Gospel Story Finder

I often like to think of the story about my nana, my dad’s grandmother, who lived on a diet of fish and chips and Neapolitan ice cream, exclusively. Our visits were always enjoyable for this reason, as well as for others. At a family funeral, I have been told that Nana took my dad to one side to a nearby grave and told him, “This is where I’m going to be buried, and after me there’s still one space left. It’s yours if you want it!” My dad has since offered the space to me, but I think I may yet save it and offer it to my son one day. I like this story because it gives me an insight into where my dad’s family’s humour comes from, and it’s a memory worth holding on to so that it can be shared for years to come.

Hironui Johnston, 16, and his sister Merirani, 15, spend a lot of time at the Papeete Tahiti Temple.
They aren’t performing baptisms for the dead, except for a couple times each year. They aren’t even inside the temple. They’re on the temple grounds—not gardening or doing some other service project—just sitting or walking around. But always looking.
“I love to see the temple,” says Merirani. “We have a lot of good memories here.”
Hironui and Merirani go to the temple grounds because of how they feel there. It’s a place where they can get away from the world.
“Our neighborhood isn’t bad, but there are some bad kids there,” says Hironui. “So we spend time here. It feels so good to be on the temple grounds.”
Sometimes their whole family comes, whether for a family home evening activity or just to spend time together.
“Sometimes when we aren’t getting along, we come here to put things right again,” Hironui says. But even when the Johnstons aren’t at the temple, the temple is part of their lives.
“I think we have a picture of the temple in every room in our house,” Hironui says. “It’s beautiful. It reminds us that our family can be together forever. Seeing it helps us feel the same peaceful spirit.”
Hironui and Merirani are part of the first generation of Tahitian members who don’t know what Tahiti was like without the temple, which is now more than 20 years old.
“We watch our parents go to the temple,” says Hironui. “We see them living worthy to go. We see how their temple attendance blesses us, and we choose to follow them.”
That love for the temple, which began with the Johnstons’ parents, has been passed on to Hironui and Merirani. And it won’t end there. Their actions can pass it on to the next generation.
“I want to have children someday,” says Merirani. “I want to teach them that the temple is the house of the Lord and that if we are faithful we can be together forever because of the temple.”
“The Lord has given us a real blessing by building His house in our land,” Merirani says. “But the greatest blessing is that through the ordinances of the temple, our ancestors and families can be sealed together, and we can all live with our Father again. I would do anything for that blessing.”

Nearly 20 years ago, our fifth son, Benjamin, was born. My wife sensed that something wasn’t right with Benjamin’s eyes. We consulted a close friend and retinal specialist in our ward, who confirmed our concerns and diagnosed Benjamin’s condition as retinal blastoma, a rare form of cancer of the eye. The news was devastating.

A few weeks later, Benjamin was to have the first of many surgical treatments. Prior to the operation we met with the surgeon and told him that we believed that he would find that Benjamin’s eye would be healed and not need to be removed. Our entire family and many ward members were fasting and praying for our son, and we had great faith that Benjamin would be healed.

An hour later, the surgeon returned and confirmed that Benjamin’s eye had been destroyed by the tumor cells and that his other eye also had several serious tumors that needed immediate treatment. I was speechless. Completely overcome with grief and disbelief, I walked out of the hospital into the damp San Francisco morning and began to walk, weeping bitterly.

I had done everything I had been taught to do. We had prayed and received a strong impression to select this doctor. We had fasted and prayed and felt certain that our infant son would be healed through faith and through the power of the priesthood. Yet the Lord had not intervened. Our faith it seems had been no more than vain hope. I began to question everything I had ever believed. As I walked, I felt betrayed and angry. I was overcome with pain.

I am not proud of the conversation I had with Heavenly Father as I walked and wept that morning. After a time, I got hold of myself emotionally. I remember the words of a children’s Primary song coming into my mind. “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?” Because you clearly haven’t been listening to mine or maybe you just don’t really care about me and my son. (“A Child’s Prayer,” Children’s Songbook, 12.)

In that moment, a tender mercy came. In my mind and heart, I felt these words: “Kevin, he is my son too.” The clarity of the prompting was unmistakable. I realized in that moment that I had not understood the purpose of prayer at all. I had assumed that, just because I had a righteous cause, I could use the priesthood and fasting and prayer to change the will of God.

For the first time in my life, I fully realized that I was not in charge. I knew that I needed to submit to Heavenly Father’s will. I couldn’t have what I wanted when and how I wanted it just because I was keeping the commandments. The purpose of prayer was not to tell Heavenly Father what to do, rather to find out what He would have me do and learn. I needed to align my will with His.

We would face another six years of serious challenges as we battled our little son’s condition to save his other eye and his life. But I now knew that Heavenly Father was aware and in charge. And no matter how things ultimately worked out, He had heard and answered my prayer. Today our miracle son is serving a full-time mission in Spain.

One night before bed I was thinking about what to pray for when I felt prompted to pray for my uncle’s family. I prayed that they would feel the Spirit. Two days later I learned that my uncle had lost his job and that his family would have to move.
It was then I realized that what I had prayed for was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, and I felt grateful that I had listened to the still small voice. In a situation where I could not do much else to help, I felt good knowing my prayers could help. Sometimes instances like this may seem insignificant, but I know that seeking personal revelation, listening to promptings, and following them—even small ones—can increase our faith and strengthen others.

When Princella was looking for a Personal Progress project, she didn’t have to look far. In her own branch was a humanitarian aid missionary, Sister Thompson, struggling to teach English to the town’s adults. Since most people in Nsawam don’t speak any English and Sister Thompson doesn’t speak the local Twi dialect, she was having a difficult time communicating with her students.
Enter Princella, who learned English in school and speaks the four regional dialects, including Twi. She was perfect for the job. She could communicate with everyone.
“The project of helping in the literacy class came to my mind when I got to the knowledge value,” said Princella. “At first I felt it was too much to go stand in front of my mothers and fathers [the adults of her town] and teach them English. For the first and second week, it was not easy because they felt I was there to make a mockery of them, but then I had the opportunity to explain myself.” After that, things went smoothly, and communication between the teenage teacher and adult students was much more effective.
After completing her project, Princella considered leaving the class but decided against it. She says, “The literacy class is very interesting, and I never want to leave.” Princella continues to serve with love, remembering that those who serve others also serve God.

My priests quorum was pretty much like any other quorum. We had an adviser, inspiring lessons by the bishop, assistants to the bishop, and then the rest of us. Our ward was neither huge nor small, but we had a number of members who seldom or never came to any meetings. In one particular quorum meeting we spent a lot of time discussing those young men who had not been to church in a while. Brother Wheeler, our quorum adviser, had prepared a list.
When I was young, many considered me shy and quiet, and I did not especially go out of my way to make noise or be seen. I was not the first to volunteer to visit the young men on Brother Wheeler’s list. All he was asking was for us to pick a name, make a friendly visit, and invite them to our upcoming weekly activities.
Hands went up when Brother Wheeler called out names from this list. He said it was a plus if you were already friends, neighbors, or schoolmates. I started to feel guilty as the list grew smaller and smaller. Finally there was one name left. The other boys were chatting about their plans of how they were going to take care of this assignment. Brother Wheeler looked at the name on the list and then at me. I lifted my hand. Smiling, he wrote down the boy’s name and sketched a map for me. He said the family had moved in a while ago and a visit could really benefit the young man.
We lived in an area of southeast Idaho where it was a mixture of farms and homes. Many of the parents commuted to work in town. As in many communities like this, we were fairly close-knit, and everyone pretty much knew everyone else. But I didn’t recognize the name I was given, nor did anyone else in our quorum.
Sunday passed, and I considered the name I’d received. Monday came and went. I still considered. Tuesday passed, and I considered with increasing gravity. How was I going to approach a total stranger and ask him to come to church?
Wednesday came, and my consideration began to change into worry. The week was already passing by, and all I could consider was a gut feeling of dread. This young man I was to visit had never been seen at church, he had never been seen at Scouts, he had never been seen at school, he had never even been seen, period.
The school bus dropped me off at my house. I pulled out the folded note I had been carrying with me since Sunday. The young man’s house was about two-and-a-half miles from mine. I wanted to get it over with and release this burden. I told my sister where I was going and, with grim determination, headed out.
Imagination fed on anticipation. I pictured a family where the dad answered the door with a shotgun in his hands and vicious dogs were ready to attack. I walked half a mile. I pictured a family that only spoke Russian. I walked along. I pictured a family with so much wealth that they only wore tuxedos and ball gowns. Was this how Nephi and Sam felt while they were on their way to get the brass plates? Or worse, perhaps this is how Laman and Lemuel felt. Suddenly, there I was in front of the house.
I rang the doorbell. I heard heavy footsteps. The door swung open, and an older man stood there. He looked at me. “Hello,” he said.
A rush of relief came over me. He was not holding a shotgun, he spoke English, and he was not wearing a tuxedo. “Uh, can uh …” I looked at my note. I couldn’t remember his name. “… Bill …” I couldn’t think straight. “… play?” I finally blurted out. I felt like a little kid. What kind of word had I used? “Play?”
The man looked very surprised.
“Is Bill … available?” I corrected myself. Did I read the map wrong? Was I at the wrong house? “Does a Bill, Billy, or even a William live here?”
The man’s expression changed from confusion to smiling enlightenment. “Oh, yes, of course. Come in. You must be from the ward. Brother Wheeler called last week and told me someone would be coming.”
An entire flood of relief swept through me. I followed the man through the front room, past the kitchen, down a hallway, to a bedroom. The house was neat and modest. I saw a picture of the Salt Lake Temple on the wall. The Ensign magazine sat on the kitchen table, opened. I saw scriptures on the shelf. “But these people never come to church,” I thought with more than a touch of confusion. And what about Bill, who was a total hermit apparently—and a very lazy one, because it appeared he was still sleeping.
The man softly knocked. “Billy?” he said as he gently opened the door.
Instantly everything was explained. I felt so small. A wheelchair and a hospital bed sat in the center of the room.
An emaciated boy lay there staring out the window. He turned his head to look at us. His eyes widened. “Help me sit up, Father. Do I have company? What is your name?”
I did not have to worry about carrying the conversation; Billy was very good at assisting me with that. I returned regularly to his house for the next several weeks. I brought various games; he especially liked chess. I learned that he was actually a foster child and had not seen his birth parents for years. Billy’s disease was critical, and the older couple he was now with had taken him in so that he wouldn’t have to stay by himself in the hospital. He was a member of the Church but could only remember being baptized.
Brother Wheeler arranged for us to have our priests quorum meet for class at Billy’s home. His bed had been moved to the front room to help accommodate the extra visitors. Our bishop came and even helped bless the sacrament for Billy and his foster parents.
I felt pretty good about the whole thing. Over the past few months I had made a friend, and I had helped this friend make other friends in our quorum. I did not anticipate the phone call I received from the bishop later that week. He told me he had interviewed Billy and found him worthy to hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Billy had asked the bishop if I could ordain him.
We held our priesthood meeting again at Billy’s house the following Sunday. I do not remember what I said during the ordination. I do remember Billy’s smile and the tears he was pushing back—the tears Brother Wheeler, the bishop, and all of us were pushing back.
A few weeks later, Billy was not available for “playing” anymore. His condition had worsened, and he spent most of the time in the hospital. About six months from my first meeting with Billy, he died.
Now what I remember most about Billy is not what I did for him on my visits, but what he did for me. A young man whose name I came to know from a simple list had become one of the most treasured memories of my youth.

One day I was working around our yard with my electric hedge clippers and long extension cord. I had done this often, each time reminding myself to be careful and avoid cutting things that I shouldn’t.
Suddenly the blades became jammed. Because I had not seen the power cord in the thicket where I was trimming, I had cut into the source of the electrical power that made the hedge clippers work.
Isn’t that one of life’s great lessons? I thought. Power, if misused, can cut into the very source of that power.

When I was a little girl and throughout my youth, my father would come into my room each night and ask me about my day. I can’t remember much of what I said to him; I just remember that he would listen. He showed he cared enough about me to give his time to me. Because of that, I adored my father and trusted the things he said. Just by being kind and interested in me, he made me feel like I put the moon in the sky!

“Just right,” Andi thought as she quickly looked in the mirror. She was wearing her favorite red dress. She always wanted to look her best on Sundays. She ran down to breakfast.
Andi was just finishing her last piece of toast when the Reeders’ car horn honked from the driveway. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” Andi said, kissing them as she ran out the door.
Even though Mom and Dad were not members of the Church, they encouraged Andi to go to church each week. The Reeder family had given her a ride almost every Sunday since she had been baptized and confirmed. Andi liked how they always made her feel so welcome and loved.
After sacrament meeting it was time for Primary. Andi loved being in Brother and Sister Long’s Valiant class. They were kind, and their lessons were always the best.
“Today we’re going to talk about temples,” Sister Long said. “What are some things we know about temples?”
Andi knew one answer: “We can do temple baptisms.” She was excited about that because every year the young women in her ward made a trip to the temple to do baptisms. Soon Andi could go too!
“Great, Andi. What else do we know?”
“You can be married in the temple,” said Andi’s friend Allison.
“Very good,” said Sister Long. “Anything else?”
“Families can be together forever when they’re sealed in the temple,” Allison added.
“But not my family,” thought Andi. “Mom and Dad haven’t been sealed in the temple!” Suddenly her face felt hot, and her eyes began to sting with tears.
“Are you OK, Andi?” asked Sister Long.
“Yes,” Andi sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. But she could feel her heart pounding all through the rest of the lesson.
When class was over, Sister Long sat by Andi and put an arm around her. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I won’t be with my mom and dad forever,” Andi said. “They haven’t been married in the temple. Who will I belong to after I die? Does Heavenly Father still love me even if my parents aren’t members?”
Sister Long looked directly into Andi’s eyes. “No matter who you are and no matter if your family has been to the temple or not, you are still part of Heavenly Father’s family. You can stay close to Him and be an example to others. He will always love, guide, and protect you, no matter what. He wants to bless you and your family. You are a child of God, Andi.”
Just then Andi’s heart seemed to skip a beat, and the pounding stopped. Now a warm feeling filled her heart instead. She knew what her teacher had said was true.

Rain poured from the sky as Katie dashed from under the awning of Fitzgerald’s. She vaulted into the passenger seat of the car waiting at the curb with her brother, Mike, at the wheel.
“It would start to rain as I get off work,” Katie said dismally, flipping down the visor mirror to stare at her sodden hair.
Mike laughed at the face she was making and pulled into traffic.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Katie said. “Fitzgerald’s is having a sale on men’s white dress shirts—in case you need a few more for your collection.”
“I think Mom bought three or four dozen. Do you think 10 ties is enough?”
“I’d better send you some for Christmas.”
“Don’t forget socks,” Mike reminded her. “And cookies.”
“They’ll be stale by the time they get to Brazil.”
“I can’t go two years without chocolate chip cookies.”
Katie said softly, “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone in a week.”
Mike pulled into their driveway. The rain kept falling. “Gotta make a run for it,” he said.
Katie reached out a hand. “No, Mike, wait. You know, this might be our last chance to talk.”
“You mean you’re never going to speak to me again?” Mike asked in mock horror.
“You know what I mean. Tomorrow Dad’s taking you fishing. Sunday is the farewell, Monday is the good-bye party, and Tuesday you drive to Utah while I work.”
Katie’s eyes blurred as she looked through the drumming rain. She and Mike were only 11 months apart and had grown up practically like twins. They had run track together, fished, camped, had the same friends, and gone to Saturday night dances together. When no one else would listen, Mike always did. But now it was hard to express what she wanted to ask him.
“What’s up, Katie?”
“It’s just … why are you going on a mission?”
“Well,” he began, “I’ve taken the missionary prep class, gone on splits with the full-time elders, saved my money …” He stopped. “I guess that doesn’t really answer the question, huh? I’m going because I’ve got a testimony of the gospel. Does that sound too spiritual?”
Katie shook her head. “You really have a testimony? No doubts, nothing?”
He looked at her questioningly. “I’ve never had doubts; neither have you. Hey, you’ve been Laurel class president.”
“Being the Laurel class president doesn’t automatically give you a testimony.”
Mike stared at her in disbelief. “We’ve been together our whole lives: church, seminary, sunrise testimony meetings; of course you have a testimony.”
Katie’s voice shook. “No, I don’t Mike.” I’ve never told this to anyone, but I really don’t know. How can people say they know?”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Mike said softly.
“Don’t look so shocked, Michael. It’s not the end of the world.”
“How can you go on a mission or get married in the temple? All the big things, I just don’t get it.”
“I’m not planning on getting married next month.”
Mike shook his head. “Your testimony is the most important thing in the world.”
“But what is a testimony?” she challenged.
Meeting the rise in her voice, he quickly said, “A knowledge and belief that the Church is true.”
“How do you get it?”
“Through study, prayer, fasting.”
“The usual, typical answers. Is that how you got it?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?”
“I just felt it. I’ve always known.”
“But what does it feel like?”
He sighed. “I don’t know how to explain.”
“No one can tell me. Not my seminary teacher, not my leaders, and not you.”
“I thought I knew you better than anyone else, and now it’s like I don’t.”
Katie bit her lip. “You’re not helping me. You’re only making me feel bad.”
“But you have to have a testimony,” he insisted.
“Right.” She opened the car door. “Out of everybody in this world, I thought you’d be the one to listen and understand. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” Katie got out of the car and slammed the door.
The next morning, Katie stayed in bed until after Dad and Mike had left for the lake. When she came downstairs, she found her mother at the kitchen table eating breakfast.
“I’m just wondering what’s up between you and Mike?” Mom said.
Katie became wary. “Nothing.”
“Actually,” Mom confessed, “Mike told us about your conversation last night.”
Katie set down the milk. “He had no right to tell you that! I confided in him.”
“You’ve been so close. I think he was very shaken by what you told him,” Mom said soothingly.
“Now my whole family thinks I’m apostatizing.”
“I never knew you had concerns about your feelings. I wish you had come to Dad and me.”
“It seems like everybody has a testimony, except me. I thought I was weird or something.”
Mom was thoughtful. “There are probably more people in your shoes than you realize, especially teenagers. We’re not born with a testimony. It takes time, lots of prayer, and seeking for the Spirit. Growing up in the Church can make it harder because it’s always around you. From the time you’re in nursery, it’s something you hear about and learn about every day. It might be harder to recognize because it’s so much a part of you.”
“You’re probably right,” Katie admitted.
Mom leaned forward. “Of course, I don’t recommend going out in the world and ignoring your standards just to see how other people live. Your father and I did that before the missionaries came to our door 20 years ago. We had even decided not to have children.”
“I didn’t know that,” Katie said.
“It’s a sad way to live. When I felt the Holy Ghost bearing the truth to my heart that what the elders were telling me was true, it was so different from anything I’d ever felt, I didn’t have any doubts it was from God.”
“I wish I could have that,” Katie said. “But sometimes I don’t think I feel anything.”
“You might be feeling more than you realize. It just takes careful listening. Having a desire to know is the first step. It will come if you seek it. Jesus Christ himself told us that.”
Even after talking with her mother, Katie had a hard time feeling forgiveness toward Mike. She felt like he’d betrayed her deepest feelings. On Tuesday morning she stood barefoot in the damp grass and saw her family off. She hugged Mom and Dad, then stood awkwardly as Mike put his arms around her and squeezed her.
He whispered, “Please don’t be mad anymore. I need your love to make it the next two years. Write to me, okay?”
She nodded, unable to speak. The car pulled away, and Dad tooted the horn.
She was alone. Even though she had to work every day until her parents returned, the next few days would be time by herself. Time to really think, meditate, read, pray and hopefully get some answers.
She went into the house and grabbed her scriptures. A testimony of the gospel, of the Church. It sounded trite, somehow, and that had always bothered her. There were so many doctrines to have a testimony of. What did it really mean?
She turned to the Topical Guide under testimony and testify and read until she had to get ready for work. The basic foundation was a testimony of Jesus Christ, which made sense. That’s where she needed to start.
A few minutes after Katie checked in at work, she was throwing a pile of newspapers out when a headline in the metro section caught her eye: “Top 10 Reasons People Pick Their Church.” She put it in her purse.
The words ran through her mind. How could there be more than one or two reasons people decide which church to join? Wasn’t the church’s beliefs and doctrine the most important thing?
After her shift, Katie spread open the article. A journalist had conducted a local survey among members of various churches and asked them to list the reasons they had chosen the church they currently attended. The results had been listed in order of the most popular.
The church had a good day-care center close to work.
The church had a good preschool or private school.
The church was close to where they lived.
Their friends attended that church.
They liked the beauty of the church.
The church had a good choir they wanted to join.
The church had a youth program.
They had grown up attending that church.
They liked the minister.
They agreed with the doctrines or beliefs.
Katie set down the paper. Incredible. What she had assumed to be the number one reason was actually the last reason people in her community picked their church.
Had she been going to church because of social reasons and not because of a testimony? But it wasn’t because she didn’t want a testimony. She did. It just seemed like such an elusive thing. She almost felt guilty that she would be going to BYU without a testimony.
Every night that week she lay in bed thinking about the Savior, the scriptures she had read, and her pleading prayers for answers. After several days Katie finally felt the troubled, worried feelings disappearing. She knew she was beginning to feel peace. Her testimony would come, just as Mom said it would. She had to have confidence in the Lord.
Katie sat up and switched on the lamp. She picked up her scriptures and went back to section 9 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She’d read the verses about having a burning in her heart so often she had it memorized. Why couldn’t she have that burning?
Slowly she turned the pages, reading verses at random. Section 6 caught her eye. The Lord was speaking to Oliver Cowdery. “Cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23).
Katie sank back against the pillows. She knew she had felt peace. And now she knew it was from God. She glanced down at the page and another passage seemed to strike at her heart: “Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God, and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love. Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (D&C 6:20–21).
Oh, to feel the love of the Savior as if she were encircled by his arms! Tears came to her eyes as she thought about Mike. She shouldn’t have let him go without telling him she loved him. She thought he had betrayed her, but now she realized that she had deserted him also.
It was almost midnight, but she couldn’t go to sleep. She grabbed her pen and started to write.
Dear Mike, I’ve finally had some questions answered. Probably the best person answered them, too. The one that counts. Maybe I wanted to be struck by lightning or have a revelation or something. But it was even better than that. Now I can know deep inside my heart, where it will never leave.
I’m sorry for how I acted when you left for Utah. I guess I was angry with you for breaking my confidence, but now I know I hurt you also and I wish I could go back and re-do all your last days at home. Would you please forgive me? I do know that you’re going to be a great missionary, and I’m rooting for you! With all my love, Your sis, Katie.
She folded the letter, got in her pajamas, and went to find her brother’s address.

My family lived in São Paulo, Brazil. On the other side of our street, there was a forest of mangrove trees. Mangrove forests have rivers crossing through the trees. The ground is very muddy.
Many people built houses on that muddy ground. They put huge logs in the mud. Then they built their house on top of them. But when it rained, the river overflowed. The water got into their houses. Then the people had nowhere to sleep at night.
When that happened, my father would invite all of them into our home. Sometimes there were as many as 15 people! He brought them into our living room and gave them blankets. Mom made them something to eat. Then they slept in our house until the next day.
This happened at least three or four times. I remember thinking, “Not very many people would take strangers in.” My father was letting people we barely knew sleep in our house! But then I thought, “They have nowhere else to go.”
My parents always did things to help people. But their service was more than just helping and giving. It was showing love to our neighbor, even when our neighbor was somebody we didn’t know well.

His house key is in the lock. He’s home from work and about to step inside. In the kitchen, real life is scattered all around. The baby is crying. The three-year-old just poured milk—not in a glass but all over the counter. The seven-year-old needs some daddy attention. And dinner isn’t ready.
With a deadline at work tomorrow, a head buzzing from rush-hour traffic, and a Church meeting tonight, he’s hoping she will greet him with some relief.
Hearing him come in, she is glad a relief party has arrived! But when she sees his face fall as he looks around, she defends herself: “Look—I work all day too. I’ve been with these kids nonstop, and I really need a break. Will you please fix this macaroni and cheese and help with the kids?”
In the heat of her request, his hope evaporates into exasperation, and he is about to react.
At this crossroads of their busy day, these two have some choices. Will they use this moment to practice being the kind of companion each has covenanted to become? Or will each one default to past conditioning—familial and cultural? Certain attitudes and ideas have crept into the very air they breathe, challenging them as they try to work with each other rather than against each other.
That couple we saw at the kitchen threshold share a commitment to the promise of eternal family unity. But equal partnerships are not made in heaven—they are made on earth, one choice at a time, one conversation at a time, one threshold crossing at a time. And getting there is hard work—like patiently working through differing assumptions about who was bringing relief to whom that night or any of thousands of nights like it.
As milk drips from the counter, she holds a box of macaroni and cheese in her hand, he faces a deadline and a meeting, and both feel the pull of weariness on their faces. How would people in a covenant, balanced relationship handle such a moment, and how could the next few moments help create an equal partnership?
Young wife, do you see in him someone who has worked all day to bring sustenance to your table? Young husband, do you see in her someone who has worked all day to make nourishment of that sustenance? Can you both see beyond the doing of the day and remember the inestimable worth of the being to whom you are married?

Except for the scriptures, I have never in my life read anything that has meant more to me than the July New Era, especially “Young Women Fireside 1980.” It truly brought tears to my eyes and strengthened my testimony of the gospel.
I am a 17-year-old girl who has been a member of the Church for just over two years. My parents are not members, and my family situation leaves a lot to be desired. During the past year I have spent time in the hospital because I was going to kill myself. I couldn’t handle things on my own anymore. With the help of the Church, I have been placed in a foster home and am doing great. I’ve come a long way in the past 4 1/2 months but still have a longer way to go. It really feels great to know that the Church is behind me 100 percent and that my brothers and sisters will always be there when I need them. When the Young Women fireside was broadcast, I was still very confused and didn’t go to it. I really wasn’t ready to hear it then. I’ve found that Heavenly Father only lets things occur when he knows we’re ready to handle them.
As I later read the talks in the New Era I felt as if every single speaker was talking to me personally, and I felt so full of the Spirit that I cried, as I am crying now. The youth of the Church don’t know how lucky they are to have the gospel in their lives and to have parents who love them very much. I’ve been on both sides of the street, and I know what it’s like. I know the Church is true with all that I am, and I thank my Heavenly Father every day for bringing it into my life.
Name Withheld

We have two dogs, Lady and Boo. We were going to go and fly our kites for family home evening when the dogs got out of the backyard and ran away.
We went to look for them. Our dad took the truck, and we took the van with my mom. We drove around and looked for a long time, but we couldn’t find them. Then my mom suggested that we say a prayer and ask for help. I said the prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to help guide me to find the dogs and prayed that they would be OK.
Right after I said the prayer, I thought about the dogs, and then I had a feeling about where we should go. I told my mom that we needed to go straight for a long time. When we got to the right street, I told my mom to turn right. We turned toward a church, and I told my mom to keep going. Then I told my mom that I had a feeling that next time we needed to turn left, but that it was not for a little while.
My mom was afraid that we were getting too far away, but I had a feeling that it was the right way. When we got to the church, I told my mom to turn left. The dogs were right in front of us! I had followed the Spirit, and with the Lord’s help I was able to lead my mom right to the dogs.
Lady had gone for a swim in the canal, so she was all muddy, but they were just fine. My dad came and picked them up in the truck, and we brought them home.
We said a thank-you prayer, and then we were able to go and fly our kites. I am so thankful that Heavenly Father answered my prayer. I learned that following the Spirit is the best. I’m glad that my dogs, Lady and Boo, are OK.

When I first started my academic career I had occasional contact with a very driven professional colleague. He had finished a Ph.D. at the University of Michigan in economics with an emphasis in public finance. Soon he was in high demand to discuss public finance with public and private officials all over the US. He was in demand because he could explain terms like revenue elasticity or dead-weight loss in a manner that people and groups could understand. He was also an accomplished analyst. When he spoke people understood and his observations were generally on target and devoid of rhetoric. He was respected by fellow academics and his work was published in the best academic journals in his field.

Early in his career he discovered the concept of frequent flyer miles. He not only discovered them he embraced them. Frequent flyer miles became an obsession to him. Frequent flyer miles were placed on his vertical axis and on his horizontal axis was time and he wanted the line to be increasing at an increasing rate. His obsession was so strong that if he was going to Austin, Texas he would not take a direct flight but would take a series of flights, Chicago to New York to Miami and Miami to Austin. Such a route would allow him to accumulate thousands of extra miles on each trip. I found out this practice when I had a chance meeting with him in a New York airport and he was on his way to Austin via Miami.

He learned that he could be very productive on an airplane. He could write papers on the plane, he could edit papers on the plane, he could prepare lectures, and he could even correct student exams on an airplane. Travel provided him with credits to his frequent flyer accounts and the freedom to produce academic work without interruption from the phone, colleagues or students.

After several years he was offered a position that took him away from his current posting in a Midwestern University to a University located in the Northeast. As part of his bargaining with his new employers he sought additional salary because he thought the new position would not allow him to travel as much and he felt he needed to be rewarded for the potential reduction in his frequent flyer account. He thought the new position would reduce his rate of accumulation of miles. Or the rate of change on the vertical axis would slow. The account might grow but not as fast as he was used to or wanted.

His new employer agreed and granted him a boost in his compensation. There was no need to do so. He actually now traveled more than he ever had. The miles now accumulated on not one but multiple airlines. Not thousands, not hundreds of thousands but millions of miles. He had, at least in his mind a graph for each airline and they were increasing.

Did he use the miles? Did he take a vacation and travel around the world? No! Flying on an airplane for him would be like a bus driver going for a ride on his or her day off, or a postman going for a walk on his day off. The miles just kept accumulating.

Again he was offered a new position with a prominent think tank. This time the location was Washington, DC. Once again he used the argument that the new position would reduce his ability to accumulate frequent flyer miles and again the new employer agreed to his request. About this time Eastern Europe was being transformed from governments based on socialism to democratic governments. These governments now needed to understand how to develop efficient processes to fund their operations. Governments in Eastern Europe wanted him to help them design their tax systems. The same processes began to occur in countries in Asia. And he was off to Asia. And the travel continued to increase at an ever increasing rate. He continued to accumulate millions of miles on multiple airlines and as far as anyone could tell he never used them.

But a cruel reality occurred in this life. One day he noticed a small sore inside his mouth that would not heal. After a series of medical tests it was determined that he had an aggressive form of throat cancer. Within a year this disease imposed a heavy toll on his life. His last months were consumed by surgeries, chemo therapy, and radiation.

He spent most of the time in hospital gowns and hospital rooms. He spent no time using his frequent flyer miles. You might wonder how important the frequent flyer miles were to him. After he passed away the speakers at his memorial service almost universally commented on the millions of miles he had accumulated. Millions of miles that did him absolutely no good. He had found a way to kept score on the vertical axis but the score he accumulated was meaningless.

The danger is the same with wealth or power or status. It can become a measure that consumes us. But in consuming us it consumes everyone associated with us. This is the most important point from this story as the miles accumulated and as they consumed him they also consumed his family, his students, and his associates.

If you are accumulating "things"  at an increasing rate make certain that they are things that matter in the eternity. In other words if I asked to plot over time your relationship with your family I hope it is increasing at an increasing rate. Now think about what really matters to you? And if you decide that what you are accumulating does not make any sense for the eternities then following a model of decreasing at an increasing rate would be appropriate.

My dad is not a member of the Church. Since my mom, brothers and sisters, and I are all active in the Church, we are sometimes at odds with him. There was a time in my life when my father and I just couldn’t seem to get along because he was unkind about my beliefs and I was angry at him for not agreeing with me.
In an effort to smooth things over between us, my mom tried to help me see things through Dad’s eyes. “How would a person without the gospel see this situation?” she asked me gently.
Since that time, I have thought a lot about what she said. I have tried to be more patient and forgiving, and I am trying to improve my relationship with my father.
It has helped me to know that Heavenly Father will not give me anything I can’t handle. It has also helped me to know that my earthly father loves me, even though we may not always agree. I still pray for my father to join the Church, but he now knows that I love and respect him no matter what.

I was once called as a bishop of young single adults. I am not sure whether the Lord’s purposes were more for what changes I could help Him make in them or the changes He knew they would make in me.

To a degree I do not understand, most of those young people in that ward acted as if I was called of God especially for them. They saw my weaknesses but looked past them.

I remember one young man who asked for counsel about his educational choices. He was a freshman at a very good university. A week after I had given the advice, he scheduled an appointment with me.

When he came into the office, he surprised me by asking, “Bishop, could we pray before we talk? And could we kneel? And may I pray?”

His requests surprised me. But his prayer surprised me even more. It went something like this: “Heavenly Father, You know that Bishop Eyring gave me advice last week, and it didn’t work. Please inspire him to know what I am to do now.”

Now you might smile at that, but I didn’t. He already knew what the Lord wanted him to do. But he honored the office of a bishop in the Lord’s Church and perhaps wanted me to have the chance to gain greater confidence to receive revelation in that calling.

It worked. As soon as we stood up and then sat down, the revelation came to me. I told him what I felt the Lord would have him do. He was only 18 years old then, but he was mature in spiritual years.

He already knew he didn’t need to go to a bishop on such a problem. But he had learned to sustain the Lord’s servant even in his mortal weaknesses. He eventually became a stake president. He carried with him the lesson we learned together: if you have faith that the Lord leads His Church through revelation to those imperfect servants He calls, the Lord will open the windows of heaven to them, as He will to you.

From that experience, I carried away the lesson that the faith of the people we serve, sometimes more than our own faith, brings us revelation in the Lord’s service.

There was another lesson for me. If that boy had judged me for my failure to give him good advice the first time, he never would have come back to ask again. And so, by choosing not to judge me, he received the confirmation he desired.

Yet another lesson from that experience has served me well. As far as I know, he never told anyone in the ward that I had not given good counsel at first. Had he done that, it might have reduced the faith of others in the ward to trust the bishop’s inspiration.

I try not to judge servants of the Lord or to speak of their apparent weaknesses. And I try to teach that by example to my children.

Jetta Pearl Stewart pulled off her bonnet and plopped down on the porch next to Father. “What’s a pearl?” she asked him.
Eight-year-old Jetta knew what a pearl was, but she loved hearing Father’s answer. Like always, Father explained how pearls grow in oysters, layer upon layer, until they become bright and beautiful.
“Pearls shine like you, my little Jetta Pearl,” he said, smiling. Jetta smiled back. She liked being his Pearl.
At dinner that night, Father told Jetta he had an important question for her.
“Ever since you were little, you have had a special way with music,” Father said. “Would you like to learn the piano?”
Jetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”
“It would mean traveling far away and staying with your teacher for a while,” Mother said. “No one here in Milburn can teach you.”
Jetta’s smile faded. She had never been away from her family for more than a day. And to be far away …
“But it’s important for us to develop our talents, even when it’s difficult,” Father said.
Mother nodded. “You would have to work very hard.”
Jetta loved music. And she had always wanted to play the piano. Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “I’m going to play the piano!”
But the next morning, as Jetta watched Father hitch the horses to the wagon, she didn’t feel excited at all. Today she was just scared. She hadn’t expected to be leaving home so soon.
Jetta slowly climbed up into the wagon next to Father.
“You ready, Jetta Pearl?” he said.
She didn’t feel ready, but Jetta nodded. The wagon lurched forward.
After a while, Father glanced over at her. “Do you know how proud your mother and I are of you?”
Jetta nodded. “But what if you need my help at home?”
Father smiled. “We’ll sure miss you, but this is a way only you can help. You’ll be serving Heavenly Father by developing a gift He gave you.”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. Could her musical talent really be a gift from Heavenly Father?
Father continued. “It will take time, but little by little you’ll get better at playing piano. And then you’ll be able to serve lots of people.”
Jetta felt her fear start to fade. She was going to learn the piano and serve Heavenly Father. It would be scary, but she knew that He would help her.
Father winked. “Layer by layer, my little Pearl is getting bright and shiny.”
Just like Father had said, little by little Jetta learned to play the piano. She even learned how to play the organ.
After a few months, Jetta returned home. That Sunday she became Milburn’s very first organist! Her heart raced as she sat at the huge organ the community had worked to buy for her to play. It was so beautiful that Jetta was almost afraid to touch it. She had to sit on a book to reach the keys.
She took a deep breath and started to play. The notes soared across the room, full and beautiful.
Jetta sneaked a peek at the congregation. People were smiling as they sang. Jetta smiled too. Her playing was far from perfect, but she was using her talents to serve.
She remembered Father’s words: “Pearls shine like you, Jetta Pearl.”
Little by little, layer by layer, Heavenly Father was making her into a true pearl.

As I sat there on the porch, I continued thinking about Cindy’s question. In one of our Primary lessons we learned that the Holy Ghost is the Spirit of Truth. Our teacher said that He would help us to not lie. I guessed I needed help with that too. I remembered the day Mom had come into the kitchen right after I had accidentally knocked the sugar bowl to the floor. Before she could even speak, I said, “Shauna made me do it.”
“Janna, look out the window,” she told me. “What do you see?”
I saw Shauna swinging on a rope hanging from the pecan tree. I said, “That’s how she made me do it. I was thinking about hurrying out to swing with her, and it made me bump into the table.”
“Janna.” Mom tilted my face toward hers. “None of us breaks dishes on purpose. We all have accidents. It isn’t the sugar bowl that counts. It’s you. More important to me than all the dishes in the cupboard—even the crystal glasses—is a little girl who tells the truth.”
I looked down at the floor. I knew I should’ve said I was sorry, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Don’t dishes sometimes get too close to the edge and fall off by themselves?”
“Oh, Janna Lynn,” Mom said, and I wished she’d spanked me instead of looking at me the way she did. It would have made me feel a lot better.
I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

From a distance, the future site of Ryan’s Place Park looked like a bumpy field of holes and unnaturally bright grass. But if you looked more closely, you just might see a shovel or a head pop out of one of the holes, and then you’d notice you weren’t looking at grass at all—you were actually seeing more than 200 teens in neon green T-shirts.
Such was the scene at the Providence Utah Stake youth conference. This year, in addition to spiritual firesides, dances, and games, the youth spent several hours up to their elbows in dirt and rocks—lots of rocks—preparing an empty field to become a memorial park.
Volunteers from across Cache Valley (in northern Utah) donated time and money to design and build Ryan’s Place Park, but first someone needed to dig the foundations for the playground supports. That’s where the Providence stake youth came in.
The youth took this message to heart when they arrived at Ryan’s Place Park. Digging more than 100 deep, narrow holes would not be easy. And the soil they dug in didn’t help matters, since it contained more rocks than dirt.
“Each hole took tremendous effort because the ground was so rocky,” explains Becca Smith from the River Heights Second Ward.
Instead of backing away from the challenge, the youth found creative ways to dig. “Some were in holes up to their shoulders, while others were being held by their ankles as they reached down into the bottom of holes to remove rocks,” says Jano Rees from the River Heights Third Ward.
David Thunell, who is from the River Heights Fourth Ward, was impressed by the positive attitudes he saw around him. “Never before have I seen so many teenagers working together with such determination and without complaint,” he recalls.
Kyra Moon, who is from the Fruitland Acres Ward, found that same attitude within herself. “As I crouched in a three-foot deep hole, armed with a plastic cup to get the rocks and dirt out, it hit me that I really wanted to dig holes right then. I wanted to do whatever I could to help.”
All that digging did more than strengthen their physical muscles. The youth realized it was also developing their testimonies and sense of unity.
“It was so inspiring to see so many people dressed in green T-shirts, devoting a few hours of their lives to honor someone they might not have even known,” Kyra says. “We were all of one heart and one mind, working toward a common goal, and we were all happy. It was just like Zion.”
Lindsay Bagley of the Providence First Ward agrees. “I looked out among the youth of my stake, my friends, and I saw hundreds of us all working together to dig holes, and I knew that this was what we were supposed to be doing. We were supposed to be building up our community and building up each other.”
Many of the youth, like Alyna Briscoe of the Providence Eighth Ward and Zac Hendrickson of the River Heights Second Ward, felt the spirit of community so strongly that they came back later that week to finish the park.
Benjamin Allred of the Providence First Ward learned about the joy that comes from service, especially when that service includes hard work. “Digging holes was not what you would call fun, but it didn’t need to be, because it was so satisfying.”
Becca Smith is grateful that this experience helped her gain perspective. “Service has a way of showing me what is important and what isn’t. I can see in more focus where my priorities are and how I need to change.”
For Kyra Moon, building the park became a chance to build a stronger testimony. She now better understands how she can be an instrument in God’s hands through service.
“God used us to help heal broken hearts,” she says. “It’s wonderful that something good came out of this tragedy, and it’s a testimony to me that Heavenly Father cares about us and understands our needs.”
Alex Keith of the Cobblestone First Ward says he has gained a stronger testimony of Jesus Christ. “I have more faith in God than I have ever had before, and I know without a doubt that my Savior lives.”
“I know that Jesus Christ took upon Himself my sins and died for me so that I may have eternal life,” adds Jenna Rounds of the River Heights Fourth Ward. “He died so that all may live again and so that we can be with our loved ones forever.”
After so many hours of digging through rocky soil to create a more solid foundation, these youth better understand the importance of building their lives around the Savior.
“I need to have a solid foundation of rock so that when Satan tries to confuse me about my values, I can do what I know is right,” Jenna says. “The Savior is my rock. In spite of all my weaknesses, He makes me strong.”