completed the steps.
The bishop said, “When you steal something, you can never fully enjoy it because you got it dishonestly. I’m glad you learned from your mistake, Ann. You are truly ready to be baptized now.”

As a boy I dreamed of someday going to the islands of the Pacific. These places came to life for me in books and stories, and through the travels of others.

I doubt very much—no, you never dreamed of coming to the island where I lived as a boy. It was a small farm near a tiny town in Tennessee—surrounded by an enormous ocean of dense, hardwood-covered hills—deep forests on steep inclines that went on forever.

"Out of the way" and "insignificant" were understatements in describing it! It was so isolated that the sound of a passing car or truck motor on the road some distance from our farm house qualified as excitement.

I was one year old and my mom was 23 when my dad died; I never knew him. Seven years later, out of the need for a family circle, we continued to live with my grandparents.

As you might expect, my mother was a great influence in my life. She was a doer—a petite and beautiful woman with drive. She owned a restaurant, had traveled some, and always paid her own way in life. She read to me, laughed with me, and she took me to the Presbyterian Church every Sunday morning. We didn't miss.

Life had become a comfortable routine; you know, secure. I had my own bedroom. I had a horse to travel the farm's acres and sometimes trot into town. And I had a faithful dog that shared my every adventure. Granddad sometimes even let me drive his new, red Farmall tractor. What more could an 8-year-old boy ask for?

. . . Well, there was one thing I wanted in the worse way: I wanted to know something that I had long thought about. Mom didn't have the details and neither did my grandparents. Brother Davis, the minister at the Presbyterian Church couldn't really explain it; and even seemed annoyed—more like frustrated—at my persistence in asking.

So I thought I would turn to someone who did know. I clearly remember offering a prayer on my knees one summer night—a secret prayer—that was different from the rote prayer I had repeated every night since I could remember. The prayer was simply to know how I could see my father some day. It was a simple, but sincere prayer and I continued to ask and think about it. I knew that God was there; I just didn't know if he ever heard me.

I had also been thinking a lot about what it would be like to have a dad. It didn't seem complicated, and I determined that it was awfully important to a boy who had never had one.

Now I share this because exactly a year later, my mom sat me down, looked into my eyes and explained that she was soon to be married; that I was going to have a dad. She couldn't mask her excitement.

Frankly, I was shocked—in awe! I didn't know how to react. How could just thinking about having a dad actually produce that kind of results? Maybe God had considered it to be a prayer, I thought!

Living on my little island ended abruptly. In what seemed like minutes, my instant family was speeding on its way to Detroit, Michigan, 700 miles north, where my new dad worked in Ford Motor Company management.

As the last familiar farms and landmarks flashed past the car windows and then disappeared, so did my huge ocean vanish a few hours later. I felt a kind hopelessness; something akin to mild terror.

I knew things were never to be the same again. The journey that was beginning was filled with uncertainties I couldn't begin to articulate. It was time to add some more requests to my long-standing prayer about knowing my father someday, and then really hope that God would hear it.

The cultural shock was instant. I did not blend in. School confirmed that American English was not spoken in Michigan. It sounded like English, only spoken with lightening speed. After a couple of days in class, I resolved to speak it faster than anyone in the state. I think I came close!

Needless to say, my world had been turned up-side-down, but eventually it became righted. Dad loved baseball and spent years trying to teach me the art of pitching. Mom placed a premium on education. And home became a haven.

And, yes, every Sunday morning Mom and I went to church. Dad was always asked to come, but declined.

One Sunday morning, however, when I was seventeen, mom gathered the magnitude of her southern communications skills and almost pleaded for Dad to go to church with us: "It would mean so much to me, Joseph, if you would come," she said.

Dad opened the phone book, made a call, put on a suit and tie, and unceremoniously announced, "Let's go."

The building was rather plain, but stately. One cornerstone pronounced: A.D. 1928. The other read, Glory to God. A stone panel above the door read, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

We couldn't leave the building that day after the meeting until we shook hands with everyone there; some people twice. It seemed to be a tradition. Some guys with whom I ran track in high school offered slaps on the back, and the man who directed the meeting walked us out to our car.

It turned out that dad was a member of the Church since he was a boy in Tennessee; had left the farm as a teenager to survive the after-effects of the Great Depression, and had become inactive.

After mom and I were baptized, we went to church as a family and it brought her immeasurable happiness. Dad never missed again—ever.

The missionary lessons answered the very questions I had longed and hoped would be answered: who God really was, and, how I might someday see my real father. I consider finding that information, and the gospel, a miracle.

Having a dad come into my life, a great dad, was a wonderful bonus; the catalyst in my finding the gospel.

The most practical principle to me in finding the restored Church was that prayers are answered. That knowledge became increasingly profound while serving a mission, while at BYU, in the process of finding my sweetheart, also in being a father and grand father, during long years of a career, and while serving in the Church. That principle has never been more apparent than now while being with you on this unique campus.

I do not fully understand why the prayer of a little boy who was not a member of the Church, in a place known relatively to a few, was answered. I just know that it was and my entire life was changed. Every day I marvel. And I am still grasping to capture words to thank my Heavenly Father.

When I was 15, I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. It was something I had wanted to do for a while, but I was nervous. Many of my friends told me it was one of the most spiritual things to ever happen to them. I wanted to make sure I did all I could to make it as special as possible.
When I asked my patriarch how I should prepare, I expected something huge, like "Go to the temple every day" or "Read the whole Book of Mormon this week." Instead, he suggested I might fast the morning of my blessing. I didn’t totally understand the impact it would have, but I did as he asked, and as a result, my patriarchal blessing was a monumentally spiritual experience for me.
This experience taught me that fasting includes sincerely praying while sacrificing meals to express gratitude to God and bring Him closer to you. When I fasted that morning, I prayed that my heart would be open to the words of my blessing. I felt the Spirit so strongly as a result, and that made my experience very meaningful.
Lincoln S., 16, Arizona, USA

Several years ago I visited a large automobile dealership and looked at many new automobiles. One in particular caught my eye—a convertible sports model with all of the fancy equipment you could imagine. It had push-button everything and more horsepower than a division of cavalry. How I would have enjoyed a car like that when I was in high school! It occurred to me that you of high school age may be interested in owning such a car.
Will you imagine something with me? Imagine that I have decided to present to a typical teenager a car such as this, and you are the one who has been chosen. On the evening of the presentation, I see that you are not quite financially able to run such a car, so I generously include free gas, oil, maintenance, tires, anything your car will use. I’ll give you all of this, and the bills will come to me.
How you will enjoy that car! Think of driving it to school tomorrow. Think of all the new friends you will suddenly acquire.
Your parents may be hesitant to let you use this car freely, so I will visit with them. I am sure they will be reluctant, but because of my position as one of the leaders of the Church, they will consent.
Let us imagine, then, that you have your car, everything to run it, and freedom to use it.
Suppose that one evening you are invited to attend a Church social. “There are just enough of you to ride in my station wagon,” your teacher says. “You may leave your car home.” When they come to take you to the party, you suddenly remember your new convertible, with the top down, parked at the curb. You run back in the house and give the car keys to your father, asking that he put it in the garage, for it looks as if it may rain. Your father, of course, obediently agrees.
Later you come home and notice your car is not at the curb. “Dear old Dad,” you muse, “always willing to help out.” But as the station wagon pulls into the driveway and the lights flash into the garage, you see it stands empty.
You rush into the house, find Father, and ask where your car is.
“Oh, I loaned it to someone,” he responds.
Then imagine a conversation such as this.
“Well, who was it?” you ask.
“Oh, that boy who comes by here regularly,” Dad says.
“What boy?”
“Oh, that … well, I have seen him pass here several times on his bicycle.”
“What is his name?”
“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find out.”
“Where did he take the car?”
“That really wasn’t made clear.”
“When will he bring it back?”
“Well, there really wasn’t any agreement on that.”
Then suppose that your father should say to you, with some impatience, “Now you calm down. He rushed in here. He needed a car. You weren’t using it. He seemed to be in a frantic hurry over something, and he looked like an honest boy, so I gave him the keys. Now relax. Go to bed. Calm down.”
I suppose under the circumstances you would look at your father with a puzzled expression and wonder if some important connection had slipped loose in his thinking mechanism.
It would take a foolish father to lend such an expensive piece of equipment on an arrangement such as that—particularly a car that belonged to you.

Note from police officer Michael Terry: On an early fall morning, while I was on patrol, I received a call that would profoundly alter my life. It became a defining moment, molding my perspective on the kind of priesthood holder I aspired to be—always in a state of worthiness to uphold the priesthood and always prepared to serve the Lord. The following story is a testament to the blessings the Lord provides when we have faith in Him and trust His will.
After yet another marathon day at the office, I made my way home as the city’s lights dimmed. Pausing at a stop sign, lost in thought, I was jolted back to reality with a thunderous BOOM—the sharp impact of a car crashing into mine from behind.
Fortunately, both I and the man who hit me seemed unharmed. We called the local police to file a report, and some caring friends happened upon the scene to check on us. After exchanging our information, the other driver and I went on our way.
As I drove away from the accident site, I didn’t realize I wasn’t just leaving behind shattered glass and metal. The life I had known—my daily routines, household tasks, work projects, and the simple joy of moving without restraint—was about to shift dramatically. This would become my most profound trial of faith, challenging me like nothing had before. While the path ahead was unknown to me, my Heavenly Father had seen it all along, and I was about to discover what lay in store.
The next day, a quiet Saturday, found my husband at work, leaving just the children and me at home. They lost themselves in their play, while I grappled with a persistent headache. Yet the responsibilities of motherhood don’t pause for discomfort. That day, I seemed to be on a mission of some sort: every corner of the house was cleaned, every pile of laundry tackled. Looking back on that day, I realize it was the hand of the Lord guiding me, pushing me to prepare and fortify my family for the challenges ahead.
Sunday’s dawn brought with it a stillness. As my husband, Don, headed out to work at Temple Square for his Church security detail, he gently kissed me goodbye, perhaps not realizing that I was anchored to the bed. As the morning wore on and the time for church drew near, a growing alarm took hold of me. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t sit up, roll over, or even shift my position. I was paralyzed in place.
What I didn’t know was that the minor fender bender had caused a carotid dissection—a tear in the lining of my carotid artery, which led to the formation of a blood clot. A day or so later, that clot traveled to my brain, causing a stroke. My right side was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move at all. I didn’t realize at the time I had suffered a stroke; I thought I had simply slept on my arm the wrong way.
That Sunday morning, my children were getting ready for church, and they assumed I was just sleeping in. My two daughters, Ashlee and Alyssa, came to my bedroom, expecting to see me preparing for church. Instead, they found me lying on the floor, stuck between the bed and the night table, unable to move or speak. While I was trying to talk, nothing came out. In my mind, I was telling them I was OK, but no sound escaped my lips.
In that terrifying moment, they realized the severity of the situation. I heard the sharp, terrified cries of my daughters: “Call 911!” Their panic mirrored my own internal turmoil as I grasped the gravity of their concern.
The terror evident in their voices pierced through me, causing an ache deeper than any physical pain. To them, the sight was terrifying: their mother, usually strong and responsive, now rendered motionless and mute. Inside, I tried to reassure them, silently pleading, “I’m OK; it’s going to be all right. Please don’t cry. I’m here.” But my attempts at comfort remained silent.
Familiar faces soon filled the room: the paramedics, recognizable figures from our tight-knit community; my soon-to-be son-in-law, Trevor Brady, whose concern was palpable; and a young police officer, Mike Terry. Mike is a longtime family friend who, by divine intervention, had been dispatched to the scene. They were frantically trying to lift me from the floor, where I had collapsed in my attempt to rise from the bed.
Despite their help, the gravity of the situation made me feel isolated and overwhelmed. But suddenly the room settled into a hushed calm. These two devoted men, Trevor and Mike, stepped up to their sacred duty. In the exercise of their priesthood authority, they laid their hands upon my head and gave me a blessing. As they began, a profound sense of peace enveloped me, a tranquility I hadn’t felt until that point. I recognized this as the special role and spiritual power given to them from a loving Heavenly Father. Their actions reminded me of the words from Doctrine and Covenants 42:44, 48, reinforcing my belief in the potential for healing:
“The elders of the church, two or more, shall be called, and shall pray for and lay their hands upon them in my name. …
“… He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed.”
While the words they uttered have since faded from my memory, one thing remains clear: the moment they began the blessing, the atmosphere in the room transformed. The weight of anxiety lifted, and it was as if a divine assurance whispered that everything would unfold as it should. I felt immensely grateful to these two selfless servants of our Heavenly Father, whose sincere and worthy actions bestowed upon me a blessing filled with profound love and hope.
I felt assurance that my Heavenly Father was in control. I sensed the love, concern, and compassion coming from these two Melchizedek Priesthood holders, empowered with the authority to bless. From that moment, I relinquished my worries and concerns, entrusting them to my Father in Heaven, confident in His divine guidance and protection. This blessing became a beacon, guiding me to surrender my worries to the Lord, secure in the belief that He would oversee everything.
“Masarvelous” was the first thing Amy said upon regaining the ability to speak and taking a sip of soda. The term has since become a symbol of faith and gratitude for the family.
After three months in the hospital, supplemented with rigorous therapy, I gradually regained my ability to speak and walk, albeit with the aid of a cane and a leg brace.
Today my right arm is still paralyzed, and I have limited functionality in my right leg. Yet in the grand scheme of things, these challenges seem minuscule compared to the overwhelming gratitude I feel for simply being alive. The car accident and resulting stroke have undeniably altered the course of my life, bringing about growth and deepened appreciation for each day.
I attribute the progress in my recovery to the divine intervention of my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, and of course to the two devoted men who, in their worthiness, exercised priesthood authority to bless me. This blessing not only shifted the trajectory of my health but also enriched my life in ways I never could have imagined. My heart swells with gratitude, a sentiment that I hope to carry with me for a lifetime.
Officer Michael Terry greeting Amy Casey.
The author lives in Utah.

Christopher’s heart was heavy as he walked slowly to his family’s car after Primary. Why does everyone but me hear the still, small voice? he wondered.
In fast and testimony meeting, Brother Johnson told an experience he had while driving across a lonely stretch of highway. The still, small voice told him to take a different route home, one that would add about 10 kilometers to his trip. Although he had been eager to get home from his business trip, he obeyed the prompting. On his detour, he came across a car accident. A young family had been traveling to visit relatives. When the father, who was driving, fell asleep, the car drifted too close to the side of the road and rolled down a steep hill. Brother Johnson was able to call for help and administer first aid.
Bishop Benson told how he was prompted by the Holy Ghost to check on Sister Henderson during the week. Sister Henderson was a widow who lived about two kilometers up a dirt road off the main highway into town. When the bishop went to see her, he found her furnace had broken down. She didn’t have a telephone and was no longer able to drive, so she had prayed to Heavenly Father for help. The still, small voice had told her all would be well.
Later, Christopher’s Primary teacher, Sister Woolett, gave a lesson about the Holy Ghost. She told about when the still, small voice warned her to check on her sleeping baby. When she did, everything seemed all right.
But as she turned to leave, the voice again told her to check on her little boy. This time she went over to the crib and looked closely at him. There, next to him, was a large, jagged piece of glass. A framed picture that had been hanging above the crib had fallen. Most of the glass and the frame were behind the crib, but the large, jagged piece had fallen next to her sleeping son.
Sister Woolett also related an incident from the lesson manual about one of the prophets being warned of danger by the still, small voice.
Why can everyone hear the still, small voice but me? Christopher wondered again. He knew that after his baptism almost two years ago, he was given the gift of the Holy Ghost when he was confirmed. So why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me?
“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.
“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.
A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.
“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.
Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”
Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.
“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”
Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”
Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”
“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.
“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”
“It was?”
“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”
“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.
“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”
Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.

For Bernardo and Leonides Obedoza of General Santos, going to the temple in faraway Manila seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip so that they and their children could be sealed as an eternal family. After they sold their home and most of their possessions, they managed to scrape together the exact amount to pay the boat fare to Manila for their family of nine. Leonides was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Bernardo assured her that the Lord would provide. They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. It was worth every sacrifice they had made, for in the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Bernardo’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay. Their children completed their schooling, and the family eventually acquired their own home in a new location.

As a young man, I had many questions about the Church. Some of my questions were sincere. Others were not and reflected the doubts of others.
I often discussed my questions with my mother. I am sure that she could sense that many of my questions were sincere and from my heart. I think she was a little disappointed in those questions that were less sincere and more argumentative. However, she never put me down for having questions. She would listen and try to answer them. When she sensed that she had said all that she could and that I still had questions, she would say something like this: “David, that is a good question. While you are searching and reading and praying for the answer, why don’t you do the things you know you should and not do the things you know you should not?” This became the pattern for my search for truth. Through study, prayer, and keeping the commandments, I found that there are answers to all of my important questions. I also found that for some questions, continuing faith, patience, and revelation are needed.2
Mom put the responsibility of developing faith and finding answers on me. She knew that the important answers would come from my seeking truth the way that Heavenly Father has prescribed. She knew that I needed to find the truth. She knew that I needed to be sincere in my questions and be willing to act on what I already knew to be true. She knew that I needed to study and pray and that I needed to develop greater patience as I sought answers from the Lord. Willingness to be patient is part of our search for truth and part of the Lord’s pattern of revealing truth.3
Over time I came to know that my mother was teaching me Heavenly Father’s pattern for seeking truth. Faith grew, answers began to come, and I accepted a mission call.

Ulisses’s naturally good heart blossomed as he learned the ways of the Lord. “I grew up in the Church following the light of my parents,” Elder Soares says. As he followed that light, his testimony grew stronger despite opposition.

“I was the only member of the Church in my school, and the other boys were always trying to drag me down and push me to do things that were wrong,” he says. “I had to learn to defend myself in these challenges, but I always trusted in the Lord with all my heart to help me succeed. I learned as a young man that if you do your part, the Lord will do His. But you have to hold tight to His hand and to His gospel.”

One morning I was rushing through a busy airport on my way to attend a stake conference. Just after I went through the immigration formalities, an announcement was made that my flight was delayed. I stood there watching many people rushing up and down and just as I turned around to continue walking towards my boarding gate, someone tapped me gently on the shoulder and said, “Sir, let me polish your shoes for you”. Before I could protest, he pointed out that my shoes were dirty, and it looked like I was heading out for a very important meeting.
I looked down and realized that he was right, and since I now had some extra time, I walked with him to his chair and sat down. As he polished my shoes, he asked me where I was heading to; I explained to him that I had a church engagement. He commented, “we live in a very busy world… everyone is rushing up and down and people just don’t have time for others and for God.” He told me how he used to make time to pray and to read his Bible. I asked him why he had stopped, and his answer was, “I am busy, we are busy, the world is busy as you can see. Everyone has somewhere to run.”
As I walked away from him, I thought to myself, “are we too busy for each other, for our loved ones and for God?” I have ever since pondered this question. How well am I doing in inviting all to come unto Christ, make and keep sacred covenants and become His lifelong disciples? Our Area vision asks that we extend this invitation to Father in Heaven’s children, who may be at different stages along the covenant path.

Since I know something of the anxiety the pressure of time creates in your life, I would like to share what I have learned about how to handle that feeling of hurry. It’s important to be sure we agree on the nature of the problem. Time passes at a fixed rate and we can’t store it. You can just decide what to do with it—or not to do with it. Even a moment’s reflection will help you see that the problem of using your time well is not a problem of the mind but of the heart. It will only yield to a change in the very way we feel about time. The value of time must change for us. And then the way we think about it will change, naturally and wisely.
That change in feeling and in thinking is combined in the words of a prophet of God in this dispensation. It was Brigham Young, and the year was 1877. “The property which we inherit from our Heavenly Father is our time, and the power to choose in the disposition of the same. This is the real capital that is bequeathed unto us by our Heavenly Father; all the rest is what he may be pleased to add unto us” (Journal of Discourses, 18:354).
Time is the property which we inherit from God, along with the power to choose what we will do with it. President Young calls the gift of life, which is time and the power to dispose of it, so great an inheritance that we should feel that it is our capital. The early Yankee families in America taught their children and grandchildren some rules about an inheritance. They were always to invest the capital they inherited and to live only on part of the earnings. One rule was “Never spend your capital.” The hope was that inherited wealth would be felt a trust so important that no descendant would put pleasure ahead of obligation to those who would follow.
There is more than one way to spend time foolishly, as you know. You may sleep it away or play it away. But the bankruptcy that will cheat all those who come after you, comes after the idleness and the thoughtless seeking for thrills.
When you choose to see or hear filth portrayed, for instance, you may at first feel you have just spent some time. But if you persist, you will find that beyond time wasted you have allowed Satan to draw you toward sin and then into it. And then you will have incurred debts that will burden and diminish every minute of existence that follows, unless and until you find the healing balm of the atonement of Jesus Christ through repentance, which takes pain, and time. Oh, what Brigham Young would want for you, and what I pray you may have, is a heart that wants to invest your inheritance, time.
It’s worth doing, not only because you have life ahead but because you have eternity ahead, as well. Here is one report that suggests your reward for investing your inheritance well here will be to get to do it forever. President Wilford Woodruff gave this report in general conference in 1896.
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry? I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory, but it was new doctrine to me” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, pp. 288–89).
Can you see and feel the truth in these familiar words of President Benson? “You have been born at this time for a sacred and glorious purpose. It is not by chance that you have been reserved to come to earth in this last dispensation of the fulness of times. Your birth at this particular time was foreordained in the eternities. You are to be the royal army of the Lord in the last days. You are ‘youth of the noble birthright’” (Ensign, May 1986, p. 43).
When I heard those words I thought of a boy with a noble birthright, but lacking what many of you have. He was born on November 22. Thirteen days later his father was buried. He was named and blessed by the bishop of his ward, Edwin Woolley. The name he was given by the bishop was Heber Jeddy Ivins Grant. “I was only an instrument in the hands of his dead father … in blessing him,” Bishop Woolley later remarked. Heber Grant “is entitled to be one of the Apostles, and I know it” (The Presidents of the Church, ed. Leonard J. Arrington, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1986, p. 212).
People then and since have called Heber J. Grant a “child of promise.” He was. But his departed father didn’t make the promises to the child. His Heavenly Father did. Your Heavenly Father did—the same Father who chose you to come into this time and place to hold, honor, and to nurture those who hold his power. You have a right to become like your Heavenly Father. You are a royal child of God, a child of promise, chosen from among many to be here and to have your royal inheritance, time in the fulness of times.
One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of that gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived in a world of too many demands and too little time.
One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford. I looked up and saw two people. I remember that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.
I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who had introduced me mentioned that I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.”
Later I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who had made it. He was introduced and then said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment, I learned again, in my heart as well as my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise, who believes the promises, can invest it to produce returns for eternity.
Because of that moment I’ve come to understand something that happened to me in my early teens. I was in a hurry when I felt, not heard, a voice, an impression, which I knew then was from God. It was close to these words: “Someday, when you know who you really are, you will be sorry that you didn’t use your time better.” I thought then that the impression was odd, since I thought I was using my time pretty well and I thought I knew who I was. Now, years later, I am beginning to know who I am—and who you are—and why we will be so sorry if we do not invest our time well.
You will develop your ability to invest your precious time well by gaining three confidences. First, you must gain confidence that God keeps his promises. Second, you must gain God’s confidence that you will always keep the promises, not that you choose to make, but that he asks you to make. And third, you must help others gain confidence that God keeps his promises.

Training to be a helicopter pilot isn’t an opportunity that most people get. But when Pierre O., 24, decided to enlist in the French Army, he got just that. Now in his second year of the four-year training, Pierre is doing his best to live as an example of the believers, despite his environment.
Stationed about an hour and a half outside of Bordeaux, in southwestern France, Pierre is far from his friends, family, and hometown of Rennes. The nearest meetinghouse is an hour away, meaning that he doesn’t get to interact much with members during the week. “It’s not easy to be a member of the Church in the army,” Pierre says, “because there are a lot of temptations and it’s really just two opposite worlds. You’re judged a lot in the army not based on what you do but on who you are.” Pierre wants those around him to see that he doesn’t drink alcohol, smoke, view pornography, or party—commonplace activities in the army—because of who he is: a member of the Church. While he struggles to earn the respect of those around him, prayer and scripture study help keep his testimony strong. “I try to not go to sleep without having read my scriptures first,” he explains, “and I try to pray whenever I can.”
“Reading the scriptures and praying helped me a lot during all of my schooling to know that God exists, that He is there—without really understanding the rest of the gospel,” Pierre explains. “I just knew that God was there, and so that helped me to stay on the right path.”
That foundation of scripture study sustained Pierre throughout all his schooling and even now through his army training. Before enlisting, Pierre served a mission in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, where his testimony and understanding of the gospel were solidified.
“The scriptures are one of the most tangible ways Heavenly Father answers us,” he says.
Through his daily prayer and scripture study, Pierre is able not only to receive inspiration but also to be an example to those in his army unit. While he and his classmates may not have much in common besides their national pride, Pierre knows that by following the teachings of the scriptures, he will be someone they can respect because of and not in spite of his beliefs.

Several years ago, our family moved to Berlin, Germany, where I wrote most of my doctoral dissertation. It was a rich and unforgettable experience. Early on, however, I struggled with something of an identity crisis. No one in Germany seemed to care that I was an Ivy League graduate student, and although I could read German legal and historical documents with modest proficiency, my verbal skills were vastly outstripped by virtually every preschooler I met. At church, I struggled to follow discussions or formulate coherent comments, let alone say anything articulate or insightful. Then, as evidence of a deep sense of divine humor, I was called to serve as the ward choir director—an assignment for which I would have been hopelessly unqualified even in my native tongue.

At about this time, our ward mourned the passing of Gisela Berndt, a powerful leader of the Church in Germany. For many years, Sister Berndt and her husband hosted then Elder Thomas S. Monson during his frequent visits to Germany. Sister Berndt’s children, children-in-law, and grandchildren formed the nucleus of our ward and the core cadre of our ward and stake leadership. The German Saints were deeply saddened by her loss.

To our great surprise, my wife, Lia, and I were asked to sing in a quartet at Sister Berndt’s funeral. The music assigned was entirely new to me—a magnificent setting of Martin Luther’s ­marvelous translation of the 23rd Psalm.

We did our best. (As usual, Lia’s best was significantly better than mine.) I believe we sang with heavenly help. Later on, when our youngest child grew restless, we took her out into the foyer, where we saw a faithful ward member trying in vain to prop open the stake center’s external door so that the pallbearers could escort the deceased to her final resting place. Responding to nudges from both Lia and the Spirit, I volunteered to hold the door open manually.

So it was that I stood watching—a human door prop—as this elect lady moved on toward her eternal reward. I felt that I stood on sacred ground—that I was the recipient of an honor I had not earned, one of the great honors of my life. Together with that impression there came thundering through my soul the rough sense of a half-remembered scripture: “I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness” (Psalm 84:10). I would rather, I realized, fill the lowliest station within the Savior’s kingdom than the loftiest station outside it.

From the time Reid Newey of Roy, Utah, was six years old he had dreamed of playing basketball. He played on community and church teams as a boy and as a teenager. He watched games on television and attended games with his father. Basketball was what he wanted to do with his life.
During his first year at Utah State University, Reid was honored by being selected for the national team made up of first year college students. He was making a meaningful contribution to college basketball. The following year he would have been one of the leading players. But something else was affecting his life. “I read the Book of Mormon all the way through during my first year in college,” said Reid. “And I really gained a great testimony of it. I loved it. I’d rush home from practice just to read it because I loved it so much. From then on I had a different feeling. I went through a lot of prayer and fasting, and it was a personal revelation for me that I should go on a mission.”
Reid had a tremendous experience in the mission field that made everything worth it. “We met this man who was a retired colonel from the army. He was just a great man. He was baptized a week before I left. He drove me to the airport to go home, and we had the opportunity to visit together for a while before my departure. As we spoke, he looked at me and said, ‘Thanks for coming, Elder Newey.’ I didn’t know exactly what he was referring to. But then he took my arm and said, ‘I mean, thanks for coming on your mission.’ That was the greatest experience of my life. It really touched me, and I can’t bear to think what it would be like if I hadn’t experienced that.”
Reid had one more piece of advice. “I’m a basketball player, but everybody has their own obstacles to going on a mission. Everybody can think of something to keep them from going. But I know there isn’t anything worth staying home for. My advice would be to get your life in order and go, no matter what it takes.”