Gospel Story Finder

Such an individual is President Howard W. Hunter. About two years ago he stood at this pulpit where I now stand. Suddenly he was accosted by an assailant brandishing a briefcase said to contain a bomb. President Hunter exhibited great courage. He didn’t give an inch. After the threat was over and peace was restored to the scene, President Hunter delivered his message. It was entitled “An Anchor to the Souls of Men”—a theme similar to mine tonight. I would like to quote from his message because it is especially relevant.

The man in the rubber raft was flapping his arms in panic and desperately shouting for help. Tom and Nikki stood on the shore watching him. Trapped in the river’s swift current, the raft was rushing downstream toward an outcropping of jagged rocks.
Pointing toward the danger, Tom yelled to the man, “Drop your anchor! Big rocks ahead! They’ll rip your raft!”
The man in the raft bent over, picked up the end of a rope, and waved it in the air. “My anchor’s gone!” he shouted. “And my outboard’s dead!”
Tom turned toward Nikki. “Those rocks will slice his raft into rubber bands,” he declared.
Nikki grabbed Tom’s arm and looked downriver at the exposed, sharp rocks. “He’ll never get through all that,” she said despairingly.
Tom and Nikki had been heading upstream along the river toward their favorite fishing spot when they first spotted the rubber raft. It was drifting down toward them, and they didn’t know it was out of control. Now the raft was obviously trapped in the rushing water in the middle of the river.
Tom threw down his fishing gear and quickly tried to assess the situation. The raft had swooshed downstream and was now in a position nearly opposite to where Tom and Nikki were standing on the bank.
The man in the raft was working frantically to alter his course away from the jagged rocks. With great effort, he manipulated the flexible rubber sides of the raft. Then he stretched his leg over the side of the raft and finally succeeded in snagging it onto a large flat boulder.
Tom cupped his hands. “Good work!” he called. “Maybe it will hold long enough for us to find a way to help you.”
“It won’t hold very long!” the man shouted back. “I can feel the current tugging. It’s going to push me right off this rock!”
“Try your outboard motor again,” Tom suggested.
“Won’t start!” the man hollered. “I was fishing upstream, and my anchor snagged on some sunken logs! Had to cut loose! When I tried to start up the outboard … nothing!”
“Have you checked your fuel line?” Tom asked.
“I’ve checked everything! It won’t start!”
Nikki glanced toward the rapids again. “Just see how that water is churning,” she said. “There isn’t a calm place anywhere.”
Tom sat on a nearby boulder and began unlacing his boots. “When the raft clears that rock,” he said, “the current will drive the raft straight to disaster. Maybe I can wade out to him.”
“The current’s too strong,” Nikki warned.
Tom slipped off his socks, rolled up his pants, and stepped into the river. Near the shore the river was shallow and the current wasn’t very strong.
“Don’t do it!” the man in the raft shouted. “You’ll never make it!”
About ten feet from shore, Tom paused as his feet stepped down into deeper water. It was up to his knees and he could feel his feet beginning to slide on the slippery rocks because of the swift current. Tom shook his head. “He’s right. I don’t think I can make it,” he admitted half aloud.
Reluctantly, Tom made his way back to shore. “Hold on a little longer!” he shouted to the man. “I have another idea!”
When he got back to shore, Tom picked up his fishing rod and ran back down the trail alongside the river. Nikki followed anxiously. “The raft looks like it’s about to go,” she declared.
Tom glanced at the raft and saw it was teetering on the rock that had snagged it. “Hold on just another minute!” he urged.
“It’s going over!” the man shouted. “I can feel it going!”
At an open place along the shore, Tom halted.
“What are you going to do?” Nikki implored.
“Watch,” Tom answered as he quickly crimped two heavy lead sinkers onto the end of his fishing line. Then he positioned himself firmly on the ground and called, “Watch for the line!”
The rod snapped forward and the line arched out over the river and beyond the raft.
“Grab it!” Tom shouted as the line crossed near the man.
The raft’s weary passenger saw the line and reached for it. “Now what do I do?” he asked. “This light line will never hold me!”
“Fasten the line to the cleat in the bow of your raft!” Tom answered. “Then work the raft off the rock! It’s your only chance!”
Unsure that it would work, the man nevertheless tied the end of the fishing line to the cleat. But then he sought for a last desperate hold on the rock.
“No!” Tom cried. “You’ve got to let go!”
The man hesitated.
“You’ve got to trust me!” Tom insisted. “Let go of the rock!”
The man stared ahead at the dangerous rocks, paused a moment longer, then nodded and proceeded to manipulate the raft’s rubber sides until it slid off the rock.
Tom watched intently, then he reeled in the slack line and was working his rod the way he would if he had caught a huge trout. “Steady now!” he shouted. “Let me control the raft!”
He was reeling in the line as fast as he could without snapping it. “Just a slight tension,” he explained to Nikki. “That’s all I need to get the raft headed toward shore.”
“What if the line breaks?” Nikki asked.
“Nikki,” Tom said softly, “pray that it doesn’t.” Then he shouted to the man in the raft, “Keep your eyes on the water ahead of you! If you see any rocks, push the raft away from them!”
The man leaned over the bow and stared down into the turbulent water. A couple of times he had to reach down into the water to steer the raft away from a threatening submerged rock. Tom was relieved now to see the raft respond to his control on the line. A few more gentle tugs and he expertly guided the raft to a riverbank sandbar just a dozen feet away.
The man jumped ashore, smiling broadly. “If it hadn’t been for your quick work with that rod, I’d be smashed to pieces against those rocks,” he said gratefully, pointing downstream.
“I’m just glad that we happened by with our fishing gear,” Tom said. Then with a grin, he added, “I’d been hoping all morning I’d catch a big one!”

Not long after I was called to be the general Young Women president, I received a letter from a young woman from Nairobi, Kenya, in East Africa. Sylvia, who was fifteen at the time, told me her father had been killed in a road accident. She said:
“When he died, I felt a part of me had been killed also. All this has made me a different person. Someone I don’t like. It has affected my studies and my spiritual nature. My grades are dropping. I hate school. There are times I forget to pray. I am losing my trust in God. All the love, warmth, and security I used to feel is all gone from me.
“Sister Hales, please help me. I feel if I don’t do something or get some help, I am going to destroy myself.”
I felt an urgency in Sylvia’s plea for help, but I was thousands of miles away. Carefully I wrote a letter, hoping my words of faith would help her regain trust in our Heavenly Father. Then I suggested: “Read the scriptures each day. After reading the scriptures each day, please write and tell me if it helps the way you are feeling.”
Weeks later Sylvia said: “I had stopped reading the scriptures; and when I read them, it was like I couldn’t understand and I would put them away. You have given me that desire to … search more diligently the scriptures. I am discovering very precious, spiritual nourishment. Thank you for that suggestion.”
Sylvia received help when she felt desperate and alone, but she also found the scriptures could help her improve her life. She later said: “I have decided to work hard to be a better person. I have to overcome some of my bad traits and replace them with good ones and to withstand people who want to tear me down and tear down my faith, especially in school. I am the only LDS member in our school.”
As Sylvia’s commitment to read the scriptures continued, she realized that Heavenly Father would help guide her in making decisions.
Later she said: “I have become busy, but I have not forgotten my scriptures. I desire to have the faith like the Brother of Jared or Nephi which enabled them to know the Lord’s will for them. I am planning to meditate on ways to strengthen my faith. I turned sixteen.”
As months passed, Sylvia’s understanding of the scriptures grew deeper, and she expressed a desire to help others. She said: “I love going to church, and the most exciting part is when I get to help with the Primary children. I love hearing them sing and read and saying what they feel.”
As Sylvia started to help others, she started to better understand our Savior. She told of reading about Christ’s final ministry on the earth, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection. She came to understand more clearly Christ’s mission on earth and his great love for us.
Sylvia continued to face challenges and peer pressure, but she had found a permanent source of help in the scriptures. When she got word that my mother had passed away, she wrote to encourage me and strengthen my faith.
The resource suggested for her three years ago, reading the scriptures, was much greater help than I could have given. Scripture reading did help her with her immediate crisis, but the scriptures have become a permanent resource to her—a resource that will always be with her. She has learned that our Heavenly Father will not fail her.

Shortly after my experience with these two ministers, two other ministers from the same denomination came to another of our conferences to hear me preach. And, once again, after the meeting I had a private discussion with them.
My message was the same. Taking the Book of Mormon as their guide, they must read, ponder, and pray in order to gain a witness from the Spirit as to the truth and divinity of this great latter-day work.
I told them of my prior experience with their two colleagues and how one of them had refused to read the Book of Mormon, saying that they had experts who had read the book and he had read what their experts had said.
I then said, “What is it going to take to get you gentlemen to read the Book of Mormon and find out for yourselves what is involved, rather than relying on the views of your experts?”
One of these ministers, holding my copy of the Book of Mormon in his hands, let the pages flip past his eyes in a matter of seconds. As he did so, he said, “Oh, I’ve read the Book of Mormon.”
I had a momentary flash of spiritual insight that let me know that his reading had been about as extensive as the way he had just flipped the pages. In his reading he had done no more than scan a few of the headings and read an isolated verse or two.
A lovely young lady, a convert to the Church whose father was a minister of the same denomination as my four Protestant friends, was listening to my conversation with the second two. At this point she spoke up and said, “But Reverend, you have to pray about it.”
He replied, “Oh, I prayed about it. I said, ‘O God, if the Book of Mormon is true, strike me dead’; and here I am.”
My unspoken impulse was to give this rejoinder: “But Reverend, you have to pray in faith!”
This account dramatizes another of our problems in teaching those who read the Book of Mormon how to read it in order to gain the promised witness by the power of the Holy Ghost.

A young mother of two sons was busy with a part-time job at home and a demanding Church calling. “It seemed I had no time for my small children,” she recalled. She was often so involved in her work that her sons had to go to great lengths to get her attention—and she was often impatient with them.
So she decided to organize an “activity time” she could enjoy with her sons each morning. As she spent that time with them in prayer, singing, and fun activities, she gained a greater appreciation for each and began to really enjoy the time they spent together. She was amazed at what a little love and attention brought about!
This mother had discovered one of the “secrets” to making her home a sanctuary from the world and its cares. The early Saints were told to make the temple they were building “a house of prayer … a house of learning … a house of God” (see D&C 88:119). In the same way, we should make our homes havens of love where we and other family members can grow and learn to practice self-control and to serve, understand, and forgive each other.

On one occasion Sister Shumway and I were at the beautiful temple of Cochabamba, Bolivia. Elder and Sister Dallas Jones, from Silver City, New Mexico were the managers of the temple patron housing. A young family had traveled numerous hours to be in the temple. Shortly after showing the family to their room, Brother Jones returned to see how they were. The father was boiling some water.
"Are you preparing some soup?" Brother Jones asked.
"No," was the response. "We have spent all of our money on transportation and lodging and have none left for food, and we thought hot water would be more nourishing for the children than cold water."
Brother and Sister Jones quickly prepared tuna sandwiches. The family was fed, they rested through the night, and the next morning entered into a house of glory where covenants were made and blessings promised through continued faithfulness.

I had planned to go to Europe since I was old enough to find it on a map. I had expectations: taste apple strudel, see the Mona Lisa, ride in a Venetian gondola. I certainly wasn’t planning on sharing the gospel, so I’m not sure why I decided at the last minute to throw an extra Book of Mormon into my bulging suitcase.
I had listened to talks on missionary work since I was a little girl, lining my dolls on the couch in their Sunday best so they could watch general conference with me. The thing is, I was born and raised in Utah where the greatest missionary opportunity I’d ever taken advantage of was bringing International Barbie to my conference couch party. In my world surrounded by Church members, it was easy to label everyone else as “non-Mormon.”
In the few weeks before my trip, my life had turned into a hurricane. The most difficult finals week I’d ever faced in school seemed to rip up an entire semester of hard work. I was swept into a whirlwind relationship with a guy I didn’t know how I felt about, and I watched my older brother get married and move away. I’d been so busy, my spiritual health was battered. I fooled myself into thinking somehow my trip to Europe would dissolve all my problems and snap my life back into perspective.
Instead, I found myself on a tour surrounded by 50 people who came to Europe to have a nonstop drinking and drug party. Luckily they all seemed to realize I preferred strudel to beer and left me alone.
When I met Jason, he had those “I am a Canadian” patches attached prominently to all his clothing and luggage. He was nice but seemed to want to party like everyone else. I listened to The Sound of Music soundtrack on my headphones, wrote postcards to my boyfriend, and ignored everyone around me.
It didn’t take long for me to realize Jason was not quite what I had expected. He wasn’t drinking with the others and even seemed interested in religion. He was curious about my beliefs and discussed his Catholic upbringing with me.
By the end of the tour, my view of Jason was altered enough for me to dare to give him that Book of Mormon I’d packed. On our last night in London I scribbled my testimony inside the book. I wasn’t sure Jason would read the book, but I was so wrapped up in myself, I didn’t give it a lot of thought. His road to salvation led back to Canada, 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away.
When I returned home, my anxious boyfriend was waiting at the airport with an armful of flowers. I had to fight the urge to turn and run back on the plane. None of my difficult choices had gone away. I felt I was drowning.
Then I got an e-mail from Jason. Much to my surprise, he was reading the Book of Mormon, attending church, and taking the missionary discussions—despite his family’s hostility toward his efforts.
Jason and I began to e-mail every day. As we became closer friends, we talked more and more about the gospel. Seeing Jason’s faith grow gave my testimony fresh perspective. Jason’s e-mails helped pull me out of my despair and gave me courage to fix what was wrong in my life. As I reached out to help him learn about the gospel, I was really helping myself. I broke up with my boyfriend, began earnestly studying my scriptures, and prayed with more sincerity than I ever had before.
Jason came to visit several times, once over general conference weekend. We watched all the sessions together. I liked watching how attentively he soaked in every talk. Sitting next to someone I would have labeled a “non-Mormon” made me realize how inappropriate it is to define someone by something they’re not. I wasn’t a non-Catholic or a non-Canadian to Jason. I was his friend.
Over the Thanksgiving break I watched Jason’s determined face enter the waters of baptism and come up smiling. I felt peace and knew that he and I didn’t end up on the same European tour by chance. We were meant to be friends.
I offered Jason a Book of Mormon, yes, but he is more than a gold star on my chart of successful missionary experiences. He is an example to me of how the gospel should be the shining star in my life no matter what obstacles I face.
Jason told me, “I didn’t ask the Lord to send me help, but He knew in my heart I wasn’t happy. He decided to help me by crossing my path with yours.”
Heavenly Father knew I needed help just as much as Jason did. We had something valuable to offer each other. I’m grateful Heavenly Father crossed Jason’s and my paths because we formed a friendship that will help us both make it to our heavenly home.

Afele Schwenke, born on April 10, 1912, was deeply rooted in his faith and dedicated to his family. Together with his wife, Soala, Afele served the missionaries of Malaela Aleipata for nearly two decades. The couple opened their home to the missionaries, insisting they stay in their Western-style house while Afele, Soala, and their children lived in their Samoan fale. His generosity left a lasting impact, and his home became a place of gospel teaching.

Although Afele had a strong testimony and faithfully paid his tithes, he struggled with fully living the Word of Wisdom. His love for the Church never wavered, but he passed away in 1967 without receiving the blessings of the temple.

As Orson continued his search for deeper religious truths, the persuasive voice of Sidney Rigdon soon convinced him to join the Campbellite movement. The new sect’s belief in baptism by immersion for the remission of sins struck a responsive chord in the mind of young Hyde. At Sidney Rigdon’s invitation, Orson moved to Mentor, Ohio, to live with the Rigdon family, where he entered the Burton Academy and was ordained an elder in the Campbellite church. In the fall of 1829 he accompanied Sidney Rigdon on a mission throughout Ohio.
Orson’s beliefs in Campbellism were challenged in 1830 by a group of unusual young men who visited Kirtland. Among these were Oliver Cowdery, Peter Whitmer, Jr., and Parley P. Pratt. Their message concerned the coming forth of the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Orson received the peculiar doctrine with mixed emotions. He resolved to read the famed “Golden Bible” (Book of Mormon), and after having read a portion of it, preached against it several times. After one such occasion, however, his opinions began to change. He recorded, “For the first time, I thought that the ‘Mormon’ bible might be the truth of heaven; and fully resolved before leaving the house, that I would never preach against it any more until I knew more about it, being pretty strongly convicted in my own mind that I was doing wrong.”1
As he reexamined the message of the Mormon elders, the rebuke of the Spirit caused Orson much unhappiness and deep remorse. The Prophet Joseph Smith was living in Kirtland, and Orson, eager to know the unusual man of whom he had heard so much, frequently attended meetings, public and private, at which the Prophet spoke about the new religion. He attended meetings at which he “heard the arguments pro and con, but was careful to say nothing.” In his autobiography he wrote:
“I marked carefully the spirit that attended the opposition, also the spirit that attended the Mormons and their friends, and after about three months of careful praying and investigation, reflection and meditation, I came to the conclusion that the Mormons had more light and a better spirit than their opponents.”2
Orson was baptized in the Chagrin River by his friend Elder Sidney Rigdon (who had converted to Mormonism), and was then confirmed and ordained an elder by Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon on the banks of the river. During the month of November, Orson enthusiastically accepted a call to serve a mission with the Prophet Joseph Smith’s older brother Hyrum. Soon after returning, he was called to serve a second mission to the eastern states, with the Prophet’s younger brother Samuel as his companion. They proselyted without purse or scrip, relying on the hospitality of those contacted for their food and lodging.

I lived in California, USA, with my family growing up. In the summer we harvested grapes at a vineyard. We had a big family, and we all worked together. I was young, but my father taught me to work hard.
We cut bunches of grapes off the vine. Then we piled the grapes on a metal tray. When the tray was full, we took it to my father. He spread the grapes out to dry into raisins in the hot sun. The owner of the vineyard paid my father for the raisins we made.
Each time we took grapes to my father, he told us, “Go forward and harvest on.”
So we went to the next vine to harvest the next bunch of grapes. We did this again and again. We focused on the next vine and the work ahead of us. We didn’t let ourselves get distracted by what was behind us.
Every week my father paid my siblings and me for our work. He taught us to take out 10 percent for tithing. We saved the rest. When we had enough, we each bought a wooden airplane or our favorite candy. We spent Saturday afternoons playing in the park with our airplanes and eating our candy.
My father’s saying to “go forward and harvest on” has become a tradition in my family. It teaches us the value of hard work. It is important for us to “go forward and harvest on” in all we do. When we work hard and follow what God asks us to do, we can find joy in life.

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked him, “Clark, what is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my father and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the pheasant hunting season. We walked through numerous fields in search of pheasants but saw only a few, and those we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark,’ he looked at his watch, ‘let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve was gravely ill and that at 12:00 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

Achieving the Eagle award before the age of 13 is only one of the goals David Nielsen of the Orem 63rd Ward, Orem Utah South Stake, has set and fulfilled. In addition, he has earned all of the Boy Scout skill awards, 53 merit badges, his Trail to the Duty to God award, the Boy Scout Conservation award, the Presidential Physical Fitness award, and two citations in the American Red Cross Basic Life Support Course in cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. He earned the Boy Scout Lifeguard award (which included swimming a half mile) while his arm was in a cast. He also made two 25-mile bike rides toward his cycling merit badge during the same time.

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed that the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark!

I share with you a pattern that my wife used as we were called to serve in Brazil. She had no experience with Portuguese, other than the use of a few words or phrases. She thought she had accomplished something when she could go to McDonalds and order numero 1/number 1 by holding up one finger. She developed a few patterns of investment. She would read the Book of Mormon in Portuguese. From daily contact and conversation, she would write down new words or vocabulary. When she was going to give a talk in a meeting, rather than use an interpreter, she would write the talk in English, have someone translate the words into Portuguese, and then she would put the phonetics or the sounds above the words. She would then read the talk through her sounds and phonetics. She now understands the language very well and does a good job of speaking. The pattern and work blessed her.

As a surgeon I am often asked how I gained my skills. Some suppose that one takes a class, watches an operation, and then is turned loose. There is even an ironic saying in training: see one, do one, teach one. However, nothing is further from the truth.
I gained my professional skill and knowledge under the guidance of many gifted and patient physicians. I began first by watching over shoulders and then up close. After a year of observing, I was given small assignments, helping the surgeon and his or her “first assistant”—the assistant surgeon.
After another year I was allowed to stand across the table from the surgeon and act as first assistant during simple operations. After another year or two, I was allowed to be first assistant in more complicated operations. Then I began to do the simplest operations, such as fixing a hernia, while the experienced surgeon acted as my first assistant.
In my last year of training—seven years after I had completed medical school—I was allowed to do complicated operations while the surgeon acted as first assistant. I discovered that the greatest teachers could make the operation flow smoother through their assistance because they could show me what needed to be done in clear and simple ways—ways they had learned through this same mentoring process.
I did not fully appreciate the guidance of these amazing and gifted expert surgeons who were my first assistants until I finished training and was on my own. However, even 30 years later, my teachers are in my mind as I daily use the skills they so painstakingly taught, demonstrated, and corrected.

Sister Haju Julloh of the Waterloo Branch is a nurse. Caring for the sick, she was exposed daily to the virus. As patient loads increased, protective gowns at the hospital where she worked were sometimes not thoroughly washed and cleaned. Shortly after she joined the Church in August 2014, Sister Julloh tested positive for Ebola and was quarantined in her home.

"I could not attend church, so branch members called and encouraged me," she said. "Confined to my room, I decided to concentrate on studying the Book of Mormon. I read about many spiritual experiences, including miracles that happened to ordinary people like me. I wanted a miracle but did not know if I should even ask. I kept reading and talking to friends on the phone about the things I was reading. After some weeks at home, I was retested for the virus and the test results came back negative. I had to remain quarantined for another week and was then retested. Again, the results were negative. So I was allowed to leave my house and attend church as well as return to work. That was a miracle to me."

While I was at Duke University, I had the opportunity to play volleyball. On one of our trips I was in a discussion with two of our team members one of whom was in the Divinity School there and was in his last year and the other a younger student from Brazil. The divinity student had spent his last few summers doing student preaching (if that was what it was called.) He was a nice guy and everyone on the team got along great. The young man from Brazil was a fine player. As we traveled to a meet, the young Brazilian asked the "to be" minister a question. He stated that he was in love with a girl and wanted to know if it was wrong to have premarital relations with her. What did the future minister friend think? My friend said - "I think it is fine".

At that point I nearly scared them to death as I said in an agitated voice - what are you talking about? Haven't you read the Bible? I then quoted Matt 5:28 which reads, But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. I also pointed to counsel given by Paul to Timothy and Titus pointing out the sins of the flesh and commending them to be chaste. My friend agreed that indeed the scriptures said that and the discussion grew quiet. The young Brazilian had not gotten the permission slip he wanted and I may have embarrassed my divinity student friend. But in good conscience I could not let him give such bad counsel.

When I married, I never thought that the word divorce would ever become part of my personal history. But despite my pleas and best efforts to save our relationship, my husband left and our marriage ended. I felt like a failure.
A time of deep pain, humiliation, and shattered dreams followed. I had never experienced greater loss or grief.
In the midst of my sorrow, my ministering brothers came to see me. They consoled me and gave me a blessing. Then, in their deep voices, they sang a hymn for me that I didn’t recognize. For me at that difficult time, it was the most beautiful, comforting hymn I had ever heard. They sang:
Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One. 1
I could not help but weep at the words and music. They confirmed for me, and strengthened my testimony of, the truth that the Savior understood me, loved me, and would never leave me alone in my sorrow.
As my ministering brothers finished singing, I remembered the words that Isaiah used to describe the Savior: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5).

Ernie is Molly’s closest friend (besides her parents; grandmother; and older sisters, Gerri, Linda, and Sherry, who are grown up and married and living in other towns). Molly named Ernie even before he chose her. Yes, he chose her. He was one of a litter of puppies born to her grandma’s neighbor’s dog. When the puppies were old enough to leave their mother, Molly called, “Here, Ernie,” and he was the one that came! He’s a friendly dog and loves and protects her.

“The Lord has called you to serve as president of our Primary,” the branch president told me. It had been only a year since I had left the Laurel class and only two years since I had been baptized into the Church. I was incredulous.
“I don’t have the patience required to teach children,” I told him.
“Do you believe your calling came from God?” he asked. “When He calls us, He qualifies us.”1
His words filled me with confidence, and immediately I knew that the Lord must need me in Primary. I had no idea how to fulfill my new calling, but I knew He would guide me.
I desired to do the best job I could, but a few months later my mother was diagnosed with cancer. In addition, I was studying systems engineering. I found it difficult to meet all of my responsibilities at home, at the university, and in Primary. My spirits began to flag, and one Sunday at church everything came to a head, and the tears began to flow.
A fellow ward member noticed and gave me some wonderful advice: “Judith, the best way to get through trials is to lose yourself in the gospel and in service to others,” he said. “By doing so, you will see how the Lord will ease your burdens.”
As I followed his encouraging advice, my attitude changed, my faith was strengthened, and I was filled with a determination to serve the Lord. My trials continued, but I dedicated myself to my calling and looked forward to seeing the children each Sunday. They taught me something every week as they showed me their testimonies through their actions. As the months passed, I saw how the Lord was molding my character and how I was developing gifts and talents I didn’t know I had.
The following year I left Barranquilla, Colombia, to go to Bogotá for a month with my mother because she needed chemotherapy. During that time I prayed constantly and felt close to the Lord. I decided to change my university major, and through inspiration, I learned that the Lord wanted me to devote my life to teaching children. When I returned to school, I began working on a degree in special education.
I knew that Heavenly Father had given me my calling in Primary to prepare me. As I served, I discovered my true vocation, and as I lived the gospel and lost myself in service, I felt that I was in the Lord’s arms.
The testimony I gained while serving in the Primary presidency and later in a stake Primary presidency has sustained me as a member of the Church. I have learned how to teach with love, to see with the eyes of a child, and to seek the Lord for guidance and inspiration.
Each day when I teach at a bilingual school in my city, I think about the efforts, challenges, and blessings of those years. The children who were in Primary back then are now teenagers, but their eyes still shine with love for the Savior and His gospel.
I know that when the Lord calls us, He teaches and trains us and places leaders in our path to help us live this beautiful gospel of Jesus Christ.