Gospel Story Finder

I still remember the story I heard as a teenager of a boy's first experience preparing a field for planting. He knew how to run the tractor, and his father charged him with making straight rows so they could plant the corn. After a couple of rows his father stopped him and had him look at his work. The rows were not straight. The young man asked, "But Dad, how do you do it?" His father then told him to pick a post at the end of the field and head straight for it. Identifying what matters most in your life will give you a post to head toward, a guide to always have before you, to help you stay on track.

Edwin and Elsie were born in India. But Edwin first heard about the Church while going to school in the United States. He went to church there once. He even read the Book of Mormon. But when he got back to India, he forgot about the Church.
Some years later, Edwin and Elsie felt like they should move to Samoa. Edwin was a bug scientist, and he took a job on the island doing research. It was there that Edwin and Elsie met the missionaries. When Edwin read the Book of Mormon again, he felt something special. Elsie read the Book of Mormon too. They chose to be baptized, along with their sons and daughters.

Throughout my life, in Primary and in my youth, I have always cherished the Christmas memories of quality time with my family and extended family. One memory I cherish most is when my grandmother gave each of my siblings and me a present. She had wrapped the present so perfectly, and when I opened it, I was surprised to see a book. It was not just any ordinary book, but The Book of Mormon. At the time I didn’t fully understand the significance of this gift. It was only later, as I grew older, that I came to know the sweetness this gift holds. This memory of my grandmother has never faded. Even at a young age, she implemented the gospel into my life. Her example and the love she had for the Saviour has strengthened my faith and my testimony.

While serving as a missionary in Quito, the beautiful capital city of Equador, I met a young member of the Church who exemplified what it means to give of oneself completely in the work of converting our fellowmen. Her home was among the humblest in Quito—her heart, among the greatest.

I’ll never forget the first time I met her. She was very short, at most 1.5 meters tall, and her light brown hair hung to the base of her neck with a slight upward curl. But what set her apart from the rest of the girls her age was that she had no teeth. This wouldn’t have seemed so unusual if she had been quite elderly, but Mirian was barely 19.

“What happened to Mirian’s teeth?” I questioned my companion as we left her home a short while later.

“I’ve wondered about that, too,” he replied, “but no one has ever said anything about it.”

The mystery was forgotten for the time being as we were very busy with missionary work. But a week after our first visit, we returned again to Mirian’s home. Her father, Brother Sanchez, had died about a year earlier, and this had created many difficulties for his family. Sister Sanchez now had to work long hours for low wages as a washerwoman across the city. And consequently Mirian had been forced to stop going to school to take care of the family while her mother was at work. They also had had to move from their old neighborhood into this small one-room house. We couldn’t help feeling concerned about their well-being and promised to come periodically to see them.

On this particular day, Rosa, a non-Mormon friend of Mirian’s, also came and Mirian suggested we teach her a little bit about the gospel. We gave her a portion of a discussion, but it soon became apparent that she was not interested. Nevertheless, we asked her if we could come and share our message with the other members of her family, and she agreed.

The next day we went to the Sanchez home and asked Mirian to go with us to see Rosa’s family. To our surprise she didn’t want to go, offering a number of weak excuses for not being able to go. We could tell she was keeping something from us and asked her to tell us what was really wrong. She then proceeded to explain.

Rosa lived in the neighborhood where Mirian had lived before her father died, she told us. After his death, the people of the area began to spread rumors about Mirian’s mother.

“One night I had had enough so I went out to defend my mother and what I knew was right. Several of those in the neighborhood decided to give me a hard beating that I would never forget. They started to beat me, hitting me mostly in the face. This is how I lost all my teeth,” she said, pointing to her mouth.

After she had told us what happened, she seemed relieved and said she would go with us if we really wanted her to. We were impressed by her courage and agreed that she should come.

The evening of the discussion arrived, and my companion and I went up the pathway leading to the Sanchez home. Sister Sanchez met us at the doorway, disapproval showing in her face. “I do not want my daughter returning to that horrible place.” she told us emphatically. We didn’t know what to say, but Mirian did. We listened in silence as she bore testimony to her mother that she knew there was a special reason she must go with us. Reluctantly, Sister Sanchez consented, but only with our solemn promise that we would return immediately if there were any problems.

Unfortunately, it turned out that Rosa’s family was not interested in hearing about the Church. As we turned away, Mirian began to tell us about the other families in the neighborhood, including a man she had dated for a while, until she realized he was a very worldly person with some bad habits. The Spirit touched me, and I insisted that Mirian take us to see him. Even though she was extremely hesitant, she guided us down a path to the home where Luiz lived with his parents and son. Upon answering the door he seemed quite surprised to see us, but invited us in and listened intently to the message we gave him. After we completed the formal discussion, he told us of his recent desire to join the true church of God, but he did not know which one it was or how to find it. He had already been going through the preliminary steps of repentance but felt the need of something more. He declared to us that his heart was telling him we were indeed representatives of the Lord’s true church. He was baptized a week later.

With the continued help of Mirian, coupled with Luiz’s assistance, we baptized nearly 25 people in this neighborhood in a period of six weeks. I’ll always remember the time we decided to talk with those who had harassed Mirian so badly before. As if nothing had happened between them, Mirian helped teach these families, several of whom became converted to the gospel.

Because of her deep faith in the Lord and his powers to protect, Mirian had overcome her fear of her fellowmen and had helped to teach the gospel to those who had physically scarred her for life. Many of them now revere her name for forgiving them and bringing them the gospel of Jesus Christ.

But I often felt out of place at church because I was learning so many new things. I bought some new long skirts to replace my short ones. When I wore them to church, I found out they were still too short to meet Church standards. I didn’t understand what my friends meant when they used Church-related abbreviations. I was too nervous and shy to ask them the meanings of things.
What helped was the teens befriending me and taking time to include me. They seemed to have a natural way of caring for new members. Another thing that helped was visualizing my family in the next life. I never wanted them to be disappointed in me for not living the gospel when I knew it to be true. Even though times were difficult when I was a teenager, I tried to think of the future and my responsibility to my family. If I did not live the gospel, how would my family ever have a chance of accepting it?

It was Easter Sunday here in Southern Australia, and I was staying at a friend’s house while my mum was away for the weekend. As it turned out, the people that usually provided the music at church had gone away too.
I am only a beginner at the piano, but when asked to play, I reluctantly accepted as there was no one else. That Sunday I realized what an important part the sacrament hymns play in our meetings. Even though I only played with my right hand and missed many notes, the congregation sounded like angels.
I am grateful for the Saints that provide the music for us in sacrament meeting, and even though I was terrified, I am truly grateful for that Sunday because it helped me develop my talents.

Nuremberg Germany Stake
Seventy-five youth and 15 leaders from the Nuremberg Germany Stake met on the outskirts of Garmisch-Partenkirchen for what leaders hoped would be both a physical and spiritual challenge during a four-day hike through the Bavarian Alps.
Each day of the hike began with a scriptural theme, and each day brought a different physical challenge—whether it was hiking up a trail or putting gear on rubber rafts so they could paddle across a lake.
In the end, they met their goal, and a fireside talk about not running faster than you are able was particularly applicable. “It was a hard tour for us physically, but we had some good experiences,” said Jennifer Kopischke.

As soon as they were able to sell their homes, other members of the Church followed Joseph. Some also went by sleigh; others went by stagecoach or wagon. There are many rivers and lakes in western New York and Ohio. Canals had been dug to connect these waterways, so most of the Saints went by barge and boat. Three groups from New York made the journey to Kirtland in this way. They were the Colesville, Fayette, and Palmyra-Manchester branches of the Church. The Fayette group was led by Thomas B. Marsh and the Prophet Joseph’s mother, Lucy Mack Smith. Lucy had called the 20 adults and 30 children together and reminded them that they were traveling by commandment of the Lord, just as father Lehi had when he left Jerusalem. She said that if they would remain faithful, they could expect the blessings of God, just as Lehi’s people had. The group traveled on the Cayuga and Seneca Canal to Buffalo, New York, where they planned to take a steamboat across Lake Erie to Kirtland. But when they arrived in Buffalo, ice blocked the harbor and further travel was impossible. They experienced hardships, including hunger and sickness, while they waited for the ice to break. After several days, they put their belongings on a boat, and Lucy persuaded the group to ask the Lord to break the six-meter-high ice barriers that jammed the harbor. No sooner had they finished praying than a thunderous noise exploded in the air. The captain cried, “Every man to his post!” The Fayette Saints looked up to see the ice parting to make a passageway just large enough for their boat. When the boat entered the opening, the ice was so close on both sides that buckets were ripped from its waterwheel. As soon as the boat passed through, the opening closed and no other boat could get through. Once again the prayers of the people had been heard! Because people on shore saw the ripping of the waterwheel, they thought the boat would sink in the icy harbor. So when the Fayette Saints arrived in Kirtland, many people there were surprised to see them.

But Lucy Mack was no carbon-copy Christian. Although knowing God through scriptures and prayerful communion, she doubted the religions that claimed to speak for him. Early in marriage she showed double qualities of devotion and independence. A severe respiratory infection brought a high fever, and Lucy’s life hung in the balance. Weakened and semi-conscious, she was informed by her shaken husband that the doctors expected her to die. But that night powerful prayers stirred within her weakened frame. She sought life in order to “bring up my children, and be a comfort to my husband.” Making her “solemn covenant” with God, she heard a voice assuring her (in scriptural language), “seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Her solid recovery began from that hour, as she vigorously assured her watching mother that “the Lord will let me live.”7

When I was growing up, I had a special relationship with my grandfather. I was the oldest son in the family. I removed the snow from the walks in the winter and cared for the lawns in the summer for our home, Grandfather’s home, and the homes of my two aunts. Grandfather usually sat on the front porch as I mowed his lawn. When I had finished, I would sit on the front steps and visit with him. Those moments are treasured memories for me.
One day I asked my grandfather how I would know if I was always doing the right thing, given that life presents so many choices. As my grandfather usually did, he answered me with an experience from farm life.
He taught me about breaking in a team of horses so that they would work together. He explained that a team of horses must always know who is in charge. One of the keys to asserting control and directing a horse is a harness and bit. If a member of the team ever believes that it does not need to obey the will of the driver, the team will never pull and work together to maximize their ability.
Now let’s examine the lesson my grandfather taught me using this example. Who is the driver of the team of horses? My grandfather believed it is the Lord. He is the one who has a purpose and a plan. He is also the trainer and builder of the team of horses and, in turn, each individual horse. The driver knows best, and the only way for a horse to know it is always doing the right thing is to be obedient and follow the driver’s lead.
What was my grandfather likening to a harness and bit? I believed then, as I believe now, that my grandfather was teaching me to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. In his mind’s eye, the harness and bit were spiritual. An obedient horse which is part of a well-trained team of horses needs little more than a gentle tug from the driver to do exactly what he wants it to do. This gentle tug is equivalent to the still, small voice with which the Lord speaks to us. Out of respect for our agency, it is never a strong, forceful tug.
So the lesson my grandfather taught me was always to be ready to receive the gentle tug of the Spirit. He taught me that I would always receive such a prompting if I ever veered off course. And I would never be guilty of more serious wrongdoings if I allowed the Spirit to guide me in my decisions.

Several years ago, I was home one evening while my wife was fulfilling an assignment with the young women of our ward. Our children were young, and I was left at home to complete some of the normal, household chores and get the children to bed. While standing at the sink, washing dishes, I was listening to the radio, tuned to station KOA in Denver, Colorado. The narrator introduced a kindly gentleman to the radio audience as a prominent minister of one of the large Protestant churches in the United States, stating that he was second in authority in that church, and that he would be glad to respond to religious questions from the listening audience. I listened to several questions and his answers.

I was particularly interested in one caller who sounded like a college age young woman who asked a question about resurrection. She asked whether she would have a physical body when she was resurrected. She said that she had been studying one of the Eastern religions and had become curious about reincarnation, so was wondering how the Christian idea of resurrection compared. Would a resurrected person be able eat, drink, and experience physical activities--things which she understood reincarnation would provide?

The minister was kind, and it was evident that he really wanted to help her understand about the resurrection of the Savior. He answered, "My dear, you will have a beautiful resurrected spiritual body like Christ had." She responded, "Will I have a physical body and be able to eat food and drink water?" He said, "You will receive a beautiful, resurrected, spiritual body." She again asked, "Does that mean I won't have a physical body when I am resurrected?"

He replied kindly that her resurrected body would be a beautiful, immortal, spiritual body; the same as the resurrected body of Jesus. She sounded somewhat discouraged by his answer, and said, "Well, okay then." And she ended the call.

Well, I decided that I would phone the radio station, and make an attempt to answer her question. I dialed the number. After a few moments, someone on the other end answered and said, "Hold the line, please." I waited briefly and the minister answered, saying, "You are on the air, what is your question?"

I said, "Well, I don't really have a question, but would like to comment for the benefit of the young lady who called, asking about a physical body and resurrection. I think that she understood, from your answer, that Jesus did not have a body of flesh and bone, following his resurrection. I have been reading a most interesting book that gives added information about this event, which may be helpful to her."

"The book states clearly, that following his resurrection in Jerusalem, Jesus visited people in ancient America, saying to them that 'He was Jesus Christ whom the prophets testified should come into the world.'"[23]

"He then asked them to come forward and feel the wounds in his hands and his feet that they could know that he had been slain for the sins of the world and that he had overcome death. This would clarify for her, that resurrection is not to receive a new or different body, as in reincarnation, but resurrection means that Jesus had, after he was resurrected, the same physical body which he had while fulfilling his ministry in Jerusalem, a body of flesh and bone."

He asked, "What is the book?" I replied, "The Book of Mormon." Well, his friendly and warm tone of voice became a little colder and he said, "Oh, we can't believe anything in the Book of Mormon." I said, "Do you have a Bible there, with you?" "Of course!" He answered, "We believe everything that is written in the Bible." "Would you read a passage from the Bible about Jesus' resurrection and his resurrected body?" "Sure, I will read anything from the Bible." "Thank you. Would you please read Luke 24:36-43?" He answered that he would. Then, I could hear pages turning, and he began to read:

"And as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.

"But they were terrified and affrighted, and supposed that they had seen a spirit. And he said unto them, Why are ye troubled? And why do thoughts arise in your hearts?

"Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have.

"And when he had thus spoken, he shewed them his hands and his feet.

"And while they yet believed not for joy, and wondered, he said unto them, Have ye here any meat?

"And they gave him a piece of a broiled fish, and of an honeycomb. And he took it, and did eat before them."[24]

After reading those verses, he was silent, so I said, "Doesn't that sound to you as if he had a body of flesh and bone following his resurrection? He answered, "You know, it really does!" almost as if that idea had not occurred to him before. I then responded, "Doesn't it seem possible, that his body, being a resurrected body of flesh and bone when he appeared to his apostles, would still be a resurrected body of flesh and bone now?" He replied, "No, he got rid of his body right after that, because he didn't need it any more."

I was then disconnected. The line was dead, but I hoped that what had been said was enough that the young woman who had asked the question would look up the missionaries to learn more about Jesus appearing to the people of the ancient Americas as the resurrected Savior of the world. I believe this good minister really wanted to answer truthfully. He simply had not had access to the true doctrine of resurrection.

One of my colleagues on the President’s Council, Kelly Flanagan, recently shared an experience he had early in his career. At a lunch gathering with colleagues in his department, Kelly, who had taught a particular class several times in succession, lamented, “I am so sick of teaching this class.” One of those in the lunch group was a senior colleague whom Kelly admired and acknowledged to be a superb teacher and who had taken an interest in Kelly as a young faculty member. This experienced and wise mentor responded to Kelly’s complaint: “This semester, why don’t you try teaching the students.” This retort by his respected colleague stung a bit, but, after reflection, Kelly changed his teaching approach, and both he and the students benefited for the rest of his career. His colleague’s simple suggestion reflects a unique vision of students, each of whom has a different potential and learning style. We sometimes see our courses as a composite of syllabi, lectures, homework assignments, essays, quizzes, term papers, review sessions, midterms, and on and on. We might do well to remind ourselves of the obvious when we sometimes suffer from “faculty fatigue”: that all we do centers on our students. We teach people, not courses, and we do it in the classroom, the hall, the lab, the studio, the library, the cafeteria, on the quad, and in our homes.

Illustration by Allen Garns
I was skeptical when the missionaries taught me about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. My first thought was that Joseph Smith, like many other so-called “prophets,” may have brought a false book into the world seeking to become wealthy, famous, or heroic.
I had no intention of reading the Book of Mormon. But over time the missionaries’ friendship and their enthusiasm for the gospel allowed my curiosity toward their message to grow.
As I read the verses the missionaries gave me in the Book of Mormon, I found Moroni’s invitation to ask God with a sincere heart, real intent, and faith in Christ if the Book of Mormon is true (see Moroni 10:4–5). I thought, “Who, knowing the book was fake, would dare challenge us to ask God with real intent and sincerity if the Book of Mormon is true?”
Then one day the missionaries explained that Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, were martyred for their testimony. Suddenly, a thought came to me that they would never have given up their own lives for something they knew was false. At that moment, a warm feeling, like a burning fire, spread through me. It was a witness of the Holy Spirit confirming to my heart that Joseph Smith was a true prophet. With this witness, I was baptized and confirmed.
I was reminded of this experience 25 years later when I read a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In his talk, Elder Holland asked if, in the critical moment of their martyrdom, Joseph and Hyrum would continue to blaspheme before God by fixing their lives, their honor, and their eternal salvation on a book they knew was false.
“They would not do that!” Elder Holland said. “They were willing to die rather than deny the divine origin and the eternal truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.”1
Elder Holland’s words made so much sense to me and further strengthened my testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the power of the Book of Mormon.
I am grateful for the Prophet Joseph Smith. He brought forth the Book of Mormon and willingly gave his life to be a witness of Jesus Christ. Through the Book of Mormon, I have come to know of God’s existence and of His love for me.

Most of the food boxes and gifts were delivered by hospice employees, but a few were given to the youth to deliver on Mutual night. Bundled in coats and singing carols, they carried food boxes, trees, and cards to a few of the people they had been able to serve in July. Of course it was a lot colder that night than it had been during the summer, but the warm feelings that come with service are the same no matter what time of year it is.

“Delivering the gifts and seeing how happy it made people was a lot of fun,” says Joe Jones, a priest. “It was also great to see how our service during youth conference really paid off.”

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasonsin 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

The navy had experienced difficulties with the safety of newly installed equipment on its systems. These difficulties had at times threatened their lives. You may recall that the air force has had similar problems of late with some of their aircraft. The navy pondered what additional safety precautions were necessary and concluded that there was a simple solution. The civilian designers and manufacturers of the new systems would be required to test them. This is similar to the old approach used by ancient kings who employed tasters to shield them against the possibility of poison in their food. I was elected for this honor by my group to test a new computer system designed to enhance the capability of sonar to respond to underwater sounds.

I took the equipment and flew to the East Coast to board a ship known as a destroyer escort. It was named the USS Connole. On each ship was a plaque that gave the traditions and heroism of those who had contributed to its name—in other words, the heritage for the current crew. Names are important, even on U.S. Navy ships. As I boarded, I was asked to give my name, social security number, and next of kin. I was somewhat sobered by the last question. This was not an experience I looked forward to, but my colleagues and I proceeded to install the computers, hoping to improve the sonar system’s sensitivity.

Our ship left port and joined a task force of several ships and submarines, and we got underway. After the first day I arose and went out on deck. Everything was calm. I had never observed such a smooth ocean surface before. I felt fine, with no trace of seasickness. As the day wore on, though, the sea became more troubled, the waves increasing in height to nearly five feet. When the ship hit the waves head-on, there was little undulation of the ship and I could keep my seasickness under control. But as more waves began to hit from the side, the ship tossed to and fro. (In life we tend to believe it is easier to confront problems head-on, but it often occurs that problems come from directions we least expect.) I went to my room and lay in bed, bracing myself between the wall and the side rails on the bed.

Then I noticed that the ship seemed to calm down even though the sea remained rough. I was informed that the ship had just actuated some small stabilizers that protruded from the hull to lessen the roll of the ship. Similarly, as we navigate through life, the gospel of Jesus Christ provides just such stability in our lives. Without it we find ourselves spiritually seasick.

I then observed another phenomena. The propeller and shaft of the ship were made of different metals than the hull. This creates a voltaic effect, giving rise to electrical currents that corrode the hull and shaft. To counteract this corrosion an opposing voltage is applied to the hull to cancel this current. So, too, do we need constant protection available through prayer to prevent spiritual erosion. Prayer keeps us intact spiritually.

As the cruise continued, I went to the sonar shack to talk with the operators. I was anxious that the test of our new system go well. I found the sonar crew relaxed and talking about the upcoming meal and about returning home after the cruise. There was no stress. Spirits were high.

Nevertheless, it was not unusual for Russian trawlers and occasionally Russian submarines to silently appear during tests of new systems. Whenever there was a task force of several ships present, this likelihood increased. But we were at peace, and there was no threat. Further, the task force was moving at moderate speed. Between the noise of the waves and the sound of the ship thrashing through the water, it would be difficult for a surface ship to hear an enemy submarine anyway. The sonar men took advantage of the calm situation, knowing that not much was expected of them.

Suddenly there was a loud alert on the ship’s public address system. It was the captain. He announced, “Attention, all hands! The sonar shack has just detected a Russian submarine. I have contacted the commander and requested permission to break from the task force and head in pursuit of the submarine. Permission has been granted. Man your stations!”

The mood in the sonar shack changed immediately. Had the captain misunderstood that we did not have any contact, or did he have a hunch that there must be an enemy submarine nearby? The sonar crew snapped into operation. Suddenly they began to look intently at the sonar displays they had previously only glanced at. This was the real test for the newly sensitized sonar system. Then, after a few moments, one of the sonar men called out, “I have a contact.” The ship set out in pursuit, joined by other members of the task force, several transmitting loud bursts of sound at the enemy submarine. Sound blast after sound blast was transmitted to cloak our own submarines’ sound signatures and chase off the enemy submarine. Again, comparing this situation to life, we are often called upon without warning to answer unexpected challenges. Being prepared in advance is the surest guarantee that we will be successful.

Having completed the testing of the sonar equipment in a fashion more adventurous than I had planned, I asked if there was some way to leave the ship and get home early. Not only were the waves of the sea continuing to worsen, but also a hurricane was forecast. The lieutenant commander assigned to watch out for me informed me that a helicopter was coming, and I could go home on it. We were about 200 miles out at sea, however, and this was near its maximum operating range.

As the helicopter arrived and hovered over the rear deck, the ship turned into the wind, cutting off the breeze to it. The helicopter dipped, then caught the deck, and crashed. That day I found that, just as in life, we often look for the easy way out, but we may have to stay the course. The trip home was rough, and when the ship finally arrived home in Norfolk, Virginia, I was relieved to be back on solid ground.

Time after time since this voyage, as I have struggled through life’s trials, I have been greatly comforted by the knowledge that Jesus Christ is our Savior—the enabler of our postmortal existence and the great stabilizing force in our lives when we are hit by life’s vagaries. Prayer provides the daily protection to help us remain spiritually intact and maintain our course, our direction made certain.

Of course, Shawn’s living style and his quiet manners have made the occasional boisterous tough guy misjudge him. One bronc rider just couldn’t get used to a polite, soda-pop-drinking cowboy who went to church, shaved every day, and wore clean clothes. He insisted on calling Shawn feminine names. When asked politely, he wouldn’t apologize and insisted on settling the matter in an old-fashioned western fist fight. They stepped out behind the chutes and Shawn beat him soundly, gaining the cowboy’s respect and his friendship in the process. Later, when the cowboy learned that Shawn also happened to hold a Montana State Golden Gloves boxing championship and was a Montana Athlete of the Year, he felt better about his defeat.

Of course, many times we are only seed planters; we may never know, in this life, if they sprouted and bore fruit. For instance, on my way back from a recent serviceman’s conference, I was flying in the Philippines from Baguio to Manila and was delayed in the airport. Two French ladies who spoke no English were lost there, so I went to them and asked, “Qu’est-ce que vous voulez? (Where are you going?) Quel est votre (What is your) destination?” It was the same as mine—Manila—so we talked while we were waiting for the plane. They naturally wanted to know why I was traveling to the area so I explained to them about the Church—not about the celestial kingdom and the Angel Moroni, but about how the gospel teaches patience in inconvenient circumstances and why the gospel made me happy. I left them my card and an invitation to contact the missionaries, but I have no way of knowing what will come of that seed-planting.
In one way, it does not matter and I do not need to know—my happiness comes from telling them about the gospel and feeling the Spirit of the Lord helping me. And that happiness is something I can feel every single day if I ask for it.

When my sister was nearly 22 years old she was pregnant with her second child. During late stages of the third trimester she sank into a diabetic coma. This was the first indication that she had this disease. Her life was saved, but she lost the child just two weeks before its due date. When she came out of the coma, to avoid a too hasty surgery to her vulnerable body, she lay days recovering with the lifeless child in her womb. Her sorrows were deep and almost too much to bear. She mourned for her son that she would never hold in her arms, never experience the joy of his breath, his voice, his appearance. She sifted through the shock and making sense of God’s will. The doctrines of the resurrection distilled upon her soul in new ways. And she began to hope.

Now my sister’s greatness does not lie in her enduring this one palpable moment of disappointment. She is great because she, through a lifetime, cultivated the capacity to accept, reach out, and become a balm to the wounded and the weary. She was a gentle calming force to her family, to friends, to strangers. Her ability to notice, accept, and love others made her great. Her dear husband has a way of drawing attention to himself, not just because he truly is a most clever man, but because he is a dwarf. Together, my sister and he had four children, two are dwarfs and two are not. To know this family and my sister is to witness how “… God [truly] is no respecter of persons” (Acts 10:34). I always found an acceptance and geniality from my sister’s family unmatched by others. And it was just not me; a concourse of struggling individuals passed through their humble and simple home -- the lonely, the forsaken, the despondent and the troubled. On my many visits to their home I hardly ever had their full attention due the additional guests they had taken in. Their doors were open for a meal, a friendly conversation, or a place to retreat until one was able to meet the disappointments that lay outside. They fostered many children, and welcomed wayward teens and forlorn adults as well. One child they took in was a severely abused six year old boy. After months of care, and waiting for the state to locate him a permanent home, my sister could not let him go, so they officially adopted him, and helped carry the burdens of his trauma, loving him as their own, offering him the only stability he would ever know, until, his mental ghosts could not be appeased, and he took his own life in his twenties.

Through all these years of suffering long with others, showing gentleness, meekness, and love unfeigned, my sister’s health continued to deteriorate. Her diabetes was severe and she carried an insulin pump attached to her hip. Her eye sight declined appreciably and required laser surgery. Determined to bring other lives into this world she gave birth to two more children after losing her second. Literally on the edge of death each time, she carried on with these little ones and rejoiced with their cries for breath. She raised them with increasing discomfort and a failing kidney. The twice weekly complete blood dialysis grew wearisome. Her living body seemed to decay before us, instead of the spritely, happy and vibrant girl we knew, the lines of deep pain carved out in her face, and even lying down was not a respite from discomfort. The opportunity for a kidney transplant became evermore dim due to her rare blood type. Not even her four brothers, who loved and idealized her deeply, could provide a match. These four over-achieving brothers knew that the true greatness belonged to our sister. She was the pure one, sanctified by her suffering and sacrifice. We all learned something about the potency of family, how we are called upon to persevere and endure with each other. It is my sister, more than any other that has led to my own personal reflection on the meaning, the depth, and the significance of family, even when things go wrong.

My sister taught me about caring for others even in the most difficult and inconvenient circumstances. She motivated me to think globally and eternally, while serving locally and personally. Finally, after years of waiting, on one Christmas Eve she was notified that a kidney that matched with her was available. She was rushed to Salt Lake City five hours away through the night so that on Christmas morning she would receive the immediate transplant. All went well with the surgery and she began to recover. Unfortunately, she contracted a staph infection in the hospital. And while the kidney was functioning well, all the other bodily systems seem to be shutting down. She spent endless months in the hospital, only going home on rare occasions. Then her lung collapsed and part of it was removed in an emergency surgery. As she was recovering from this additional bodily trauma a hospital attendant dropped her while lifting her to a gurney. Her whole side with the wound from the lung surgery was ripped open. Her deterioration accelerated. In her suffering, as some sought retribution, she calmly uttered to me, “He didn’t mean to.” In her agony she had sympathy for the one who had injured her. “Father...they know not what they do.” The wound festered and her body continued to decline, and then, nearly four years after the transplant, just a week before Christmas, she quietly slipped through the veil and entered another glorious family reunion. If there was ever a countenance of the Savior written in a face it was in my sister. Through her I came closer to understanding the suffering of the Christ, of the dignity and love expressed through suffering, of how his sacrifice makes Him the father of our souls, and how our own suffering sanctifies and purifies us.

In the summer of 2012, Palakiko C. had just graduated from high school in Hawaii, USA, and was looking forward to attending Brigham Young University and serving a mission. Palakiko had done a lot to prepare for his mission already—he had accompanied the full-time missionaries all day three times, and he often went with them to visit and teach the gospel to families.
One evening Palakiko and the missionaries began teaching a part-member family with five children, ages 8 to 14, who hadn’t been baptized.
“We visited with them for six weeks,” Palakiko says. “Each week, I saw their faith increase as we taught them doctrinal principles that would help them receive eternal life.”
Soon all five children had accepted the invitation to be baptized and asked Palakiko if he would perform the baptisms. He enthusiastically agreed. Baptizing them would be a privilege and an honor. But for Palakiko, there was a more difficult challenge: they also asked him to give a talk about the Holy Ghost at the baptismal service.
Palakiko was more than a little nervous. “How was I supposed to give a talk on a day that they would remember for the rest of their lives?” he asked. “What would I say?”
In spite of his anxiety, Palakiko knew he should do it, and he started preparing for his talk that very day.
“I did everything in my power to make sure everything would go well,” he says. He prayed, read scriptures for guidance and comfort, and rehearsed the baptismal prayer in his mind. On the day of the service, the baptisms went fine. And as he gave his talk and focused on striving to have the Spirit, he felt guided in what to say.
“At no other time in my life have I felt the Spirit more than during that talk,” Palakiko says. “I’m glad I was able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands.”
Palakiko was able to do what he needed to do because he was strengthened by the grace, or enabling power, of the Savior’s Atonement.