Gospel Story Finder

The year 2000 was full of significant events for my family and me. My wife and I celebrated our first anniversary. We became parents for the first time. It was also the year I became paralyzed, just five weeks after our daughter’s birth.
That summer I had been helping an elderly sister in our ward by regularly biking the few blocks from our apartment to her home to mow her lawn, but one morning I was very tired and not as alert as I should have been—and I was accidentally hit by a car. While it is a miracle that I survived, I unfortunately did not escape without injury. One week after the accident, I awoke to the realization that I was paralyzed, unable to move any muscles below my lower chest.
Paralysis is a permanent disability. Even with all of today’s great strides in modern science and medicine, it cannot be cured. And naturally I was afraid at first, concerned with how I was going to be a husband and a father. The fear was then replaced by anger at myself for being foolish—for not stopping at that intersection and for not wearing a helmet.
I felt like a burden. It took many months at a rehabilitation hospital to teach me to live the rest of my life with my disability and how to become independent again. At the same time, living with my paralysis has helped me better understand the scriptures and our Savior’s Atonement.
Christus im Getsemani-Garten betend, by Hermann Clementz
One particular insight came while I was pondering the miracles that Christ performed. In Mark 2, Jesus forgives a paralytic of his sins and then heals him. When the scribes questioned His offer of forgiveness, Jesus said, “Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk?” (verse 9).
I had read this scripture many times before, but I never understood it until after my accident. In reading the chapter, we are reminded of how truly miraculous the healing was. Today, even after 2,000 years and many medical advancements, such a healing still cannot be achieved by man alone, and I live with this reality every day. Many think that this is the lesson behind this scripture—that Christ has the power to cure even the incurable. But there is so much more to this scripture, especially as we look past the physical miracle and instead focus on the spiritual miracle.
Just as it is impossible for one with physical paralysis to “arise” and “walk,” it is equally impossible for man alone to overcome the spiritual paralysis caused by sin. I have learned that the Savior’s Atonement is the true miracle in this scripture. I may never experience the miracle of being able to physically arise and walk again in my earthly life, but I have received the greater miracle of the forgiveness of my sins through the Atonement of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The reality of this miracle is affirmed in verses 10 and 11:
“But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,)
“I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house.”
Being healed of the effects of sin is the greatest miracle we each receive in our lives, all because of Jesus Christ. In atoning for our sins, Christ took our infirmities and sins upon Himself. He knows what we go through in life. He understands our individual disabilities, weaknesses, and challenges, no matter how big or small. There is no other person in the world who can heal the spiritual paralysis of sin.
I am thankful for the insight that I have been blessed with. It provides needed perspective as I live with my disability and strive to use it to help me learn and grow. I have been able to stop feeling sorry for myself and go do the same things I loved to do before my accident, and I have been blessed to be able to serve in spite of my condition. Some may find it difficult to be thankful when living with a disability, but God blesses us continually—even in these times. I am grateful for my Savior, for His Atonement, and for this amazing miracle in my life.

The antique mower just wouldn’t get the edges on that patch between the cracked, roller-coaster sidewalk and the curb. The blades kept catching on the walkway to Aunt Ella’s house. All in all, I guess it did do a pretty good job, and it made the neatest noise when I pushed it. But I always had to make two passes on the driveway between the wheel tracks.
I checked my handiwork. Not too bad for 50¢. I had taken extra care around the rhodo-whatever-it-was, and I hadn’t even knocked one bloom off the ferny “jungle path” to the backyard. I liked the jungle path; it looked like every plant in the world must be back there. It was cool and misty on hot summer days playing hide-and-seek with birds, snails, and my cousins—a dark green Africa.
Aunt Ella’s garage was all of wood. Separate from the house and ever dark, it seemed to sit and brood. It kind of scared me to put the mower away. I never put the mower in the back, always right next to the pale, pink Studebaker, warily regarding the gray-on-brown-on-rust monsters that lay deeper in the tomb.
Those pesty bees about stung me every time I walked around the bottlebrush plant to get to the back door. The jungle slowly encroached upon all mobile things there. I always wondered how Aunt Ella could keep out of its clutches while she filled her bird feeder and cracked nuts on the dirty, pink tablecloth. Why, she was already 83!
The back door creaked as usual when I went into the porch. The washboard in the sink was really starting to rust. An old ladder led to the attic, where jars of apricot jam were stored. I sometimes climbed up there to check for gold and treasure.
I liked the white porcelain handles on the sink in Aunt Ella’s kitchen (even if they were a little loose) and the deep basin. When I would get the blue porcelain plates out of the cupboard, I had to be careful because the latch didn’t work very well. But what could you expect from old wood? Aunt Ella’s fridge was the only round, white one that I’ve ever seen. At least you never hurt yourself if you bumped into it. Her bathtub had feet on it, but they looked like witch’s claws.
Aunt Ella always sat in her rocker and let me eat all the hot chocolate chip cookies I wanted. I usually wandered by the perpetually black TV set, looked at all the pictures of people I had never known on the mantle, played with her black phone with the frayed cord, and tried to catch the two little birds that zipped around free in the house. I would finally plop down in the purplish pink, overstuffed chair next to the brass lamp with the fringe on it. It tipped over easy, so I had to be careful.
I made dust clouds from the chair’s arm while listening to Aunt Ella talk and waiting for Mom to pick me up. When I heard the beep I didn’t even remind her that she forgot to pay me. I said, “Bye, Aunt Ella!” opened the creaky screen door, jumped all five steps at once, hopped in the car, and waved to Aunt Ella on her dingy white and gray porch.
Later on, Mom said that Aunt Ella was getting pretty bad. I didn’t cry at her funeral, not even out of duty as I passed her open coffin.
The other day I drove by her house. The lawn was clipped to perfection, the rhododendron was gone, and the jungle path just wasn’t there. A new car was parked in the driveway, and on the porch the fancy screen door glinted in the dusky light.
Then, I cried.

It was a big deal when our high school basketball team advanced to the state championship game. Basketball was my passion; I was always looking for an opportunity to play in a game or shoot hoops with my friends. I was among the starting five my senior year.
We were in the locker room getting ready to warm up for the big game when I opened up my gym bag to pull out my jersey. My heart sank; where was my jersey? Did a teammate hide it? Was this some kind of joke? I looked around the locker room hoping someone’s body language or actions could confirm it was just a tease, but to no avail. Reality sunk in. I knew I had left my jersey at home.
My teammates started to realize something was wrong. Everyone’s attention was on me when I uttered the words, “I don’t have my jersey.” Months and months of practice and training were about to be washed down the drain because of my mistake.
Just as I was about to accept my fate, I heard a quiet yet familiar voice from the other side of the locker room. “Here is my jersey.” It was the voice of my younger brother. I could play after all! What a sacrifice for my younger brother to make as part of the championship team. Instead of being able to receive recognition for his hard work and practice, he sacrificed so that I could play.
My brother injured his knee the following year and was not able to play again during high school. He felt that he hadn’t accomplished much in basketball, but his sacrifice means so much to me.

“Putting on the Whole Armor of God, Raft-Style” was the theme of a high adventure activity in which nearly 50 young women and 20 adults were divided into “raft families” and floated the Green River in southern Utah.
In preparation for the rafting experience, safety lessons were presented as metaphors taken from Ephesians 6:10–18. Life vests represented the “breastplate of righteousness,” sunscreen represented the “shield of faith,” and the oars of the rafts represented the “sword of the Spirit” and reminded the youth of the direction we’re given by the scriptures and counsel from prophets.
During the second and final river run, the temperatures dropped and the river became shrouded in mist, much like the “mist of darkness” spoken of in Lehi’s dream (see 1 Nephi 8:23–24). The youth were reminded that protection comes as we hold fast to gospel truths and we are able to safely get to our destination. One Laurel said of that final run, “I have never been so cold and tired in my life, but I have never had so much fun.” One of the bishop’s counselors said, “Not only was this a great activity, but it was also so spiritual, even while we floated the river. This is an experience that the participants will never forget.”

Such a long absence seemed impossible now that I was home. Behind me was a year spent in Brazil as an exchange student. And here was Marcia, as pretty, smart, and fun to be with as ever. A year away at college had agreed with her, and I was glad we would have a few weeks together before she returned to BYU.
I had never known a Church member until I met Marcia. She puzzled and fascinated me. With our days full of schoolwork, school plays, and more, I found out she attended a religion class before school each morning. When our group of friends planned Sunday activities, she went to church instead of picnics, shopping, or parties. Despite our differences, our friendship deepened.
Marcia once gave me a Book of Mormon, but after reading only a few pages I returned it. I occasionally went to church with her—more frequently to church dances. I considered Marcia my best friend.
“What do you have in this suitcase?” Marcia grunted as we swung the enormous case onto my bed.
“Brazilian candy and a soda called Guarana. You’ll love it. Also, I brought some goiabada. I want to cook some Brazilian foods.”
“Are you telling me this thing is full of food?”
“Hardly. I’ve got tons of pictures, and some music, and …” I snapped the locks up, “presents for my friends!” I flipped the case open and began rummaging for Marcia’s gift.
“Jessica.” Something in Marcia’s voice startled me. Looking up I saw she was holding a Book of Mormon. “Where did you get this?”
I took the book gently from her hand and rubbed my thumb over the gold-embossed title. At the airport Marcia had remarked on the changes she saw in me. I was deeply tanned—a true first for my fair and freckled skin. My hairstyle and clothes had taken on a distinctly Brazilian quality, and I was having trouble completing sentences entirely in English. But the changes she hadn’t yet detected were lasting changes. I’d kept this information close to my heart, waiting for the right moment to share it with her. This was my biggest surprise.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I was baptized three weeks ago on July 10th.”
I was unprepared for her scream. She fell back on the bed and screamed a second time. She jumped up and, with tears streaming down her face, grabbed me. Hugging, laughing, and crying we spun together in circles.
I was really lost before I found the gospel. In Brazil the legal drinking age is 18. My host family offered me membership to their country club and a nightclub. It sure was exciting. But the excitement wore off. I got tired of the meaningless social scene and started craving spiritual things.
The only churches I knew of were Catholic, and so I started attending Mass regularly. About two months later a couple of elders showed up at my host home. My host sisters were wild with excitement and dragged me to the front gates so I could talk to another American.
On the day I was supposed to have the first discussion, I got cold feet. I was with a friend and told her I didn’t want to go home because some missionaries were coming to see me. She invited me to go to her house to avoid them, but we needed to go to the post office first. We got our mail and were leaving when the missionaries walked in. That was the day they taught me about the plan of salvation.
In telling Marcia about my conversion, I saw clearly that Heavenly Father had gone to great lengths to give me the gift of His gospel. God really wants us to return to Him. And Heavenly Father had provided opportunities through the missionaries for me to receive the gospel. He really wants us to find our way home to Him.

One of the first devotionals I remember was when I was a freshman at the school formerly known as Ricks College. I was raised in a faithful LDS home, and my patriarchal blessing said that I was blessed with a testimony through my earthly parents, which was true. But I was determined to strengthen my personal testimony of the restored gospel before serving a full-time mission.

At age eighteen I also had another gospel-related concern. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, and most of my friends, neighbors, teachers, and coaches were not members of the Church. Using my developing powers of observation, I noticed that many of these people seemed to be happy, and many were interesting characters with a healthy sense of humor. My concern was that, up to that time in my life, my limited observations of senior Church leaders suggested that they were quite formal and proper. As a young man I had this nagging question: Would the highest degree of glory in heaven be a very nice but humorless place?

The devotional speaker in January 1982 was the oldest living apostle, ninety-five-year-old LeGrand Richards. Elder Richards was seven years old in 1893 and in attendance when President Wilford Woodruff dedicated the Salt Lake Temple.

Elder Richards rarely delivered a message from a written text. He spoke from his heart, drawing upon a lifetime of experience, study, and inspiration. I’d like to share a minute of his remarks so that you can get a sense of Elder LeGrand Richards. At this point in his message he is talking about a Sunday School conference he attended as a boy. The conference was taught by Brothers Karl G. Maeser and George Goddard of the general Sunday School presidency.

I can remember to this day—and it has been over 80 years—the songs Brother Goddard taught us to sing in that Sunday School conference. And when I didn’t know I couldn’t sing, I tried to sing with them. I don’t do it anymore.

The first song goes like this: “Take away the whiskey, the coffee, and the tea. Cold water is the drink for me.” And then it repeats and goes on. That made such an impression on me as a boy that I’ve hardly been able to drink anything but cold water since that time.

I was riding on the train a few years back—when we used to travel by train—headed for California. I went in the diner in the morning for breakfast, and the waiter said, “Are you ready for your coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Will you have some Postum?”

“No, thank you.”

“Would you like a glass of milk?”

“No, thank you.”

“What do you want to drink?”

I said, “A glass of cold water, please.”

He said, “You’re the funniest man I ever did see.” [“His Life Experiences,” BYU–Idaho devotional address, 19 January 1982]

Elder Richards was a man of wit and good humor. My concerns about fitting in with people who qualified to return to our Heavenly Father simply faded away that day. More important, as I listened to Elder Richards speak from his heart and share his experiences and testimony, my faith in the Restoration deepened. He was a man of unwavering conviction of the truthfulness of the gospel.

The fact that Elder Richards had personal connections to President Wilford Woodruff, who was a member of Zion’s Camp, and to his great-uncle Willard Richards, who was in Carthage Jail with Joseph and Hyrum Smith, made the restoration of the gospel all that more real to me. After the devotional I stood in a long line to shake Elder Richards’ hand. I consider that day and the increased faith and testimony I received a tender mercy. I had no doubt that Elder Richards knew the gospel to be true, but I, like you, needed to continue to build my testimony line upon line, precept upon precept.

Tyler was playing tag with his cousins when he heard his grandma calling.
“Everyone come inside!” she said. “It’s time for dinner!”
Tyler’s whole family was together for a family reunion. Even Uncle Robert and his family had come from far away!
As everyone gathered together, Tyler noticed Grandma holding a basket. He wondered what it was for.
“I’m going to pass this basket around,” Grandma said. “It’s for your phones.”
Tyler heard several of his cousins groan.
“Our family doesn’t get together very often,” Grandma said. “This way we can listen to each other better. We can all get our phones back after dinner.”
Uncle Hyrum made a funny face. “Welcome to the No-Phone Zone!” he said as he put his phone in the basket and passed it on.
Tyler looked at his phone. He liked playing games on it, and he was waiting for a text from his best friend, Ethan. With a sigh, he put his phone in the basket and handed it to his cousin. Then he heard a ping. Was that a text for him? He barely stopped himself from reaching for the basket again.
“Thank you,” Grandma said. “Now let’s say a prayer and eat.”
After the prayer, Grandpa brought in a plate piled high with hamburgers and hot dogs from the grill. They looked delicious! Tyler helped his little brother put a burger on a bun, then grabbed a burger and two hot dogs for himself.
Grandma laughed when she saw his plate. “You eat just like your dad did when he was your age.”
Tyler smiled back. “I’m a growing boy, Grandma.”
Aunt Tracy laughed too. “That’s exactly what your dad used to say!”
After dinner, Tyler’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and older cousins all told stories. Usually Tyler didn’t stick around to hear the grown-ups talk. But this time he didn’t want to leave the table. He’d never heard these stories before!
Tyler especially liked the stories about Dad.
“Did Dad ever get in trouble?” he asked.
“Oh yes!” Grandpa said. “He was always making crazy inventions—like toasters that also opened the blinds … or at least tried to!”
“What do you mean? All of my inventions worked perfectly!” Dad said.
Everyone laughed.
Grandma looked at Tyler. “We’re proud of your father, and we’re proud of you too!”
Tyler felt a little embarrassed, but mostly he had a happy feeling inside. Suddenly Tyler realized that he hadn’t even thought about his phone for an hour. He had been having so much fun!
When Dad said it was time to leave, Tyler gave Grandma a big hug. “Thanks, Grandma. This was the best dinner ever!”

In the fall of 1979, I returned home to Southern California from a two-year mission to Santiago, Chile. The mission was by far my greatest experience up to that point, but now it was time to adjust to the next chapters in my life. My thoughts, therefore, turned toward continuing my education at BYU, and so I made reservations with a chartered bus company transporting BYU students from the Los Angeles area to Provo. My mom delivered me to the pick-up site at a mall parking lot early in the morning. There were two buses waiting for passengers, and as I got ready to board one of them, my mom made an interesting comment: “Maybe you’ll find your wife on the bus.”

That sounded like a great idea to me, so as I boarded the bus, I began looking for an empty seat next to a cute girl. I was in luck! There was one empty seat left, and it was next to a very cute girl. I triumphantly sat down. As soon as I did so, she gave me a very unpleasant look. “Excuse me; I was saving this seat for my friend.”
So, sadly, I got up and walked off the bus hoping for a better result on the other one. This time the result was better. I only saw one available seat, but it was also next to a cute girl. So, I sat down, and I am happy to report, I did not get kicked off.

As we started the 13-hour trip to Provo, I got up the nerve to talk to the woman next to me.
“So, where are you from?”
“Diamond Bar.”
As soon as she said that, a person in the seat in front of me turned around and said, “Now I know where I’ve seen you before. It was girl’s camp.”
They spoke briefly, and then I mustered my courage again.
“Well, I’m from San Dimas.”
At that point, the person in the seat in front turned around again. “I’m from San Dimas. How come I don’t know you?”
I told her that I was a member of the Glendora Stake. She answered that she was from the La Verne Stake, and that was the end of it.

That brief conversation turned out to be my last for the next twelve and a half hours. My seat partner clearly had zero interest in talking to me, and there wasn’t a good way to continue the conversation with the person in front. I secretly wished, though, that I was sitting next to her because she sure seemed a lot more interesting than the one next to me.

And so, I returned to life in the dorms at BYU. On Sunday, when I went to my new student ward, I met a wonderful woman who looked familiar.
She approached me and declared, “Aren’t you the guy from the bus?”
I was, indeed, and she was the person from the seat in front of me, Rhonda Armstrong.

Now you need to know something about Rhonda Armstrong. She was very friendly. She and her roommate made it a point to visit all the men in the ward on Sunday afternoons when we were allowed to have visitors in the dorms. I quickly started to look forward to her visits, and it wasn’t long before the visits began to linger. Soon, Rhonda no longer had time during the Sunday visits to reach the goal of visiting everyone.

As we became good friends, I really wanted to ask Rhonda out on a date. Unfortunately, whenever I saw her at the cafeteria or other public places besides church meetings, she was with another guy. I often saw them holding hands, so naturally, I assumed that she was attached to him. And, I was too scared to find out.

At one point, she complained to me about his dominating attention because it kept other guys from asking her on dates. She was just complaining to me as a sympathetic friend, but I took it as a hint. So, on Valentine’s Day, 1980, I bought her a greeting card, and I inserted a note asking her if she would go out with me. That was a Thursday, and on Saturday, we had our first date at the bowling alley.

From there, the friendship grew steadily until we returned home to California for the summer break. That time was precious to us. We spent lots of time together, and our friendship was rapidly turning into a deep love.

July 5th was a Saturday, and I asked her if she would like to go to the beach with me that day. She agreed, although I later found out that she was willing only because she wanted to be with me. She actually didn’t care much for the beach, thinking it was boring to just lay out on the hot sand and get a tan. While we were there, I introduced her to my favorite part of the beach—the tide pools. She had never done that, and she was fascinated by all the little animals I showed her. This was the beginning of what would eventually become our shared interest in scuba diving.

We had a great time, but something you need to understand is that sunblock was not a thing in those days. This was my first exposure to the sun since before my mission, and it did not go well. By the time I got home, I was in great pain with redness and bleeding blisters on my back. Nevertheless, I still wanted to be with her, and we sat for a long time in the living room of my house quietly talking while I tried to ignore the pain. At one point, the conversation grew silent, and I heard a little voice in my head. The little voice said, “Say something.”
I remember thinking, “What am I going to say?” But the urge kept getting stronger and stronger until I finally blurted out: “I wish you could be mine forever.”
Nothing. No answer. She just kept staring at me, looking surprised. She explained later that she had no idea what to say because she wasn’t sure what I meant. And that was a reasonable conclusion because I also did not know what I meant.
All I could think was: “John, that was the dumbest thing you have ever done.” And so, I promised myself that I would never ever say anything like that again.
She went home, and I went to bed, suffering physically from my worst sunburn ever and suffering emotionally from horrible embarrassment.

What I didn’t know is that she went home and started to plot and plan. She figured out exactly how she would respond if I ever said anything like that again.
The next morning, when she went to church, her best friend excitedly told her, “I got engaged last night!” To which Rhonda replied, “Well, I’m getting engaged tonight!”

That evening, I announced to my parents that I was going to go over to Rhonda’s house for a visit. My mother refused. “You’re practically sick from your sunburn. You’re staying home tonight. You spend every day with that girl. You can stay home with us for once.”
So, I called up Rhonda and explained that I would not be coming for a visit.
She was shocked. “Why not?”
“My mom won’t let me go.”
Of course, this was ruining her plans. How were we going to get engaged if we couldn’t get together? “Can I come over there to see you, then?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I’ll have to ask my mother.”
Well, my mom reluctantly agreed, and Rhonda came over. We again spent the evening in my living room quietly talking. As the conversation grew silent, I heard the voice in my head again, “say something.”
“No!”
“Say something.”
“No way! I made a fool out of myself last time. I’m not saying anything again.”
“Say something!”
And before I could get control of myself, my mouth opened, and I spoke.
“I wish you could be mine forever.”
Silence.
“John, you idiot!” I thought. “You did it again!”
Then she looked up at me and sweetly said, “Say the word, and I’ll be yours.”
Then my mind really raced. “What have I gotten myself into? Is this the right thing? Do I dare go on?”
But to my eternal gratitude, the little voice took over, and I asked this dear woman to be my wife.
My mother was right, even prophetic. I found my eternal companion on the bus to BYU.

Bailey loved princesses. She loved pretending to be a princess with her sister. She loved her princess books and toys. Most of all, she loved the little glass slipper she kept on her shelf. It was just like the shoe one of her favorite princesses wore.
Every night, Bailey’s dad read a story to her before bedtime. Then he read scriptures with her and helped her say a prayer.
But tonight, when Dad stood up after prayer, he bumped into Bailey’s shelf. The glass slipper wobbled. It tottered. Then it tipped off the shelf. Bailey’s eyes widened as she watched it fall. Dad tried to catch it, but—CRACK! It hit the floor.
Bailey gasped. “My slipper!” It was broken in half. How could she pretend to be like her favorite princess now?
“I’m so sorry!” Dad said.
Mom came into the room. “What happened?” she asked.
Bailey felt a lump in her throat. “Dad broke my glass slipper.”
“Oh no! I know how much you loved it,” Mom said.
Dad carefully picked up the pieces of glass. “Maybe I can fix it.”
Bailey could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. Her slipper would never be the same.
As Dad left the room with the pieces of the princess shoe, Bailey hugged her mom.
Mom held Bailey tight. “I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry you feel sad.”
“I love you too,” Bailey said. Then she thought for a moment. “And I still love Dad too.”
“Maybe Dad will feel better if you tell him that you love him. It might help you feel better too,” Mom said.
Bailey wanted to keep crying, but she nodded. “OK.”
Bailey walked into the kitchen. Dad was sitting by the table, trying to glue the toy shoe back together.
“Dad,” Bailey said, “I know you didn’t mean to break my slipper.”
“I am really sorry,” Dad said.
“I forgive you,” Bailey said. “And I love you.”
She gave him a big hug. She didn’t feel like crying anymore. She was still sad, but hugging Dad helped her feel a lot better.
“Do you want to see what I did?” Dad asked.
He carefully turned the slipper so that she could see it better. It was in one piece again!
“You fixed it!” Bailey said.
“I think so,” Dad said. “But don’t touch it yet. The glue still needs to dry.”
Bailey could still see the crack in the middle where the slipper broke. But she was happy it was in one piece again.
“Thank you!” Bailey said.
“And thank you for forgiving me,” Dad said. “That was a hard thing to do.”
Bailey hugged her dad tight. Forgiving Dad was hard, but Bailey loved him more than any toy.

Many years ago I was introduced to an idea which at first seemed only an exercise in imagination, or perhaps a peg on which to hang a story. But I have thought of it occasionally since as I have traveled the earth, often separated from family and other loved ones.

Suppose that everyone in the world received simultaneously the word that the inconceivable was about to occur: civilization as we know it was about to end.

What would happen?

Well, for one thing, the streets would be a maelstrom of frantic people trying to get to a telephone to talk with someone. Every line would be jammed and every telephone booth besieged by people trying to reach someone to say “I love you.” There would be other messages also. “I’m so sorry,” would be one of them, or “How foolish I have been.”

The condition of the world about us assures us that the unthinkable could happen; but it is not of such a cataclysm that I am thinking, but of our daily walk and our everyday relationships. They who love should manifest their love while there is a chance to do so. If we are waiting for some later time, some period when all imperfections are corrected and when all frustrations pass away, we are not wise. Resentment or pride or selfishness or impatience can lead us to miss what life is meant to be, and can be, and is for those who love and serve. To postpone loving and giving until some time of perfect freedom from distress or discomfort is a great mistake; it will not happen. It is not for this world.

But we should be earnestly seeking and striving to correct and improve our own attitude and our own behavior. God has so ordained it. He loves us and believes in us and has done and will do anything he can to help us, but he will not impose on our free agency. “We love him,” says the scripture, “because he first loved us.” (1 Jn. 4:19.) He does not love us because we love him; he loves us unconditionally. But his love does not take the course of negating or smothering our privilege to choose, or our responsibility to account for what we choose and to experience the consequences. Indeed, it is written that he weeps for the bad judgment of some of his willful and disobedient children:
“Behold these thy brethren … are the workmanship of mine own hands, and I gave unto them their knowledge, in the day I created them; and in the Garden of Eden, gave I unto man his agency.” (Moses 7:32.)
“And … the God of heaven looked upon the residue of the people, and he wept.” (Moses 7:28.)
We had that agency with God before this world was. In the heavenly council of which the scriptures teach, there was another plan than God’s presented: Lucifer was permitted to offer his program. It is vital for us in our leadership and our relationships to remember that God so loved that he would not shield us from the perils of freedom, from the right and responsibility to choose. So deep is his love and so precious that principle that he, who was conscious of the consequences, required that we choose. Lucifer had no love in his heart, no real concept of freedom or respect for it. He had no confidence in the principle or in us. He argued for forced salvation, for imposed survival, for an agencyless round trip to the earth and back again. None would be lost, he insisted. But he seemed not to understand that none would be any wiser, either, or any stronger or more compassionate or humble or grateful or more creative, under his plan.
We understood before we left that premortal state that freedom is precarious, difficult. We knew that to love would make us vulnerable to heartbreak and pain and disappointment. But we had learned that the alternatives to love and freedom of choice cannot provide the climate for growth and creative capacity that can eventually lead us to a stewardship like our Father’s. The unselfish love of our Father’s Firstborn in the spirit helped us understand when he, knowing the personal cost ahead for him but also the eternal significance for all of us, volunteered for his role of redemption.
We chose then, and we are, in consequence, on this earth still choosing.
Recently I listened to a lovely young lady just leaving her teens as she spoke in a stake conference, her first address ever. She had never known a true family of her own. She had experienced many temporary homes, made many mistakes, had much heartache and hopelessness. Then an older Church couple found her, and loved her, and taught her. Her prepared talk was witty and interesting, but when she laid it down and bore witness through tears, it became magic:
“No one ever helped me to understand that I was worth anything,” she said, “that I was special in any way. And then the missionaries taught me about Jesus Christ and his love and the God who sent him. They taught me that Jesus died for me—for me. I am valuable! I am valuable! He died for me.”
The lesson of God’s great love and wisdom seems lost on many who are on this earth because of their choice but we do not understand. Our responsibility is to help them. But we must ourselves pray and strive earnestly that we do not obscure its meaning. If we do not really love and really believe in free agency, we may be inclined to impose our will on others for what we think is their best good. If we love enough, we will not do that, even at the risk of failure. Instruction and rules and training and discipline are essential, of course. From our Father’s example of godly love and patience, we should be motivated to stretch to any lengths to teach, to persuade, to encourage, to help.
But in matters of conscience and faith, if we truly love we will never seek to impose our will and deprive others of their agency. That is, after all, Satan’s way. He is still permitted in this world to pursue his own rebellious approach. Since his encounter with earth’s first family, he has waged war unceasingly upon God’s children.
A scene to give us pause is portrayed in the Book of Moses:
“Satan … had a great chain in his hand, and it veiled the whole face of the earth with darkness; and he looked up and laughed, and his angels rejoiced.”
But it is written also:
“And … angels descend[ed] out of heaven, bearing testimony of the Father and Son; and the Holy Ghost fell on many.” (Moses 7:26–27.)
The contest for the souls of men continues. We go on choosing.
The loving Father who at such great cost has preserved our agency in and out of this world has made every effort to help us use it well, but he has made it plain where the responsibility now lies:
“I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil;
“In that I command thee this day to love the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commandments and his statutes and his judgments, that thou mayest live and multiply. …
“I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.” (Deut. 30:15–16, 19.)
It is written that “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16.) That holy Son died for us and gave us the wonderful example of his life, and nothing in that life touches my heart with greater impact than the manner in which he chose to live among us:
“Forasmuch,” it is written, “as the children [that is, we] are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same. …
“For verily he took not on him the nature of angels; but … took on him the seed of Abraham.
“Wherefore in all things it behoved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God, to make reconciliation for the sins of the people.
“For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted.” (Heb. 2:14, 16–18.)
Through that love it now is that “we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” (Heb. 4:15.)
He has the feeling of our infirmities; he understands our temptations. He came not as an angel but in flesh and blood that he might be a merciful and faithful advocate for us with the Father.
Would we improve our individual performance in relationship with others if we truly had the “feeling of their infirmities” and truly sought to be a faithful and merciful high priest, or Relief Society teacher, or friend, or wife, or husband?
The intensity and integrity of God’s love and Christ’s love are beyond our comprehension, but we are here to learn, and we must try.
Only Christ was sinless in this world, and this is why repentance must always company with faith as first principles. God’s plan and Christ’s sacred gift prepared the way for us to improve, to grow, to change, to learn wisdom and mercy and forgiveness. Out of the wise use of our free agency proceeds every other wholesome quality and every blessing.
It is my deep conviction that any act or program or rule planned or performed without love at its heart, love as the spirit of it, or which curtails the agency of our Heavenly Father’s children, is not worthy of God’s kingdom or of his leaders or people.
Repeatedly He has protected our eternal agency, thus helping us to qualify through opposition and in the face of alternatives for the sweet blessing of eternal creative service. But we must choose—and be held accountable.
All of this came together for me in a very personal way a year or so ago in Manila in the Philippines when a telephone call from my wife reached me in the middle of the night in a hotel room telling me that our only son had suffered a severe accident that threatened his mobility and perhaps his life. He was being flown home to be operated on.
About the time of his anticipated arrival home, I telephoned. There was a brief delay, then the sound of my wife’s voice, quiet and subdued. “Your four sons-in-law are standing around your son administering to him,” she said. “Paul has anointed him, and John is about to give him a blessing. He was worried because you’re not here. This will be the first administration he’s had from anyone but his father—but he’s comforted now.” I joined them in that prayer of blessing on my knees in a lonely hotel room half a world away, a room suddenly made sweet and warm.
Whether or not that day ever occurs in our lifetime when the telephone lines may be especially busy, we should be thinking of the love we have and should express, and manifest it for those nearest us and for those round about, and for all others, and for our holy Savior and his father.
Well may we sing, “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Years after my baptism, I spoke with Sister Smallcomb and thanked her for still being willing to address my questions. I also expressed that I hoped I wasn’t bothering her.
“Marcus,” she said, laughing, “you can send me questions about the gospel for the rest of forever.”
It was so comforting to know that I had someone I could turn to for answers. In a way, Sister Neff and Sister Smallcomb were my mentors in the gospel, helping to guide me along my path of conversion and helping me understand what it means to be a member of the Church.
But they wouldn’t be the only ones to guide me.
I used to love having spiritual discussions with my family. But when I joined the Church, those conversations—at least for a season—became impossible to have. Spiritual discussions with my family left me feeling drained rather than invigorated.
Living the gospel without my family was not a trial I could endure by myself. Gratefully, my Heavenly Father and the faithful bishop in my young single adult ward were there to help.
No matter what I discussed with my bishop, I always grew spiritually. I felt the support and love I needed.
Maybe your spiritual needs aren’t filled through a bishop. But an institute teacher, a mission president, a senior missionary couple, a ministering brother or sister, a friend, and so many others can be there to support you.
How do we seek those mentors in our lives? One of the most important steps is doing your best to continue living the gospel. And you can trust that a perfect Heavenly Father can (and will) guide many Christlike people to help you.
You can also find a mentor by placing yourself in positive situations. Carrying out a ministering assignment, magnifying a calling, offering meals to missionaries and joining them for lessons, attending institute, and bearing your testimony are all ways to create opportunities to develop good relationships.
Throughout my journey, whenever I felt alone, Heavenly Father continued to send angels my way to comfort and strengthen me.
I realized that I was never truly in a position where I didn’t have support. Heavenly Father always led me to help, especially when things were tense at home. All I had to do was keep my faith in Him and keep my spiritual eyes and ears open for His guidance and blessings. I solemnly testify that the Savior’s words are true:
“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
I lovingly encourage you to keep yourself involved in the gospel as you pray for Heavenly Father to guide you to the beneficial relationships and mentors that will help you stay on the covenant path and return to Him.

Augustina Ogunkoru of Idogbo Branch, Sokponba Stake
Life was quite challenging as most times we had difficulties in providing for the family demands at home before I participated in the self-reliance group meeting. I was then a housewife doing nothing to support myself or the family.
During the group meetings, I learned a lot of principles, especially the need to be savings-conscious, irrespective of how small the value of money might be. I also learned about the payment of tithes, and how to know what people want to buy, which eventually informed my decision to acquire a skill in catering services.
A Perpetual Education Fund (PEF) loan was very helpful to me in achieving my goal to acquire catering skills, which has now unlocked my potential to work and earn money for myself and also to support my family from home.
I testify that our Heavenly Father has blessed everyone with talents and through self-reliance, we can be useful to ourselves and family. I never thought that I could do anything before now, but with the help of the self-reliance program, participating in group meetings, and acquiring the needed skills set, I can support myself and my family without begging for alms.

The movie Chariots of Fire is the moving story of Eric Liddell, the gold medal winner in the 400-meter track event in the 1924 Paris Olympics. Liddell was not only a gifted athlete who held to his convictions, but he lived out his faith to the very end as a Christian missionary in China. He was such an incredible athlete that his goal was to get to the 1924 Olympics in France and run in his best race—the 100-meter race. He trained hard to get in top shape, and his country of Scotland was sure that he would win a gold medal for them. There was just one problem. The heat to decide who would make the Olympics was on a Sunday, and Liddell would not run on Sunday. Due to this conflict he chose not to run in the 100-meter race. Instead he qualified for the 200- and 400-meter races because those heats were not held on Sunday, but no one expected him to come close to winning. Just prior to the start of the 400-meter race, he was given a piece of paper on which was written words from 1 Samuel 2:30: “Them that honour me, I will honour.” Liddell ran with that piece of paper in his hand and held onto this promise tightly. And, to everyone’s surprise, he won the gold medal and broke a world record.

Those who knew President Grant personally agree that two characteristics stood out among the many good qualities he possessed: his persistence and his sense of humor. President Grant often referred to the story of an ant that made 69 attempts to carry off a grain of corn before it was successful. “This wonderful lesson of perseverance by an insect has been an inspiration to me all the days of my life,” he said.13

An example of his persistence is demonstrated in the way he learned to sing. When President Grant was 43 years old, he decided he wanted to sing, despite the fact that he had never been able to carry a tune. As he explained:
“I had a private secretary with a beautiful baritone voice. I told him I would give anything in the world if I could only carry a tune. He laughed and said, ‘Anybody who has a voice and perseverance can sing.’ I immediately appointed him as my singing teacher.
“My singing lessons started that night. At the end of two hours’ practice I still couldn’t sing one line from the song we had been practicing. After practicing that one song for more than five thousand times, I made a mess of it when I tried to sing it in public. I practiced it for another six months. Now I can learn a song in a few hours.”14
President Grant’s sense of humor was evident in the stories he shared of his efforts in learning to sing. He told of a time when he was practicing his singing next to a dentist’s office. He heard someone in the hall remark that it sounded like somebody was having teeth pulled.15

I will not recount the difficult challenges of my life. I want to share an experience that shows that He cares for us in every way.
When my husband had his business in the early 2000s, he called me one day, asking me to prepare a very important administrative document that was necessary for him, and I had to find it quickly. I knew I had seen this paper in one of the trays. I looked all over the office, but it wasn’t there. I searched several times, but nothing worked. I prayed. But not a simple prayer. I prayed with all the energy of my heart, the strength of my soul. When I do this kind of prayer, I am almost exhausted as I put my faith into action. Expressing to the Lord that I know He can help me and guide me to find what I seek, affirming that I believe in His power. I continued to search, then, as I leaned against the door frame at the entrance of the office, I observed the room. I looked at the tray, which was near the window, and then I understood what had happened. It was as if the story of this sheet was being shown to me. The document had flown out the window. I ran downstairs, I must say my faith was tested; a paper that flies from a second-floor window can go anywhere.
I circled the building, tree leaves strewn across the ground. No documents in sight. I continued to seek, nevertheless fearing that it was lost.
I saw a small piece of dirty paper under the leaves, and I almost missed it as it could barely be seen. I picked it up, and oh, what joy I felt when I saw that it was indeed it, this precious document for which I had spent so much energy, searching, imploring, and importuning my Heavenly Father. I took the time to sincerely thank Him.
I was so grateful that He helped me, and especially that He even kept this document outside for us because I noticed, with the dirt on it, that it had been outside for several hours or even a day or two. God had paved the way before I even knew it.

I read with great interest the article about President Walter Stover in the May 1987 issue. It brought back cherished memories of that beloved man, my conversion to the church in 1947, the Freud-Echo in Berlin in 1948, and, yes, the green Cadillac! I saw the Caddy late one evening in Zwickau, driving up the Bahnhofstrasse. It was quite a sight for us Germans. What a huge car!
At the Freud-Echo, President Stover awarded me a Book of Mormon with his signature for winning in writing a poem. My Book of Mormon is rather old and in bad repair by now. I think I’ll have it restored since it is very special to me.
I hope President Stover is happy and in good health. A lot of German Saints keep him in their hearts and prayers.
God bless President Stover always.

James Peter Fugal was an honest man! He herded sheep much of his life in the rolling hills of Idaho—both his own sheep and sheep for others.
On one bitterly cold winter night, he was herding sheep for another man when a blizzard set in. The sheep bunched together, as sheep do, in the corner of a fenced area, and many died. Many other sheep on surrounding ranches also died that same night because of the weather.
Though the death of the sheep was no fault of his, James Fugal felt responsible and spent the next several years working and saving to repay the owner for his lost sheep.
This was the type of deep moral honor and accountability that was fostered by scripture-reading, God-fearing settlers on the early frontier.
I thought of James Fugal, the humble sheepherder, and how wonderful it was that these children were being taught the same values that made him a man of such noble character.

I know of one young man who spent the summer before starting graduate school working as a handyman in his neighborhood. He repaired sprinklers, he remodeled closets, he landscaped front yards, he replaced old fences, and he painted decks.

He got married. And then the time came that the young couple was able to buy their first little home. It needed a lot of work—it was a real fixer-upper. Conveniently, he had developed the necessary skills. In one month he remodeled the basement into an apartment, which they rented out. This helped make their house payment. Besides being glad that her husband is smart and romantic, his new bride is impressed with the financial benefits of his practical skills.

Like the time Grandpa got real sick and had to go to the hospital. Everyone fasted and prayed for him, including Eugene. He climbed up into his quiet place and prayed for a whole hour.
Two weeks later, Eugene’s father lay in the tree house and cried. Eugene heard him because he was there, too. Everyone was happy because although the doctor had said that Grandpa was going to die, he got better. Eugene climbed up into the tree and lay close to his father. Neither of them spoke. At least not out loud. They were busy thanking Heavenly Father in their hearts, warm tears trickling down their faces.
After a while, Eugene asked his father why he had come to the tree instead of staying at the house with everyone else. “Everyone needs a quiet place where they can go to be alone sometimes. Even grown-ups. I don’t have one,” he said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I came up here for a few minutes.”
Eugene was happy that his father thought having a quiet place was important.
“Besides,” his father added with a wink, “with Aunt Althea at the house to greet your grandpa coming home from the hospital, it’s a bit noisy there. I needed a moment alone to thank the Lord for your granddad’s recovery.”
A few moments later, Eugene walked back to the house with his father. The back screen door whined as they joined the others. Eugene paused to look back over his shoulder at the old tree. It was like an old friend—warm, inviting, peaceful. And always there when he needed it. He smiled, went inside, gave Aunt Althea a big hug, then hurried over to Grandpa’s bed.

Another young woman decided that one of the stakes in her life was to observe the Sabbath, regardless of her circumstances. One year after she was baptized a member of the Church with her family, her ward was divided. Her family was assigned to the newly formed ward, and she was the only young woman in the new ward. Her parents resisted the change and stopped attending church, but she wanted to follow the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth on “Sabbath Day Observance.” She decided to go to church in the new ward whenever she could, even though it meant attending all of her meetings alone.
On Sundays she read her scriptures and worked on Personal Progress. Her decision to be “steadfast and immovable” in observing the Sabbath encouraged her mother and younger sister to begin attending church again. Her mother testified that her daughter’s steadfast example of living the gospel and her goodness helped them return to activity.