Gospel Story Finder

During this past month I received two widely differing messages. One was a formal invitation to attend the swearing-in ceremony in Washington, D.C., of the newest and youngest member of the United States Tax Court—an appointment made by the President of the United States, and a very prestigious honor.

Within hours of receiving that invitation, I had a visit from a law enforcement officer inquiring if I knew a certain young man. I replied, “Of course I know him. Why do you ask?” This young man had indicated to the officer that he knew me. A sordid story was then related to me of drugs, immorality, stealing to satisfy the high cost of drugs, buying illicit sexual favors, and cheap rooming house living. When I expressed a desire to see and help this young man, the officer suggested I not see him at this time because of his emotional condition.

The families of these two young men are well known to me. As boys they were members of the same ward. Both received the Aaronic Priesthood and had had the same Sunday School teachers. The scriptures, Church magazines, and lesson manuals had been made available in their homes.

One received the Melchizedek Priesthood, fulfilled a mission, married in the temple, and while attending law school, served in a bishopric; and now, Judge Stephen Jensen Swift has been honored by his national government by appointment to a federal judgeship.

The other young man never merited or obtained the promised blessings of the Melchizedek Priesthood. Going to top-rated private schools overshadowed interest in a mission. He never married, associated with the wrong people, has now become a ridiculer of gospel principles because they differ from his life-style, and is virtually an outcast from family, society, and from the word of God. His family’s life-style failed to encourage him spiritually by its lack of interest in the scriptures, family home evenings, family and personal prayer, and hearing in their home testimonies of religious belief.

The Honorable Judge Stephen Swift is settling his family in Washington, D.C., and learning to feel comfortable in the robes of a federal judge. He has our love, admiration, and highest respect.

The other young man needs our love even more—a special love. I have faith that we can recover him. It was such as he of whom the Savior spoke: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?” (Luke 15:4.)

Raphael Queiroz eyes the volleyball net, tosses his ball high, then runs a few steps forward and leaps. For a moment he hovers above the floor, seeming to defy gravity. A split second later he meets the volleyball and drives his hand into it. The ball flashes over the net at a terrifying speed.
Anyone watching might wonder how an opponent could return the missiles Raphael launches. “Wow!” is the only response one stunned observer can make.
Raphael just shrugs—but with a hint of satisfaction in his serve. “Actually,” the unassuming Brazilian says, “I prefer soccer. But since I’m not agile enough to play the game well, I play volleyball.”
Perhaps it’s his size. At 6 feet 5 inches (196 cm) and 205 pounds (94 kg), he may not be as quick as smaller, lighter players. But he certainly has the height and weight to put a volleyball only fractions of an inch over a net with such power that only the brave would want to intercept it.
Soccer may be Raphael’s sport of choice, but volleyball is most definitely his game. And he is really good at it. He is so good, in fact, that he played in the final game of the high school volleyball nationals. “That,” Raphael says, “was one of the three happiest days of my life.”
And the other two? “The day I was baptized a member of the Church and the day I received my patriarchal blessing.”
At 19, Raphael de Morais Queiroz of the Jardim Massangana Ward, Recife Brazil Boa Viagem Stake, has learned a couple of important lessons some people never learn. He knows that when you place the Lord first in your life, good things happen. He also knows that sometimes you have to adjust your dreams to take advantage of the talents and opportunities the Lord gives you.
Raphael’s parents joined the Church before he was born, so he grew up in a gospel-oriented home.
“Growing up in the Church, you’re taught from a very young age the principles of the gospel and the importance of keeping the commandments,” he says. “But you still need to get your own testimony.”
Raphael remembers one day in seminary when the class was watching a video about the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith. “I started crying. ‘Why?’ I asked myself. As I concentrated on what I was feeling, the answer came: I was receiving a witness from the Holy Ghost that Joseph Smith is a prophet and that the Church is true.”
He smiles at the memory. “Good things happen in seminary,” he says.
Good things happen at church, too. During one priests quorum lesson, he felt impressed to get a patriarchal blessing. “In preparing for it, I did some studying, then went to the bishop, and he sent me to the patriarch. I was overwhelmed by what I heard. The Lord entrusted me with a lot. I love my blessing.”
Since those experiences, he has found his testimony strengthened in other ways. Scripture study is one of them. He especially likes the Book of Mormon. “I admire Nephi,” Raphael says.
Like Nephi, Raphael was born of goodly parents. Family is important to him. He feels particularly close to his only sibling, 18-year-old Gabriela.
“To me, Gabriela is an example of righteousness,” Raphael says. “She always follows Church standards.” He points out that she attends seminary twice a day—once early in the morning and again in the evening.
When asked why, she says, “I love learning the gospel. I get a different perspective in the different classes. Then, too, I have friends in the evening class I like being with. Mostly, though, I love feeling the Spirit. I feel it often in seminary.”
For Raphael, his sister illustrates how placing the gospel first in your life can give you strength to resist worldly pressures. “Having a gospel perspective helps us meet our challenges,” he says. “It teaches us to stay away from temptations. Although I’m not free from temptations, I always try to avoid them. Youth need to learn how to avoid temptations by deciding ahead of time how they will handle them.”
He knows well the temptations athletes face. “As an athlete, I always do what athletes do, but not the bad things—I don’t break the Word of Wisdom or do the other things young men sometimes do. I try to set an example as a Latter-day Saint.”
“At first,” he says, “my friends thought my choices were funny. But later they respected me for my standards.”
It was a friend who introduced Raphael to volleyball. In 2001 a teammate on his soccer team in Recife pointed out that some private high schools offer volleyball scholarships. At the time, Raphael was trying for a soccer scholarship but found his physical assets kept him from playing at the level the coaches wanted. But he seemed to have an unexplored talent for volleyball. “So I played volleyball until I got good at it,” he says. He became so good that he was able to secure a full scholarship to a private high school.
At school, he played in the Recife city championships, then in the regionals in northeast Brazil, one of the most important tournaments in the country. But his success didn’t end there. Not long afterward, he was asked to join the Pernambuco State team to prepare for the national high school tournament. His team won almost all its games, losing only in the final match. He has the medals to show for it.
“As a volleyball player,” he says, “I’ve learned to play as a member of a team. One person can’t win alone. You have to look out for one another and help one another.”
In the same way, the Church has taught him to play as a member of the Lord’s team. “The Church has taught me to teach and care for others, to always watch for when people need help. There’s no better place to learn to live the gospel than in the Church. The Lord wants all of us to practice the gospel. That’s why I’m going on a mission.”
Raphael will be giving up a college athletic scholarship to do so. Recruited by several schools, he was tempted to accept a scholarship from one of them. But at this point in his life, he would rather serve on a mission than serve on a volleyball court. He knows he is making the right choice.
“As much success as I have had in sports,” he says, “I want to do better as a missionary. I feel that no matter where I go, I can do well—if I let the Lord coach me.”

Ever since he was a boy, President Boyd K. Packer has loved the outdoors and nature. Birds have always been some of his favorite animals. Before he was called as an Apostle, he got to go on an African safari. He was excited to see the lions, elephants, and rhinos.
It was a very dry season, and there was not much water. There were only small muddy puddles. The antelopes would come up close to the mud holes, then turn and run away in fear. Since there were no lions around, Brother Packer asked the guide why the antelopes didn’t drink. The guide said, “Crocodiles.”
“Nonsense,” Brother Packer said. “There are no crocodiles out there. Anyone can see that.”
Brother Packer thought the guide was teasing. He did not believe a crocodile could hide in the tiny puddles. The guide drove to another muddy hole where they could watch safely. “There,” he said. “See for yourself.”
Brother Packer couldn’t see anything except the mud, a tiny puddle, and the scared animals. Then all at once he saw it. Hiding in the mud was a great big crocodile, waiting for one of the animals to get thirsty enough to come for a drink.
Brother Packer learned that we should listen to our guides to avoid danger. Following good guides like the scriptures can also help us avoid spiritual danger and temptation. He says, “If you will listen to the counsel of your parents and your teachers and your leaders when you are young, you can learn how to follow the best guide of all—the whisperings of the Holy Spirit.”

Late one Monday night when my husband and I were busily working in our home, our seven-year-old son, Sergio, appeared. “Well, nobody remembered family home evening,” he said. “I guess you’re not interested.”
My husband had come home late, and he tiredly explained that we had been too busy and still had much to do before we could turn in for the night. At that we continued with our work.
After a few moments we realized Sergio was reading his illustrated Book of Mormon Stories reader all by himself. My husband and I looked at each other and silently agreed that, even if it was late, we shouldn’t deny ourselves the chance to hold family home evening.
When we went into the living room, Sergio told us in all seriousness that we didn’t need to be concerned because he had already started his “individual home evening” and had sung a hymn, said a prayer, and now he was giving the lesson. We stayed and listened as our boy talked about the First Vision.
That night our son was a powerful missionary to us, testifying of the importance of family home evening. My husband and I realized that often we try to teach principles that we are not completely willing to obey. What a wonderful experience we would have missed if we had not participated in that individual home evening.
Cecila Lozada, Maranga Ward, Lima Perú Maranga Stake

After my mission to Taiwan, I thought international law would be a good career choice. As Christy and I considered that possible future, we understood that five more years of expensive education lay ahead.

The U.S. economy was in a deep recession and our funds were limited, so we reasoned that joining the Air Force ROTC would be a wise choice to pay for my schooling. But as I took the required tests and filled out the paperwork, we just could not get comfortable making that commitment. No stupor of thought or dark feelings came—only an absence of peace.

That seemingly illogical financial decision was inspired, in part, because I would have been a horrible lawyer!

Some people play such a significant role in a group that everyone wants them involved, even if it means going the extra mile. That’s the way the members of Jeffery Libberton’s deacons quorum feel about him.
Jeffery struggles with multiple physical and mental disabilities, including having no verbal communication skills. He attended Primary until he was 12 years old, and then his parents started taking him with them to their Sunday classes. Jeff’s friends in the Roosevelt Utah 10th Ward deacons quorum who had already turned 12 couldn’t imagine quorum meetings and activities without him, and they wanted him to come with them.
The first step for the quorum presidency was to meet with his parents. “We talked with the boys about Jeffery, his needs, and his attitudes,” says his father, Jeremy. “Their immediate response was, ‘We know Jeffery. He has been in our Primary for a long time.’”
The second step was to turn to www.disabilities.lds.org for suggestions. The boys went to the autism section of the Web site to learn even more about Jeff’s disability. And the third was to work together as well as individually on the Boy Scouts Disability Awareness merit badge.
The more the boys learned about Jeffery’s disabilities, the more they discovered ways to help him. Jayde Bertoch learned that Jeff cannot always control his emotions. Sometimes it is just one of those days. They also learned that even though he is nonverbal, he likes to have his friends around.
Everyone joins in to welcome Jeffery at quorum and Young Men meetings. “We play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to help him,” says Kenyon Mitchell, 13. “The winner gets to be Jeffery’s buddy and helper for the day. My testimony has grown and is still growing every Sunday at church and on Tuesdays at Young Men when I help him get around.”
Tyler Scott, 12, agrees. “It’s fun having him in our meetings,” he says, “because he puts a smile on all of our faces. He enjoys it when we sing, and he also likes listening to the lessons. He can’t talk, but we can talk to him, and he understands everything we say. I like having him as one of my friends.”
Their adviser, Marshall Bellon, says, “Jeffery does not need words to express his love, since his smile and eyes say it all. His eyes are the windows to his heart. As I am teaching the lessons in class, it is comforting to have Jeffery reach out and grab my hand as he looks up at me. It is through this simple action that his spirit is able to touch mine and we share in the truthfulness of the gospel. It seems that it is his way of saying ‘I understand and believe the things being taught.’”
Jerico Liddel, 12, likes to give high-fives to Jeffery when he responds to him. He says, “It’s a lot of fun to be with Jeffery. He likes us to push him around in his wheelchair. I like to help out. It makes me feel good.” They note that Jeffery likes to ride go-carts with his brothers and watch his friends play games.
These deacons have learned for themselves that it is true that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17). As Brother Bellon says, “Their friendship and service to Jeffery are preparing them to become better missionaries, husbands, and fathers, and it allows them to have more compassion for all of those who need a hand of fellowship and friendship. It has allowed them to be grateful for a loving, merciful Heavenly Father who loves all of His children.”

Priscilla’s grandparents lived in a beautiful home in Liverpool, England. Though Priscilla was the fourth of nine children and had many cousins, Grandfather and Grandmother Mitchell made her feel like their favorite person in the entire world. She loved to be in their home, and they were always buying gifts for her.
Then, one day, everything changed. Missionaries from America taught her family the gospel, and her parents were baptized. Priscilla and her brothers and sisters planned to be baptized too. When Grandfather found out, he was angry.
Priscilla had never known Grandfather to be angry before. It frightened her. He shouted unforgettable, sickening words to Priscilla’s father: “Hezekiah, take your family and leave. Don’t ever come back!”
At home, the stunned family gathered around the fireplace. Father had never looked so sad. Mother hadn’t stopped crying since they had left their grandparents’ home.
Priscilla was confused and heartbroken. “Why don’t Grandmother and Grandfather love us anymore?” she cried.
Father tried to explain. “Grandfather is opposed to our new church. He wants no part of it, and he wants no part of us if we continue with it.” Father stood tall. “But I know that Jesus Christ lives. This is His true Church. He will help us find the way, as long as we do everything we can to be like Him.”
Priscilla’s family tried to be happy, but everything seemed to get worse. Father lost his job as a minister in their former church, so money was scarce even though he taught school. Mother mended clothes instead of replacing them. Priscilla tried not to complain, but life seemed to get harder every day. She longed to visit her grandparents. If she could only talk to them …
A knock sounded at the door. Priscilla’s heart leaped with hope, but it wasn’t her grandparents. Uncle George and Aunt Hannah stood on the porch with gifts and a basket of food. Priscilla was happy to see them, but all too soon she was sent outside so they could talk to her parents. It sounded serious.
“Priscilla,” Aunt Hannah finally called. “How would you like to come live with us?” They had no children and wanted to adopt her, Uncle George explained. There would be plenty of room for her in their mansion, and she could receive better schooling.
“It will leave more of the basics for your brothers and sisters too,” Aunt Hannah added. Priscilla knew that it was a struggle for her parents to feed and clothe all nine of their children. If she went, it would make things easier for her family.
Father gazed sadly at the floor. Mother sobbed into her handkerchief. The offer was kind, but accepting it would not be easy. Priscilla packed her bags and bid her family farewell.
*****
“This will be your bedroom,” Aunt Hannah said. Priscilla had always shared a room with her four sisters. Now she had a room of her own and a maid to clean it.
Aunt Hannah took her shopping to buy pretty dresses. In no time, the closet was full of them. Her aunt and uncle planned parties so Priscilla could meet new friends. Priscilla had many advantages, but she missed being with her family and listening to Father teach as they sat around the fireplace.
*****
On the morning of her 10th birthday, Priscilla was making dancing dolls out of hollyhock blooms in the garden. She was excited for the party to be held that afternoon, but she wished her sisters could come.
Suddenly, she spotted a tall, thin man coming up the road with a walking stick. Priscilla ran to meet him.
“Happy birthday, Princess Priscilla,” Father said. He swept her into his arms and swung her around.
“Oh, Father, you remembered!” she exclaimed.
Together they walked inside. Father pulled a letter from his pocket. “Priscilla, Uncle George and Aunt Hannah have requested to officially adopt you.” Priscilla knew what that meant—she would inherit great wealth and a respected name. She would never need to worry about money again.
“I have more news,” Father said. “Soon your mother, brothers, sisters, and I are going to America.”
“Will you ever come back?” Priscilla asked.
Father shook his head. “George and Hannah love you. They will take care of you and give you more wealth and opportunities than I can ever offer. On the other hand, life in America with the new church will be difficult and require many sacrifices.” Father looked into his daughter’s eyes. “You must choose for yourself, Priscilla.”
Priscilla didn’t hesitate. She ran to Aunt Hannah and hugged and kissed her. “I love you, Aunt Hannah, and I will always remember you,” she said. “But I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I must go to America with my family and be baptized.”
And that is exactly what she did.

Last week I received a letter from a single mother, a part of which I wish to read to you. She says as follows:
“It has been 10 years since you mentioned our family in October conference in 1996. … The words of counsel and encouragement that you gave to me and other single sisters have been a pattern used in my daily life. The phrase that has become my motto and watchword [is] ‘Do the very best you can,’ and that is indeed what my sons and I are trying to do.
“All four of my sons graduated from high school and seminary. Two of them served full-time missions. We are all working to provide for ourselves and continue to be true and faithful in the gospel. It is a great feeling to know that we have made it on our own for the past several years. … There is a certain feeling of accomplishment when you can once again stand on your own two feet and provide for your family’s needs. …
“I was encouraged to go back to college. … It is a real challenge to work full-time and attend classes at night. It has broadened my perspective on life and helped me to be a better person. My family, ward members, and co-workers have been very supportive. I will graduate this December.
“As I pondered my patriarchal blessing and made it a matter of fasting and prayer, I was able to set some realistic goals in my life that have been used as a road map to keep me on track with the principles of the gospel. I attend my meetings, pray daily, and pay my tithing. I … take my calling as a visiting teacher very seriously. …
“The Church is true, and it is an honor and a privilege to be counted as a worthy and blessed member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We are led by inspiration from a loving Heavenly Father, who knows us and wants us to progress and grow. I thank you for your kind words of encouragement 10 years ago, and for the many continuing words of inspiration that come from the Lord through His servants. I know I am a child of God and my life is blessed by my membership in His Church.”

Mental health experts recommend talking about the person who died from suicide like you would talk about a person who died from any other cause. Remember the good times together, remember how much you loved the person, and express how much they will be missed.

“I loved hearing good memories about my brother,” Jess says. Some people even wrote down those memories and gave them to her family. “Anytime someone brought him up, I felt relief.”

One day when Sasha was 14, she saw a handbill from a Protestant church inviting people who wanted to know about God to attend a meeting. Sasha thought, “Oh, they wanted to know about God!” Figuring this would be a perfect opportunity to share the gospel with earnest seekers of the truth, she went to the meeting—all alone. During the service, she courageously stood before the room full of people and bore her testimony of the Savior and the Restoration. “I told them that I know with all my heart it is true,” she says, “and I invited them all to church.” Since that day in 1992, Sasha has helped bring several friends into the Church.

My mother died when I was fifteen years old. That was twenty years ago. I have experienced all the feelings you have—the anger (at my mom and Heavenly Father), the frustration, the loneliness, the shock. All of these feelings are very real.
When my mom died, we did not talk about it. I think it took me years to work through her death because of that. Hopefully, your family can talk about your feelings and losses. Your mother still exists; that doesn’t end with death. Your mother is simply living somewhere else. She loves you very much.
If your family can’t talk about your mom, you need to find someone who can. Pray to Heavenly Father so that he can help you find a support group, a counselor, or a friend who will listen to you.
Something that helped me very much (although I didn’t realize it until years later) was staying close to the gospel, praying, and keeping the commandments. I allowed myself to be angry at Heavenly Father. I said so in my prayers. I think he probably expected that and allowed me to work through my feelings. In looking back, I can see that Heavenly Father surrounded me with his love. He protected me from myself and my grief.
You will always miss your mom. And finding peace might take a long time. For me, it took years. But I promise you that if you desire it, it will come. When you’re at peace, you feel watched over and warm.
I may never understand why my mother died when she did. But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s okay. I wish you success.
Stephanie Ransom, 35West Valley City, Utah

I confess that when I left on my mission, my testimony was limited to knowledge about the plan of salvation and the Book of Mormon. I recognized that my testimony lacked the depth I wanted it to have, and as a result, I felt inadequate as a missionary.
Like most French members of the Church at the time, I had never attended a broadcast of general conference. We had always attended rebroadcasts, where we listened to conference in French through an interpreter. Now, as a missionary serving in Wales and speaking English, I was going to hear the voice of the prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), firsthand.
When the session started, the local congregation sang with the members present in the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. I also sang and was quickly taken aback by an overwhelming feeling of joy and belonging. These feelings testified that I was a member of Jesus Christ’s Church.
While I was sitting there, an idea came to mind: “What if I asked the Lord to confirm to me that President Benson is His prophet?”
I knew that I could “ask God” (Moroni 10:4), but I was afraid that somehow I would offend Him with my questions. After a minute of reflection, I decided to try anyway. I bowed my head and asked the Lord to testify to me that the man who was going to speak was His prophet, seer, and revelator. Before long an intense feeling of peace and happiness entered my heart. I raised my head, opened my eyes, and listened to President Benson testify of the Book of Mormon.
From that moment on, I knew for myself that the Lord leads the Church through a chosen prophet. As a result of that testimony, I left conference with new goals, and I knew that it was up to me to reach them. I changed the focus of my mission and looked forward to attending future general conferences. I also eagerly awaited the arrival of the Church magazines so that I could read the sacred words of the Lord’s servants.
Thierry Hotz, France

My greatest challenge when I was a child was when my father died. I was seven years old.
I had a wonderful mother and kind grandparents. But I cried many tears. At school my classmates made fun of me because I couldn’t spell or do math very well. Some of the older kids bullied me on the school bus. I wished I had talents like others who were good athletes or good singers.
After a while, I began to feel better. My family loved and helped me. I kept working, and slowly I did better in school. I also found things I was good at. I worked to become better at those things. Heavenly Father helped me.

An event occurred in my life about a month ago which impressed upon me the blessings that accrue to one over the years from good, early childhood training. I was delivered a note as I arrived at the airport that one of my very best friends had passed away and her funeral was in just an hour and a half in a community fifty miles from the airport. I made a quick change from air to surface transportation and started the drive to the funeral.
This great soul who had just passed away had been my Primary teacher for three years during my days as a Trail Builder when I was eight, nine, and ten years old. As I drove to Sister Call’s funeral that morning, my mind was flooded with pleasant memories of my early childhood.
I especially remembered the powerful example of early childhood training—goodly parents who were always there to teach, inspire, love, and give strong encouragement to help me chart the right course in my life. I remembered a kind aunt who lived next door, who fortified and provided a second witness to the teachings of my parents.
Then I remembered dear Sister Call, a Primary teacher who extended herself much beyond her classroom call. Her lessons included many field trips to teach us of life, labor, and the joy of association. Her special way of weaving her lessons into our lives gave us an understanding of our personal worth.
As I drove along the highway, my heart was filled with overwhelming gratitude for parents, extended family, and Church leaders who had the patience, love, and concern to build a foundation in the life of a child during those very critical years.

There were 27 of us that day, all 18 or 19 years of age, except one fellow, 21, whom we called “Pop.” Three more had started out with us in our flight group but had failed along the way, unable to keep up with the grueling physical discipline of basic training in the Royal Canadian Air Force. We had been training hard for months to take the place of young men not much older than ourselves who, at watch behind machine guns and Plexiglass bubbles, were still giving their lives over Germany.
Traditionally, completion of basic training called for a fitting “graduation ceremony.” Each flight group was confident that it could out perform any other group in almost any sort of physical contest. The flight party at the end of basic training had become the recognized way for flight trainees to prove that they were second to none.
Our flight group was no different. A youthful eagerness seemed to be pushing us to throw off the discipline for a night, to noisily proclaim that we were the top, and to somehow cram into one furious evening enough pleasure to last a lifetime. And so 27 of us sat down on the grass that day to discuss our flight party.
I sat down feeling very alone, and for the first time since our flight group had been formed, I felt absolutely no desire to be part of the group. I watched the others smiling and laughing as they agreed that only a top night club would be acceptable or would satisfy, and I sensed the mounting excitement as they discussed the activities that they felt would be the most entertaining. It was suggested that each of us had an obligation to contribute his best thoughts on the matter, and after five or six fellows had enthusiastically expressed their ideas, someone said: “Let’s hear what Green has to say.”
Green was the only Mormon in the group and had no desire to say anything to anybody. All he wanted to do was withdraw. How do you tell 26 non-Mormons about the branch you attend every Sunday with a fellow Mormon from another flight group? How do you convey the feelings you have about the mission home where you have standing invitation every Sunday for dinner, and where you gather around the piano every Sunday evening to sing with the missionaries just before you and your buddy leave to catch the last streetcar back to the barracks before lights out? What could you say to 26 non-Mormons planning an ultimate imaginable bash in a night club about how cold and dismal that Sunday night ride back to the barracks seemed? How sensitive would they be to your observation that you loathed setting foot in the barracks every Sunday night because you knew that the first word you heard would make a complete mockery of the word love.
The answer to all those questions, as they passed quickly through my mind that day, was: “They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t care. They’d probably sneer or laugh. Their idea of a flight party is a good indication of what they find important in life, and therefore, it’s pointless to talk to them.” But somehow, I had to come up with something that would get me rid of, that would let me withdraw from the flight party. I was angry with myself because, after months of working together as a team with these fellows, I was going to suddenly and painfully resign. I was angry at them, for putting me in a situation that I knew I was going to mishandle. They were going to judge me as the last type of person they wanted at the flight party, and I had already judged them as incapable of organizing a party I would want to attend.
“Let’s hear what Green has to say.”
“Yeah, Green. You haven’t said a word. What do you want to do?”
Green drew a deep breath, and looking rather sullenly at the grass in front of him made his brief withdrawal speech: “Well, if I were to go to a flight party … I’d be taking a pretty decent girl … so there’d be no drinking … and no smoking … and no swearing.” He didn’t dare look at anyone, and he gathered himself as best he could against the sudden onslaught he knew was coming.
And then it happened.
There was a good minute of utter silence. It was so still you could have heard a pin drop on the grass. Then someone from across the circle began to speak:
“Well …”
This was it. This was going to be the start. They would all have their say and then Green could be at his solitary retreat, leaving his worldly buddies with their frivolous taste for life.
“Well … I’d be taking a pretty nice girl myself …”
From beside him, “Who wouldn’t?”
There was another good minute of silence and then, from off to the right, “I nominate Green as master of ceremonies.” There were no other nominations.
A week later, all 27 members of the flight group brought their beautifully dressed dates to our party. No drinking. No smoking. No swearing. Just lots of good food, good music, good dancing … and good memories of a flight party that was rather unique.
I remember, not without embarrassment, my thoughts on that sunny afternoon in 1944 as we sat down together on the grass. I remember that, unintentionally, I touched the lives of 26 young men. I thought I was putting them down. Generously, they put me at the top, and in my memory that’s exactly where I see them.

One evening after the United States Navy destroyer on which I served left Pearl Harbor for the North Pacific, I was the officer of the watch for the night shift. I retired to my bunk after supper to get some sleep before going on duty. I felt the roll of the ship as I was dropping off to sleep. Later when I relieved the watch, the roll was more pronounced, and as I stepped out into the blackness of the open bridge, I felt the bite of the wind.
During the winter the North Pacific can be quite rough, and that night the waves were large enough that the wind was starting to catch their crests and cause a white streaking of foam.
“I am ready to relieve you, sir,” I said.
The officer on duty’s face reflected the soft glow of the compass, and he reported the ship’s course and speed. He added that the captain had turned in for the evening, then said, “The barometer has dropped three-hundredths in the past hour.” This meant stormy weather.
“Does the captain know this?” I asked.
“Yes, but he did not leave any special orders.”
He closed the door to the pilothouse behind him, and I found myself alone looking out at a menacing sea.
When ships encounter heavy weather, officers are to keep the ship’s bow heading into the wind with just enough speed to maintain steering. If waves strike the ship broadside, heavy rolling occurs, which can cause injury to the crew or even capsize the ship.
After an hour the waves had become mountainous. The wind was howling, and sheets of water were being blown through the air from huge cresting waves. The ship would climb the front side of the approaching wave, reach the crest, hang momentarily, then glide swiftly down the back side of the wave, plunging into the trough and resurfacing with water running over the deck, all the while pitching and shuddering. To steady the ship I had to reduce speed.
As the storm increased, I learned that the barometer had dropped another five-hundredths. I called the captain to report the worsening conditions. He simply replied, “Very well,” and hung up.
Soon the helmsman called out to me, “I am having trouble, sir. She is falling off to starboard!” I quickly checked the compass and discovered that the bow was inching toward the trough. If that continued, we could end up in a dangerous position broadside to the waves. I ordered the helmsman to make the necessary adjustment, but before long the needle started drifting back. The helmsman tried to correct the drift again, but the ship was slow to respond.
Conditions were worsening. The wind was now shrieking at about 100 miles (160 km) per hour, the waves were 50 feet (15 m) high, and the ship’s bow kept moving toward the trough. Fear rose inside me because I knew if one of these waves hit us broadside, the ship could quite possibly capsize. I called the captain, who was awake because the violent motion of the ship made it impossible to sleep. He was worried too. He did not have any advice but told me to do the best I could.
The helmsman informed me with a frightened voice that he had done all he could, but the bow was still drifting to starboard. I was utterly desperate and fear was turning to panic as I continued my frantic mental search for a solution. The most nightmarish thoughts flooded my mind. I felt helpless and entirely humbled.
In my childlike state, I cried out to the only one who could help me—my Heavenly Father. The answer to my impassioned plea was immediate and clear. A voice in my mind said, “Use your engines. Use your engines in opposition.” I instantly understood.
I ordered, “Starboard engine ahead two-thirds. Port engine ahead one-third.” Slowly the ship’s bow responded by moving out of the impending trough. As the ship headed back into the waves, a great feeling of gratitude engulfed me. The storm continued, but I was able to maintain the ship’s direction by adding to one engine and subtracting from the other.
A skeptic might say the solution was in my mind all the time, but I know better. It came in answer to prayer.

I conclude with an experience that has helped me to deal with unanswered questions. A few years ago, my husband and I were invited to a gathering of many experienced Church leaders. A new presiding officer had recently been called, and at the end of the meeting a very difficult and contentious question was asked. Realizing the difficulty of the question, my husband and I immediately offered up our sincere prayers to Heavenly Father on behalf of this new leader. As he came to the pulpit to respond to the question, I witnessed a change in his countenance as he stood majestically, squared his shoulders, and spoke with the power of the Lord.

His response was something like this: “Brother, I do not know the answer to your question. But I will tell you what I do know. I know that God is our Eternal Father. I know that Jesus Christ is the Savior and Redeemer of the world. I know that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, and was the instrument through which the power of the priesthood was restored to the earth. I know the Book of Mormon is true and contains the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I know we have a living prophet today who speaks for the Lord to bless our lives. No, I do not know the answer to your question, but these things I know. The rest I take on faith. I try to live this simple statement of faith I learned years ago from Marjorie Hinckley, wife of President Gordon B. Hinckley, who said, ‘First I obey, then I understand.’”

In 1840, when Charles was twenty-one years old, he heard two Mormon missionaries preaching the gospel. He knew that what they were teaching was true, and he asked to be baptized. Charles was the only member of his family to join the Church. Not long after his baptism, Charles also became a missionary and was the companion of the missionary who baptized him! Charles served his mission in England and North Wales until 1843.

How about our general health? Health is one of the criteria the bishop will look at, but most missionaries find themselves capable of doing the task. Sister Winona L. Armstrong of Arimo, Idaho woke up one morning with a terrible migraine headache. But she didn’t want to cancel the five discussions she and her husband, Ezra, had scheduled, so she prayed, knowing that the Lord had the power to remove it. “Before I got up from my knees, the headache had gone.”

I’m Molly McKinzie, and in most ways I’m rather ordinary. My hair is brown. My eyes are a plain sort of gray. I’m not too short or too tall.
My best friend is Brenda. We both love pets, ballet lessons, climbing trees, and strawberry ice cream with chocolate on top. In other ways, though, we’re very different.
Brenda’s hair is curly and blond, and her eyes are a sparkling blue. And, when she giggles, Chuck Thornton, the neatest boy in our class, stares at her and can’t remember what he was going to say. I often wished he’d look at me like that.
It seemed hopeless, though, because of the one thing about me that isn’t ordinary—my nose.
“Most remarkable!” said Dad’s Aunt Prudence from Philadelphia, when she came to help after Mom had Michael. She tilted my chin up with her long, skinny finger and spoke to Mom as if I weren’t there. “It certainly doesn’t look like anyone from my side of the family.”
“Maybe not too much,” said Mom with a funny look on her face, “but Molly helps take good care of baby Michael.”
Mom was right. I did such a good job that Aunt Prudence didn’t have to stay very long.
I don’t know why grownups are forever trying to figure out who looks like whom. When Michael was born, everybody said things like, “Oh, how sweet! He has his mother’s delicate nose.”
“And his father’s chin and hair.” “Yes, but aren’t those Grandpa McKinzie’s ears?”
Actually, baby Michael looked like baby Michael to me and not like anybody else. It made me start thinking, though. There must have been somebody in the family with a nose like mine.
The day Michael rolled over for the first time, Mom hurried to get out his baby book so she could write it down. I got out my baby book too. Sometimes I like to look at it just for fun.
As I turned the pages, I noticed one that I hadn’t really looked at before. It was titled “My Family Tree.” All the lines were blank. I asked Mom if she had the names and pictures of the people who belonged there. I hoped that at least one of them would have a nose like mine.
Mom smiled. “I think we could find some of them.” When she finished feeding Michael, she got down a large box. “I have a few pictures, but you’ll have to ask Dad about his side of the family. I don’t know much about them.”
We dumped everything out onto the floor. “Someday I need to organize all this,” she said. We found pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas, grandpas, birthday parties, graduations, and weddings. We filled in many of the spaces and kept working until Dad came home. He joined in the fun too. We only stopped to make some sandwiches.
Dad got out his large black photo album and filled in many spaces. There was a picture of Dad as a little boy pulling a small dog in a wagon.
I had to laugh. Dad looked so plain and ordinary, just like me, except that he had an ordinary nose. The remarkable nose just couldn’t be found. When we finished that night, all the spaces were filled except two.
“Hmmm,” said Dad, leaning back in his chair, “I wonder where we can find your great-great-grandparents.”
The next Saturday, Dad and I drove to a huge library in a nearby city. We looked through books and films and even used a computer to search for more clues. Finally, after looking for a long time, Dad found a name. “Philadelphia,” he said thoughtfully. “It looks like we need to write Aunt Prudence a letter. Will you help me, Molly?”
I wrinkled my remarkable nose. “I guess so,” I said.
I helped write the letter, then began checking the mailbox each day for an answer. “It will take many days,” Mom said. I waited and waited until I almost gave up.
Weeks later I was out walking our dog, Dixie, when the letter carrier came. He waved to me as he put a stack of mail in our box. I waved back and ran to see what was inside.
Dixie’s leash slipped through my hands as I shuffled through the letters. Just then, a big gust of wind came along and blew the mail everywhere. I ran around as fast as I could, gathering it up.
Dixie thought it was a fun game and caught the last letter in her teeth. When I tried to take it from her she growled playfully and ran away, wanting me to chase her.
“Bad dog!” I shouted, but she paid no attention, darting this way and that with the letter still in her teeth.
Chuck Thornton came around the corner just then, delivering newspapers. He stopped to watch the chase. It was so embarrassing. He whistled to Dixie, and she ran right to him and let him take the letter from her.
“Thanks, Chuck,” I said, a little out of breath. “She’s kind of silly sometimes.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “Hey! Look at this. It’s addressed to you, Molly. It’s from somebody in Philadelphia.”
“Really?” I was so excited that my hands shook when I opened it.
Inside was a five-page letter and some very old pictures. I read it carefully while Chuck looked at the pictures.
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “My Great-Great-Grandmother and Grandfather McKinzie were immigrants from Ireland who helped build a town in Pennsylvania. There’s even a park named after them.”
“Wow! That’s neat!” Chuck exclaimed. He handed me the pictures. “You know, Molly, you even sort of look like your great-great-grandfather. It’s … uh … your distinguished-looking nose.”
I stared at his picture. It was true! There was my nose on my great-great-grandpa’s face. “Distinguished?” I asked Chuck nervously.
“Yes, I think it’s the perfect description of it. Lots of famous people have distinguished noses.”
“They do?”
“Sure! Even some movie stars.”
Mom opened the door. “It’s here!” I yelled, waving the letter. She invited Chuck in for hot cider and donuts. While we had our treat, she read the letter.
“Remarkable!” she said, looking at the pictures.
“Distinguished!” said Chuck.
We all laughed.