Gospel Story Finder

Let me just conclude with a little experience I had recently in New England.

I think one of the greatest thrills that a mission president experiences is to receive a new missionary. I received notice from the First Presidency that eight young men were to be assigned to New England. Shortly they arrived. This was a great treat for Jeanne and me, as we greeted these new missionaries in the mission home. One by one, as they came in, we tried to set them at ease.

The first one was a brilliant-looking boy. I won’t describe him, but I thought, “Thank heaven he is here.” The second was just like him, and the third and the fourth. Now this, I thought, will put our mission on top.

Then I got down to number seven, and I don’t mind telling you some of the concerns of my heart. I thought, This will be a challenge. I couldn’t believe it; and unlike the counsel that President Tanner gave us not to judge our neighbors, here I was judging him. I thought, This kid just doesn’t have the image.

My wife gave me a glance, and her look said, “Good luck for the next two years.”

Let me just describe him to you. He was wearing a shirt that was size 17; his neck was an 11. I could have pulled out his collar and put another elder in it. He had on a coat that he inherited from his dad, and you couldn’t see his hands. He had a trench coat that he got from an uncle from World War I, and he had a haircut that was an Idaho original.

The New England Mission contains six of the United States and four provinces of Canada, including Labrador. As my wife and I lay in bed that night, she said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “It’s time to open up Labrador.” I thought I had to protect the Church’s image from this interesting-looking elder.

Well, that morning before I made my assignments, I knelt in prayer—thank the Lord for prayer—and I asked the Lord what I should do now; and the Spirit whispered, “Keep him in Cambridge.”

And I said, “Spirit, I won’t.” I said, “I am the president of this mission.”

And the Spirit seemed to respond with the counsel, “Yes, but you will keep him in Cambridge.”

Cambridge is a very sophisticated area, with all of those universities and art centers. Well, I kept him. When I went down to breakfast, my two assistants were sitting there; and they said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “We are going to keep him in Cambridge.”

And they said, “President, you are kidding.”

I said, “I have been seeking guidance all night, and we will keep him in Cambridge.”

Two days later I got a call from a distinguished professor. I haven’t time to give you the details. He said, “Paul, Friday night may I be baptized?”

I questioned him a bit. He had been through several score of missionaries the past nine years. I said, “What happened?”

He said, “This little fellow you sent me.” (He was referring to my new elder.) And then he described the experience.

He said, “No sooner had he and his companion entered the office and shook my hand when he asked, ‘Would you mind if we had a word of prayer?’” (This was a meeting over in his school office.) The professor said, “Not if it will do you any good.” Then he remarked, “Before I could get back to my desk, this little fellow fell on his knees and started to talk to the Lord.” And he said, “Paul, I looked up three times to see if the Lord was standing there.” He said, “I don’t know what happened to me; you describe it, but I had the most wonderful feeling come over me, and I now know what the Spirit is. I want to be baptized.”

We baptized him, and he is doing a fine work for the Church and is a great asset on campus. It was all accomplished because this young elder from Idaho, whom I had misjudged, guided by the Spirit, gave himself to the Lord.

And I learned as President Tanner has taught us. Don’t judge! “Within the oyster shell uncouth, the purest pearl may hide, but oft you’ll find a heart of truth within a rough outside.”

While my devotional is not on gratitude, please permit me to briefly express my gratitude to the love of my life, my wife Karrie. She is my best friend, my partner, and my better half. This past summer marked 12 years since she and I deplaned with our children in Honolulu.
With only a handful of bags and an address, which we had received only just before departing, we set out for a house that we had never seen before. We had just sold a house, most of our belongings, rehomed my beloved geriatric dog Fetch with my parents, and were all feeling the trepidation and excitement of having flown almost 4,000 miles to start a new chapter in our lives.
Many of you probably relate to this story, as each of you has made a similar journey to BYU–Hawaii. Do you remember the first view when you exited the H3 tunnel? That expansive view of Kaneohe Bay, the turquoise blue water bespeckled with patch reefs before you, and the sheer green peaks of the Ko’olau behind? Do you remember your first view of BYU–Hawaii? What about the David O. McKay building framed by flags from all the countries represented by our international student body? In front of it all, the sign exclaiming, “Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve”. This common experience unites each of us here today.

One of my most insightful spiritual experiences occurred when I was thirteen or fourteen years old.
I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and the Church was a large part of my life. One day the Aaronic Priesthood boys in our ward went to Welfare Square for a service project.
We were assigned to unload a large railcar full of lump coal. We were to climb up on the load and throw lumps of coal off to either side of the track.
At first, it was fun, a new adventure. It was fairly easy to toss the coal off.
However, as we worked our way down into the railcar, it became necessary to pick up the lumps, raise them over our heads, and throw them over the side. By then we were getting tired and very dirty. The lumps of coal seemed heavier and heavier. It became a difficult task.
I remember going home that night and taking a bath. I had coal dust all over me. It was in my throat and nose. I could taste it and smell it. I felt terrible and decided that I would avoid doing anything like that again.
A few weeks later my family celebrated the Thanksgiving holiday. Under my parents’ guidance, we had prepared little boxes of food for the widows in our neighborhood. My sister and I made popcorn balls and wrapped them in waxed paper. My mother made cookies. We also added fruit and some candies to the boxes. We took these gifts to the homes of five or six widows.
No lights were burning in the last home. We knocked and waited, but no one came to the door. Just as we were about to leave, we saw a light appear at the end of the long hall. Then we heard the footsteps of this elderly sister, who lived alone. She opened the door, greeted us, and invited us in.
As we walked down that long hallway, I felt the cold. There was no heat at all in the house except in the small room at the end of the hall, where she invited us to sit down. A fire was burning in the small fireplace there.
We presented the elderly sister with our gift, sang some Thanksgiving songs, then began to talk about the things for which we were grateful. When it was our hostess’s turn, she said, “One of the things I am grateful for is that you came tonight instead of last night. This afternoon I received a delivery of lump coal from Welfare Square, and so we are able to all sit here and enjoy this fire.” I realized that I had helped make the coal available to her.
That was an impressive experience for me. I sensed as never before the importance of the gospel principle of caring for others. I saw the earlier experience of unloading that coal in an entirely different light and with an entirely different spirit. That Thanksgiving experience has affected me the rest of my life.

Another young woman in England is developing her gift for being a peacemaker. She says:
“I love making and listening to music, and it is one of the best ways I know to calm down. If I am in a rotten mood, I quite often go to the piano and take out my anger on it. This isn’t very good for the piano, but soon I feel fine again, and usually I will end up playing a hymn. This puts me in a better humour, and everyone else responds to the music as well, so we get harmony in the home for a while at least.”

Michael Morgan, 14, and his mom, Cheri, also played the bagpipes at Nauvoo. They both learned how to play four years ago as a tribute to Michael’s grandfather, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. “He really liked the bagpipes,” explains Michael. “So my mom thought, why not let him listen to them before he dies and not just have them played at his funeral.” After hearing the bagpiper play at his grandfather’s bedside, Michael and his mom decided to take lessons together. Now they are part of a bagpipe band that tours the country. “Developing a talent together as a family is great,” says Sister Morgan. “When you spend so much time together, you can’t help but communicate; you are close because you are together.” Michael agrees and adds, “It’s fun to be unique.”

"While I was still living in Arizona, we would get to see movies in elementary school. There were a lot of cowboy, cavalry, and Indian films shown. Indians would invariably sweep around the bend and wipe out a whole wagon train. They were savages. Then the cavalry would dash after the Indians, and that whole theater of Indian kids would shout and cheer for the cavalry. No kid wants to identify with the bad guy, and yet we never saw a film where Indians were any good. I was always a cowboy when we played cowboys and Indians. Cowboys rode white horses, carried shiny guns, and always won. Indians weren’t smart enough to win," Tracey said.

Yet deep inside himself Tracey knew he could win. His parents had taught him that winning depends on the individual. They had taught him that if you want to win, you can win. "Feeling inferior is terrible, and I felt it quite often during junior high school," he said.

By the time he got into high school, however, Tracey knew he was breaking out of his inferiority feelings. He ran cross-country for the track team, and he was elected student body vice-president.

"By then I felt great," he said. "I remembered the teachings of my own parents. I knew I had a Father in heaven who loved me and that in his eyes I was just as good as anyone else. I knew I would be judged on my own abilities and what I was able to do with them.

"Now, through the medium of film, I can help other Indians gain a realization of these same true principles."

I have seen the law of the harvest fulfilled in my own family.
Some years ago I was visiting family, when the bishop asked me to conclude the sacrament service. As I was coming down from the stand, a woman approached me with her seven children and introduced herself as Sister Rebecca Guzman.
She asked, “Elder Rasband, do you know Rulon and Verda Rasband?”
I beamed and replied, “They are my parents.”
You can see where this is going. With Rebecca’s permission, who is here with family in the Conference Center, I share her family’s story.
My parents, Elder Rulon and Sister Verda Rasband, were serving as a senior couple in the Florida Fort Lauderdale Mission. They were proselyting and by divine guidance knocked on the door of Rebecca’s home. She was just a teenager and loved listening to the music of the Osmonds, in particular our friend Donny—who is here with us today. She had listened to their media interviews and learned they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She felt there was something different about them, and thinking it might be their religion, Rebecca spent two years researching the Church’s beliefs in the school library. So, when a kindly-looking couple knocked on her family’s door and introduced themselves as Latter-day Saint missionaries, she was taken back.
“My mother told me to get rid of them,” Rebecca later wrote, “but my heart said, ‘No.’ I looked into their faces, and I felt so much warmth and love. The memory still brings tears to my eyes and deep emotion to my heart.”
Rebecca invited them in, and my missionary parents shared a message with her, her two younger sisters, and, despite her objections, her mother.
Rebecca described to me: “Both your parents were wonderful in explaining any questions we had. I can still see their faces as if there was light surrounding them. We always hugged your mother when she left, and she always made a point of helping my mother feel comfortable and respected. Your father always had a sparkle in his eyes as he was teaching us about Jesus Christ. He tried to include my father in discussions and eventually won him over. My father was a chef at a local country club and started cooking dinners for your parents, including making your father’s favorite, key lime pie.”
When Elder and Sister Rasband asked Rebecca and her family to read the Book of Mormon, Rebecca did so in five days. She wanted to be baptized immediately, but the other members of her family were not ready. After four months, Rebecca insisted she be baptized and join the true Church. She recalled, “Every fiber of my soul knew it was true.” On April 5, 1979, missionaries baptized 19-year-old Rebecca, her mother, and two sisters. My father was a witness at the baptism.
When I met Rebecca and her family at church, we took a photograph of her family with me. I took it home to my elderly mother, and she held it close to her heart. Then she said to me, “Ronnie, this is one of the happiest days of my life.”

I close with a personal experience. It too is an airline story.

This past November 9, my wife, Kathy, and I were traveling back from Guatemala City with a connecting flight in Miami, Florida. We had an important appointment, and it was vital that we catch the plane in Miami. We started early that morning, leaving our hotel outside of Antigua, Guatemala, for an 8:55 a.m. departure to Miami. As we traveled into Guatemala City, the traffic was unusually congested. We were concerned about reaching the airport on time. We arrived with just enough time to catch our plane.

We rushed through immigration and toward the departure gate. At the gate, we learned that our plane would not be leaving for an hour and a half. It had arrived late the night before in turbulent weather. The pilots and crew were required to have a certain amount of time to rest. With this delay, we worried about making our connection in Miami. We boarded the plane an hour and a half later, but, after backing away from the gate, we learned that there was an electronic malfunction in the cockpit. This delayed us another 40 minutes. We took a deep breath, wondering if there was any possibility of making our connection.

The plane made good time between Guatemala City and Miami. We arrived in Miami with only 30 minutes before our connecting plane was scheduled to leave. Thirty minutes did not seem long enough, but we were determined to try. We ran as fast as we could. Surprisingly, the line at Immigration was short. We headed for U.S. Customs, silently praying that the luggage we were pulling behind us would not be chosen for inspection. Our prayers were answered. Glancing at the airport monitors, I noted that our airplane was at Gate D-3. After running to the D concourse came the painful process of security screening: Off with the shoes. Liquids in a plastic bag. Laptop separate. Hope that the security monitor doesn’t buzz when moving through the screener.

Completing the security check, we had only 10 minutes before the scheduled departure. I looked up at the monitor again. To my horror, I had made a mistake—the plane was not leaving from D-3 but from E-3. We were in the wrong concourse. We were out of breath. The plane doors were probably already closed, and we were several hundred yards away. We thought about giving up. But, receiving encouragement from each other, we pushed ourselves toward the finish. Off we sprinted, rolling bags right behind. As we rounded the turn to Gate E-3, we heard them call our names. It was a miracle. The door was still open. We made it!

When Madilin Neibert received her school’s citizenship award at the end of her seventh grade year, it took her by surprise. As one of only seven LDS youth in her school, she’d spent a lot of time that year standing up for her beliefs. Some didn’t understand or agree with her, but Madilin learned that she didn’t need to go along with the crowd to earn her friends’ respect.
What was it like to be recognized as a good citizen in your school? I’m really grateful that I got that award. It meant a lot to me because I know I’m doing my part to be a citizen and to be kind to others and to my teachers.

The apostle John said, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth” (3 John 1:4). In that vein I have gained a deeper appreciation for an experience I had here twenty-eight years ago. I was a twenty-four-year-o1d returned missionary senior chemistry student sitting in my off-campus apartment when a knock came at the door. I opened the door, and there stood my mother. She came in, and we had a wonderful visit. It was a visit of love, humor, grace, and some subtlety. I realized when she left that she had determined, among other things, what I was eating, who I was dating, how my grades were, and how I was doing in church. She perhaps had a better idea than I did about what I was going to do the rest of my life. She had also inspected the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. She drove two hundred miles, spent an hour with me, and drove two hundred miles back home. Such is a mother’s love and a father’s love.

I have come to appreciate that there were some very important things my mother was concerned about—beyond how much Top Ramen I was eating. I distinctly remember during those years the conversations with roommates until two or three in the morning. Years later, as a bishop, I counseled my ward members about similar concerns. And now, more years later, these are the concerns of my children. Fundamentally they have not changed: What should I major in? How should I earn a living? Who am I going to marry? Where am I going to live? Will I have a family?

We of the Council of the Twelve have heard President Ezra Taft Benson describe how his father was called to fill a mission. He left behind his wife, his seven children, the farm, and all that he had. Did he lose anything? President Benson tells how his mother would gather the family around the kitchen table and there, by the flickering light of an oil-fueled lamp, read the letters from her husband. Several times during the reading there would be a pause to wipe away the tears which flowed freely. The result? Each of the children later served a mission.

When I was a junior in high school my parents invited my very best friend, Joe, to live with us. Joe’s parents moved away when he was about to graduate. He did not want to leave, so my parents welcomed him into our home so that he could finish high school.
Joe came from a different background than I did. His family had their struggles, and the principles of the gospel were not emphasized as much as they were in our home.
Joe and I shared a room together in the basement of my parents’ house. Every night before I went to bed I would make it a point to read my scriptures. Joe, on the other hand, had not developed a habit of reading his scriptures every day. There were nights when it was late and we were tired. Joe would often complain and tell me to turn the light off and go to bed, but I persisted, knowing that the Lord would bless me if I read my scriptures as He had commanded. Eventually, Joe moved into the room next to mine, but he always knew when my light was still on.
Joe had told me that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go on a mission, but once he was 19, he surprised us all by announcing that he was going to serve. He turned in his mission papers and received a call to the Toronto Canada East Mission.
The Sunday came for him to give a talk in sacrament meeting. He said a few things that were a surprise to us all, particularly me. Joe said that one of the biggest influences in his decision to serve a full-time mission was the example that I had set for him in reading my scriptures every night. He said that although I might have not realized the impact it was making, he had thought about it a lot. My scripture reading had impressed him to turn his life around and serve a mission. He said that if it weren’t for me and my family, he probably wouldn’t be going. As I listened to him, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost flow through my body. I had no idea of the impact I had made on Joe’s life.
Joe was the first in his family to serve a mission. Later, his younger brother also served. Joe’s family has been greatly blessed ever since through active service in the Church. Great blessings come to those who keep the commandments of the Lord. We may never know how they will come, but they will come.

Danny Cope maneuvers his motorized wheelchair with the skill of a parking attendant. He can’t move his arms or fingers very well, but he prods the control stick mounted on his armrest with his fist. Danny’s wheelchair has seen a lot of action. As a deacon in the Oakridge Ward in the El Dorado California Stake, he uses it to fulfill his Aaronic Priesthood duties.
The wheelchair takes him to collect fast offerings and to quorum and Scout activities. His dad even made a special sacrament tray attachment so Danny can pass the sacrament with the other deacons. Since he isn’t able to lift the tray himself, the ward member nearest to the aisle helps him. Cerebral palsy might limit him physically, but mentally and spiritually he keeps moving.

Near the end of my senior year of high school, I knew it would be time to move to Relief Society. I loved Young Women, and the thought of spending Sunday mornings with a group of older ladies just didn’t sound appealing. Relief Society was for mothers and grandmothers, I thought.
The day came. The Relief Society sisters were halfway through the opening hymn when I slipped in the back of the room. At the time, my mother was serving in the Primary, and my married sister had just been called to the Young Women presidency. My grandma was ward librarian, so she would be a little late. I was all alone. After the opening prayer, a counselor in the presidency stood to give the announcements, but I only half-listened as she read off what I considered useless information about cannery dates and ward temple night. My mind wandered during the lesson about a topic that surely didn’t pertain to me.
I went to Relief Society faithfully each week but with the same not-for-me attitude. The sisters in my ward were nice people, but they were so much older and led such totally different lives. I was excited when the summer ended, and I could go away to college and attend Church meetings with people my own age.
As we settled in the chapel that first Sunday, I was surprised when the bishop of my student ward announced that after sacrament meeting and Sunday School we would separate for priesthood and Relief Society. Relief Society? I thought I had left that back home.
I was even more surprised to discover that the form wasn’t all that different from what I had observed in my home ward. Instead of my friend’s grandma leading the music, it was a sophomore who lived in the apartment across the street. My roommate, rather than my old Primary teacher, offered the opening prayer, and I recognized the sister who gave the lesson from my biology class.
Once again I attended Relief Society every Sunday. However, it wasn’t until the second semester that I truly began to appreciate what Relief Society had to offer. I decided to get more involved. I began to really pay attention to the lessons and was amazed when I got so much out of them. My companion and I set a goal for 100-percent visiting teaching, and we accomplished it, forming lasting friendships along the way. As the year progressed, I could feel us drawing closer as ward members and friends but more importantly as sisters in the Lord’s Church.
When the school year ended, I was a little reluctant to return home for the summer. I had grown to love Relief Society at college, and I was hesitant to return to my home Relief Society where I felt I didn’t fit in. But I was surprised to feel the Spirit—the same familiar, comfortable feeling I had felt so many times in Relief Society in my student ward—engulf me as I walked in the door. I took a look around. Instead of seeing distant mothers and grandmothers, I saw fellow sisters. At college, I had learned to love and appreciate sisters of all different personalities, backgrounds, and circumstances. I realized the sisters in my home ward were no different; they were just at different stages in their lives—stages that I, too, would eventually experience. I know Relief Society was divinely organized for all women, young and old, married and single. We may lead different lives, but we are united in the gospel. We are all sisters in Zion.

By Iolanda Teixeira, Cape Verde, Africa
My mom always encouraged me with the phrase, “Education is the key to success.” I wanted a better future for myself and especially for my family, and to do this, I needed to continue my education. Without the money to go to college at the time, I applied for a scholarship to attend a vocational school to study computer systems and maintenance.
Throughout my studies I faced various challenges, but this did not stop me from moving forward with eyes fixed on better days. Prayer helped me a lot; I always seek counsel from the Lord. I have always been committed to my studies, and today I remain committed to my work, giving my best as a computer technician and a marketing assistant.

Less than three months after she was married, she was hospitalized for a thrombosis in her right leg, and, after several months in the hospital, her leg was in such a bad condition that the doctor determined that the only option to avoid further complications was to amputate it. At that moment, she felt desperate: “I was anguished, not because of myself, but because I felt it was unfair for my husband that when he was newly married, he had to go through having his wife in that situation.”

Asking the doctor for a day to think before the surgery, she wondered what they could do to find out if that was really the Lord’s will. She claims that something told her that she “had forgotten some things,” and she was inspired to ask her husband and her father to call some members of the Church to do a collective fast.

She was greatly surprised to see that many members joined this fast, and what surprised her even more was that she could see that the Lord performed a miracle. The next day, the doctor could not believe the great change in her condition, reversing his decision to do the surgery and allowing her to have her leg today, with no sign of the state it was in at that time.

Lorenzo Snow was one of the few early Church leaders who had an opportunity for formal college training. Young Lorenzo attended Oberlin College, a Presbyterian college with a national reputation for its progressiveness. It was one of the first American colleges to admit young women equally with young men. In 1830, a group of prominent young men who had banded together to oppose slavery moved as a group to Oberlin. In 1836, they persuaded Charles Finney, a prominent minister, to come to Oberlin as professor of theology. All of this happened about the time Lorenzo Snow attended school there.
Lorenzo went to Oberlin, “full of worldly aspirations, with bright prospects and means to gratify my ambition in acquiring a liberal college education.” Coming from a wealthy family, he had many friends and relatives who watched eagerly for him to achieve high honors in life. One of his acquaintances, William McKinley, later became president of the United States. Lorenzo was expected, as were all respectable young men of his day, to develop a certain degree of piety and concern for religious matters. Yet, as he observed happenings around the campus, he wrote to his sister, Eliza, “If there is nothing better than is to be found here at Oberlin College, goodbye to all religion.”
Eliza, always close to her brother, had worried about him because of his interest in military affairs. Born in 1814, at the end of America’s “second war of independence” and during the Napoleonic era, Lorenzo had been attracted by the glamour of a soldier’s life. Eliza had always worried that her brother’s life would be cut short on some foreign battlefield. Her mind, however, had been turned to religious matters. She, along with her mother and sister, had joined the Church and moved to Kirtland, Ohio, while Lorenzo was at Oberlin. Sensing that he, too, might find satisfaction in the gospel, Eliza watched for an opportunity to bring Lorenzo to Kirtland, where he might come to know the Prophet Joseph Smith and be influenced by him.
Lorenzo had met Joseph Smith briefly in 1831 in Hiram, Ohio, and felt that the Prophet was “honest and sincere.” At that time, he said, “A light arose in my understanding which has never been extinguished.” Later, while studying at Oberlin, Lorenzo met David W. Patten, an Apostle, and discussed the gospel further with him. As a result, he began to argue in defense of the Church—and fell out of favor with students and professors at the college.
In the early days of American education, every respectable scholar was required to learn Hebrew and Greek. In 1836, Joseph Smith and other Church leaders in Kirtland, Ohio, had organized the School of the Prophets and had employed a Hebrew scholar, Dr. Joshua Seixas, to teach there. Lorenzo had just completed his study of classical languages at Oberlin but had not as yet mastered Hebrew; so Eliza invited her younger brother to come to Kirtland and study Hebrew. He accepted. Lorenzo probably never dreamed what a change would be effected in his life by his journey to Kirtland.
In Kirtland, Lorenzo was deeply impressed by Joseph Smith, Sr., the Patriarch of the Church and father of the Prophet. Still wrestling with his pride and worldly ambitions, Lorenzo found himself caught in a spiritual struggle. He listened to the Prophet as he spoke on occasion, “filled with the Holy Ghost, speaking as with the voice of an archangel and filled with the power of God.” The Prophet’s face lightened until it appeared as “the whiteness of the driven snow.”
Lorenzo’s soul responded—but his mind held back. What would it mean to his friends and relatives who were anticipating a brilliant future for him if he were to “disappoint those expectations and join the poor, ignorant, despised ‘Mormons,’” as they were then regarded?
Father Smith was sensitive to the problems of young Lorenzo and advised him on one occasion, “Don’t worry, take it calmly and the Lord will show you the truth of this great latter-day work, and you will want to be baptized.” This comment startled the young man, but as he continued to seek the Lord, the Patriarch’s promise was fulfilled. Lorenzo was baptized in 1836, at the age of twenty-two. Yet he still felt incomplete. He desired to have all doubt removed; he wanted a greater confirmation of the Spirit than he had previously received.

Recently, my daughter Kimberly called to ask me about buying a car. The one she has is several decades old, and she wondered if it was time to look for a replacement. She was concerned that her car might not last; it might cost more to repair than buying a newer car. I encouraged her to avoid a car payment, to save her money and then purchase a car with savings. She wrote her script; she decided to not buy a new car but to continue a savings plan to replace the vehicle in the future. Some months later, the car is running as good as ever, and she is focused on a savings plan for the future. She is a good example of how we harvest the blessings we choose. It doesn’t always work out just as we would like, but as we follow God’s plan and apply sound counsel, we make room in our lives for Heavenly Father’s blessings to shower down upon us. At times, the blessings will pour out until there shall not be room enough to receive them.

I used to look at the Old Testament in sort of the same way I looked at fairy tales—neat stories that didn’t really mean much to me. Separated by thousands of years of history, they seemed out of my grasp. However, my seminary teacher loved the Old Testament, and his enthusiasm and humble testimony began to instill in me a greater reverence for these scriptures.
One night as I was reading, I came across this scripture: “And the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend” (Ex. 33:11).
I read these words and thought little of it. The Lord spoke to Moses. Of course he did. It was only natural that the Lord would appear personally to one of the greatest prophets that ever lived.
Then I prayed, and I started to think about that scripture. I knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t appear to me that night, but maybe I should try to speak to him “as a man speaketh to his friend.” It was then that I felt his love envelop me. As I prayed, I restated what I had read in the scriptures.
“Moses spoke to thee face to face, just like a friend.” I stopped. I said it again and then again. Then it hit me. The realization was so profound, yet so simple. Moses saw God face to face. Suddenly, the days of the Old Testament weren’t so distant, and I realized that Moses was a mortal, just like me. The scriptures came to life in my mind; I simply knew that Moses had actually lived and breathed, that he, too, had experienced challenges and struggled with lack of confidence. Yet he talked to the Messiah, the Jehovah of Israel, his Lord and Redeemer, my Lord and Redeemer, in the same manner that I spoke to my own earthly father.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed again, “I want this more than anything else. I want to return to thee!” I closed my prayer and crawled into bed, feeling His love more tangibly than I ever had before in my life.

Before being called as an Area Seventy, I faced one of the most challenging phases of my faith journey. Financial difficulties left us unable to purchase food, prompting the sale of all our possessions. Witnessing my wife part with cherished mementos from her grandmother and mother was particularly poignant. Since our car was out of gas, I was walking through our town in search of a pawnshop.
While walking, I remembered a conversation with a very good friend undergoing his own profound challenges. In my attempt to help, I advised him to cultivate gratitude. His response struck a chord: “In order for me to be grateful, I have to think of someone who is going through worse hardships than I am! It is very hard to find someone like that.”
I resonated deeply with his sentiment, feeling emotionally trapped amid my wife’s suffering and my children’s sadness. Despite having placed my trust in the Savior. He had told me: “Thou art mine”1. He had chosen me with His promises of making me a “special people unto himself”2 and “to make [me] high above all nations which he hath made”3. I had adhered faithfully to practices of tithing, fasting, prayer, and temple worship, the promised windows of heaven4 remained closed, and I felt abandoned.
In moments of heightened affliction, I adopted the practice of posing two fundamental questions to the divine: “O Lord, what is thy wish that I do? What is thy wish that I should learn?” Almost immediately, a thought surfaced: “And it came to pass that he built an altar of stones, and made an offering unto the Lord, and gave thanks unto the Lord our God.”5
This prompted a contemplation of the plight of Lehi, who, through no fault of his own, was compelled to abandon his home, leaving behind his possessions, including “his house, and the land of his inheritance, and his gold, and his silver, and his precious things, and took nothing with him.”6 Having spent his entire life in Jerusalem, leaving behind lifelong dreams and the fruits of his labor, Lehi faced a seemingly insurmountable challenge. Yet, gratitude was the principle by which he lived and sought salvation. “Great and marvelous are thy works, O Lord God Almighty!”7
For Lehi, gratitude was not contingent on circumstances; it was a decision with a specific focus: Jesus Christ. And so, I gratefully discovered, “If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.”8
In the midst of my own trials, I internalized the practice of building altars of gratitude daily through prayer. My aim was to be grateful without comparison, expectation, or dependence on external circumstances—a profound shift in perspective.
At the beginning of each prayer, I intentionally directed my thoughts toward the life and mission of my Savior. The process was transformative. The more earnestly I expressed gratitude, the more the Spirit bore witness to the truths of mercy and grace. Through this practice, I gained a testimony of the “intent of this last sacrifice”9 of my Savior and that his “bowels are filled with compassion towards (us)”10.
He perfectly knew me in His mercy. As my gratitude found expression, my faith deepened, and my soul rejoiced. I came to understand that these daily altars of gratitude were paving the way to the throne of grace.11. We were blessed both materially and spiritually in the days that followed. But, for everything I’ve been through, I wouldn’t want to trade places with any king. My trials led me to draw closer to and to know my Savior Jesus Christ. He lives!