Gospel Story Finder

My name is Job Abram Goldrup. Several years ago, when I was four years old and my older brother, Matt, was six and a half, Dad took us camping at a place called Blue Lake in northern California. It was in the middle of a very, very hot summer. Although most of the other lakes around there—even bigger ones like Clear Lake in Mendocino County—were very low and muddy, Blue Lake was filled with water.
We slept in sleeping bags on the ground that night, and Dad told us a story. I can’t remember what it was about, but I liked the soft sound of his voice and the feeling of being with him by the lake in the woods. I felt safe and loved and excited. The moon made silver, bouncy light on the water, and I heard an owl hooting in the dark trees whose branches swayed back and forth in the dry wind. I looked a long time at the warm, bright glow of our campfire. It made the dark not too scary, just like Dad’s voice did. Yep, I liked it there. A lot.
In the morning Dad made hot chocolate and cooked hot dogs. The chocolate had a few twigs in it because he spilled the chocolate powder on the ground and some stuff got mixed up with it when he scooped it up. But that was OK because Dad said there was hardly any use being in nature if you didn’t get a little of it in you. “Besides,” he added, “a little roughage is good for the system.” We just laughed and drank it down. It was kind of a strange breakfast—what we ate should have been for dinner, and what we had for dinner we should have had for breakfast—that was part of the fun of camping with Dad.
After breakfast, we rented a rowboat and went out on the lake. Dad made us wear orange life jackets. That’s the only part that wasn’t much fun because it was already getting hot and the life jacket made me hotter. But Dad said that just as the words of the prophets are meant to help keep us spiritually safe, life jackets are made to help keep us temporally safe.
I scrunched up my face something awful and fidgeted as if to shake that life jacket right off me.
“You have to plow your own furrow, huh, Joby?” Dad said, smiling and shaking his head.
I didn’t know what he meant. I scrunched up my face again and reached my hand down into the cool water. The water felt good. And, I have to admit, so did Dad’s counsel. Even if I didn’t understand it sometimes, I knew that it meant that he cared about me and my brother.
We kind of went around in a few circles before Dad started rowing straight. Matt whispered to me that Dad was about as good at rowing as he was at cooking.
Dad heard us and laughed. “I’m just taking the scenic route,” he joked.
After a while, we reached a small island near the other side of the lake. I felt like an explorer as Dad pulled the rowboat partway onto the pebbly beach. The island was covered with trees. A few big ones had long before fallen into the water along its edges, and there were logs on the beach.
There was only one problem: It was very hot! It helped to take off my shirt and shoes and wade in the shallow water along the beach, looking for rocks and small fish. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. “Dad,” I begged, “can’t I take off my life jacket? It’s so hot, and the water isn’t deep here. It hardly comes up to my knees.”
Dad, who was wading higher up the beach ahead of us, scratched his head and scrunched up his face. “I guess it would be OK, Joby,” he said at last, “as long as you don’t wade out any deeper.”
I promised that I wouldn’t, and Matt helped me get out of the jacket. I threw it up onto the beach. It felt great to have it off! My brother and I continued to look for rocks and fish below the surface of the water, Matt poking and turning the rocks over with a stick he had brought from camp.
A few minutes later, Dad looked back to check on me and my brother and yelled, “Where’s Joby, Matt?”
Matt looked this way and that, then, bewildered, back at Dad. “I don’t know—he was right here a minute ago.”
Dad raced up out of the water and faced the thick, tangly island trees. “Joby!” he yelled again and again, hoping I had decided to venture into the trees.
Matt was worried too. “Where is he, Dad?”
Dad didn’t answer. He ran into the shallow water close to where Matt stood, scanning the water about him. Then he ran along the beach, first in one direction, then another. Suddenly he stopped, looked down into the shallow water by a fallen tree, and screamed, “Joby!” He threw himself beneath the surface and pulled me up!
A big gasp came from me as I breathed in air at last.
“Are you all right?” Dad looked at me with tears filling his eyes.
I nodded. “I guess I stepped into a hole. A feeling like a voice told me ‘Stay calm. Your dad will come for you.’ So I did. I just started looking around at the big tree roots, waiting for you to find me.”
Dad started crying hard. He hugged me like he would never let go. And for a moment, I didn’t want him to, and I started to cry too.
Afterward we all sat on a log up on the beach, and Dad explained what had happened. He said that I had stepped in a pothole and very well could have drowned. It was because of Heavenly Father’s loving, watchful care that I was spared. Dad said that the voice-feeling I had was the Holy Ghost telling me what to do. I know that that’s true because of the special feeling I had while I was waiting for Dad to find me. “If you had panicked,” Dad said, “You would have swallowed water and might have drowned.”
I will always remember that day—listening to Dad’s story and sleeping by the campfire, eating those hot dogs and drinking the twiggy hot chocolate that Dad had lovingly prepared, the cool lake water on a hot summer day. But most of all I will remember my experience with the Holy Ghost that taught me how near He is to us—as near, Dad would say, as an amen at the end of a prayer.

When I started my first semester of college in the United States, I was so excited. I was attending a school with a lot of Church members, and I had never been surrounded by so many people my age who believed the same things I did! I expected we would all share the same standards and help each other grow spiritually and intellectually.
However, I was surprised when my expectations fell a little short.
Back in my home city in Taiwan, Church members always seemed to take the gospel seriously. They never missed a chance to connect with Jesus Christ, and neither did I. There, I would go to the temple every month with my younger sister (who always motivated me to go), I never missed church meetings (because of my parents), and I always tried to make decisions that kept me connected to the Spirit, just like the people around me did.
But at school, while nobody was intentionally breaking commandments, for some people, the gospel seemed to be lower on their to-do lists. Some of them made choices that just teetered on the edge between the world and the gospel. Being on my own for the first time, I got busy and caught up in what everyone else around me was doing. I soon saw how easy it is to be influenced by the world around you when you’re not prioritizing the gospel.
When friends around me were making decisions that didn’t always align with gospel standards, I started to wonder if I was living in a way that was too spiritual. I wondered if I was the odd one out—if I was taking the gospel too seriously. I started to feel lonely, especially at church. I felt tempted to change my standards to fit in with the people around me.
However, around that time, President Russell M. Nelson shared a powerful message in general conference:
“We have never needed positive spiritual momentum more than we do now. … Spiritual momentum can help us withstand the relentless, wicked attacks of the adversary and thwart his efforts to erode our personal spiritual foundation.
“… I urge you to get on the covenant path and stay there. Experience the joy of repenting daily. Learn about God and how He works. Seek and expect miracles. …
“As you act on these pursuits, I promise you the ability to move forward on the covenant path with increased momentum, despite whatever obstacles you face.”
That’s when it hit me.
I had been more interested in what others were doing than my own personal relationship with the Savior. I even realized that my school was right next to a temple and I hadn’t been there yet! It also became clear how much I had relied on others to influence my spirituality back in Taiwan too.
I needed to do the work to reignite my spiritual momentum and focus on Christ—who should be my top motivator to live His gospel.
I started making some changes.
Even if I didn’t feel motivated to go to church or attend the temple or do anything spiritual some days, I chose to do so anyway and focus on my Savior. It didn’t matter what everyone else was doing.
The world makes it easy to take the blessings of the gospel for granted, but when I focus on Him, I remember what matters most.
Instead of wallowing in loneliness and focusing on the differences in how we are living our lives, I now reach out to others. I strive to make friends and note all the positive interactions I have with them, like a simple smile or a kind conversation.
I no longer compare my discipleship to others’. Instead, I focus on keeping my spiritual habits consistent and strengthening my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. When I prioritize my relationship with Them, I remember how much They love each of us perfectly, and it reminds me to offer grace to others just like They offer grace to me.
President Nelson also invited us “to take charge of your own testimony of Jesus Christ and His gospel. Work for it. Nurture it so that it will grow. Feed it truth. … As you make the continual strengthening of your testimony of Jesus Christ your highest priority, watch for miracles to happen in your life.”
The world makes being casual about your discipleship easy, especially when you’re on your own for the first time as a young adult. However, I encourage you to accept our prophet’s invitation to strengthen your foundation of faith in Jesus Christ.
Making Him a priority keeps me moving forward on the covenant path.

My aunt and uncle live on a tiny island in the Caribbean in a part of the world known as “Hurricane Alley.” In 2004 our family learned that Hurricane Ivan was heading straight for their home. My aunt had evacuated to Florida, but my uncle stayed to weather the storm in a bunker that he’d built in the middle of the island and that they always kept supplied with emergency essentials.
Hurricane Ivan slammed into the small island with the full force of a category-5 hurricane. The winds traveled at over 200 miles per hour (322 km/h). And during the worst of the storm, the entire island was completely covered with water—it even disappeared from satellite.
When the storm was over, my uncle emerged from the bunker and looked out to see complete and utter destruction. He slowly walked toward his home on the coast, and his heart sank as he looked at all of the houses that had been destroyed. He was dreading what he’d find when he arrived home.
As he came around the curve, he anxiously looked and saw, amid the devastation, his lone house completely intact and standing tall. The lights were on because his generator had survived too.
When we asked him how his house had survived when the others fell, he told us his strategy for success. When he’d built the house, he’d bored and anchored the foundation into the bedrock 20 feet down. Even a hurricane could not destroy the strong foundation my uncle had built.

When we joined the Church as a young married couple, we were inspired by the example of our Church leaders who had obviously committed themselves totally to serving the Lord. During the next ten years my wife and I each held three or four callings simultaneously while two more children joined the two we already had.
I vaguely noticed that we almost never talked about anything but family or household business. Increasingly, I left decisions about the children to her while I merely mumbled ratification or voiced an occasional objection. I even turned most of the responsibility for having family home evening over to my wife. By neglecting my responsibilities as a father, I was increasing her burden as a mother; and I was doing very little as a husband to strengthen her in her mother’s role.
What woke me up was a tape of a speech by Elder Paul H. Dunn, where he suggested among other things, that the husband should not always be the only source of information on scriptural, ecclesiastical, or academic questions; the wife should have time and encouragement to do her own research, increase her own knowledge, and sharpen her own learning skills.
I remember feeling surprised when I recalled how often I prayed that our children would reach their full potential in the gospel and in their secular pursuits, but I had never prayed for the same blessing for my wife. I also realized that I tended to arrange time for my own hobbies and entertainment because it was important for me to have a variety of activities but I wasn’t applying the same principles and guidelines for my wife’s life.
After a lot of thought about this and related matters, I went to the Lord in prayer. Part of the answer was in a new insight into Matthew 19:5–6, where it refers to the husband and wife as “no more twain, but one.” I saw the husband and wife endeavoring to achieve perfection together. If part of that body is starving, then the whole body suffers.
Humbled, I went home to share my discovery with my wife and suggest that she take time to do or study or learn or practice something she would like to do. She initially refused to consider the idea. She thought she already had so many important responsibilities that she wouldn’t have time for interests outside the home. We discussed and prayed about it. A week later she decided with some reservations to enroll in an evening institute course on the Pearl of Great Price.
Any misgivings soon changed. Often she returned from class bubbling with excitement, eager to share a newly learned principle or to discuss the stimulating lessons. We began to have something to talk about besides work and the children. Taking care of the children that one evening weekly for a few weeks gave me increased appreciation for her contribution in the home—and let me renew lost contacts with our children. They sensed the differences in her and looked forward to hearing about her class too. The happiness was contagious.
Later, from time to time, she took correspondence courses on other subjects and finally mustered up the courage for a dream she had cherished for years—art classes. I wondered that, in over two decades of marriage, I had missed this important part of her, and was proud to see her art talent develop. She blossomed in confidence and our relationship was enriched and bettered, and our awareness of each other strengthened.

Grandpa and Grandma were coming! To 15-year-old Holly Walker of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, this was front-page news, bigger than a visit from the queen or a phone call from E. T.

Holly and her grandfather are pen pals. She writes to him often, sharing her triumphs and traumas, her dreams and goals. He answers her with letters full of encouragement and counsel. The two share many things—a love of horses and gardening, a zest for learning, and, above all, a devotion to family and the gospel.

Holly’s grandmother symbolizes for her the ideal of strong, wise, gracious womanhood. Holly has grown up using her grandmother’s life as a model and cooking old family recipes first created by her ingenuity. On the horizon of Holly’s young life, these two people loom like giants.

Now the time for the visit had come at last. Holly waited impatiently at the Calgary International Airport with her mother; two of her sisters and their husbands; and assorted cousins, nieces, and nephews. They sat and watched the control tower gather in jets and sort them back into the sky like a mailman sorting mail. Soon one of the incoming specks would grow into the plane carrying Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa’s plane floated down across the southern edge of Calgary, tracing with its shadow the broad blue sweep of the Bow River. The plane banked, leaning hard on its northern wing, pointing the wing tip like a finger at the tall shafts of glass and metal that clustered in an elbow of the river. Just behind the wing tip Grandpa could see a splash of color punctuated with turning circles. He knew the circles were Ferris wheels at the stampede grounds. The plane flew north now, shedding altitude rapidly. Through the eastern windows Grandpa glimpsed a fringe of houses and then only a green and yellow distance to the horizon. Westward lay a broad rug of city, green with trees and parks. At the city’s western edge hills rose in gentle swells that grew mile by mile till they crested in a vertical tidal wave of stone—the eastern ramparts of the Rocky Mountains. From this distance they looked like an abrupt wrinkle on a relief map. Then the city rushed up, and the bump of wheels on runway told Grandpa and Grandma that their visit had begun.

Like all good Calgarians, Holly loves the Stampede, and every year she and her family attend. And Stampede 1983 was going to be something special. This year Grandpa and Grandma would go with them! It had been a long time since her grandparents’ last visit, because Grandpa is a very busy man.

When Holly’s grandfather and grandmother appeared through the airport gates, everyone rushed to greet them. You probably would have recognized them too. Holly’s grandfather is President Ezra Taft Benson, President of the Council of the Twelve. There were hugging and kissing and the happy chatter that accompanies a reunion. Then they were all off to the beautiful home where Holly lives with her mother, Barbara Benson Walker, and her father, Robert Harris Walker, who is president of the Calgary Alberta Stake.

As they drove homeward, they enjoyed the special gentility that governs life here. Drivers obeyed the speed limit, respected the rights of others and merged and yielded with courtesy. They saw cyclists pedaling out to one of the islands on the Bow River and caught a glimpse of men in immaculate white shirts and trousers playing cricket on a manicured swatch of grass.

That evening, Holly went to the LDS dance, which is one of the highlights of social life for young Latter-day Saints in Calgary. After the dance, she brought home many of her friends to meet her grandfather, who received them with graciousness and humor. He made them all feel like old and valued friends, and they also felt the powerful witness of the Spirit that they were in the presence of a beloved servant of God.

The Bensons were only able to be in town a few days, but the family made the most of the days they had. Holly treasured the opportunity more than any gift she could conceive of. Her family was the most important thing in her life, and her grandfather and grandmother were the honored patriarch and matriarch of the family. She loved to sit talking with them, enjoying the stories and counsel as much as a gourmet might enjoy a delicious meal. She listened spellbound as President Benson told her stories of his experiences as a Scoutmaster when he was a young man. It was obvious that he had taken that calling just as seriously as he does his present assignment.

Holly showed her grandfather her journal. This was almost the same as reviewing her whole life since she had last seen him, because she keeps a world-class journal. It included not only a written account of her experiences but also clippings and programs and articles and drawings and photographs and bits of fabric and many other artifacts of her life. Her descendants will be able to know their ancestor very well indeed. Through this journal President Benson was able to be a real participant in her life.

Music has always been an important part of family get-togethers, and Holly played the piano while President and Sister Benson sang. Later they walked and talked and relaxed in the well-tended yard which Holly’s green thumb had helped to prosper. Then Holly showed her proud grandpa a bedroom full of trophies and awards and shared her written goals for the coming year. For another girl, a girl with fewer trophies and fewer accomplishments, the list might have seemed pie-in-the-sky nonsense, but this young lady was up to the challenge. She has been student-body president of her junior high school, seminary president, and captain of the school basketball and volleyball teams. She is a very talented pianist, having won first place in her age group at the Calgary Kiwanis Music Festival several years in a row. She also accompanies her mother, who is a soprano soloist. Two years running Holly won the top academic and athletic award at her school. She has also won awards as a dancer, singer, and composer. These are only a few of her many accomplishments to date, and only a beginning of what she plans to achieve.

Her 1983 goals run several pages in length. They include an ambitious, capacity-stretching list of self-commitments in the areas of spirituality, academics, reading, journal keeping, photography, athletics, self-improvement, music, service, and missionary work. As an example, the sports goals include specific and challenging commitments in basketball, waterskiing, tennis, jogging, swimming, hiking, racquetball, windsurfing, trampoline, and golf.

Monday evening the family went to the chuck wagon races at the Calgary Stampede. President Benson watched with the keen eye of a lifelong horseman as the chuck wagon teams careened around the track in a cloud of dust and tangle of wagons, horses, and outriders. A constant stream of LDS Scouts who were visiting from the nearby international jamboree came to shake the Apostle’s hand, and he graciously turned away from the spectacle to greet them warmly. Afterward there was a stage show honoring Canada, and then the night became noon as fireworks blossomed in new constellations overhead. The family laughed and joked and cheered. The best part of the evening was just being together.

As with all happy events, the visit passed too quickly, but it was long enough to deepen Holly’s love for her grandparents even more. “It is great having my grandparents here. I love them and admire them both very much. They have always been and will always be great examples to me. I feel very blessed to be their granddaughter and to be so close to them. I hope that I will never let them down.

“I remember going down in the summers or at conference time to visit them. I always love to hear their stories of when they were my age or younger. Their experiences seem to really relate to me and the things I’m interested in. I love them so much. I think the greatest thing they’ve shown me is to have love in the family, and we certainly do. My family and my relatives are my closest friends. I’d much rather be with them than with anyone else.”

As her grandparents’ visit drew to a close, Holly was happy to know that every parting with those she loved would someday be followed by a reunion, and that someday there would be a reunion to be followed by no partings. Her grandfather and grandmother were hers eternally, and as beautiful as the summer is in Calgary, that knowledge was still more beautiful.

Last Wednesday I was in Idaho and telephoned to Phoenix and learned that President Hinckley was trying to reach me. I called him that morning and made an appointment to see him Thursday afternoon. Wednesday afternoon I joined with other members of my family at the funeral of my mother, who had passed away here in Salt Lake City the previous Sunday at the age of ninety-five. She joined my father, who had preceded her twenty-two years ago, and my wife, who had joined him four years ago.
I am grateful for them. I have prayed since Thursday afternoon that a kind and loving Heavenly Father would let them who had been such an influence in bringing me to this position be aware of it. I am confident they were.
I promised President Hinckley on Thursday afternoon, and now tonight I would like to do so again to the First Presidency, the Quorum of the Twelve, and these other Brethren that I desire to dedicate my all and serve to whatever extent I am asked.

A few weeks before school started, I was sitting on the porch with my friends Grace and Ron when the discussion turned to how much Grace disliked her father. This wasn’t a new topic for her.
“He always embarrasses me in public just by being there. It is just so annoying when he always …” She went on to talk about her father’s failings and how he wasn’t living up to her expectations.
Ron decided he would take over the conversation by talking about his family and how he didn’t think his mom was home enough and that he didn’t like the way she dressed. He didn’t think he should have a curfew or that his dad should yell so much.
The whole time I just sat on the porch swing waiting for them to ask me what I didn’t like about my family. I couldn’t say I didn’t love my family. Moving five times in my lifetime had given my brother, sister, and me really tight bonds. We depended on each other and stuck up for one another. Our closeness was something my mother was very proud of.
Then Grace said, “What about your family, Scott?”
I didn’t say anything for a minute. I was choosing my words carefully, knowing the things I said would represent what I believe in. When I finally spoke, I felt the Spirit guiding my words. There were no interruptions from either of them as I spoke of how much my family means to me and that I hope to spend eternity with them. I encouraged them to be more patient with their families. I told them to look at the big picture.
I ran inside the house and got my copy of the proclamation on the family by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I read to them the seventh paragraph, focusing mostly on what qualities we should base our family relationships on: “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities” (Ensign, Nov. 1995).
After reading that, I said, “This is what my family believes. This is what we want to be and are striving for. I know if I can do all that, then I will be able to stand tall on the Judgment Day with my family, knowing we are going to live together forever.”
I didn’t know how well my friends took this information because of a long pause from both of them. We just sat there for a while, pondering what had been said.
Later a thousand thoughts went through my mind. I was proud I was preparing for a mission by sharing the Church’s teachings on families with my friends. But was I doing it appropriately? And what would they think if I tried to explain more about the gospel?
As I was getting ready for bed, I flipped through my scriptures and turned to section 4 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Here we are told if we serve the Lord in missionary service “with all [our] heart, might, mind and strength,” then we “may stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2).
Of course, my friends and I still have our disagreements. But I realized no one ever loses a true friend just by talking about religion and beliefs. Although Grace and Ron didn’t join the Church, I have continued my friendship with them. It felt good to explain my beliefs to them. Just because they didn’t immediately change what they believed about families or religion didn’t matter. I know there are hundreds of stories about the value of perseverance in missionary service. Mine may end up one of them.

One minute Norene was sitting quietly in the passenger seat with her little brother, Mark, while her sister, Janette, drove toward home. The next minute the car went out of control and crashed into a cement culvert.
The accident happened so fast Norene only knew that her face hurt, that Mark lay on the floor much too quietly, and that Janette sagged against the steering wheel with blood dripping from her head. A fear worse than any she had known in all her eight years seemed to freeze Norene’s body, and she began to cry.
She heard voices coming closer to the car. “You call an ambulance, and we’ll try to get them out before the car catches fire.” Hands reached in and lifted Norene through the window.
“Are you all right?” a woman asked.
“Yes, but my brother and sister—”
“We’ll have them out in a minute. You lie right here on the grass and rest.”
The man who had come to help pulled at the car doors, but they wouldn’t open. He climbed through the back window and over the seat to get Mark off the floor. He handed the still unmoving two-year-old out the window to the woman. After she laid Mark on the grass beside Norene, she and the man carefully lifted Janette through the broken glass.
Janette moaned weakly and opened her eyes. She tried to reach out to Norene, but her hand fell to the grass by her side and her eyes closed again.
“The ambulance should be here any minute,” the woman told Norene, putting her arm around her shoulder. “Don’t cry any more. They’ll take good care of all of you. Where’re your mother and father?”
“They went on a trip,” Norene replied. “My big sister knows where.”
“Well, the folks at the hospital will find them, and everything will be all right. Don’t you worry.”
The trip to the hospital was a frightening one. The siren was going, and the attendants were too busy with Janette and Mark to offer Norene any comfort.
At the hospital a nurse helped Norene onto the bed in a little room and cleaned the cuts on her face. Janette and Mark had been taken to a room down the hall. Norene tried to answer all the questions the nurse asked, but there were many things she didn’t know. Then a new nurse came in and put her arm around Norene’s shoulder.
“Your sister is too sick to tell us very much, but whenever she is able to talk, she says, ‘Get the elders.’ Norene, do you know what that means?”
“Oh, yes! She wants you to call the missionaries.”
“What missionaries does she mean?”
“The Mormon missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Norene answered. “Can you find them?”
“I don’t know if there are any in our town, dear, but I’ll try to find one.”
“Can I see my sister and brother now?”
“Not yet. The doctor is still with them. I’ll be back, and as soon as possible, I’ll take you to see them.”
When she was alone, Norene began to pray. She asked Heavenly Father to help her sister and brother and to please bring Mom and Dad to them quickly. When she opened her eyes, the door had been swung open and she could see nurses and doctors hurrying back and forth, pushing carts and carrying trays filled with bandages and medicines. Then she saw two young men. Their faces were unfamiliar, but Norene knew who they were. They wore suits and had name tags. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Norene ran out of the room. “Are you the elders?” she asked.
“Yes, we are,” one of the young men answered. He glanced at a paper. “Are you Norene?”
“Yes.” She threw her arms around the young missionary’s waist. “Will you give my brother and sister a blessing? They’re really hurt.”
“We’ll be glad to, Norene,” the other missionary replied. “Would you like a blessing too?”
“Yes, please,” she answered.
An elderly couple hurried down the hall. “We got here as soon as we could,” the man said, all out of breath.
“Brother and Sister Kendall,” the first missionary said, “this is Norene. We’re going to administer to her and her brother and sister now.”
A calm feeling came into the room when the elders put their hands on Janette’s head and then on Mark’s. They asked Heavenly Father to heal them and to help the doctors do everything they needed to do. When Norene’s turn came, a peaceful feeling took the place of the frantic one she had had, and she knew everything would be all right.
The doctor and nurses came back into the room to take care of Janette and Mark. One of the nurses said, “I’m afraid you won’t be able to see your brother and sister again until tomorrow. Please go out to the waiting room now and try to get some rest.”
Norene and the missionaries went back into the hallway. The elderly woman held out her hand. “Until your parents are located and can get here, how would you like to come home with us?” Sister Kendall asked. “My husband and I are here on a mission, too, and we have grandchildren back home who are just about your age. It would be a treat to have you stay overnight with us.”
Norene thought for a minute. She felt sure that Heavenly Father would watch over Janette and Mark and that He must have sent these kind people to take care of her until her mom and dad came. She reached out, put her hand in Sister Kendall’s and walked with her toward the door.

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
It was the summer of 1990, and the occasion was Torchlight 90, a multi-stake LDS Young Women camp in Italy. More than 130 girls attended this week-long camp in the rugged mountains near L’Aquilla, about fifty miles from Rome.
Quite by accident, we just happened to be in Trieste, Italy, the day before the Young Women of the ward there were to leave for the camp. Rita Schina, the Young Women leader in the Trieste Ward, invited us to accompany the group. We had other plans, but a whisper in our hearts told us to go to the camp instead, so we heeded the prompting. We have been thankful ever since that we did.
There was something about the girls we met at the camp that touched us spiritually. Perhaps it was their vibrant glow and the excitement they expressed about their ideals. Or maybe it was their respect for their leaders. Certainly, much of it was their love for each other, which grew deeper every day they were together.
As the years have passed, we have corresponded with some of the girls that were part of Torchlight 90 to see if the extraordinary spirit we witnessed had continued in their lives. We have been pleased to find that it has.
The camp was divided into seven individual campsites, each representing one of the seven Young Women values. At every campsite, the girls were mixed from several stakes or districts so they could develop friends from other areas of Italy. The campsite was located on Rocco di Mezzo plateau, surrounded by rugged mountains and dotted with scattered tents full of talking, laughing girls.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.
Every morning, all the girls gather for a flag-raising ceremony, then engage in games. This morning, there are clouds overhead and the mountain winds blow cold. The girls make a semicircle in front of the flags. As the sun gradually blossoms over the mountain peaks, everyone stands quietly for the opening prayer. The sounds of birds and crickets lightly pepper the soft whisper of the wind. This is a special morning, because Brother Christian Euvrard, a regional leader in the area, is speaking to the girls. He talks about the Young Women program as a guide for planning the future. When he finishes, he picks up a stick and breaks it as a symbol that the ceremony is over. Now it is time for games. And that’s when something unusual begins to happen.
As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.
The American girls’ Young Women leader, Linda Black, still lives in Verona, Italy. She wrote to us that several of the American girls became close friends with some of the Italian girls and have continued to write to them.
Annalisa Brandonisio, from Venice, wrote us, “Even though our language and customs were different, I felt united to the American group because of the strong influence of the Spirit of the Lord that was with us.”
Telling us about the camp, she said, “It was often hard for me to sleep at night, because my heart was so filled with emotion and feelings for that special week in the mountains. Torchlight 90 helped me to realize that I can get closer to God by having the right kind of friends.”
Annalisa is nineteen now. She is a stake missionary and a visiting teacher in the Modena Ward, in the Venice Italy Stake. She plans to serve a “mini-mission” this summer and a full-time mission when she is old enough.
Sonia Plescovich, from the Genoa Third Branch, Torino Italy District, wrote: “Torchlight 90 will remain in my heart for the rest of my life. Though we were many girls from many places, we all had the same ideals, the same thoughts and beliefs. Even though we had never seen each other before, it was as if we were friends from birth. I learned to love those girls as much as my own family. Because of the example of some of them, I learned to read the Book of Mormon every night. Being there and feeling the love of everyone in the camp, I felt closer to God than I have ever felt before. It seemed that the veil that divides us from God didn’t exist for a time.”
Sonia, now twenty, is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, a visiting teacher, and the branch choir director and organist. She is planning to begin a full-time mission sometime this year. In her most recent letter, she commented: “I saw some of the girls I met at Torchlight 90 at one of our latest Young Adult conferences, and we talked of the wonderful memories we have of the camp. I still have special feelings for the girls I met at Torchlight 90.”
Iris Cartia from the Vimercate Branch, Milan Italy Stake, wrote about her feelings toward the girls she met at the camp: “The Church is not spread widely in Italy yet, and even the members within a branch or ward often live far from each other. So I cherished the opportunities to get together with girls who share my beliefs and feelings. Those were special moments in my life. And from them I drew the strength to go on and be different from the world, to be a light for those around me. I know that neither time nor distance can prevent those who love the gospel from meeting together with joy, no matter where they come from.”
Shortly after the camp, Iris had written to us, “This experience helped me concentrate on the important things, like planning my life so I can go on a mission and get married in the temple someday.”
Three years later, those goals are still important to Iris. She is now nineteen and serves as the branch organist, director of the Relief Society choir, and a visiting teacher. She served a “mini-mission” in Torino, Italy, and corresponds with a 73-year-old woman she contacted as a missionary there. She plans to go on a full-time mission.
Iris continues to feel the influence of the camp in her life: “Torchlight 90 gave me an ideal and example that still lives in my heart. The example set by the leaders at the camp guides my leadership style considerably.”
Stefania Ferrazzano from the Foggia Branch, Puglia Italy District, wrote about the camp: “Being in the mountains without modern conveniences made me realize how much I took for granted and how much the Lord has blessed my life. It helped me to know that my life depends on God and that the gospel is my anchor and my guide. At the camp I learned that we have to work for the things we want to achieve, but if we do our part, the Lord will do the rest.”
Stefania is twenty now and is ready to go on a full-time mission when she turns twenty-one. Her sister is currently serving a mission in Milan. Stefania is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, branch librarian, and assistant clerk. She has also served as a Sunday School teacher for young people from twelve to eighteen. She tells us, “Even after three years, Torchlight 90’s influence on my testimony is still present.”
The Young Women gather in a “campfire circle” that has no fire—it is not lawful to have a large open campfire in these mountains. The excited conversations race back and forth, and there is vivid hand-waving as one girl or another tries to emphasize a point. All this is mixed with smiles and laughter and an occasional tear of understanding.
The girls continue to laugh and talk noisily until Sister Adele Peloni, a Young Women leader from the Venice Italy Stake and one of the camp leaders, stands, ushering in a stillness that amplifies the soft sounds of the mountain breezes. “Remember the standards of Young Women. … Be true to yourself,” she tells them.
The camp theme, “From the top, upward,” and the camp theme song, “I Walk by Faith,” reflect the ideals of the Young Women program all over the world. The girls have heard these concepts before, but somehow, in this setting, with the mountains so near and new friends by their sides, the girls feel exhilarating energy in the words that instill deeper feelings of love for one another and a greater desire to be close to the Spirit.
As the sun sets behind the towering mountains, leaving a gray cold, the girls huddle in their tents and talk about their experiences at the camp—putting up tents in the wind, making tables from wooden poles and ropes, and cooking without modern conveniences. They laugh about the games and the tricks they played on each other. Then, as the night closes in, they get more personal, and the girls share their feelings and hopes. Often these thoughts turn toward the gospel and what it means in their lives.
We had to leave the camp before the final night, so Tiziana Rossato, one of the leaders from the Venice Italy Stake, wrote to share with us that night’s experience: “In the final testimony meeting, the girls and leaders formed a big circle, hand in hand, and sang a goodbye song. They started with strong voices, but ended in tears and sobs, then total silence for a long time after the closing prayer.”
We attended the camp to see if such an experience could change the lives of young LDS girls. Now we realize that the experience changed our lives as well. The joy the girls felt in living simple gospel standards, and the unpretentious love and respect they showed to us and to each other, have been lasting influences in our lives.
We still receive letters from the girls, and they often recall for us their special feelings for the camp and for the people they met there and how their lives have been changed because of Torchlight 90. One of the girls summed up the feelings of all who attended the camp: “The Spirit of the Lord works like magic in our Young Women camps; it can touch your heart for a split second, but change your life forever.”

“The decision I made to go on a mission was the greatest one I made in my life,” says BYU’s star forward, Mike Smith. “I decided to go when I was pretty young, so that I wouldn’t be influenced later when the pressure was on,” he added.
And the pressure did come. Mike was dubbed one of the best players to come out of any California high school and was recruited by many large universities. He chose BYU, and in his freshman year, he started 27 of 31 games. It didn’t bother him at all to leave his sports career behind for a couple of years.
There were those who didn’t understand, however. One man in particular, a long-time fan of Mike’s from his hometown of Hacienda Heights, California, couldn’t fathom why Mike would run the risk of sacrificing his career to serve a mission. Mike wrote his non-LDS friend a letter from the mission field in which he bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, the Book of Mormon, and the prophet of the Church. Mike also told him he felt it was a privilege rather than a sacrifice to serve. His friend was so touched by Mike’s testimony that he took the letter to a local Catholic priest, who happened to be interested in Mike’s basketball career too. The priest, in turn, read the letter in mass every day for a week, saying it was an example of a youth who was doing all he could to serve the Lord.
“Nothing that happens on the basketball court can compare with experiences in the mission field,” Mike explains. “The feelings you experience on the basketball court are so limited, so temporary. You can make a game-winning shot and the fans love you, but the next play you dribble it off your foot and that great feeling is gone. But the feelings that come over you out in the mission field, where the Spirit touches your heart, you’ll never forget.”

In the April 2011 general conference, President Monson asked the members of the Church to make a contribution to the Church’s General Missionary Fund if they could. We collected aluminum cans for many months and then turned in the cans for recycling. We gave the money we received from recycling the cans to the General Missionary Fund. We each look forward to serving a mission one day. Our family loves to follow the prophet.
Rebecca, Wyatt, and Sarah W., ages 11, 8, and 9, Idaho

“Hooray!” Andrew yelled when he saw the batch of cookie dough that his mother was putting into the refrigerator. “That means tomorrow is ‘Cookie Sunday!’”
“Yes,” replied his mother. “Do you remember what you must do to earn these cookies?”
“I remember. I just need to tell you one thing that I learned in sacrament meeting. That’s easy.”
“You’re right, Andrew. It’s too easy for a big boy like you. This time I want you to tell me three things that you learned.”
“Three!” Andrew took a closer look at the cookie dough. “Is it chocolate chip?”
His mother nodded. “You know, Andrew, listening longer will help you be reverent longer too.”
When the bishop stood up at church after the sacrament had been passed the next day, Andrew forgot to listen. He was busy looking at his favorite book about Jesus. He especially liked the picture of Jesus with the children. He liked to imagine that he was one of those children and that Jesus was smiling at him.
Mother tapped Andrew on the arm as the first speaker stood up. It was Samuel Jenkins, a friend of Andrew’s big brother. Andrew liked Samuel because he sometimes let Andrew play with his basketball. He gave Samuel a big smile, and Samuel smiled back! Then he started his talk. Andrew listened hard. Samuel said that he was saving his money to go on a mission. I’m saving my money, too, Andrew thought. He had a special box that had a place for his tithing, his missionary savings, and his spending money. He was saving his spending money to buy a red toy truck just like the one Toby had. Where is Toby today? he wondered. Andrew saw Toby’s father and baby brother sitting in front of them, but Toby wasn’t there. Toby was his best friend, and he had taught Andrew how to tie his shoes. Andrew was leaning down to see if his shoes needed tying, when his mother tapped him on the back. Oh-oh, thought Andrew, I’m not listening any more.
Andrew looked up just in time to see Samuel sit down and another man take his place. The man’s name was Jethro Williams. He and his family had just moved into the ward. Andrew thought that Brother Williams had kind eyes. Brother Williams was introducing his family, so Andrew turned around to locate them in the congregation. He didn’t see any boys his age in the family, but there was a little girl. Andrew also looked around for Toby, but he didn’t see him. He did see his friend Jacob, though, and gave him a little wave. Andrew felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, so he quietly turned around and saw Brother Williams opening his scriptures.
One day I’ll have my own scriptures too, Andrew thought. My scriptures will have a black cover like Dad’s, with pages that make a whispering sound when you turn them. He leaned over and saw that a lot of words in Dad’s scriptures had red-pencil lines under them. That meant that the words were extra special.
Brother Williams was reading something about the Lamanites, so Andrew opened his Book of Mormon Storybook and turned to his favorite story about Samuel the Lamanite. He was still busy looking at the pictures when he heard the organ start to play. Is the meeting over already? Andrew wondered. No, it’s just a rest hymn, he decided as the congregation sang “The Spirit of God.” Andrew sang especially loud on the chorus. In Primary the music leader had said that when the children sang the chorus, they sounded like angels.
After the song, Sister Williams stood up. She had a soft voice that reminded Andrew of his Primary teacher. His Primary teacher often said, “Bless your heart.” Andrew listened hard to hear if Sister Williams would say that, too, but she didn’t. Instead, she said another word a lot. She said, “thankful.” Andrew listened, and he counted on his fingers that she said it five times!
She really is thankful, Andrew thought.
Then Sister Williams began to cry a little. Andrew used to feel funny when grown-ups cried in church, but his mother told him that people sometimes cry when they feel very happy inside because of their blessings. Andrew decided to count his own blessings. He thought of his new bicycle that he was learning to ride and of his pet gerbil, Blacky. Then he thought of Amanda, his baby sister, who was asleep on Dad’s lap. Andrew was reaching over to pat Amanda’s curly head when the organ began to play again. The meeting was almost over! This time it was a hymn that Andrew didn’t know, but he helped hold the book for his mother and hummed softly.
After dinner that afternoon, Andrew’s mother got out the bowl of cookie dough. “Well, Andrew,” she said, “tell me what you learned today.”
Andrew thought hard. “Samuel Jenkins talked about saving for his mission. He told me that when he goes on his mission, he’ll give me his basketball! Isn’t that great?”
Mother nodded. “Yes, that’s great. And I’m glad that you were listening when he talked about being a missionary. What else did you learn?”
“I learned that we have a new girl named Sarah Williams in our Primary class. Her father had her stand up in sacrament meeting. In Primary I found out that she likes chocolate chip cookies, just like me!”
Mother smiled. “OK, Andrew. That counts. Shall we take her some cookies to share with her family today?”
“OK, Mom.” Andrew’s eyes lit up. “And could we take some to Toby too? He wasn’t at church today because he’s sick.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “But first you need to tell me one more thing that you learned today.”
Andrew spoke slowly, “Well, Sister Williams was thankful for five things, and in church I could only think of three things that I was thankful for. But now I’ve thought of two more.”
“What are they?”
“I’m thankful for all my friends and for chocolate chip cookies to share with them!”

“I remember a little six- or seven-year-old girl whom I met in Ethiopia. She was collecting water from an irrigation ditch. It was full of silt and mud, but it was the only water available. She went down a very steep bank with a basin and a cutoff plastic bottle, which she used as a dipper, and filled the basin with the black water. Then she carried it home on her head. God bless those dear little ones. How He must love them. And how heavy are the burdens that they have to carry. It tears at my heart.

When she saw me, my best friend knew immediately that something was wrong. “We broke up,” I told her quietly. I was coming home after a long conversation with the young man I had been dating. Although we were sad to part, we both agreed that it was right for us.
But as the weeks went by, I started to feel unsure about my decision. What if I never found anyone else to date and never married? What if I had made too big a deal out of our incompatibility?
I felt so lonely and unsure that I even considered seeing whether he was willing to give our relationship another try. I was, as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “dissatisfied with present circumstances and [had] only dismal views of the future.”1
One evening a few weeks after our breakup, I was reading about the Savior’s Resurrection. The Gospel of Luke recounts that on the third day after the Savior had been laid to rest, faithful followers went to anoint His body with spices. But they found that the stone covering the tomb had been rolled away and the body was gone. Two angels then appeared to them and said, “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen” (Luke 24:5–6).
The angels’ question struck me suddenly with powerful force. I had never thought about how the visitors to Jesus’s grave might have felt, realizing they were looking in the wrong place for their Savior. I had never thought about what a challenge it must have been for them to believe that Jesus had left behind the decay of the tomb and had risen in glory.
The scripture spoke a gentle rebuke. I realized that, like the Savior’s friends, I was looking in the wrong place for comfort. Wallowing in the past and “yearn[ing] vainly for yesterdays”2 was not consoling me or motivating me to fruitful action. I realized I needed to stop looking in the tomb of past experiences. I needed to replace my fear with faith and trust that the Savior could create life from the experiences of my past.

Eritai says he feels happy and accomplished after overseeing the construction of a solar-powered Church building and missionary housing in Tabonibara, North Tarawa.
“I have never done anything as critical as this,” Eritai explained.
He told of answers to many prayers during the construction. He found it remarkable the way “every detail of the plans came together, and they were able to finish it so quickly despite setbacks with construction and weather.”

Upstairs, Mama hesitated a moment before going into the bedroom. “Emily,” she asked, “are you awake?”
“Come in, Mama,” a husky voice answered.
“How do you feel, dear?”
“Better, thanks, Mama.”
“Want me to plump up your pillows and raise the shade a little?” Emily nodded.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Mama wondered how to begin. She fussed with a thread on the coverlet a moment, then she started. “Emily, you remember last fall when your papa’s saddle horse Jake turned up missing?”
“Yes, Mama, and I remember how bad Papa felt when he found him dead and the mountain lion tracks all around where they had struggled. It was awful.”
“That’s right, honey, it was awful and we all felt bad, knowing how much your papa loved that old horse. But somehow we get over those hurts. Memories are softened in time, and we can more clearly see why things happen the way they do. Our hatred for the big cat gradually changed to an understanding that he was only acting out of instinct and that he must have been very hungry to attack an animal as large as a horse.
“Emily, I’m telling you this to help you bear some more hurt. And I’m sorry to have to tell you when you’ve been so sick, but there’s never a good time to hear some things.”
After Mama had explained about Marcus and the weasel, Emily sobbed out her unhappiness while Mama held her close.
When Jason came to see his sister later that afternoon, any mention of Marcus was avoided. He tried to cheer her up and talked of a new place he had found by the creek for their play. “It would make a perfect place for a castle moat!” he said excitedly. Emily managed a wan smile, but Jason knew where her thoughts were. When he couldn’t bear to feel Emily’s sadness anymore Jason fidgeted, then hugged his sister tightly and left the room.
After doing his and Emily’s chores, Jason wandered into the barn where he could hear Papa hammering on the anvil. He liked to watch the sparks scatter when Papa’s powerful arm brought his hammer down with a ringing blow to shape a horseshoe.
Nero, one of their Percheron draft (work) horses waited patiently while Papa fitted him with new shoes. A gust of wind fluttered the horse’s wispy leg feathers as it turned his head to watch Papa. Nero and his harness mate Bully together weighed well over four thousand pounds. Bully was seventeen hands tall, half a hand taller than Nero. But in the pulling contests at the fair they were both champions. There wasn’t a team in either Gallatin or Jefferson County that could outpull them. Maybe even in all of Montana, Jason speculated.
When Papa plunged the red-hot shoe he held with tongs, sizzling into the water tub, an idea came to Jason as he watched the last of the water bubbles burst. “Papa, when you’re through with old Nero, can I talk to you about something—something to make Emily happy again?”
“Sure, son, just give me a few minutes,” Papa replied.
Jason was always amazed at how expertly Papa maneuvered the big horses into position with the slightest urging. They seemed to know by his touch and the sound of his voice how fond he was of them. And they returned their master’s good feelings. It didn’t take Papa long to finish, and then Jason told him his plan.
For several days Mama was curious about all the hammering that came from Papa’s forge behind closed doors. But whenever she asked Jason or Papa about the racket, they always managed to skirt around a direct answer. When she took Emily’s lunch to the upstairs bedroom and her daughter asked, “What’s Papa making?” Mama answered, “I honestly don’t know, dear. And I don’t know how much longer I can school my curiosity.”
At the supper table that evening, Mama noticed Papa wink at Jason as he excused himself and said expansively, “Nobody ever made dumplings like that before, Mama.” Then he lifted her lightly and together they twirled twice around. “Now, Jason and I have to finish something,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And never you mind what it is. You’ll know soon enough.”
Out in the twilight gloom of the barn, Papa said in a loud whisper, “Fetch a couple of feed sacks, Jason. We’ll put the parts in one and the tools in the other. I’ll get a length of rope and a lantern.”
When they had climbed up the ladder pole to the loft, they lugged their gear down to the door at the end of the barn where they could barely see the hay hoist silhouetted against the starry sky. Papa went up first. Next, he pulled up Jason and the sacks. Then the two forms hunkered down on top of the barn ridge and, by the soft lantern light, opened the sacks.
There was an air of expectancy in the kitchen the next morning. And in spite of the fact that Mama served Jason’s favorite meal—flapjacks and chokecherry jelly—he didn’t seem to be giving it his full attention. Papa wasn’t doing justice to his breakfast either. When Mama said she was going to take Emily’s tray up to her, they both offered their help, so they all trooped up the stairs together.
Emily was much improved, but she still felt sad and listless. Next to the family, she had loved the old rooster best of all.
Before Emily could get to her tray, Papa suggested they move her bed closer to the window, and Jason was already tugging at the blind. “Let’s let in more light,” he said. When the bed was shifted, Jason let the blind go with a FLAP, FLAP, FLAP.
Mama stopped talking in mid-sentence, and when she had caught her breath all she could say was, “Well, I declare!”
There high on the peak of the barn and facing into the first rays of the morning sun was a near-perfect likeness of Marcus, only it was fashioned out of scrap iron and brass. “It’s a weather vane, Emily,” Papa explained, “and pretty near indestructible unless a tornado snatches it away.”
“Do you like it, Em?” Jason asked excitedly. “See how he cocks his head just like Marcus always did.”
Emily thought at first she was going to cry, but then a smile made in heaven settled on her face and bathed them all with its warmth.
When she could find her voice again, Emily threw her arms around her father’s neck and cried, “Oh, Papa! Papa!” And then with wet cheeks she turned to Jason and said, “Thank you, my good knight. Well done! Now, whenever I look up outside I can see my faithful sky watcher riding on the wind.”

Ifoni had a solid testimony reinforced by some rather miraculous events in his childhood. At eight, while he was playing at sword fighting with a very real and very sharp machete, Ifoni’s eye was cut and damaged. The doctor said he would never see with that eye again. His father and his bishop gave him a priesthood blessing, asking, if it was the Lord’s will, that his eye be healed. Three months later, sight returned to his eye, even though the scar remains. He was also nearly electrocuted when electricity was first brought to his family’s village. Again he was given a priesthood blessing, and his life was preserved. Now, as a teen, he has no doubts about the power of the priesthood. “When I received the Aaronic Priesthood,” Ifoni says, “my mother encouraged me to stay faithful to the Lord’s power. It’s so important to stay clean and be worthy of the Aaronic Priesthood.”

I dragged myself into the dark bedroom, tempted to collapse onto the bed and immediately drift to sleep. My eyes seemed to weigh me down, and my feet felt like lead. I wanted to crawl under my covers, but my desire for an answer to my prayer was greater. I knew I must once again approach the Lord.
I knelt at my bedside and silently pondered the things I was about to ask my Heavenly Father. Would He really answer me this time? Did I deserve to be answered? As I felt my faith wavering, I chose to focus my attention on the countless lessons I had learned in my life, instead of on my doubts. One scripture in particular stood out to me.
“But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him” (Heb. 11:6).
I wanted to know that Joseph Smith was a real prophet. I wanted to know for myself that he truly saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in the Sacred Grove. As a Latter-day Saint, I felt a strong testimony of Joseph Smith was a vital part of my foundation in the Church. I mustered all the faith I could find within my soul by focusing on the times the Lord had shown His hand in my life. I began asking Heavenly Father to help me really know what I had only believed all my life.
I knew the only way for me to receive this knowledge was by the Holy Ghost telling me it was true. I wasn’t sure I had received that type of communication. How would I know the Holy Ghost was talking to me? Would I hear a voice? Would I feel a burning in my bosom like the scriptures say? I didn’t know, but I continued to pray. I sat silently and tried to listen for the whisperings of the Spirit. I didn’t hear a voice, and I didn’t feel anything unusual. Discouraged, I crawled into bed and fell asleep, telling myself I would get my answer tomorrow night.
The obnoxious beep of my alarm clock rang in my ear at 5:30 the next morning. I reluctantly got up and started getting ready for seminary. Before I knew it, I was pulling into the church parking lot.
As I walked into my classroom, my teacher was pulling a television into the center of the room. I quickly took a seat on a cold, folding chair near the back. I had obviously missed the introduction to the video we were about to watch. However, once the movie started to play, I recognized it quickly. It was “The First Vision,” produced by the Church. I had seen it a number of times and thought I understood all there was to learn from it. But as I watched Joseph’s experience in the grove, something incredible happened to me. A powerful, peaceful feeling rested on me and I knew it was the Holy Ghost. The Spirit began to testify that what I was seeing really happened. I knew that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus.
I was surprised. I was not expecting my answer to come that morning. I thought it would come while I was praying. The Spirit spoke to me, and I knew this was the answer I had been asking for. I’m very grateful for the way Heavenly Father answered my prayer. I now have a strong testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I know if I exercise faith by reading the scriptures and praying, I can receive personal revelation through the Holy Ghost.

The black clouds hung heavily against the peaks of the faraway Santa Clara Mountains. Ben shuddered as he heard the faint sounds of thunder after each lighting flash.
“I’ll bet there’ll be a big storm,” he told himself, as he tucked his math book more firmly under his arm.
After getting off the school bus, Ben walked up the road watching the threatening streaks of light in the distance. It had rained lightly on and off for two weeks, and now more rain. A friendly “Woof” took his mind off the storm.
“Hi, Lady Belle!” he called to the big white dog who was running back and forth inside the fenced yard. Three fluffy balls were tagging right behind her. Ben reached a hand inside the wire fence to rub and scratch each of the dogs who wiggled all over with pleasure.
“Even with your new pups you came down to meet me just the way you did before they were born,” Ben said with a wide grin. Lady Belle had been his first friend when the family moved from the city.
The dogs ran along the fence on the other side, each one barking happily. When they came to the gate at the end of the long yard, Ben reached in and gave each dog another good scratching.
“You get that family back to the kennel before it rains, Lady,” Ben said as he hurried up the road toward home.
“Hello, Ben!” called Mrs. Haycock, their closest neighbor. “Mr. Larsen just took his wife to the hospital. She fell on the porch steps.”
“That’s too bad,” Ben said as he kept looking at the lightning. “Do you think there will be a storm as bad as the one two years ago?” he asked.
“Maybe even worse,” Mrs. Haycock replied. “There was one about five years ago that washed out everything. Horses, furniture, even some orange trees went down the arroyo and into the river. Mr. Larsen’s yard was filled with water and looked like a big pond just the way it was when my husband and I came here 50 years ago.”
Ben shuddered. He remembered some of the storms in the city. The lightning and thunder always frightened him a little. When the lightning crashed against the tall buildings and the water swirled down into the storm sewers, he’d run home as fast as he could.
“So you’d better hurry home,” Mrs. Haycock continued. “Will your mother be on the next bus?”
“No, she’s working late,” Ben answered.
Mrs. Haycock thought she sensed worry in his voice. “Want to keep me company?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” he said, turning to leave.
Ben unlocked the door and went inside. He put on some storm clothes and a pair of rubber boots. With a storm on the way there were a few things that he knew had to be done in case the storm turned out to be a bad one.
As Ben worked he remembered the first time they drove into this valley. There was a long bridge spanning a wide river filled with muddy water and tree branches. “Look, Dad,” he had said, “it must be almost a mile wide.”
“Usually it’s a big empty riverbed with just a trickle of water going down the middle,” Dad had explained. “But when it rains heavily in the mountains the water comes down in sheets, washing gravel and rocks down the stream. Sometimes it even floods over into the fields and groves.”
It began to rain a little now, and Ben kept on putting rocks and sandbags around the outside of the house. Soon he heard Lady Belle barking, and Mrs. Haycock’s words came back to him. “Mr. Larsen’s yard … a big pond.” And now with Mr. Larsen gone, Ben was worried about Lady Belle and her puppies. They were right in the middle of the yard, and in his imagination he could see them floundering in deep water.
It was raining much harder now. Ben picked up a flashlight and started down the road.
Lady Belle was barking frantically.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Ben shouted.
He reached the high gate but it was locked. He remembered that Mr. Larsen always kept the key in his pocket. Lady Belle’s fur was plastered down with water and the puppies were huddled against the fence in front of her, whimpering.
“Take it easy,” Ben said as much to himself as to the dog. He looked around for something to knock the lock off. Aiming his flashlight along the fence, he spotted a rock about the size of a baseball. Every time Ben hit the lock with his makeshift hammer, it stung his hand. But the lock wouldn’t budge.
Lightning cut the sky overhead, followed by rolling thunder. Great drops of water began pelting down. The sides of the roadway became small rivers. Rain dripped over the edges of his hat and down onto his hands, making his fingers stiff and cold.
Lady Belle whined and licked Ben’s hand as he tugged at the lock. Then he said, “Look out, Lady!” Ben struck the lock as hard as he could several more times. He was just about to give up, when he saw that the bottom of it had slipped down. It was open!
Ben dropped the flashlight and picked up the wet puppies. The little fellows wiggled and squirmed, but he bundled them inside the warmth of his coat and held them close with one arm. He grabbed Lady Belle’s collar with his free hand, and urged, “Come on, Lady. We’ll have to run for it.”
While he was rearranging the pups, Lady Belle placed her body squarely in front of them so that she broke the force of the storm. She was strong, for she was a Great Pyrenees, a breed of dog used to facing cold winds and snows at high mountain sheep camps.
Everything set, Ben took hold of Lady Belle’s collar again. As they slogged along, Mrs. Haycock came running out to her gate. She looked tired and worried, and her coat was flapping in the wind.
Ben edged over to the side of the road and gave a high shrill whistle. Mrs. Haycock heard it and pushed herself out toward them. Ben took her arm and guided her up to higher ground.
“Muddy water … it’s flooding … rocks bouncing all over!” she gasped.
Ben took her thin hand and put it on Lady Belle’s collar. He called to her over the storm, “Hang on. Our house is higher.” She nodded and clenched her hand on the collar.
It wasn’t until then that Ben became aware of the sounds, like artillery blasts. Rocks were bouncing down the cement drainage canal in back of the house, crashing into the walls and booming as they came.
Ben helped Mrs. Haycock up the steps of his house while Lady Belle went up them in one bound. Ben snuggled his face into the wet fur of the puppies and then put them all down on the doorstep.
Mrs. Haycock leaned against the door as Ben opened it. “Never thought we’d make it!” she wheezed. She reached over and patted Ben’s back.
At that moment the storm hit with a burst of sudden fury. The wind blew in wild gusts that rattled the windows and ripped at the shutters. There was a sudden “KER-BANG!” from the garage, followed by the sound of splintering boards and the rattle of cans.
Mrs. Haycock tried to keep her voice calm. “I am glad to be here where we’re all safe,” she said as she took off her wet raincoat and scarf and sat down on a kitchen chair.
Ben looked out of the kitchen window. The street was a muddy river by now. Branches, boxes, garbage cans, and tree limbs all went tumbling along in the water.
“I really think the storm is easing up some. Usually they end with a big fling, like that last,” said Mrs. Haycock, listening to the sounds from outside.
Flashing red and yellow lights were suddenly reflected through the window, and three people got out of a rescue truck. They came splashing up to the house. Ben opened the door and called, “Mom! Dad! Mr. Larsen!”
Lady Belle bounded out of the door. “Thought you and your puppies were goners for sure,” shouted Mr. Larsen.
Ben hugged his parents in relief while Mrs. Haycock smiled at the happy reunions.
“They let us come with the rescue crew when we told them how worried we were about our son who was all alone,” Mom explained.
“But I can see that we didn’t need to worry about you at all,” Dad said with pride as he smiled at Ben.
“That’s right!” Mr. Larsen exclaimed. “And I didn’t need to worry about Lady Belle either. I can see that Ben knows just what to do in an emergency. I’d like him to have a pup for his very own to take care of.”
Ben was so happy that for a few minutes he forgot all about the storm outside. Finally it quieted so the neighbors could go home.
“Well,” said Dad as he looked at the clock. “It’s almost morning but I think we better get a little sleep. We’ve much to be thankful for. This has been a night to remember.”
And Ben agreed. He knew it would be one he would never forget.

“I just don’t understand how you can believe in what you’ve never seen. I don’t know how to have that kind of faith.”
I was struck by my brother’s statement. We have a great relationship, and he was confiding in me about some challenges he was facing. He hadn’t been active in the Church for years, so I shared my desires for him to believe in something—anything, really—regarding a loving Heavenly Father and a higher purpose for mortality.
But his words caused me to reflect: Why do I believe in Christ and everything about the gospel when so much is intangible?
Going back to the conversation with my brother, I didn’t know if anything I could say would convince him of the truths I hold dear to my heart. But suddenly, I was reminded of the story of the Apostle Thomas. So I shared it with him.
Thomas was faithful to the Savior during His ministry but would not believe his Master had risen again until he saw Him face to face. When he felt the prints of the nails in His hands, he finally believed, and the Savior told him, “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” (John 20:29; emphasis added).
And then I bore my testimony: “I’ve overcome too many challenges in my life to not believe in a Heavenly Father who loves me and a Savior who has helped me find joy and peace through it all. I may not see Them personally, but I see Them through so many instances of goodness in the world. Life is hard, but faith in Them reminds me of who I am and what my purpose is, and I remember the blessings They have promised me. Every time I choose to have faith, I feel in my heart that They are with me, and that the gospel is true.”
We ended our conversation on a good note. I don’t know if he will choose to come back to the gospel any time soon, but I invited him to simply begin with a desire to believe.