Gospel Story Finder

2. After Alice and Alvin were married, Alvin continued to spend long hours with his bachelor friends playing golf, hunting, and discussing business. Alice, anxious not to nag Alvin or be domineering, kept her feelings of disappointment at being left home to herself. Alvin began sharing his triumphs and experiences with his friends not with Alice.

This was the first danger signal—lack of communication. Then Alice, like Alvin, turned to someone else: a friendly neighbor man whose interest Alice found comforting. Their friendship soon became serious.

Alice and Alvin had a difficult time working through the problem. It required evaluation of their goals, repentance, and forgiveness for both of them. Both were guilty of finding persons outside their marriage to satisfy most of their emotional needs. No one should expect his spouse to satisfy all of his needs, but a marriage cannot survive an emotionally barren atmosphere.

Several years ago while my husband, Ed, and I were serving in the England London South Mission, there was an unexpected storm. All night the winds raged. When morning came we ventured from the mission home to see the damage. It was devastating. Many trees throughout our garden, the neighborhood, and all of southern England had been uprooted. It was amazing to see the fallen trees with their gigantic root systems, still intact, jutting into the air. I came to the conclusion that because of the “easiness of the way” (Alma 37:46)—rain is plentiful in England—the trees had no need to sink their roots deep into the earth to get the nourishment they needed. Their roots were not strong enough or deep enough to withstand the hurricane-force winds.
On the other hand, the giant redwood trees that grow in northern California also have a very shallow root system. But when they are surrounded by other redwood trees, the strongest, fiercest wind cannot blow them over. The roots of the giant redwood trees intertwine and strengthen each other. When a storm comes, they actually hold each other up.
May I share with you some personal examples and thank those people who have been as the giant redwoods in my life, those who have been an example of caring and teaching, those who have intertwined their roots in mine and helped me stand firm as they taught me through their words and their lives.
I feel deep gratitude to my mother, who allowed me to be responsible and didn’t always fix my mistakes. To my father, who is soon to be eighty-nine years old and is living with us, thank you, Dad. Thank you for teaching me as the scriptures counsel, “only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; … reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love” (D&C 121:41, 43).
The strongest intertwining roots in my life are those of my companion and sweetheart, Ed, who is supernally righteous. He has taught and encouraged me, exemplifying President Hunter’s prayer “that we might treat each other with more kindness, more courtesy, more humility and patience and forgiveness” (quoted in Ensign, July 1994, p. 4).
To my children, who are a part of my roots, who are a brightness of hope in my life—thank you for helping me stand tall with gladness because you are trying.
I am a happy grandmother. Thirteen of our seventeen grandchildren are Primary and pre-Primary age. They will help teach me about Primary and children. They can be my hands-on training. Could there be a better calling for a grandmother than to love and strengthen children?
May I offer a sincere expression of gratitude to you, my brothers and sisters, who have strengthened me by forgiving me when I have disappointed you.
There are many others in my life who have encouraged me and allowed me to connect with their strengths. My deep gratitude to President Janette C. Hales, the Young Women presidency, board, and staff who have shared their wisdom and insights, who have more than loved and supported me these last two years. To Michaelene Grassli, Betty Jo Jepsen, Ruth Wright, and the Primary board, thank you for your devotion and untiring efforts to encourage all members of the Church to focus on what is best for the children.
When I was ten or eleven years old, I became the Primary organist in the ward in Hawaii where I grew up. That is one of my most vivid Primary memories. I remember being very nervous. I remember making many mistakes. But I remember even more clearly that the Primary leaders cared more about me than about the mistakes I made.
I thank the community of Saints, the ward family of Saints, who, throughout my life, have provided “safe places”—places where I was able to be taught, to have experiences, to practice, and to eventually better understand and live the principles of the gospel.
One day as Ed and I were maneuvering the streets of England, he turned to me with tears in his eyes, and he said, “Look.” I turned and saw a child on the side of the road. And then he said, “Who will teach the children?” That thought will not leave my mind or my heart. Who will teach the children? Who will teach the child who asks, “Will Heavenly Father really answer my prayer?” Who will teach Kate when at five years of age she asks, “Why do we need Jesus?” Who will teach the children? Please, will you? Will you? Will you help teach the children?
Since my call I’ve knelt and asked, “Father, what do you want the children to be taught?”
Teach and show the children that Heavenly Father loves them and has confidence in them because they are his children.
Teach and show them that they do need Jesus, our Savior, our guide. Help them understand and accept his love and trust him and follow him. Teach them that our prophet, President Howard W. Hunter, has said, “We should at every opportunity ask ourselves, ‘What would Jesus do?’ and then be more courageous to act upon the answer.” He also said, “We must know Christ better than we know him; we must remember him more often than we remember him; we must serve him more valiantly than we serve him” (“He Invites Us to Follow Him,” Ensign, Sept. 1994, p. 5).
Teach the children that at eight years of age, when they are baptized and receive the Holy Ghost, they will be responsible for their choices. Teach them that they will be tempted, but as they listen to the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost, he will help them with their choices.
We can teach the children these gospel truths and all of the truths of the plan of happiness that Heavenly Father wants his children to understand and live. Family home evening can be one of those safe and loving places where the Spirit is felt. With eight children in our home, I also have vivid memories that family home evening wasn’t always easy. Remember other opportunities for teaching: family prayer, family scripture study (don’t give up!), in the classroom, in the hall, in the neighborhood.
And please, will each one of you be as the stalwart and dependable redwood trees, connecting and intertwining your roots of testimony, of faith, of love, of kindness and patience with every child? Their roots are not deep enough for them to stand alone in the storms of life. They need us—every one of us—parents, teachers, leaders, youth, brothers, sisters. They need you.
And now I look to the future. How grateful I am for the principle of presidency, and for Sister Anne Wirthlin and Sister Susan Warner. “In the multitude of counsellors there is safety” (Prov. 11:14). We will stand together in unity as we support our priesthood leaders and help parents teach and strengthen children.
To the Primary children of the world, I want you to know that there are many people you don’t even know who love you and care about you, who want you to be safe, be happy, and feel peace. I love you and would want you to feel “encircled about … in the arms of his love” (2 Ne. 1:15) and my love. Listen carefully to every good thing you hear about Heavenly Father and Jesus our Savior and then try your very best to follow him by doing what he wants you to do.
All of us can be like the giant redwood trees and support and strengthen each other, especially the children, that when storms arise we can actually hold each other up. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“Drat!” Ben slapped the water in disgust as he watched his scuba man settle at the bottom of his uncle’s swimming pool—again. His two plastic turtles floated just fine, but the plastic scuba diver kept slipping from his hand and sinking like a stone. Ben couldn’t dive to get it, so he had to keep asking his brother for help.
Ben knew that Heavenly Father helped people who had faith. When he had the scuba diver in his hand again, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer: “Please don’t let my scuba man sink.” As soon as he had said amen, he opened his eyes and dropped the little plastic man into the water. It sank right back to the bottom. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” he wondered.
A few days later, Ben came home and found his mom cooking squishy broccoli casserole with slimy sauce. Ben hated broccoli. “Please, Heavenly Father,” he prayed. “Let me have ice cream for dinner instead of squishy broccoli.” But Mom still served broccoli and slimy sauce for dinner. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” Ben wondered again, poking a hunk of broccoli with his fork.
One afternoon, Ben’s mom said he had to clean up his room in the next 15 minutes if he wanted to play video games. Ben’s room was a big mess, with toys, clothes, and books all over the floor. Ben wanted to play video games, but he didn’t want to clean his room. “Please let my room be cleaned by magic,” he prayed. Fifteen minutes later when Mom came back to check, the room was still messy. Ben was not allowed to play video games. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” he wondered for the third time.
One night Ben awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible earache. His ear hurt so much that he had to go to the hospital. On the way, he prayed, “Heavenly Father, my ear hurts worse than anything has ever hurt me before. I really need help. Please help the doctors find a way to make my ear feel better.” Ben remembered that Heavenly Father hadn’t always given him what he asked for, but he tried to have faith and believe that the pain would go away.
At the hospital, the doctor gave Ben some medicine. It tasted yucky, but Ben swallowed it, and on the way home his ear started feeling better. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.
As Mom tucked him back into bed, Ben told her about the scuba diver, the broccoli, and the messy room. “Why does Heavenly Father answer some prayers and not others?” he asked.
“Heavenly Father always answers our prayers,” she said. “But sometimes the answer is no if we ask for things that would be bad for us. He wants us to learn here on earth. What did you learn at the swimming pool?”
Ben thought for a minute. “I learned that some things float and some don’t,” he said. “And that I have a nice brother who will help me.”
Mom nodded. “Then there’s the casserole. I’m sorry you think that broccoli is squishy, but it’s good for you. Why do you suppose Heavenly Father let you eat it?”
Ben sighed. “Because he wants me to be healthy and strong.”
“And finally the messy room,” Mom said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father clean it for you?”
“I guess because it’s my job, and I need to learn to do it.” Ben sat quietly for a minute, thinking. “But when I asked Heavenly Father to help the doctors to make my ear feel better, the answer was yes,” he said.
Mom nodded. “Yes, it was. But did your ear stop hurting the instant you asked?”
Ben frowned. “No. Why not?”
“Heavenly Father wants us to do all we can to help solve our problems. What did we do?”
“We went to the doctor, and I took the medicine he gave me, even though it tasted yucky.”
Mom smiled. “Heavenly Father helped the doctor to give you good medicine, and He helped your ear to feel better.”
Ben rubbed his ear. “Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s no.”
“And sometimes it’s ‘not yet,’” Mom added.
Ben hopped out of bed. “I’m going to thank Heavenly Father for helping the doctors to make my ear feel better,” he said. “And from now on, I’m going to try to ask for things that are good for me. Heavenly Father knows how to answer best.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I think that broccoli is making you smarter already!”

As horrible as it sounds, some volleyball teams unfortunately play that way. But the Western Hills Eighth Ward (Kearns Utah Western Hills Stake) and Jordan First Ward (Salt Lake Jordan Stake) know better. They realize that having a good attitude, both on and off the court, is what sports—and sportsmanship—are really about.
For the second year running, the Western Hills and Jordan teams were about to face each other in the finals of a multistake volleyball tournament. Despite negative feelings that had developed between the two teams during the previous year’s tournament, the Western Hills team invited the Jordan girls to a joint practice to take place before the final match. Jordan’s coach, Kathy Holmes, said that at first she didn’t want her girls to lose their competitive edge, but after praying about it, she realized, “Heavenly Father would want us to get to know each other as friends and not as enemies. He wants us to have fun.”
The Jordan team responded enthusiastically to the invitation. “We were excited!” says Jordan First Ward’s Kim Lolani about the joint practice. “We wanted to get rid of any negativity.”
Her teammate Marie Aini explains, “When we practiced together we bonded and got to know each other. Last year we didn’t hit it off because we judged too quickly.”
The Western Hills young women said they enjoyed playing with the Jordan girls because their attitudes were positive. “I really liked playing with the Jordan team because they wouldn’t get mad at each other,” says Western Hills’ Jessica Ramirez. “Regardless of who won or lost, it wasn’t a big deal, because we had fun.”
Another Western Hills young woman, Martha Rojas, noticed the Jordan girls’ example of good sportsmanship. “Even though they lost sometimes, they were still really happy. They had fun the whole time. When we lost a game, we didn’t look as happy as the Jordan girls. I learned from them.”
The positive example the teams set for each other resonated with everyone. Jessica says, “A lot of the time there have been problems with other teams we’ve played, and people get angry with each other. Attitudes aren’t always great.” But when these two teams got together, they focused on the positive and fostered an environment of healthy and encouraging competition.
The girls learned that competition doesn’t have to be negative and that with good sportsmanship, competition can motivate them to play better. Sara Pena, the Western Hills coach, has noticed that healthy competition can bring out the best in the players. “Playing your best can help athletes grow in their own talent and achieve something,” she says. “Competition isn’t about seeing if you’re better than someone else. It’s about seeing where your diligence and strength will take you.”
The Jordan team agrees that attitude makes the difference between healthy and negative competitiveness. Marie says, “Together as a group, we decided that being too competitive isn’t fun.”
Kim agrees. “We shouldn’t take the game too seriously. We like to make each other laugh instead.”
The girls helped each other improve by teaching each other new skills. When Jael Blanco first started playing with the Western Hills team, she didn’t know how to play volleyball very well, but Coach Pena taught her the rules and encouraged her to keep trying. “Sometimes when I play a new sport, I feel like people care only about winning,” says Jael. “It’s not as much fun, because really I just want to learn. Sara taught me how to play volleyball, but she also taught me how to have fun with it.”
After the joint practice, the two teams faced each other in the championship match. Kathy says, “The Western Hills girls weren’t the enemy anymore. They were just people—friends—and it wasn’t intimidating. It was a completely different feeling playing that last game.”
The girls were cheering for their own teams, but the game wasn’t laced with tension like the previous year’s had been. The Jordan team won in a reversal from last year’s championship, but a more significant reversal took place. More than caring about which team won, this year the girls celebrated athletic skill and a good game.
After Jordan’s win, the Western Hills ward approached the Jordan ward and suggested a joint Mutual activity. The Western Hills ward is a Spanish-speaking ward, and many of the young women from Jordan have Polynesian heritage, so they decided to organize a cultural exchange night, where they could share aspects of their different cultures.
The Jordan First Ward hosted the activity, and each ward brought food from their cultures. Once the activity started, it was hard to tell which girl was in which ward. “We didn’t sit with our own wards. We all spread out and were meeting new people. I ended up hanging out with the Jordan girls at the cultural exchange night more than the girls from my own ward,” Martha says.
Jessica adds, “We mingled with everyone and also got along with all the leaders. Everyone was laughing and busy making new friends.”
These volleyball players know that attitude is integral in sportsmanship. Marie says, “Whatever attitude you choose to have before a game you take out with you onto the court.” She also says that it’s important to have a positive attitude not only with your own teammates but also with your opponents.
For these two volleyball teams, winning doesn’t depend on the score. These girls know that they score the most points when they step outside of themselves, make friends, and radiate a positive attitude.

In the summer of 1969, my wife, Barbara, and I attended a “sound and light” show in Rome, Italy. We arrived early, and knowing that we would be seated for about two hours, we were standing in front of our chairs. Behind us were four ladies. Two of them were Catholic nuns. We had a delightful conversation with them; they were choice ladies. (In fact, I have never met a Catholic nun who was not a fine person. I wish they were all in the Relief Society somewhere.)

We then talked with the other two women who were of college age. We learned that they were Americans traveling in Europe during summer vacation. We asked them what they were going to be doing when they returned to their homes. One of them, a girl named Cathy, said she would like to go on to graduate school and that she was considering coming to the University of Utah. “If you do come,” I said, “be sure to give us a call and we will have you over to dinner at our home. You could meet the family and then we will show you around the university and Salt Lake City.”

Frankly, I had forgotten about the conversation when in August I was called to the telephone and heard Cathy speaking on the other end of the line. I invited her to our home, she met the family and had dinner with us, and we did what we had agreed to do. We discovered that she had decided she would pursue her graduate studies at the University of Utah.

The next spring we were called to go on a mission to Mexico and lost contact with her, except that each Christmas we would receive a Christmas card. About three years later she wrote on the back of her card, “I thought you would be interested in knowing that I am now teaching dance at Brigham Young University. Last August I was baptized into the Church and that has made all the difference!” Since then she has married in the temple, is rearing and teaching her own family, and has been very active in the Church.

Siedeh took a big breath and walked into her new classroom. It was her first day in fourth grade.
Last year, Siedeh was in second grade. She did so well that her school let her skip third grade. Siedeh was excited to do harder math problems and read more books in fourth grade. But she wasn’t happy that she would have to leave her old friends.
As she looked around the room, Siedeh felt small. All of her new classmates looked older and taller than she was. What if she didn’t belong?
She chose a desk and sat down. A tall girl sat next to her. “Hi,” Siedeh said.
“What are you doing here?” the girl asked. “I thought you were supposed to be in third grade.”
“The school moved me up a grade,” Siedeh said nervously.
The girl made a mean face. “Well, I don’t care how smart you are. You’re still just a baby.”
Siedeh felt awful inside. For the rest of the week, she was too scared to talk to any of her classmates. Each time she heard someone laughing or whispering, she frowned. They were probably saying mean things about her.
Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Siedeh got a math test back. She wanted to cry when she looked at her score. Math was her favorite subject. She had never scored this low on a test before.
When she got home, Siedeh couldn’t hold back her tears. “I don’t have any friends,” she told her parents. “I don’t belong in fourth grade. I’m not smart enough.”
“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” Siedeh’s mother said. “But you are smart. And you are still learning.”
Siedeh wiped her eyes. “I wish I could go to third grade instead.”
Dad was quiet for a moment. “Would you like a priesthood blessing?” he asked.
Siedeh nodded. Maybe a blessing from Dad would help her feel better.
Siedeh sat on a chair, and Dad put his hands on her head.
“I bless you that you will not be afraid,” Dad said. “And I bless you to love your new classmates. As they get to know you, they will love you too.”
A calm feeling spread through Siedeh. She felt that her dad’s words were what Heavenly Father wanted her to hear.
After the blessing, Mama helped Siedeh work on her math problems. Soon Siedeh was feeling a bit better.
The next day at school, Siedeh remembered her blessing and tried to be brave. She smiled at her classmates. When she showed love, she felt less afraid of them! Some of them were even really nice. She worked hard to learn, and soon her grades improved too.
By the end of the school year, Siedeh had many friends. She was glad Heavenly Father had helped her be brave. And she was grateful she could always have the blessing of priesthood power to help her.
This story took place in Liberia.

The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.

Before Wade Holmstead passed away I had the opportunity of being his Primary president. All his life he had serious health problems, but he also had an insight and understanding that few eleven-year-olds have.
When I interviewed Wade for Primary graduation, he was well prepared and anxious to become a deacon and a Scout. Then we spoke of missionary work and his future plans. Some of his neighbors were inactive and the children did not attend Primary. I asked Wade if he would be a missionary and try to get these children to attend Primary. He agreed.
The next week, Primary was about to begin when Wade and these children entered the chapel. I was stunned! What a miracle. Later I asked him, “How did you ever get the children to come to Primary?”
Wade looked at me with wonder and answered quietly, “It wasn’t hard at all, Sister Haynie. I just reminded them. All they needed was to be reminded.”

A hundred-pound sack of rice landed on my back. If this was what Dad called “small odd jobs,” he had another letter coming from me. Tottering under the load, I almost fell over a chicken as I followed another moving rice bag. My uncle stood on a truck exuberantly shouting directions. But his sing-song Cantonese went right through me. The din of trucks, chickens, dogs, and babbling people clattered to the sky on this narrow Hong Kong street. I could make no sense of anything. All I could do was wonder why I was here when home was on the other side of the world?
“If you can’t make up your mind between going to college or finding a job,” Dad had said, “at least you can take a look at your roots.”
Roots? I had plenty of roots—all firmly implanted in American soil. After all, I was a second-generation American.
Dad had ignored my tirade. “Besides, Uncle Cheung is the only one left back in Hong Kong. Poor guy. No kids, lost his wife last year, and you could cheer him up. He probably gets awfully lonely, being retired and only doing a few jobs here and there,” Dad said.
Staggering under another rice sack, I watched a small shriveled man lithely carry his own enormous load.
“It was a very good day,” Uncle Cheung kept saying after finishing work. Were those the only English words he knew? I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. I was busy thinking about getting rid of this Hong Kong sweat under a cool shower.
The minute we walked into his rectangular cinder-block room, I remembered. The bunk beds were still stacked against the stark walls. The lonely white rice cooker was still on the floor in a corner, and the television stood on its rickety wooden table. But no bathroom or kitchen facilities had magically appeared.
Grumbling, I sauntered down to the common washing facilities in the middle of this huge building called an H-block because it was shaped like the letter.
I continued grumbling. “I know there’s better housing near here. It’s not that Uncle Cheung can’t afford it.”
When I returned, Uncle Cheung was in front of his door happily talking to a neighbor. I couldn’t figure out why he needed any cheering up from me.
The H-block was coming alive now. Woks sizzled outside people’s doors. Oil, fish, bean curd, vegetables, pork, and chicken created an aroma my nose had never before encountered.
Dinner was rather loud, not because of our lively conversation but because several jets at Kai Tak Airport picked that time to take off. They drowned out everything. I thought they might take our building with them. I wouldn’t have minded if they had taken me too. In between roars, I kept repeating one of the few Cantonese phrases I knew: “Hou sihk.” If my sounds and tones were right, it meant “delicious.” Uncle Cheung nodded and smiled gratefully, shoveling rice and fish into his mouth with his chopsticks. I wished I was back in America eating pizza with my friends.
Dad’s last words to me when I got on the plane were: “Re-learn the language,” and now Uncle Cheung was waving his hands and talking excitedly to me. It was time to bring out my trusty Chinese-English dictionary. What did Dad mean, “Re-learn the language”? How do you re-learn something you’ve never learned in the first place?
After a series of facial expressions, gestures, and dictionary pointing, I figured out that Uncle Cheung was going someplace after dinner and he was wondering if I wanted to come. I declined, choosing instead to stay and watch TV.
Unfortunately, the one English-speaking station was as fuzzy as the Chinese stations were unintelligible. I took out some paper.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” I wrote. “Is there any chance I could grab a plane back a few weeks early?”
The first time I saw her we were pressed almost nose to nose on the Hong Kong subway. I didn’t mean to have such a close first encounter, but I had no other choice.
“You need the day off,” my uncle had said, his eyes showing concern for my aching back and my diminishing appetite for rice and strings of greasy green vegetables. I didn’t object. I didn’t seem to be cheering him up much, and I always turned down his offers to go out with him in the evenings. Even on Sundays—my favorite day to sleep in—he was out the door long before I woke up to another day in Hong Kong.
With no work to do, I happily headed to the subway. Each train car bulged with people, with hundreds more waiting to get on. After missing several trains, I realized my only hope was to shove with the rest of them. But my technique was less than graceful, and I bumped noses with the most beautiful girl in the world. Drawing back in embarrassment, I knocked five heads behind me. Our noses remained one inch apart.
I tried not to stare at the girl’s soft dark eyes, sleek black hair, and delicately shaped face. If only I could say something to her. The Cantonese equivalent of “How are you?” (Neih hou ma?) sounded too trite. And how could I ask her if she’d eaten yet, even if it was a typical Chinese greeting. I wanted to reach for my dictionary, but my arms were straitjacketed in. Besides, how would it look for a Chinese guy to be sounding out Chinese tones in front of all these other Chinese people. No one knew I was an American.
The conductor droned out the stops in both English and Chinese. It was so muffled I couldn’t tell the difference. Suddenly, the beautiful girl was politely pushing her way out. Dumbfounded, I watched her disappear through the jostling crowd. “She’s gone forever,” I mumbled. By the time I realized Tsim Sha Tsui had also been my stop, I had missed it and was speeding under the harbor to Hong Kong Island.
When I finally made it back to Tsim Sha Tsui, I didn’t shop much. I got sidetracked at McDonald’s and a pizza place instead.
Rushing to make the subway before rush hour, I took one of the last places on the long silver benches lining each side of the car. I was still thinking about that girl when she suddenly appeared. “Is this seat taken?” she was asking me. At least I assumed that’s what she was saying. I smiled, motioning nonchalantly for her to sit down.
I looked at her, disappointed she didn’t recognize me. I ruffled through my dictionary, hoping no one would notice. What could I say to her?
Suddenly, I had something to say as the train jolted forward and I slid into her.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out in English.
She looked up, smiling. “No problem.”
“You speak English too!” I gasped.
She giggled. “At least I like to practice English.”
She looked at me quizzically. “You must be from America.”
“How did you know?”
“Your English doesn’t sound so British,” she said.
“You speak English very well,” I said.
She smiled demurely. “Oh, not so well. My brother and I like to speak English together.”
“Do you ever practice English with anyone else?” I asked.
“Well, yes …” she said.
The train screeched to a stop. I skidded into her again. “This is my stop,” she said, leaping up.
“It’s mine too,” I said.
“It is?” she said with surprise. “I thought you’d be staying in a hotel.”
“No, I’m staying with my uncle in the H-blocks,” I said.
“We live there too,” she replied.
“Really?” I exclaimed, not expecting such a beautiful girl to live in a plain, rectangular room.
It was time to go our separate ways. I hadn’t mustered enough courage to ask her name, and now she was leaving.
Then she called back. “I’m sure my brother would like to talk to you about America. He wants to go there.”
Here was my chance. I stuttered, “My name is Tod. Do you have a name too?”
“Yes. It’s Ling Fa. My brother is Lai Jan. Maybe we could all get together at the park tonight and talk English.” Yes! We had made a connection.
I almost ran over my uncle as he tromped up the stairs loaded with vegetables and fruit. I hugged him, watermelon and all.
“You had a good day?” he asked with a grin.
“It’s been a great day.”
I met Ling Fa and her brother that night, and quickly became fast friends with them. We did a lot together, including going to a dragon boat race practice a few days later. Lai Jan was one of the boatmen in the race held each year during the Dragon Boat Festival, a Hong Kong celebration.
“Maybe you could help us out today,” Lai Jan said to me, as we headed to a small inlet on the harbor. “One of the guys in the other boat said he couldn’t make it today.”
“Who me?” I laughed. “Never seen a dragon boat in my life.”
Then a sleek dragon boat splashed into view. It looked like the longest canoe in the world, except its sides were painted with green dragon scales and a ferocious dragon head stuck out the front with a green tail flowing out the back. Forty paddling boatmen were almost lost in the spray. A drummer stood in the middle beating a large drum in a steady cadence.
“I’m just sure I can do that,” I joked. “But I don’t even speak Chinese.”
“No need to speak Chinese,” Ling Fa answered. “Just paddle with the beat of the drum.”
After being introduced, I stepped gingerly into the boat. I had never seen so many people in such a narrow boat. Gripping my paddle, I nodded to the guy next to me.
“Good luck,” shouted Lai Jan from the boat next to mine. I realized we would be racing each other.
Soon, we were gliding over the water. I concentrated on paddling to the beat of the drum. I was actually getting the hang of it. The faster the drum beat, the faster we paddled. On my right, I could see the menacing dragon head of Lai Jan’s boat. Lai Jan grinned at me.
When our drummer beat faster, my paddle responded. I wanted to win this race. We pulled ahead of Lai Jan’s boat, which began lagging way behind.
My strength melted the minute we rounded the buoy and headed toward shore. I knew something was wrong. It looked as if there had been a big traffic accident in the middle of the water. A limp body was being pulled into a boat. It was Lai Jan.
When I stepped to shore, Ling Fa ran to me sobbing, “Please, please. I don’t want it to be true.”
When I asked what had happened, Ling Fa said, “It was so strange. Suddenly he was spilling out of the boat when another boat hit him.”
Soon sirens were crying, and Lai Jan was loaded into an ambulance. He briefly opened his eyes and said something to Ling Fa.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said he wanted a blessing from his home teacher.”
“Home teacher?” I said, perplexed.
“It’s someone in my brother’s church,” she answered, as she got in the ambulance with her brother. I ran to catch a bus that would take me to the hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital, I looked for Ling Fa’s beautiful face. But it wasn’t her I noticed first. Startled, I saw Uncle Cheung talking to Ling Fa.
“This is Lai Jan’s home teacher,” she said.
Home teacher? My uncle was a teacher in a church?
“He’s going to give my brother a blessing now.”
I watched in awe as my uncle placed his wrinkled hands on Lai Jan’s head. As I listened, I wish I could explain what happened to me. But I doubt even my best buddy back home could know what I felt. I understood everything. Not just individual words, but the meaning of all Uncle Cheung was saying. There was no need to speak English or Chinese. There was a calmness and peace like nothing I’d ever felt before. I knew some power beyond me—the power of God—would heal Lai Jan.
When I lifted my eyes, Ling Fa was quietly crying. I wondered if she understood how I felt.
Lai Jan’s eyes blinked open, focusing on Uncle Cheung. “I knew you would come.”
Ling Fa gently placed her small hand on my uncle’s arm. “My brother says you help everyone.”
Uncle Cheung shook his head modestly. But his eyes smiled. “I just love everyone.”
I wasn’t supposed to understand, but I did.

Although I was baptized as an infant in one church and attended another on and off during my childhood, religion was never a huge part of my life. As I grew older, my family moved a lot, and we stopped attending worship services. I believed in God, but I did not think about Him or religion very often.
That all changed in 2006, when I was 14. My uncle Billy died; he was only in his mid-30s. His premature death made me realize how much I loved him and caused me to start asking questions internally. Where did he go when he died? Did he continue to live and have a future? What would become of his children and other family members left behind? What did his life mean? What did my life mean?
These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

As a mother of two young daughters, I have often made the excuse that I cannot participate in some of the things that I would like to because it is simply not my “season” to do so. One of those things was family history work.
Though I had participated in indexing as an enjoyable Sabbath activity in the past, I found myself making excuses that I had neither the time nor the knowledge to embrace my family history work at the time.
My heart changed early one morning a few months ago as I sat in the temple. As I reviewed the names of the deceased on the temple cards, praying that they would accept the temple ordinances performed for them, I thought to myself, “Wouldn’t it be nice if these were my own family members? I’d like to do the work for them.” The Spirit confirmed to me that if these were my desires, then the Lord would help me do my family history work, specifically on the Sabbath day. He could help me find the time and the knowledge to accomplish His purposes.
That Sunday, I went home and logged onto FamilySearch.org. Tears immediately flooded my eyes as I saw the names of my ancestors. My connection to them became stronger. What added to my love for them were the personal photographs and documents, recently added by my grandmother, making my family members come to life even more for me. I felt joy in involving my two-year-old, who learned to identify pictures of her great-grandfather and great-great-grandmother, calling them by name. I felt the way that President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, described: “The Sabbath provides a wonderful opportunity to strengthen family ties. After all, God wants each of us, as His children, to return to Him as endowed Saints, sealed in the temple as families, to our ancestors, and to our posterity” (“The Sabbath Is a Delight,” Liahona, May 2015, 130).
Since that initial experience, I have continued to participate in family history work on the Sabbath day. I have been blessed to do temple work for some of my deceased family members. A particular blessing has been learning about my relatives and gaining a closer relationship with my grandparents who are not members of our faith. It has strengthened my resolve to keep my covenants and endure to the end so that I may be a strong link in my eternal family.
Though there is still much work to be done, I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for increasing my capacity so that I can participate in His work, especially on His day. For me, the Sabbath is truly a delight.

Mark felt a tightness inside as he sat in his class chair. This was the third school that he had attended in the past few years. And although the first day in a new school was always the hardest, something far worse was bothering him: Grandpa was dead. And nobody in his family could explain to Mark what really happens to someone when he dies.
He noticed the girl across the aisle staring at him. What is she looking at? he thought. He felt like making a face at her, but instead he got out his new note book and the worn, mechanical pencil Grandpa had given him.
“I want you to have this, Mark,” Grandpa had said. “It has been with me for many years. I used it to write my best ideas and thoughts in my journal. I’ve had some wonderful adventures while going idea hunting, and I believe you’re ready now to start your own search.”
Oh, Grandpa, Mark had thought, you’re not finished with adventures! And how can I search alone? Don’t leave me, Grandpa. But Mark hadn’t said anything except “Thank you” in a very quiet voice.
But Grandpa’s adventures did stop. One winter afternoon Mark had stood aching and helpless beside a silent grave. Even Grandpa’s pencil in his pocket gave him no comfort.
Mark got through his first day at school by avoiding everyone. After school he walked home alone. Two blocks from his house, someone came up behind him. The girl who had stared at him in class fell into step beside him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Sarah. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
“I live on the corner, down from your house,” she said. “It’s nice to have someone my age on our street. I’m glad that you moved here.” Mark was reluctant at first, but Sarah asked him to do something nearly every day after school. Their favorite pastime was exploring in the forest behind her house. They talked a lot. And their friendship grew.
“Let’s have a picnic,” Sarah suggested one afternoon. “I know a place along the creek where there’s a deep pool full of fish. Do you fish, Mark?”
“I used to,” said Mark, suddenly serious. He hadn’t taken out his fishing pole since Grandpa had become too weak to go with him.
They met early Saturday morning and walked to a nearby pool. “It’s really beautiful here,” Mark said. He almost felt happy.
They baited their hooks and cast into the water.
Very soon Mark’s fishing pole bent double. He stood firmly on his feet and began reeling in a large, speckled trout.
“That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” Sarah cried. As Mark reeled it in, she added, “He must be awfully old to be so big. I bet he’s a grandpa.”
Mark went cold inside. He looked down at the fish. A grandpa. And he was about to send him to his death. He reached down, unhooked the frantic fish, and threw it back into the water.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Sarah.
“I couldn’t let him die. He’s a grandpa.” His eyes filled with tears in spite of his efforts to prevent them.
“Oh, Mark,” said Sarah. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my Grandpa,” choked Mark. “He died last winter. I miss him so much. I don’t understand why he had to leave me. I don’t know where he went or if I’ll ever see him again.”
Sarah reached out and took Mark’s hand. “You will see him again, Mark,” she told him. “I know why he died, and I know where he is.”
Mark looked up at her, startled. “Where?” he whispered. “Where is he?”
“His body is dead,” Sarah explained, “but his spirit lives in the spirit world.” She smiled at Mark. “Did your grandpa believe in Jesus?”
“Yes,” he said. “He did. I don’t know much about Jesus, but Grandpa told me one time that some of his best ideas came from the Bible. Grandpa liked good ideas.”
“Here’s one of Jesus’ teachings,” Sarah said. “‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’” (John 11:25–26.)
“So, you see,” Sarah went on, “only your grandpa’s body died. His spirit is still alive. Someday, because of Jesus, his spirit will come back into his body, and he will be alive again. That’s why Jesus said that He was the resurrection and the life.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” Sarah told him.
“Why?” Mark asked.
“Because my dad died two years ago. At first I thought that I would never be happy again. I missed him so much! I still do, but I’m not sad anymore. My dad believed in Jesus, and so do I. Mom had us memorize that scripture so that we could be comforted.”
“Sarah, will you help me learn that scripture, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Sarah. “I wrote it in my journal on the day that we buried my dad.”
“Grandpa wrote in a journal. He gave me his pencil to write in my own journal, but I haven’t started one yet. Maybe I’ll do it today. Do you have any more good scriptures that I could write down?”
“Lots,” Sarah told him. “In fact, I can give you a whole book of them when we get home. You can use your pencil to underline them right in the book because there will be too many to copy.”
“What book is that?” asked Mark.
“The Book of Mormon,” said Sarah.
Mark looked at her beaming smile and felt a warmth creep into his heart.
“The Book of Mormon,” he repeated. He’d never heard of it before. But if the Book of Mormon helped make Sarah happy, he thought, maybe it can do the same for me.

For a long time something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.

To my great surprise I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

A few days later I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.

President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”

I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.

That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.

It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.

I was perhaps no different from those spoken of in the Book of Mormon: “And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).

Note this example taken from Elder F. Burton Howard’s biography of President Marion G. Romney. I quote Elder Howard generously in summarizing this story.
In 1967 Sister Romney suffered a serious stroke. The doctors told then–Elder Romney that the damage from the hemorrhage was severe. They offered to keep her alive by artificial means but did not recommend it. The family braced themselves for the worst. Brother Romney confided to those closest to him that in spite of his anguished, personal yearning for Ida’s restored health and continued companionship, above all he wanted “the Lord’s will to be done and to take what he needed to take without whimpering.”
As the days wore on, Sister Romney became less responsive. She had, of course, been administered to, but Elder Romney was “reluctant to counsel the Lord about the matter.” Because of his earlier unsuccessful experience of praying that he and Ida might have children, he knew that he could never ask in prayer for something which was not in harmony with the will of the Lord.
He fasted that he might know how to show the Lord that he had faith and that he would accept God’s will in their lives. He wanted to make sure that he had done all he could do. She continued to fail.
One evening in a particularly depressed state, with Ida unable to speak or recognize him, Brother Romney went home and turned as he always had to the scriptures in an effort to commune with the Lord. He picked up the Book of Mormon and continued where he had left off the night before.
He had been reading in the book of Helaman about the prophet Nephi, who had been falsely condemned and unfairly charged with sedition. Following a miraculous deliverance from his accusers, Nephi returned home pondering the things which he had experienced. As he did so he heard a voice.
Although Marion Romney had read that story many times before, it now struck him this night as a personal revelation. The words of the scripture so touched his heart that for the first time in weeks he felt he had tangible peace. It seemed as if the Lord was speaking directly to him. The scripture read:

Blessed art thou, . . . for those things which thou hast done. . . . And thou . . . hast not sought thine own life, but hast sought my will, and to keep my commandments.
And now, because thou hast done this . . . I will bless thee forever; and I will make thee mighty in word and in deed, in faith and in works; yea, even that all things shall be done unto thee according to thy word, for thou shalt not ask that which is contrary to my will. [Helaman 10:4–5]

There was the answer. He had sought only to know and obey the will of the Lord, and the Lord had spoken. He fell to his knees and poured out his heart, and as he concluded his prayer with the phrase, “Thy will be done,” he either felt or actually heard a voice which said, “It is not contrary to my will that Ida be healed.”

Brother Romney rose to his feet. It was past two o’clock in the morning, but he knew what he must do. Quickly he put on his tie and coat, then went out into the night to visit Ida in the hospital.

He arrived shortly before three o’clock. His wife’s condition was unchanged. She did not stir as he placed his hands upon her pale forehead. With undeviating faith, he invoked the power of the priesthood in her behalf. He pronounced a simple blessing and then uttered the incredible promise that she would recover her health and mental powers and yet perform a great mission upon the earth.

Even though he did not doubt, Elder Romney was astonished to see Ida’s eyes open as he concluded the blessing. Somewhat stunned by all that had happened, he sat down on the edge of the bed only to hear his wife’s frail voice for the first time in months. She said, “For goodness’ sake, Marion, what are you doing here?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He said, “Ida, how are you?” With that flash of humor so characteristic of both of them, she replied, “Compared to what, Marion? Compared to what?”

Ida Romney began her recovery from that very moment, soon left her hospital bed, and lived to see her husband sustained as a member of the First Presidency of the Church, “a great mission upon the earth” indeed (F. Burton Howard, Marion G. Romney: His Life and Faith [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1988], pp. 137–42).

Preceding the comforting revelation to Joseph and Oliver, the Prophet endured a poignant, painful experience that taught him to look to the Savior and not fear the opinions, pressures, and threats of men.
In June 1828 Joseph allowed Martin Harris to take the first 116 pages of the Book of Mormon manuscript from Harmony, Pennsylvania, to show to family members in Palmyra, New York. After Martin failed to return as promised, an anxious Joseph traveled by stagecoach to his parents’ home in Manchester Township, New York. The Prophet immediately sent for Martin. When Martin arrived, he admitted that he did not have the manuscript or know where it was.
Joseph exclaimed: “Oh! My God, my God. … All is lost, is lost. What shall I do? I have sinned. It is I that tempted the wrath of God by asking him for that which I had no right to ask. … Of what rebuke am I not worthy from the angel of the Most High?”
The next day the Prophet returned to Harmony. Once there, he said, “I commenced humbling myself in mighty prayer before the Lord … that if possible I might obtain mercy at his hands and be forgiven of all that I had done which was contrary to his will.”2
After chastising Joseph for fearing man more than God, the Lord told him:
“Thou art Joseph, and thou wast chosen to do the work of the Lord, but because of transgression, if thou art not aware thou wilt fall.
“But remember, God is merciful; therefore, repent of that which thou hast done which is contrary to the commandment which I gave you, and thou art still chosen, and art again called to the work” (D&C 3:9–10).
“For a time, the Lord took the Urim and Thummim and the plates from Joseph. But these things were soon restored to him. ‘The angel was rejoiced when he gave me back the Urim and Thummim,’ the Prophet recalled, ‘and said that God was pleased with my faithfulness and humility, and loved me for my penitence and diligence in prayer, in the which I had performed my duty so well as to … be able to enter upon the work of translation again.’ As Joseph moved forward in the great work before him, he was now fortified by the sweet feelings of receiving the Lord’s forgiveness and a renewed determination to do His will.”3

Diligence is persisting in doing something in spite of opposition.1 Dora first learned how important—and how difficult—diligence can be after she was baptized in 1998.
When Dora was 17, she and her younger sister Alicia were baptized—helping lead to the growth of the Church in the islands of the Uros. About a month later, however, their father forbade them from having anything to do with the Church.
But something odd happened to the girls. They were suddenly less pleasant to be around and more likely to argue. Their father realized that during the time they were participating in Church activities, they had changed for the better.
“It changed his mind,” Dora says. “He began waking us up early to make sure we got to church on time.”
Dora attributes the change the gospel made in their lives to small things she and Alicia did regularly, like paying tithing, praying, studying the scriptures, keeping the Sabbath day holy, and renewing their covenants weekly by taking the sacrament.
Later, having seen for himself the changes that come from faith and diligence,2 Dora’s father joined the Church along with the rest of the family.

Like the time Grandpa got real sick and had to go to the hospital. Everyone fasted and prayed for him, including Eugene. He climbed up into his quiet place and prayed for a whole hour.
Two weeks later, Eugene’s father lay in the tree house and cried. Eugene heard him because he was there, too. Everyone was happy because although the doctor had said that Grandpa was going to die, he got better. Eugene climbed up into the tree and lay close to his father. Neither of them spoke. At least not out loud. They were busy thanking Heavenly Father in their hearts, warm tears trickling down their faces.
After a while, Eugene asked his father why he had come to the tree instead of staying at the house with everyone else. “Everyone needs a quiet place where they can go to be alone sometimes. Even grown-ups. I don’t have one,” he said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I came up here for a few minutes.”
Eugene was happy that his father thought having a quiet place was important.
“Besides,” his father added with a wink, “with Aunt Althea at the house to greet your grandpa coming home from the hospital, it’s a bit noisy there. I needed a moment alone to thank the Lord for your granddad’s recovery.”
A few moments later, Eugene walked back to the house with his father. The back screen door whined as they joined the others. Eugene paused to look back over his shoulder at the old tree. It was like an old friend—warm, inviting, peaceful. And always there when he needed it. He smiled, went inside, gave Aunt Althea a big hug, then hurried over to Grandpa’s bed.

Many years ago I heard a story that impressed me. I share it with you today as I endeavor for a few minutes to direct your thinking toward the important word peace. A beautiful little blind girl was sitting on the lap of her father in a crowded compartment in a train. A friend seated nearby said to the father, “Let me give you a little rest,” and he reached over and took the little girl on his lap.
A few moments later the father said to her, “Do you know who is holding you?”
“No,” she replied, “but you do.”
Some might be inclined to say, “What a perfect trust this child had in her father.” Others may say, “What a wonderful example of love.” And still others might say, “What an example of faith.” To me it indicates a beautiful blending of all of these principles, which brought a priceless inner peace to the child. She knew she was safe because she knew her father knew who was holding her. Affection, respect, and care over the years had placed in this little girl’s heart a peace that surpasseth all understanding. She was at peace because she knew and trusted her father.
We plead for peace in our prayers and thoughts. Where is peace? Can we ever enjoy this great gift while wars, rumors of wars, discord, evil, and contention swirl all around us? The answer is yes. Just as the little blind girl sat on the stranger’s lap with perfect contentment because her father knew him, so we can learn to know our Father and find inner peace as we live his principles.
It is very significant that when Jesus came forth from the tomb and appeared to his disciples, his first greeting was, “Peace be unto you.” (Luke 24:36.) Peace—not passion, not personal possessions, not personal accomplishments nor happiness—is one of the greatest blessings a man can receive. Our trust and our relationship with our Heavenly Father should be one similar to that of the little blind girl and her earthly father. When sorrow, tragedy, and heartbreaks occur in our lives, wouldn’t it be comforting if when the whisperings of God say, “Do you know why this has happened to you?” we could have the peace of mind to answer “No, but you do.”
Just as the little girl could sit peacefully on the stranger’s lap because her father knew him, so we can find peace if we know our Father and learn to live by his principles.

While speaking to a group of single adults at Christmastime a year ago, I reminded them that if they were working in an environment that was not conducive to their spiritual well-being, perhaps they should resign. Afterwards, a young man the age of many of you came up to talk to me. He expressed concern that he was called upon to do some things that he didn’t feel comfortable doing. Jobs were almost impossible to get, he explained, and the work he was doing paid well. I reminded him that it was his decision whether to stay or resign. “Call upon the Spirit,” I advised. The next week he called me. Reminding me who he was, he said, “I did it. I quit my job. I am frightened, but I know I did the right thing.” Within two weeks he reported back that he had a job where now he was comfortable, and he appreciated the promptings of the Spirit.

One elder who was transferred from another mission wanted to go home. He knew his parents and bishop wanted him to stay and complete his mission. In one of the many interviews we had, he said that five previous elders in his ward had abandoned their missions and had returned home early. I thought what a great disservice the first elder did to the other young men who followed his poor example. I made a solemn vow that this elder would not go home until his mission was completed successfully. Every week for thirteen to fifteen weeks he would write in his letter to the president all the reasons he should be released from his mission. Each week I wrote a letter of response.
After all these weeks I received a letter which appeared the same as the others—until I got to the P.S. He said, “President, you are winning and you know it.” I sat in my office, and tears filled my eyes.
Vince Lombardi said, “The harder you fight for something, the harder it is to surrender.” This elder completed his mission as a great presiding zone leader. He has a great warmth and a great talent to teach; he loves and cares for people; and he is extremely spiritual. He returned home with an honorable release from a very successful mission, married a beautiful girl in the temple, and now they live near the temple where they visit regularly. This elder set a great example for all prospective missionaries from his ward.