Gospel Story Finder

May I add my testimony of this by illustrating an example I witnessed in Albania of this great principle? At each of our zone conferences it was our practice to have the district leaders stand a report on his districts’ service projects for the previous weeks. At one particular zone conference, a district leader came forward and then for his report he asked his entire district to stand, face the missionaries, and then show them their hands. As they did, we all quickly saw that they were all covered with blisters. Then he reported that their service project for the past month had been to dig a well for one of the poor member families in Elbasan who had no running water in their home. He then told of how the senior missionary couple there had seen their dilemma and found that they were hauling water each day from a neighbor a hundred yards or so away who had a well. After doing some investigation, he found out how deep the well was and he concluded that if they could dig down that far, they could dig a well for this family–and so they had begun.

When the district leader reported that day, they were down about 12 feet. Initially, when they had started digging the 6' feet in diameter well the digging was relatively easy. Two elders dug for a while and then traded off with two others. As the hole got deeper, they soon couldn’t throw the dirt up and over the edge. Then they devised a system to fill buckets tied to a rope that was thrown over a log. When the bucket was filled, they would hoist it up where the two elders on top would take it and haul the dirt away to dump. It was quite a project.

You know, when you get down 15' or so, that is a deep hole. At 16' they hit solid rock. That’s pretty discouraging when you have dug that long. How great is your faith at a time like this? The senior missionary was discouraged, but not dismayed. After some searching, he found the one man in the little city who had a jack hammer. However, after the man broke two bits while drilling, he refused to go any further. How does this affect your faith? With a home made sledge hammer they continued on chipping away using the sledge and old railroad spikes.

Brothers and Sisters, How is your faith when you get to 20' & you’re still in rock with no water? How about 25'? It was at about 26' when they came out one morning and found the rock in the bottom of the well was wet. They broke through the rock that day, went down another foot, and the next day at 27 feet, they came out to find a foot of water in their well.

Brothers and Sisters, true disciples of Christ must have faith to step into the darkness knowing the light will follow. They must be willing to dig down 27' knowing they’ll find water even when digging in solid rock. This Rock came from the depths of that well. It is my constant reminder of the well and the faith it took to dig it.

“I have seen the Lord’s hand countless times in my life, but my biggest testimony comes from a trial I have endured for 10 years.
“I became pregnant with my second daughter but miscarried at seven weeks. I remember crying and pleading with the Lord but thought, ‘Surely our Savior has a greater plan for this baby than what I need right now.’ The following year I became pregnant and then miscarried again. I asked, ‘God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ (Matthew 27:46).
“Eventually, we miraculously got pregnant and had a healthy baby girl.
“But this was not the end of this trial. Unfortunately, we ended up having four more consecutive miscarriages.
“After moving to a new area and getting a new provider, I was diagnosed with a blood-clotting disorder. With this information, my doctor and I made a plan. I went on to have two perfectly healthy children!
“The Lord’s timing is perfect. This lesson has been the hardest one I’ve ever had to learn. He prepares the way for you and puts people and experiences in your life to strengthen you.”

I highlight repentance because we are not perfect. While growing up, my mom always made sure my hair was neatly cut and combed. I didn’t think much about it because she would always just let me know when it was time for her to cut my hair. At the beginning of my senior year of high school my mom cut my hair to look nice for senior pictures. After senior pictures, I decided to let my hair kind of grow out a little. I know it’s a little hard to imagine, but it was awesome. I didn’t realize how curly my hair was because I had always kept it nicely trimmed. Throughout the course of my senior year, I started loving letting it grow out. I had a lot of comments about it looking so good. When I applied to college and agreed to obey the honor code, my hair wasn’t too long yet and I got my endorsement.

During my freshman year, I just kind of kept letting it grow. I thought it was probably getting close to being out of standards, but I was waiting for someone to tell me I needed it cut and my mom wasn’t there to tell me. There were also a couple of other guys who had long hair and I was kind of justifying my hair length because of theirs. It had been well over a year since I had a haircut. Although my hair was long, it was also curly, so unless it was hanging down wet, you may not have noticed its true length. To try and keep the standards, I had my roommate buzz some of my hair in the back to keep it off my collar. It didn’t really work. I pretended that it did though. I thought no one would notice and that I could big brain the dress and grooming standards.

A couple of more months passed…then one day I was in the temple, doing proxy baptisms in behalf of those who have passed away. After one particular baptism, I remember coming up out of the water. My hair was wet and laid straight, revealing its true length, as I came up. I distinctly remember hearing and feeling the spirit speak to me. He said, “Joel, it’s time to shape up. You can do better.” That was it. Someone finally told me…I wish someone else would have told me first though.

I actually knew that I had been flirting with being out of standards. Now I knew that God knew that I was out of standards. He actually always knew, but I was ignoring Him. Finally, He spoke quite directly to me and I knew that I needed to change immediately. The next day I found a ride home so my mom could give me a haircut. I got my hair back in standards and focused on preparing more diligently for a mission.

I had to be chastened by the Lord to shape up and get a haircut. Maybe that’s why it never grew back.

Why did God chasten me about my hair? Was it really that big of a deal? I don’t know, but I had made a commitment with Him and He didn’t want me on the edge of the Honor Code with any of my behaviors. I think my willingness to comply with the dress and grooming standards in the Honor Code was an outward expression of my inner commitment to follow Him and His Son. I made a choice that did not match my inner commitment of my love for the Savior. I hadn’t lost my commitment to follow the Savior. My testimony wasn’t wavering. Remember, I had a temple recommend and was even attending the temple. But I was still chastened by the Lord. Why? Because he loved me and knew I could be a better disciple of Him. I also loved Him and wanted to demonstrate my willingness to do His will.

It was at this point, just two months after my first visit to the mission home, that I met my future husband. He was a freelance American photographer and writer traveling in France. The missionaries told him about me, and he decided to interview me for a possible article for the Church magazines. After talking with me about the Church, he asked if I had ever considered joining. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m really just curious.”
But as an afterthought, I reflected, “There is something unusual about your church. I always feel a sense of peace when I come to the mission home. Actually, I welcome reasons to come back.” Still, I insisted that my interest was only academic curiosity.
A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.
During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”
One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”
I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.
Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.
As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

I have been a missionary for the past nine months and had many wonderful opportunities to serve within my local community. I saw firsthand what we can do when we work together with other faiths, just as the Saviour did.
My service mission leaders encouraged me to look for my own service opportunities in my community, and one I came across was with the RAF Manston History Museum, where I helped them to clean and get the museum ready for all the visitors. Another I found is at the Thanet Winter Shelter run by the Salvation Army where I cook meals for the residents on a Saturday night.

In Harrisville, Utah, it was another kind of need that had to be met, and youth rose to meet the need. It’s a story that brought tears to Bishop Nicholas Van Alfen’s eyes as he shared the details.
A temple was being built—the Ogden Temple—and temples cost money, and money is hard come by in small towns like Harrisville, Utah. Some $3,461 was his ward’s assessment. The bishop knew that his congregation had already been pushed far past the comfortable position in contributions.
He fasted and prayed about it, as bishops do, and one day he was forcibly impressed with the idea that the answer lay with the young people of the ward. Why not issue them the challenge—and the blessings—of helping to build the temple they’d grow up to use? And that’s what he did. And that’s what they did.
“I had all the youth stay after Sunday School for a special meeting with me one Sunday. Naturally, their curiosity was up! I talked about their fine parents who were rearing them in the gospel. Yet I felt sure these youth had never really found true involvement—not the kind they’d know someday.
“We decided it was about time they learned that the gospel was more than volleyball and basketball and roadshows and Explorer trips. We agreed that involvement in the gospel meant working and striving for an important goal—something grand enough to require a personal sacrifice. The new temple was it.”
In an interview later with some of the participants, we asked how they felt about what they did. Did it really weld them to the Church? Did they feel spiritually strengthened? Had their relationship with the Savior changed through such a project? Did the youth of the ward feel closer to each other? closer to ward leaders? And what about personal sacrifice—did they participate out of love for the bishop, or because he was a good salesman, or because they were committed to church service? What? How?
Ava Painter was named as executive secretary of the committee, in charge of finding projects to raise funds over the summer. She spent countless hours channeling people into jobs, besides earning her own share of the contribution. “I started thinking about that temple and how we were the ones who’d be using it, not the older people who’d be gone someday. I dreamed of the day I’d go inside to be married and would look around and say, ‘It’s mine. I helped.’”
This same thought motivated many others. Making the dream come true had practical overtones, according to Kim Taylor. “A lot of us already had jobs, and we just decided we’d pledge as much as we could from our salaries. But we had to find jobs to raise money to meet the pledges of unworking kids. Before long everybody wanted to get in the act!”
Marilyn Crowther described the fantastic response of the people in the community. “This project got everybody interested in everyone else. It wasn’t just the temple. It was helping achieve a dream. If there weren’t jobs around someone’s place, people made them so the kids could get the money.”
The girls scraped and painted barns, tended children, bottled fruit, and did ironing. The boys did everything from washing cars to laying sewer pipe. And the money was raised. But not just money. So were spirits. Testimonies grew. Young people became active in the Church again. And one boy mentioned a powerful spiritual awakening.
Richard Knight, who is seventeen years old, talked of not being very active in the Church before this undertaking. “Church wasn’t a big thing in my life and I wasn’t praying anymore. Then when the bishop talked about this, I got excited about doing something big by ourselves. It was slow at first. We only earned about $500 the first month. And then I started to pray that this would come off and that people would help us find work. It has changed my life completely. It’s so great to have had to lean on the Lord and watch your prayers get answered. It’s so great.”
“I’d never sacrificed for anything in my life,” said David Saunders. “This project reminded me of what I’d learned in seminary about the Saints in Kirtland sacrificing for the temple in the early Church days. I was really thrilled to have a try—to see if I could sacrifice. And boy, we had to—movies, treats, clothes, records, family vacations, and especially our time. But we helped each other stick to it—and it worked!”
“I’ve always thought that now that I’ve helped pay for that temple, I’ll be sure to get married in it,” said Luann Winchester. This was a comment many of the youths made. The goal of temple marriage has new meaning for them now.
Kendell Kennington, a deacon, had a different point of view about all this. “When you’re my age, you always wish you were older because you can’t do anything—you can’t go to the teen dances or go on the Explorer trips or anything. Well, this time I was in on something with the older kids. And I learned a lot from working hard with the boys older than I am. I really liked it.”

Upon coming to BYU four years ago to teach, I was given the challenge of returning to school to obtain a PhD. Since the only university in the state of Utah to offer a PhD in nursing is the University of Utah—and already a number of faculty in the College of Nursing were graduates from that program—I was highly encouraged to look outside the state. Although moving does not seem like a big deal to most people, moving out of state would have been a major sacrifice for my family. We had settled in a new home and had three teenagers, and my wife had just begun her teaching career. And that wasn’t even considering my actual schooling.
As my wife and I spoke about the opinions, we prayed that I would find a program that would make it possible for us to remain in Utah while I furthered my education. I identified my research interests and looked for programs that matched these interests. I spoke to a number of individuals who gave me direction and advice. Included in this advice was the aforementioned assurance by the Spirit described by the Apostle Paul.
The result was that I was able to find an excellent doctoral program at the University of Colorado, which is ranked as one of the top 10 nursing programs in the country. Although there were issues of whether or not I would be accepted to that program, where we would live in the Denver area each summer, whether we would be able to find a loving ward that would accept summer “nomadic” visitors, and a few other minor inconveniences, everything fell right into place. It was amazing.
For the last three summers my family has packed up their belongings and placed their summer plans with friends on hold. Two of my teenagers delayed obtaining their driver’s licenses until we arrived back home in the fall. Precious summer vacation time was used so that everyone could go with me to Denver as I attended school. Yes, we did find housing and a great ward—the Summit View Ward in Highlands Ranch, Colorado, which made us feel welcome each summer.
We now can laugh at some of the minor inconveniences we experienced. We know that it was only through the calmness and assurance of the Spirit that we were able to move forward even when we did not have all the answers. I have been able to complete my course work, and my family and I were able to meet many individuals and have experiences we will never forget.

New Year’s Day of 1966 in Cebu City was not a particularly memorable day for Col. Sisinion G. Tutor and Dr. Avelina Lipio Tutor, both dentists by profession. An attending physician diagnosed the illness of their fourth child as poliomyelitis. And, a pall of gloom hovered in their home, realizing that Chilton Sisinio Lipio Tutor, Jr. (nicknamed Jun-Jun), their only son and then only six months old, will lead the life of a cripple.
On September 21, 1974, when Jun-Jun was only nine years old, fate took another turn. The military plane in which his father was a passenger crashlanded at Baloi airport in Iligan City, resulting in the death of all aboard. Consequently, the widowed Dr. Tutor had to return to her hometown in Rizal Province with the family (Maria Susana, Elizabeth, Rhodora, Jun-Jun and Evelina Chelo) where she began to start life anew as a dental practitioner.
Sometime in July, 1975, two young American missionaries brought the gospel to their home in Angono. On October 11, 1975, Dr. Tutor and her three teenager daughters were baptized at the Buendia Chapel in Makati, opening a new pathway in their lives.
Jun-Jun, of course, did not relish the thought of being left out in spiritual darkness—and, on April 24, 1976, he was born again, also at Buendia Chapel.
The first Sunday of the year 1977, with the Stake President in attendance at Cainta Branch (Rizal Province), 11-year old Bro. Tutor (he celebrates his 12th birthday on June 25) rendered his first testimony—a testimony that expressed unwavering love for the Lord.
A familiar sight every Sunday to onlookers along Methodist Road as he is carried to Church by a male cousin, Jun-Jun is all by himself a picture of deep and everlasting faith in the Eternal Father and in Jesus Christ.

On a winter day not long after her baptism, Renee found out one way in which the Holy Ghost would help and protect her. As she walked out the doors of her school, she thought she heard someone say, “Stop!” She hesitated and looked around. She couldn’t see anyone, so she started forward again. Once again, she thought she heard the voice say, “Stop!” She obeyed.
As soon as she stopped, a pile of snow with big chunks of ice slid off the roof of the building and landed right in front of her! Her heart beat fast as she looked at the snow pile. If those ice chunks had hit her head, she would have been badly hurt.
Renee knew that the Holy Ghost had warned her to stop. She knew that the Holy Ghost is the Helper that Nephi had promised. That night in her prayers, she thanked Heavenly Father for the gift of the Holy Ghost.

You can decide—and you must—to change what you say even when you can’t control what others say. But I know from my own experience that even in such a terrible situation you can count on God’s help. Years ago I was an air force officer serving for two years in an office with a marine colonel, an army colonel, and a grizzled navy commander. They had learned to speak in war and in peace in a way which offended me, and I know it repelled the Holy Ghost. I was at the time serving as a district missionary, trying in the evenings to go out to find people and teach them under the influence of the Holy Ghost. It was very hard. I was only a lieutenant. They were very senior to me. I had no way of changing their language. But I prayed for help. I don’t know how God did it, but in time their language changed. Slowly the profanity disappeared and then the vulgarity. Only when they drank liquor did it come back, but that was in the evenings, so I could excuse myself for missionary work.

I was sitting in a wonderful house where I live opposite the Marriott Center—pop in and say hi, but don’t all come at once!—one sunny fall day, and I was praying and reading section 136 of the Doctrine and Covenants. It made me weep with joy. President Brigham Young—at Winter Quarters, on the west bank of the Missouri River—wrote after the martyrdom of Brother Joseph:

The Word and Will of the Lord concerning the Camp of Israel in their journeyings to the West:
Let all the people of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and those who journey with them, be organized into companies.10

Those six short words—“and those who journey with them”—were like a fountain of truth and trust. I sat knowing that this scripture was another testimony of Jesus Christ in this new world—after all that had happened unexpectedly and crowning as it were the massive kindnesses overwhelming me. Traveling alongside this restored church means being a part of a fluid, happy, and repentant community. I am constantly delighted by the wonder of that invitation, not only to know ourselves as loved (“I am a child of God,”11 as you sing—that’s a dignity that nothing temporal can ever take away) but to continue becoming and building up one another in love, not being afraid to keep on growing.

Around my 14th birthday, I learned about some of these blessings. I noticed different behavior on the part of my parents. Considering what I observed, I asked, “Are we going on a mission?” The shock on my mother’s face confirmed my suspicion. Later, in a family council, my siblings and I learned that our parents had been called to preside over a mission.
We lived on a beautiful ranch in Wyoming. From my perspective, life was perfect. I could come home from school, complete my chores, and be off hunting, fishing, or exploring with my dog.
Shortly after learning of the calling, I realized that I would have to give up my dog, Blue. I confronted my father, asking what I should do with Blue. I wanted to emphasize the unfairness of what God was requiring. I will never forget this response. He said, “I’m not sure. He probably cannot go with us, so you had better ask Heavenly Father.” That was not the response I had anticipated.
I began reading the Book of Mormon. I earnestly prayed to know if I had to give my dog away. My answer did not come in a moment; rather, a specific thought kept penetrating my mind: “Don’t be a burden to your parents. Don’t be a burden. I have called your parents.”
I knew what Heavenly Father required. That knowledge did not reduce the pain of giving my dog away. However, through that small sacrifice, my heart softened and I found peace in seeking Heavenly Father’s will.
I thank my Heavenly Father for the blessings and happiness I found through the scriptures, prayer, the Holy Ghost, and a worthy earthly father who embraced his role as the principal gospel teacher of his children. They were leading me, guiding me, and even walking beside me to help me find the way—especially when I had to do something difficult.

Illustrations by David Malan
My family spent part of every summer with another family using set-netting to catch salmon near Bristol Bay, Alaska. Where we stayed, there were no roads, no trees, no electricity, and no other people for about 100 miles in any direction—just tundra. We could get there only by boat or a bush plane that landed on the beach. Our cabin was on a narrow strip of land, with ocean on the outside and a lagoon on the inside.
At the end of one summer when I was 15 or 16, I was with my father and our friend Ken to close up our operation for the year. We needed to get our small fishing skiffs to a location several miles away, and we had to move them when the tide was high enough to guarantee we’d make it.
As we approached high tide late in the day, Dad and Ken started driving the outboard-motor fishing skiff up the river through the lagoon. I was supposed to give them a head start of a couple of hours, drive our four-wheeler to pick them up at the old village, and then drive them the 10 miles back to our cabin to spend the night. It was a big responsibility, so I was feeling pretty proud. They reminded me to fill the gas tank on the four-wheeler before I left. In addition to wearing heavy chest waders and gloves, we generally took a pistol to scare away bears. My dad gave me his pistol just in case I needed it.
Later that day, I was almost to the meeting point when I glanced down at the four-wheeler gas gauge and was horrified to realize I was almost out of gas. My heart dropped—I had forgotten to fill the gas tank before I left. I started frantically running through options in my mind. Option one: go to the meeting place—if I even had enough gas to get there—and be stranded there with Dad and Ken since we wouldn’t have enough gas to get back to our cabin. We’d then walk the whole 10 miles (in deep sand) back to camp the next day. Or option two: start immediately heading back to camp in the four-wheeler and get as far as I could with the gas I had. That way I could walk the last 4–6 miles back to camp alone and get the other four-wheeler to pick up Dad and Ken. After weighing my decisions, I decided this second idea was the best option.
Just before turning around to return to the cabin, it occurred to me that I should say a prayer first. I said a short prayer asking what I should do. Right after I finished my prayer, I felt two words urging me, “Tell Dad!” I obeyed. I waddled in my bulky chest waders up to a high grassy sand dune to see if I could see Dad and Ken in the boat. I saw them, drove closer to where they were, about a half-mile out in the lagoon, shouted to them, and finally got their attention by firing the pistol into the air.
When my dad heard me fire the pistol, he hollered, “What is the matter?”
I shouted my reply with utter shame: “I forgot to fill the gas tank.”
He paused only for a second before shouting back, “We’ll just fill it with our extra outboard gas when we get to the end.”
I had forgotten that the outboard motors used the same gas that the four-wheelers did, and we had several extra cans in the skiff they were driving. But Heavenly Father knew, and He answered my prayer.

When I worked as a reporter for a local news station in south Texas, my news director assigned me to cover a high-profile case in federal court. The sheriff was facing some serious charges on money laundering and drug smuggling. But covering the courtroom case provided a challenge. Phones were not permitted in the federal courtroom. However, I received permission from the judge to take a laptop and tweet out anything I saw or heard in the courtroom. I was the eyes and ears of the community in that room. I was the one entrusted to communicate what was going on. But it wasn’t just what was said into the microphone that I could share. I was also able to observe the behaviors and demeanors of those on trial to tell the whole story. How did the defendant respond to witnesses? What did the judge say? Did the jurors physically show how they felt about the testimonies? I had to focus intently on observing everything that was said or shown in the room so that I could convey to the public what was happening.

I would like to share a personal experience of the Lord's grace. Please note that I am not the hero in the story; every good thing that came to pass was a gift of the Savior.

After teaching here for two years, I received a distinct prompting-a personal commandment-to get a Ph.D. in Statistics. My wife encouraged me to obey, and the university granted a temporary leave of absence. About two years after the prompting, I began a Ph.D. program in Statistics at Purdue University.

It was terrifying to be in graduate school on a strict timeline. The burden was overwhelming. I could recite the famous words of Nephi, "that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them."[21] I knew this was true for other people, but I did not liken it unto myself.[22] President Henry B. Eyring taught, "Faith is not simply to know God could do something. Faith is to know He will."[23] I realized I needed more faith.

Recognizing that my fear was not from God, I sought His help in prayer. In this process, strength was granted. My faith grew, leading to a deepened realization that the Lord knew all things. He already possessed all the statistical, research and writing skills I needed to develop. He knew the questions and answers for exams yet to be written. He knew every detail of my future research. All things are before him continually.[24] It was my responsibility and privilege to learn that our Savior is a personal teacher and tutor, who ministers one by one.[25] After much prayer and fasting that first semester, I received the calm assurance that the Lord would help me complete the degree in the allotted time. Doubt was completely replaced by faith.[26] The program was still difficult, but I approached it with peace and confidence.

We cherished the Sabbath day and enjoyed serving in our callings. Great care was required to balance family, church, and school responsibilities. After giving my best in earnest study and prayer, the Holy Ghost inspired solutions to homework and exam problems.[27] A suitable research topic eventually became apparent.

The process was still difficult, but I knew it would all work out-I just did not know how. The burden was not removed, but it was made light.[28] Our family memorized and recited a scripture that brought us comfort: "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths."[29]

The Savior, by His grace, magnified our offering. The assurance previously seen only with an eye of faith[30] yielded evidence as I completed the degree in the time allowed.[31]

During many summer vacations as a child, my family drove the long distance from our home in northern California to visit relatives in Utah. As a true city boy looking for adventure, I especially enjoyed our trips to my grandmother’s farm in southern Utah.
On the farm, my brothers, sisters, cousins, and I climbed to the tops of towering haystacks and then jumped off, flying down to a soft cushion of hay below. Next, we took turns on our uncle’s old tractors, grabbing the steering wheel and pretending we were racing across the field. After that, we balanced like tightrope walkers and made our way across the top of the rickety old fence rails that kept the cows corralled. The best fun, though, was riding old Blaze.
Blaze was a gentle, old, brown horse that loved kids to ride on her. When I was younger, I rode double with one of my older brothers or sisters. However, the summer I was about nine years old, I announced to everyone that I was old enough to ride Blaze all by myself. My parents agreed, so with a boost onto her back and some last-minute instructions from my uncle, I was riding Blaze all on my own like a real cowboy.
As I slowly guided Blaze into a partly fenced-in field, my family could see that I was handling Blaze as well as any professional cowboy. They left me to my fun and went inside Grandma’s old farmhouse. Holding the reins loosely in my hands as I sat atop the gentle horse, I felt like I was king of the world.
However, only a few minutes had passed when Blaze suddenly broke into a mad gallop. I pulled gently on the reins to slow her down, but she kept up her fast pace. I pulled harder on the reins and yelled, “Whoa!” But Blaze seemed to just go faster and faster. I kept tugging at the reins but didn’t dare pull too hard for fear that she would rear on her hind legs and buck me off.
I pulled again and again on the reins, but Blaze just kept on galloping out of control. My cries for her to stop turned into screams of panic as she raced from the safety of the field and away from the farmhouse while I bounced and jerked wildly in the saddle.
At a terrifying speed, she headed straight for an old tractor, swerving just in time to miss it. Racing like lightning, she headed next toward a wooden, railed fence. I thought for sure that we’d crash right into it, but Blaze swerved away again just in time.
No matter what I tried, I couldn’t control her at all. Eventually she galloped off the farm property onto the rarely used country road. With tears streaming from my eyes, I realized my situation had just grown considerably worse. I couldn’t stop her on my own, and it might be hours before anyone who could help me might venture this way. I could end up lost, miles away from my grandma’s farmhouse, before Blaze ever came to a stop or threw me off her back.
At that moment, I realized that there was only one thing left for me to do. I prayed with all my heart. I prayed in my mind, and I prayed out loud. I knew that Heavenly Father would hear my prayers and that He could help me.
It wasn’t long after my prayers that an old truck came barreling down the road. The man driving it saw right away that I needed help. Driving alongside the galloping horse and me, the man yelled from his truck window, “Pull on the reins!”
I pulled, but Blaze kept running. The man yelled for me to pull harder. Even though I was still afraid that Blaze might rear back, I pulled back even harder on the reins than I had tried before. Blaze kept on racing.
“Pull harder!” yelled the man.
I was afraid to pull any harder, but I realized that the man knew more about horses than I did. So, gathering all my strength, I pulled as hard as I could on the reins. Blaze didn’t stop at first, but with the man’s continual urging, the horse finally slowed to a complete stop.
The man in the truck pulled off to the side of the road and hopped out. My whole body shook as he helped me down off the horse. When I told him that Blaze was usually a mild-mannered horse, he explained that even the gentlest horse might break into a run if its rider holds the reins too loosely.
After thanking the man for his help and assuring him that I was OK, I started the long way back to the farmhouse, leading Blaze by the reins. As I walked, I realized that some people might say that the man coming by when he did was just a coincidence. But I knew differently. It was a direct answer to my prayers. Heavenly Father knew ahead of time that I would need help when I did. He inspired a man who knew a lot more about horses than I did to drive his truck down a lonely county road. I know with all my heart, that Heavenly Father answered the prayers of a terrified young boy who couldn’t stop a galloping horse on his own.

“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.

“Kim was born in the dead of winter, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to pull through. So you see, my little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”

I should like to conclude by relating one recent experience which had an impact on hundreds. It occurred at the cultural celebration for the Kansas City Temple, just five months ago. As with so much that happens in our lives, at the time it seemed to be just another experience where everything worked out. However, as I learned of the circumstances associated with the cultural celebration the evening before the temple was dedicated, I realized that the performance that night was not ordinary. Rather, it was quite remarkable.
As with all cultural events held in conjunction with temple dedications, the youth in the Kansas City Missouri Temple District had rehearsed the performance in separate groups in their own areas. The plan was that they would meet all together in the large rented municipal center on the Saturday morning of the performance so that they could learn when and where to enter, where they were to stand, how much space should be between them and the person next to them, how to exit the main floor, and so forth—many details which they would have to grasp during the day as those in charge put the various scenes together so that the final performance would be polished and professional.
There was just one major problem that day. The entire production was dependent on prerecorded segments that would be shown on the large screen known as a Jumbotron. These recorded segments were critical to the entire production. They not only tied it all together, but each televised segment would introduce the next performance. The video segments provided the framework on which the entire production depended. And the Jumbotron was not working.
Technicians worked frantically to solve the problem while the youth waited, hundreds of them, losing precious rehearsal time. The situation began to look impossible.
The writer and director of the celebration, Susan Cooper, later explained: “As we moved from plan A to B to Z, we knew that it wasn’t working. … As we were looking at the schedule, we knew that it was going to be beyond us, but we knew that we had one of the greatest strengths on the floor below—3,000 youth. We needed to go down and tell [them] what was happening and draw upon their faith.”3
Just an hour before the audience would begin to enter the center, 3,000 youth knelt on the floor and prayed together. They prayed that those working on the Jumbotron would be inspired to know what to do to repair it; they asked their Heavenly Father to make up for what they themselves could not do because of the shortage of time.
Said one who wrote about it afterward, “It was a prayer the youth will never forget, not because the floor was hard, but because the Spirit melted their bones.”4
It was not long before one of the technicians came to tell them that the problem had been discovered and corrected. He attributed the solution to luck, but all those youth knew better.
When we entered the municipal center that evening, we had no idea of the difficulties of the day. Only later did we learn of them. What we witnessed, however, was a beautiful, polished performance—one of the best I have seen. The youth radiated a glorious, powerful spirit which was felt by all who were present. They seemed to know just where to enter, where to stand, and how to interact with all the other performers around them. When I learned that their rehearsals had been cut short and that many of the numbers had not been rehearsed by the entire group, I was astonished. No one would have known. The Lord had indeed made up the difference.

I would like to take you back four and a half years ago to the 2002 Olympic Winter Games held in Salt Lake City. Jimmy Shea, from the United States, competed in the sport of skeleton, where the athlete lies on his stomach on a sled and goes head first down the track at over 80 miles per hour. Jimmy had been one of the leaders on the World Cup circuit in previous years, but in the season leading up to the Olympic Games, his results were disappointing.
Jimmy came from a unique family of Olympians: the first three generation Olympic family. His grandfather, Jack Shea won two gold medals in speed skating in the 1932 Games. His father was also an Olympian. Jimmy was hopeful of having them both there to cheer him on. Tragically, his grandfather died shortly before the Games as a result of a car accident with a drunk driver. Jimmy pressed on in the memory of his grandfather.
I was fortunate to be there the day of the event to watch history unfold. During the skeleton competition, the athletes make two runs and the total time determines the final standings. No one expected much from Jimmy due to his recent results on the World Cup circuit. Everyone was stunned when after the first run when he held the lead by a fraction of a second. For the second run, they go in the reverse order of their standing. Jimmy would go last. A light snow was falling, potentially slowing the track for the later competitors.
The competitor just before Jimmy, who was in second place, had a great second run. Next up: Jimmy. As he went down the track, the gap between him and second place narrowed. An expert commented, "Jimmy's going the wrong way." Near the bottom, Jimmy lost his lead by one one-hundredth of a second. Then came Jimmy's 'Moment of Truth.' Turns 13, 14 and 15 were Jimmy's specialty. He stunned the crowd by regaining the lead through those turns and winning the gold medal. As he jumped from his sled, he removed his helmet and pulled out a picture of his grandfather for all to see. The crowd erupted in celebration. His mother took out two security guards to get to her son for an embrace. This was one of the great stories of the Olympic Games.
Now, let me tell you the rest of the story. The reason Jimmy had trouble on the World Cup circuit in the season leading up to the Games was due to a circulatory disorder in one of his legs that left it at only 70% in strength. This would greatly affect his running start, a key element to a successful run. Jimmy didn't want anyone to know of his injury to avoid excuses. But he knew he had to do something different to prepare. He dedicated himself like no other athlete to know the Olympic track. He arose very early every morning to walk the track at 6:00am step by step to find the perfect lines to run. Through his dedicated preparation, he found a unique line to run through turns 13, 14 and 15 that would allow him to compete for the gold medal. It paid off. When Jimmy's 'Moment of Truth' came, he was prepared.

Three months passed before doctors diagnosed his problem—a rare neurological condition. By then it was too late for him to return to the mission field, but he didn’t stop being a missionary. After eight years of friendship with Daniel, Kristen finally agreed to learn about the gospel. She hadn’t believed in Christ—until Daniel began teaching her. Then I knew I was witnessing another miracle.
Two weeks before Daniel had originally been scheduled to come home, Kristen was baptized. Daniel’s most difficult trial had turned into a precious blessing.