Gospel Story Finder

As I walked to teach my Primary class, I remembered my new goal. I greeted each child at the door. Each smiled back, radiating the sweet spirit each one has. I wanted now to teach the gospel, which I know is true, to each child—not to the whole class. I wanted each four-year-old to feel important, to feel the love I had for him. When Primary was over, I felt my relationship with each child had improved; I had felt a little of the beauty each held. Longfellow and the missionaries were a little smarter than I thought.

Several years ago, while preparing for a business trip, I began to experience chest pain. Out of concern, my wife decided to accompany me. On the first leg of our flight, the pain intensified to the point that it was difficult for me to breathe. When we landed, we left the airport and went to the local hospital, where, after multiple tests, the attending physician declared us safe to continue our travel.
We returned to the airport and boarded a flight to our final destination. As we were descending, the pilot came on the intercom and asked me to identify myself. The flight attendant approached, said they had just received an emergency call, and told me there was an ambulance waiting at the airport to take me to the hospital.
We boarded the ambulance and were rushed to the local emergency room. There we were met by two anxious doctors who explained that I had been misdiagnosed and actually had a serious pulmonary embolism, or blood clot, in my lung, which required immediate medical attention. The doctors informed us that many patients do not survive this condition. Knowing we were far from home and not sure if we were prepared for such life-altering events, the doctors said that if there was anything in our lives that we needed to consider, now was the time.
I remember well how almost instantaneously in that anxious moment, my entire perspective changed. What seemed so important just moments earlier was now of little interest. My mind raced away from the comfort and cares of this life to an eternal perspective—thoughts of family, children, my wife, and ultimately an assessment of my own life.
How were we doing as a family and individually? Were we living our lives consistent with the covenants we had made and the Lord’s expectations, or had we perhaps unintentionally allowed the cares of the world to distract us from those things which matter most?
I would invite you to consider an important lesson learned from this experience: to step back from the world and assess your life. Or in the words of the doctor, if there is anything in your life you need to consider, now is the time.

I was trying to prove him stone wrong,” said Diahann Piper, remembering the first time she accepted a challenge from an instructor to attend the small LDS branch on the Caribbean island of St. Thomas.
“Brother Gerald Cox told me, ‘You ask some tough questions. Just go. Nobody will force you to join the Church.’”
Diahann took him up on his challenge. She attended church expecting the worst, but the worst never happened. “Some of my friends were so down on the Church. They told me all kinds of terrible things. When I went I kept waiting to see those things happen, but all I was seeing was love and more love.” Now Diahann is a member of the St. Thomas Branch.
For Diahann, joining the Church has brought some big changes in her life. “I had to change my attitude,” she said, “my style, my friends. I liked to go to the beach on Sundays, and I swore a lot. I had to change. Now I follow the prophet.”

For a number of years, while I had responsibility for the work of the Church in Asia, I interviewed each missionary one-on-one. I asked each what virtue he or she saw in his or her companion and would like to put into his or her own life.
When I raised that question, almost invariably the missionary, an elder for example, would stop with a surprised look on his face. He had never thought of his companion that way before. He had seen his faults and weaknesses but had not seen his virtues. I would tell him to pause and think about it for a minute. Then the answers would begin to come. Such answers as, “He’s a hard worker.” “He gets up in the morning.” “He dresses neatly.” “He doesn’t complain.”
It was a remarkable thing, really. These young men and women, for the most part, had been oblivious to the virtues of their companions, although they were well aware of their companions’ faults, and often felt discouraged because of them. But when they began to turn their attitudes around, remarkable things began to happen.

When I was six years old, my family moved to the United States. We loaded everything we owned into a truck and drove to my grandmother’s house in Mesa, Arizona.
I remember standing on her porch with my father when a truck playing music came down the street.
“Dad, what’s that?” I asked. He explained that it was an ice-cream truck, and he gave me money to buy something. I ran over to the truck and said, “I want a paleta (frozen dessert on a stick). I had grown up in Mexico and spoke English and Spanish, but I didn’t know the English word for the thing I wanted. My father told me that I had to ask for a Popsicle.
I remember walking up the steps of my new school on the first day of first grade. When I saw some of the other children crying, I asked my mother, “Why are those kids crying?” My mother had taught us how important education was, so I couldn’t imagine what was so sad about going to school.
I soon learned that in the United States, most children my age had many things that I didn’t have. One of those things was a bike, and I wanted one badly. Somehow, my dad got me a bike for $5. Unfortunately, it had one major defect: it was a girl’s bike! It was humiliating for me to ride it. I found my shiny new dream machine in a mail-order catalogue, and it cost $65. I decided to earn the money to buy the bike myself, so I started working in the cotton fields every day after school. I would drag a long canvas bag up and down the rows of plants, filling it with cotton. Each afternoon, I could usually pick between twenty and forty pounds of cotton. I was paid two cents a pound, so I could usually make at least fifty cents a day.
As the end of the harvest drew near, I realized that I was not going to earn enough money for the bike. I told my dad, and he agreed that if I could raise half the money, he would pay the other half. Even after I had earned my part, the bike didn’t show up immediately. But then on Christmas morning, I got my beautiful new bike. From that experience, I learned that sometimes when we work very hard to reach a goal but fall short of reaching it, we can ask someone for help. Just as my father helped me, our Heavenly Father will help us, too.

Many faithful Latter-day Saints have been warned by the Spirit when they were faced with injury or possible death. Among these was President Wilford Woodruff, who said:
“When I got back to Winter Quarters from the pioneer journey [1847], President [Brigham] Young said to me, ‘Brother Woodruff, I want you to take your wife and children and go to Boston and stay there until you can gather every Saint of God in New England and Canada and send them up to Zion.’
“I did as he told me. It took me two years to gather up everybody, and I brought up the rear with a company (there were about one hundred of them). We arrived at Pittsburgh one day at sundown. We did not want to stay there, so I went to the first steamboat that was going to leave. I saw the captain and engaged passage for us on that steamer. I had only just done so when the spirit said to me, and that, too, very strongly, ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, nor your company.’ Of course, I went and spoke to the captain, and told him I had made up my mind to wait.
“Well, that ship started, and had only got five miles [eight kilometers] down the river when it took fire, and three hundred persons were burned to death or drowned. If I had not obeyed that spirit, and had gone on that steamer with the rest of the company, you can see what the result would have been” (The Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, selected by G. Homer Durham [1946], 294–95).

I was late! I threw on a nice dress, grabbed a hair tie, drove to church, parked, and hurried inside. Whew! I found a seat on the stand just as the bishop got up to start sacrament meeting.
I was speaking that Sunday, so I quickly looked over my notes, making sure I didn’t forget anything. In no time at all, it seemed like the sacrament meeting was over, and I was going to Sunday School. Another sacrament success!
But was it?
Over the next week I began to wonder. Another Sunday rolled around, and as I sat in sacrament meeting, considering what the sacrament meant to me, a thought hit me: I recommit each week to always remember Jesus Christ, but how seriously was I doing that?
I wanted to change, so I decided to come up with a weekly plan.
During the week, I would spend time considering my behavior and asking forgiveness for my sins. I would also make sure to arrive early to church so I could listen to the prelude music and feel the Spirit.
During the sacrament, I would remember Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I’d prayerfully review what I did right and what I did wrong. I’d ask myself, "Lord, what lack I yet?" (see Matthew 19:20).
Every day after the sacrament, I would pray for help to improve and to remember Christ.
As I followed my plan, I grew to really love the sacrament! I loved praying to Heavenly Father and talking with Him about my life. Regardless of my behavior the past week, I was always grateful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement and the opportunity to change and become better. Now I’ve learned that the sacrament isn’t just for Sundays; it’s for every day.

“I’m going to take out my hearing aids and walk down the hall until I can’t hear you anymore. Let’s see how far I make it!” the Primary president exclaims, signaling me to start. I hit the opening chords of “The Church of Jesus Christ” (Children’s Songbook, 77) on the piano, and a chorus of young voices begins to sing.
When we’re not measuring how loud the Primary kids can sing, we’re singing songs at various speeds and incorporating actions. It’s my first time back in Primary since the day I turned 12, and I can’t believe how full of joy this place is.
A few years ago, I wouldn’t have guessed that playing Primary songs each week would be the main way I used my musical abilities. I’ve trained competitively on the piano and violin for most of my life and believed for a long time that I would always stay heavily involved in music.
But by my later college years, the reality of finishing a degree and holding down a full-time job set in. Rehearsing with orchestras for several hours a week and practicing diligently on my own fell to the bottom of my priority list. I still loved music and tried to sit down at a music stand often enough to retain most of my abilities, but I mostly stopped performing.
Recently, though, I’ve become OK with it. Using my talent for Primary is different from the competitions and stressful performances I used to work so hard for, but in some ways this is better for me. It’s one of the only times I’ve really felt like I’ve been able to use my talents for the good of others.
In the parable of the talents, the master expects his servants to do great things with the talents he gives them. While he doles out different amounts according to their abilities, each servant is ultimately expected to use the talents in a way that increases what they had before (see Matthew 25:15, 21).
I really took this parable to heart when I was young. Although the talents in the parable were sums of money, they can be likened to our personal skills and abilities, and I wanted to work hard to improve myself and multiply the talents that I had. So when life and responsibilities caught up with me as a college student, I often felt bad that I wasn’t doing more with all my music training. I wondered if I was like the fearful man who “hid [his] talent in the earth,” burying it for fear that he’d lose it (Matthew 25:25).
But as I started my new calling, I didn’t get that feeling at all. Although I wasn’t pushing myself the way I used to, I felt joy every time I sat down behind the piano in the corner of the Primary room because I knew I was serving the children.
When Jesus Christ described how the man with the five talents increased his talents, He said that the man “went and traded” (Matthew 25:16). In other words, the man had to share what he had with others in order to improve and increase.
I began to realize that spending my time playing the piano for many restless children every Sunday didn’t mean I wasn’t making the most of my abilities. Playing in Primary was a trade; I provided accompaniment, and I got to witness the wonderful testimonies of the children in my ward. The more time I spend in the corner of the Primary room, the more I truly feel that this opportunity is providing me with an “increase.”
I believe the calling was inspired. It came at a time in my life when I was wrestling with my faith and often felt overwhelmed with life. This calling was a reminder to strengthen my foundation in the gospel and to focus on the simplicity and beauty of eternal truths. I got to strengthen my testimony alongside the children I was serving, which is one of the real purposes of callings.
Callings can be hard; sometimes we’re called to do things that we don’t feel qualified for and that take up a lot of our time. Other times it’s the opposite—we might feel like our calling isn’t fully using our abilities and our efforts would be better directed somewhere else. But the Lord knows how to use our talents in a way that blesses not only the people we’re serving but also ourselves.
As I have learned from my own experience, any effort we make to serve the Lord brings an increase to our own lives. If we consecrate our time and talents to the Lord, He will always use them for our good.
Alison Wood is an editorial intern for the Church magazines. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s often practicing the violin or playing pickleball with her husband. She loves attending the temple and serving as the ward Primary pianist.

Several months ago, I was invited to speak to the young women in the stake in which I had grown up. I was excited and anxious for this opportunity. My mother went with me, and we arrived a little early. The meeting was held in the building where I had attended church until I went away to college. I had not been back for a long time, and I did not anticipate what would happen when I walked inside the front doors. A flood of memories came washing over me, and I began to cry. My mother looked at me and said, “Elaine, don’t start that now.” But the tears flowed as I viewed the office at the top of the beautiful marble stairs where my father had served as the bishop. As I reached the top of the stairs, the door to the bishop’s office was open. I went inside and saw that it had been converted to a small classroom, and again a flood of memories came washing over me. In my mind’s eye, I could see my father sitting behind the desk and myself as a little girl sitting on the chair in front of it paying tithing and as a young woman having interviews and receiving priesthood blessings. My love for that building was deeply tied to the spiritual experiences and feelings I had had there.
Often as a young girl I would accompany my bishop father to the church and wait until his meetings or interviews were over. I would busy myself by exploring. I knew every nook and cranny of that building. One of my favorite rooms was the tower room. It was a large room at the top of some steep steps. Inside there was a picture of the Savior, which hung over a large fireplace. I was always drawn to that room. I would ascend the steps and reverently go inside. I would sit on a chair and look at the picture of the Savior and pray to Heavenly Father. These were simple prayers. But always when I prayed, a very special feeling seemed to engulf me, and I knew that He heard my childlike prayers. This is where I began to believe.
The Lord has promised us that as we “search diligently, pray always, and be believing, … all things [will] work together for [our] good” (D&C 90:24; emphasis added). That doesn’t mean that everything will be perfect or that we will not have any trials, but it does mean that everything will be okay if we just “hang in there.” Ours is the opportunity to “be … an example of the believers” (1 Timothy 4:12), and the Savior has promised that “all things are possible to him that believeth” (Mark 9:23). So believe in yourselves. Believe that you are never alone. Believe that you will always be guided.
Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said of you: “We believe in you, your parents and brothers and sisters believe in you, and God expects the best from you. You must believe in yourself. Don’t give in when the going is rough, for you are laying the foundation of a great work, and that great work is your life” (“A Time for Preparation,” Ensign, Nov. 1991, 38).
President Gordon B. Hinckley has told us: “I believe in myself. I do not mean this in an egotistic way. But I believe in my capacity and in your capacity to do good, to make some contribution to the society of which we are a part, to grow and develop, and to do things that we may now think impossible. … I believe in the principle that I can make a difference in this world. It may be ever so small. But it will count for the greater good” (“I Believe,” Tambuli, Mar. 1993, 8; New Era, Sept. 1996, 8).
You are one of the greatest generations of young women ever to live on this earth. Before you came to this earth you were tutored at your Father’s knee. You have been reserved to come to the earth for a special purpose. There are things for each of you to do that no one else can do as well. You have a destiny to fulfill.
Your righteous example as one of the believers will make a difference in the world, so “be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work” (D&C 64:33).
As you strive to be an example of the believers, you may feel that you are standing alone. You may feel that you are the only one who is trying so hard to be righteous and pure. You may feel you are the only one striving to be modest in your actions, speech, and appearance. But you are not alone. There are thousands of young women like you all over the world who are striving to be an example of the believers.
Carmelita and Rosario, two young women in Jalapa, Mexico, are among those believers. They are the only members of the Church in their family, and they are living alone. When I visited their small home, they said they knew Heavenly Father loved them very much because He sent the missionaries to teach them the gospel. Although things are hard, each day they rely on their Heavenly Father’s loving care and guidance.
To Carmelita and Rosario and to each of you, I testify that you are not alone. The Lord has promised: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
As you search the scriptures diligently and pray always, you will be guided by the Lord. A young woman living in Mongolia listened to the words of the prophets as the missionaries read passages to her from the Book of Mormon. The Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into her language, but as the missionaries translated the words for her, she believed and was baptized. She became an example of the believers in Mongolia.
Later she was called on a mission to Salt Lake City. What joy she felt! She learned English, and she purchased her very own scriptures. When she visited our home, she read reverently from her new scriptures. She loved them. I noticed that almost everything on every page was underlined in yellow. I said, “Sister Sarantsetseg, your scriptures look like the golden plates.” She replied, “I only underline the things I like.”
Everything in the scriptures is applicable to our lives. The scriptures answer our questions, they provide role models and heroes, and they help us understand how to handle challenges and trials. Many times the scriptures you read will be the answer to your prayers.
When I was about your age, my father became seriously ill. We thought it was just the flu, but as the days progressed, he became more and more ill. It was during that time that I really learned what it means to “pray always” (2 Nephi 32:9). I had a constant prayer in my heart, and I would seek solitary places where I would pour out my soul in prayer to my Heavenly Father to heal my father. After a few weeks of illness, my father passed away. I was shocked and frightened. What would our family do without our father whom we loved so dearly? How could we go on? I felt that Heavenly Father had not heard nor answered my fervent prayers. My faith was challenged. I went to Heavenly Father and asked the question—“Heavenly Father, are you really there?”
Over a period of many months, I prayed for help and guidance. I prayed for my family, and I prayed to understand why my father had not been healed. For a time, it seemed to me that the heavens were silent, but as a family we continued to pray for comfort and guidance. I continued to pray also. Then one day, many months later, as I was sitting in a sacrament meeting, my answer came in the form of a scripture. The speaker said: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6). A feeling came over me, and I felt I was the only person in the chapel. That was my answer. Heavenly Father had heard my prayers!
That experience happened many years ago, but I still remember it vividly, and I testify that He has directed my paths. I know that when we believe and trust in Him, “all things [will] work together for [our] good.”

The day after the assault, some friends of mine asked if I would like some alcohol to help me through the situation. I had been a member of the Church for little over a year, and I wasn’t active at the time. But something in me knew that if I drank any amount of alcohol, I would become dependent on it.

When my mind cleared after a few days, I decided that this assault would be a moment in my life, but it wasn’t going to ruin my life. I went through the court case. I remember shortly before the sentencing, people had told me that the man who had assaulted me was a good man from a respectable family and that this assault was so out of character for him. They said he had made a mistake due to drinking alcohol and he was so remorseful that he couldn’t live with himself for what he had done. They convinced me to ask the judge to be lenient with him.

On the day of sentencing, I gave my victim-impact statement and told the judge that the man had simply made a mistake while drunk and that I thought he should get psychiatric help rather than a prison term. The judge thanked me and, due to my statement, he sentenced the man to only six years in prison. After this, I tried to get on with my life. I got married and had children.

Sometime in 1997 or 1998, I got a phone call informing me that the man was back up in the papers. He had been released from prison and had assaulted three other women. This news brought everything back to me. I felt somewhat responsible because I spoke up for him.

The guilt I felt caused me to suffer from depression. I was a strong member of the Church at that time, but it was still hard. My head was so confused that I couldn’t always hear the still, small voice. Priesthood blessings helped me because I was able to better understand what my Father in Heaven wanted me to know at that time. I know I was able to get through this because I had the gospel in my life.

The Lord declared that “this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached … for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come” (Matt. 24:14). Can it possibly be accomplished? I remember an insight that suggested how it can happen.

I met a woman in South America who had just joined the Church. Fired by a great love for that which she had found, she had gone about enthusiastically telling others. During a period of only seven months since her baptism, she had referred 300 acquaintances to the missionaries so that they might explain the gospel to them. At one point, 60 had come into the Church. More likely came in. In São Paulo, Brazil, I met the young missionary who first had taught her the gospel. He, too, had been a convert, had gone on a mission to represent the Church at considerable financial sacrifice. The woman of whom I speak was one of 43 he had assisted in bringing into the Church to that point. This young man of Brazil had expanded himself more than 100 times—43 converts of his own and 60 through one of those he converted, with more from others of his converts to come.

Yes, this work requires sacrifice, it requires effort, it requires courage to speak out and faith to try. This cause does not need critics; it does not need doubters. It needs men and women of solemn purpose. As Paul wrote to Timothy: “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).

I wish that every member of this church would put those words where he might see them every morning as he begins his day. They would give us the courage to speak up, they would give us the faith to try, they would strengthen our conviction of the Lord Jesus Christ. I believe that more miracles would happen over the earth.

I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that this is their holy work, and I plead with you and with the God of heaven that we shall have the power and the faith and the devotion to roll it forward to its great destiny.

Though there may be occasional setbacks, the Lord’s great latter-day work is not going to fail, and it continues to get stronger.
Within the Church there is a great host of good and decent youth, youth who are thankful for their parents and their parents’ righteous teachings.
Service will ever be this people’s watchword, particularly as youth, couples, and members throughout the Church involve themselves in service to those who need the gospel.
The Lord’s latter-day work requires sacrifice, effort, courage, and faith.
The Apostle Paul’s counsel to Timothy is counsel to us. We would be blessed to consider it daily: “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).

Now may I just share with you a wonderful and beautiful story. Brother Isogai is 17 years old, and he passed on to me his conversion story.
“My family consists of three members. We are now living in our grandparents’ home because two years ago my parents got divorced. Since then our grandfather and my mother started working to support us. Some time in October 1979, I met the missionaries on the street near Shibuya station. I studied and I was baptized, and I became inactive following my baptism.
“Since my family was not stable, I was not happy, and I wondered about my future, though I was baptized—about my life, about my family. I wondered, I wondered, I wondered every day.
And one day I wandered through Shibuya again. I was feeling depressed. With the feeling of depression and emptiness in my heart, I was walking toward a church without conscious direction. While there, I attended a beautiful baptism service. I was very impressed and inspired by it. I decided to come back to the church, which I did.
“I learned of the importance of the missionary work, and I helped the missionaries, and I did this almost every day. I went to the street with the missionaries. And I contacted many people. One day I had been praying, and I received a strong feeling that I should teach my own family. I had baptized seven of my friends within two months. So I started to introduce the gospel to my family. First, I thought I should introduce it to my mother. My mother has many friends, and she was attending another Christian church. Because of that, she refused to be baptized. But because of the beautiful fellowshipping and the cooperation of the missionaries, I finally did baptize her. Then we went into the temple during the open house for the Tokyo Temple. When we saw the sealing room, we all cried because we knew that we could be together for all eternity, and we have decided to go to that sacred spot again. My sister got baptized September 11, and I felt so strongly I should introduce the gospel to my grandparents, which I did. Now they have studied and believe, and they are ready to be baptized next Saturday, this Saturday. And I will baptize them. Oh, what great blessings I receive.”

“And if it so be that you should … bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15).
As my bishop read this verse, my heart jumped. I could see myself at the baptism of someone I had introduced to the gospel. My friend would be so happy, and everyone would know that my friend was going to be baptized because of me. My joy would be great.
Angela’s name instantly came to mind. She was my best friend, and she needed the gospel. I was certain that hearing the gospel and knowing she was a daughter of God would help answer her questions and build her up.
The next day I asked, “Hey, Ang, my church is having a barbecue on Saturday. Would you like to go?”
“Sure,” she responded, “that sounds like fun.”
She attended, and over the months, I continued to invite her to every Church activity I could think of. After every activity I would ask her, “So, Ang, what do you think?” This led to discussions about eternal principles. I was happy. Any day I would be able to reap the blessings Heavenly Father had promised.
On a winter night just before Christmas, Angela and I decided to take a walk around the Washington D.C. Temple. The Holy Ghost encompassed us as we walked, and I knew she could feel something.
“So how do you feel?” I asked.
“I feel like I want to be baptized. … Wait,” she cautioned when she saw the excitement in my face. “I can’t be baptized now, and I can’t have the missionaries come and visit me. My parents would never allow it. But will you teach me everything you know?”
Taken back, I answered humbly, “Yes, I’ll try to teach you everything I know.”
Later that night I thought about the promise I had made. Everything I knew? But what if I didn’t know enough? Was my testimony strong enough? Did I really know the gospel was true?
I decided I would start the very next day to learn everything I could about the gospel, to gain a real testimony of its truthfulness.
With vigor I started reading the scriptures every night. My prayers became more heartfelt as I pleaded for both Angela and me to know the gospel was true.
Slowly the results came. In our discussions I was sometimes led by the Spirit to say things that I hadn’t thought of until that moment. My testimony grew stronger as I bore it. The scriptures became real to me.
My parents were there to help me. They were a valuable resource, and I learned to love and appreciate them more.
Five years later Angela still isn’t a member of the Church. If I judged myself according to my eighth-grade expectations, I failed. I did not sit at a baptism and receive the “joy” of everyone’s praise as the one who had brought a friend to the gospel. However, my expectations have changed. I have brought my own soul closer to God. Even if Angela never joins the Church, the studying and teaching I did were not in vain. She learned more about the gospel, and sharing it with her converted me. And it helped me to be more effective in sharing it with others.
The joy promised in the Doctrine and Covenants does not mean worldly praise. My joy is great because I know my Savior better and have gained a strong testimony of His gospel.

When you are away from home and family, prayer can provide the shield of protection you will need. Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light that stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.

When I was three months old, the Salt Lake Stake held a great pageant here in this tabernacle. My angelic mother played the part of Mary, the mother of Jesus, and I had the honor of playing the role of the Christ child. I know I must have been much more comfortable at that time than I am now, probably because I didn’t have to speak. But from that day to this, my beloved brothers and sisters, I have felt the Lord’s guiding hand leading me and protecting me, sometimes protecting me from myself.

A few years ago while I was presiding over the mission in Minneapolis, Minnesota, an interesting event took place. I would like to use that experience to bear my testimony. A rather severe tornado hit the area. It was severe enough that it came to the attention of the nightly news broadcast over the national networks to California, Arizona, Utah, and Idaho. Before long, the telephone started ringing in our office there at the mission home. This went on for two or three hours, with parents calling from many areas wondering about their Johnny or Richard.
I recall later walking across the parking lot from the mission office to the mission home saying to myself, “You know these Mormon mothers. They just won’t undo the apron strings. They just won’t let their boys go.” As I walked into the mission home, the phone again was ringing. I picked up the phone and guess who? My mother! She was wondering how her missionary was doing under these circumstances.
I learned a great and deep lesson. A mother’s love and concern never ceases—nor should it.

The first time we took our three-year-old daughter to Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah, she showed me what it means to come unto Christ. As we were going up the ramp in the North Visitors’ Center, she looked up and saw the statue of Jesus. She let go of my hand, looked into my face, and with an expression of unutterable love and eagerness said, “Oh, Daddy! It’s Jesus!” She then ran as fast as she could to meet him.

All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.

After losing her husband, Elder Bruce D. Porter, a General Authority Seventy, to a pulmonary infection in December 2016, Sister Susan Porter found herself alone at their home in Bountiful, Utah, USA.
For the nearly two years prior to his passing, she traveled and served alongside him as he served as president of the Europe East Area.
As a new widow, she prayed for guidance. One day she saw a painting of the Savior talking to the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well (see John 4:6–26). She felt the Spirit’s prompting to likewise “sit at the feet of the Savior and learn, and He will teach you.”
Sister Porter strived to draw closer to the Savior, and the Holy Ghost comforted her and led her forward.
“I know I was carried,” she said. “I had strength and peace beyond my own.”

Though I’d been in college for a year, I hadn’t attended many activities sponsored by my university. I hadn’t been avoiding them. I had just filled my time with institute activities, school, and work. One night when my friend, Stacy, asked me to go with her to a dance, I jumped at the chance. It would be great to meet some new people and get away from studying for a little while.
As we entered the ballroom where the dance was being held, Stacy introduced me to some of her friends, and I noticed a few familiar faces from my classes. I felt comfortable and excited as we danced on the fringe of students. When one of my favorite songs began booming from the speakers, I grabbed Stacy’s hand, and we plunged into a mass of people. We danced and sang along with the music. It was more fun than I’d had in a long time.
After a few more songs, a song I was not familiar with blared, loud and raucous. I wanted to hold my hands over my ears. I didn’t know what the lyrics were saying exactly, but they weren’t good. Everyone around me began dancing differently than they had moments earlier.
Suddenly, I realized something was terribly wrong. I was encircled by many young men I didn’t know well. They closed in on me, pushing themselves against me inappropriately. I shoved one of them back, but others moved in. I screamed and pushed and shoved until one of them finally let me out of the circle, swearing and calling me a name. Tears streamed down my face as I fell into my friend’s arms. I tried to explain what was wrong, but when I turned back to show her what had happened, I noticed another girl had taken my place. And she seemed to be enjoying her participation in their dance.
I was horrified. I stood back and watched the students dancing. The song changed again, and though it was familiar, I did not want to get back on that dance floor. I left the building and did not return.
After my experience at this dance, I spent a lot of time searching my own feelings about the situation. I had always been aware of the dark corners you avoided during school dances, but this dancing was right in the middle of the floor. Sure, my dancing had been enthusiastic, but it had not been inappropriate. I had done nothing to warrant such unwanted attention.
Then one day I came across an article by President James E. Faust called “The Devil’s Throat.” In this article President Faust taught, “There are so many shades of right and wrong that each of you has to decide where the line will be. … With all my heart I urge you to please help us push back the world. We must stand against the wind. Sometimes we must be unpopular and simply say, ‘This is not right’” (Ensign, May 2003, 51–52).
When I read those words, I knew, all through me, they were meant for me. It didn’t matter what other people thought. When I tried to “push back the world” by escaping that kind of dancing, I had definitely been unpopular. But I didn’t care. Drawing my line and saying, “That form of dancing is not right” had made me realize that to protect my standards, I have to take a stand.
Without difficulty I could see the need for me to apply President Faust’s words in other areas of my life. I reevaluated the music I listened to and threw out CDs with unsuitable lyrics. I began to discard clothing that could cross the line into immodesty. I researched movies before going to see them. I decided I wanted to prepare myself in every way to live a life worthy to have the Spirit with me, guiding me, for that’s the way I will find true happiness in life.
I know in my daily dance called life, I will be constantly surrounded and bombarded by sin readily accepted by the world. It isn’t my fault that sin is out there, but it is my concern. To protect myself I must do as President Faust counseled and draw my line. Then and only then will I have the strength to listen to the Holy Ghost so I can know when to stand up and how to push back the world in defense of myself and my values.