Gospel Story Finder

“In my darkest moments I was always guided to the words of hope and descriptions of a life filled with joy in my patriarchal blessing,” one member wrote. “Often I would plead with God to help me believe that those blessings could really come true for someone as pathetic as I felt I was. I literally clung to the blessings promised, hoping that I could be happy someday. My testimony grew as I saw the Lord fulfilling promised blessings in my life.”

I joined the Church when I was 19, the second of three sons and the only Latter-day Saint in my family. Shortly after being baptized, I began to feel the desire to serve a mission. After a year, the Spirit told me I should go. I talked with my mother, who felt it was not right that I go. I deferred for another year, but the desire to serve a mission never left me. During that year, I studied the scriptures, saved my money, prepared my papers, had all the medical exams, and—after everything else was completed—I waited on the Lord. Before long, I received a call to serve in the Brazil Campinas Mission.
My parents were still opposed. I fasted and prayed openly, telling Heavenly Father about all my fears. I asked Him to touch the heart of my earthly father. He did. To my surprise, my father attended the farewell party that my friends had prepared for me on the Saturday prior to my departure. And that Monday, my dad took me to the airport.
During my mission, I felt the love of God as I preached the gospel. My mom did not stop being a mother, and when I returned home, she was the first person to hug me.
I learned that serving a mission is much more than a duty; it is a privilege and a marvelous time of growth and learning.
Cleison Wellington Amorim Brito, Paraíba, Brazil

Since my Primary days, I have always known the facts. I knew that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I knew that the Book of Mormon was a companion to the Bible and that I should read it every night. I did this. Unfortunately, I was just reading. I somehow missed out on the whole search, ponder, and pray aspect of scripture study.
During my junior year of high school, my attitude and method of study took a complete turnaround. At school, a nonmember friend, Jennifer Cotton, approached me. In her hands were several sheets of paper. The first sheet was titled, in bold letters, “Questions for Lani.” I took the sheets of paper willingly, shoved them in my backpack, and rushed off to class.
Later that week, the questions surfaced in my backpack, and I began to read through them. As I flipped through the pages, I realized there were exactly 100 questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—100 questions!
I felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I fell on my knees and pleaded with my Heavenly Father to help me answer these questions, which ranged from, “Why am I here?” and “Where am I going?” to “Do all Mormons have to ride their bikes everywhere?”
I felt the prompting to open my scriptures. The first verse that caught my eye was, “Therefore, ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Ne. 27:29). Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt the Spirit so strongly around me. I knew that with help from my Heavenly Father I would be able to answer the questions.
I spent hours poring over the scriptures. Amazingly enough, there were several scriptures, if not hundreds, to help answer the questions which had seemed so inconceivable only hours before.
The next day, I proudly handed Jennifer her answers, along with a brand-new copy of the Book of Mormon engraved with her name. Tears were in her eyes as she hugged me. She expressed her gratitude for the gift and explained that no one had ever done anything this nice for her before.
I received a call that night. Jennifer excitedly said she couldn’t wait to tell me that she had finished reading 1 Nephi, only she pronounced it Neffi.
I cannot even express the joy I felt at that moment. Mosiah 18:9 states that we must “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things.” Had I not stood as a witness of God, I would not have had the opportunity of seeing Jennifer baptized a member of the Church.
I now have an incredible testimony of the Book of Mormon. No matter what my need or problem, I know that I can turn to my scriptures and through searching, pondering, and praying, I will find the answer.

I really don’t know how I let Sister Moffat talk me into it in the first place. Before I knew what was happening, I had agreed to give a five-minute talk in sacrament meeting about being a Cub Scout. All the other guys were pounding me on the back, saying that they were glad it was me, not them.
“You really are a pal, Alan,” Will said. “You saved all the rest of us.”
Yeah, I thought, but who’s going to save me?
When I got home, I told Mom about it. “I don’t know why I said I’d do it. I can’t talk for five minutes.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity to me,” she said, smiling.
Somehow I knew she’d say that. That’s what mothers always say. “But five minutes,” I said. “That’s a long time to say I like Cub Scouting because it’s fun and helps me learn new things.”
Mom chuckled. “Five minutes isn’t nearly as long as it sounds to you. I’ll help you. Together I’m sure we can think of enough to take up five minutes.”
“I sure hope so,” I said. I was glad she had volunteered to help though. It was kind of like she had picked up the other end of a heavy load that I had been trying to lift by myself.
Because this was a talk for sacrament meeting, and because Dad says that sacrament meeting is probably the most important of all our Church meetings, I knew that I couldn’t put off preparing it until Saturday. So after school on Monday I asked Mom if she had had time to write any of my talk.
She looked at me in surprise. “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say that I would write your talk. I said that I would help you write one.”
“But you always wrote my talks before,” I said. “I thought that that’s what you meant when you said that you’d help me.”
“You’re old enough now that I don’t have to do everything for you. Wasn’t it you who was telling me last week that a ten-year-old ought to have more privileges than his eight-year-old sister?”
“But I don’t even know how to begin,” I wailed. “You said that you’d help me.”
“I will,” Mom answered. “But there’s a difference between helping you and doing it for you.”
Well, when Mom finally convinced me that she really wasn’t going to do it all, I pleaded for suggestions. She said that we should start with prayer. Then, by asking questions, she helped me get a better idea of what I wanted to say. After that, she helped me decide in what order to say things.
I still had to sit down and write the talk out myself, but it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be, because I knew what I wanted to say. When I finished, Mom helped me correct some grammar mistakes.
Once the talk was written, I started feeling kind of glad that I was going to talk in sacrament meeting. I practiced giving it every day in front of a mirror. By the time Saturday rolled around, I felt pretty confident. As long as I had my paper there to remind me what came next, I could give most of the talk by just glancing down once in a while.
Sunday morning I made one last trial run with Dad as my audience. “Alan, that is a very fine talk,” he said. “You’ll do just great in sacrament meeting. But there is one thing that you don’t want to forget.”
“What’s that?” I asked, a little disappointed to think that something wasn’t just right.
Seeing my disappointment, he said, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your talk. I just want to remind you to ask Heavenly Father to help you do your best.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling much better. “I will.”
Sitting up on the stand, I felt pretty important. I glanced at the clock—two minutes until the meeting started. I felt a nervous excitement as I reached into my pocket for my talk. It wasn’t there! I felt in my other pockets. I looked on the floor. It was gone! Just then the bishop got up and announced the opening song and prayer.
What was I going to do? I caught Mom’s eye and gave her a pleading look. She just smiled at me. I began praying fervently that the paper with my talk on it would miraculously appear. I felt in my pockets again—nothing. When I put the hymnbook under my seat, I felt around the entire area for my paper—still nothing.
When the deacons were just about finished passing the sacrament, I knew that my miracle was not going to happen. I began praying that I would be able to remember my talk or that I would at least know what to say.
Suddenly I heard my name as the bishop announced me as the first speaker. With leaden feet I walked slowly to the pulpit. I could see my mother and father smiling at me. Will was pointing at me.
I was sure that everyone could see me shaking. Very slowly I announced the topic of my talk. There was Sister Moffat. She was smiling too. I just stood there quaking for a minute. Then something miraculous did happen: I remembered the first few sentences! As I began speaking, I remembered more and more. It was almost like I was standing in front of the mirror at home, except that I felt a warm, radiating glow around me.
I was finished before I knew it. The rest of the meeting was like a pleasant after-glow. I felt wonderful. That feeling was only intensified by all the compliments I received when the meeting was over.
“Alan,” Dad said, “you were great!”
“You really were,” Mom said as she planted a kiss on my cheek. “We’re proud of you.”
“But you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t think that I was going to be able to do it, because I lost the paper with my talk on it. When I discovered that it was gone, it was too late to do anything else but pray for help. So I did. Heavenly Father really came through for me.”
“It sounds like you learned more than just how to give a good talk,” said Dad, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“Yeah, I really did.”

Some twenty-four years ago I was seated in the choir seats of the Assembly Hall situated to the south of us here on Temple Square. The setting was stake conference. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith and Elder Alma Sonne had been assigned to reorganize our stake presidency. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. Those of us who served as bishops were singing along with our young men. As we concluded singing our first selection, Brother Smith stepped to the pulpit and announced the names of the new stake presidency. I am confident the other members of the presidency had been made aware of their callings, but I had not. After reading my name, Brother Smith announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call we shall be pleased to hear from him now.” As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. Its title was “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” Such is the courage I seek this evening.

Vicky was curious when she arrived at the Rowes’ house on Sunday. First they sang a song. One of the children said a prayer. Then Mr. Rowe prayed and passed bread and water to each person. They said it was called the sacrament. After that their daughter Jessie gave a talk.
“Heavenly Father loves us. He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost,” Jessie said. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a peaceful feeling. Or sometimes He gives us a thought.”
The next day, Vicky walked to the store to buy bread. On her way home, she was about to pass by some trash cans when a voice in her mind stopped her. Stay away, it said.
Vicky stood still. Suddenly, a car came spinning around the corner. CRASH! It slammed into the garbage cans.
Vicky took a deep breath. She was so glad she listened to the voice!
Later, Vicky told Mrs. Rowe the story. “Was that the Holy Ghost?”
“Sounds like it. Sometimes the Holy Ghost warns us of danger.”
“God protected me,” Vicky said. “I’ll always listen to the Holy Ghost.”

There was once a situation where some members in our ward were misjudging my friend and me. He and I were together a lot, serving and participating in activities, and rumors began that we were dating and doing something wrong.
The rumors also claimed that my family was being rude to my friend. Although we knew it wasn’t true, I was upset because he was always treated well in my home. I didn’t want to go to church and see or talk with the people who were spreading the false rumors.
However, I remembered that we go to church because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, not just because of the people there. People sometimes criticize others without knowing what’s really going on, and I knew this moment would pass and that I could forgive them. I shared these thoughts with my friend. By looking to Jesus Christ, we found peace.

I think back with fond memories to my childhood in Scotland, when we would often celebrate Easter by going for a picnic with my family. We went up the Sidlaw Hills and, once settled, we would begin the egg ritual. My granny would have spent considerable time boiling eggs the night before, with different concoctions to make them different colours. The eggs would all have various expressions drawn on them, and wool would sometimes be stuck on for hair. I probably had some chocolate eggs as well, but I can’t really remember them–what you hold in your memory is the love and effort that goes into something, rather than how good it tastes. I knew that I was loved by these people who found it impossible to tell me in any other way but this.

One day while working around our home, trimming the hedges and vines, I had an interesting experience. I was at work with my electric clippers and long extension cord. I had done this often, each time reminding myself of the need to use these clippers with great care in order to avoid cutting things that I shouldn’t.
Suddenly the blades became jammed. Caught between them was the power cord itself. Because I had not seen it in the thicket I was trimming, I had cut into the very line that was providing the power to work.
“Isn’t that one of life’s great lessons?” I thought. “Power, if misused, can cut into the very source of that power.”
Just as the careless use of electrical power can sever the source of that power, so is it possible to misuse spiritual power to sever our spiritual power line. We would then lose that which enables us to generate success in our lives. Proper use of our spiritual power line allows us to learn, to labor, to be obedient to law, and to love. While these capabilities lead to fulfillment, at the same time they also carry risk.
Consider the power to learn. How essential it is for progress, whether one’s career is professional or that of a salesman, a farmer, or a homemaker.
But learning can be misused! A sharp mind, misdirected, can cut into that line of spiritual power. Some “learned” souls delight in leading others astray, all in the so-called name of learning. Years later their victims may realize that they have climbed their ladder of learning, only to find it leaning against the wrong wall. A prophet of the Lord has counseled us on this point:
“O that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish.
“But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God.” (2 Ne. 9:28–29; italics added.)
What happens without spiritual learning? What happens to the pilot of a glider when he is cut loose from the power of his tow plane? There may be banks and turns, but ultimately there is only one direction he can go, and that is down!
We must gain learning, but we must apply it wisely. Otherwise, we have politics without principle, industry without morality, knowledge without wisdom, science without humanity!
Consider the power of labor. Labor well spent increases our capacity to do. President Heber J. Grant often said, “‘That which we persist in doing becomes easier for us to do; not that the nature of the thing itself is changed, but that our power to do is increased.’” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1901, p. 63.)
The Lord, through his prophet Lehi, said, “It must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.” (2 Ne. 2:11.) So, in reality, competition forces us to improve. It deserves our praise and our gratitude. Without it we could not reach the heights that are otherwise ours to achieve.
But our labor can be misdirected. One can be anxiously engaged in a meaningless cause. Or one can do something wrong a hundred times and call it experience! Some would avoid labor while pursuing the goals of wealth without working for it, or an honored position without preparing for it. The converted Lamanites taught this lesson: “Rather than shed the blood of their brethren they would give up their own lives; and rather than take away from a brother they would give unto him; and rather than spend their days in idleness they would labor abundantly with their hands.” (Alma 24:18.)
Next, consider the power of obedience to law. One of the great applications of spiritual power is obeying the laws of both God and man. Freedom to act and mastery of our actions both emanate from law. “When we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” (D&C 130:21.)
I relearned that so well from President Kimball. On one occasion when he needed an operation that I was to perform, he first asked me for a priesthood blessing. Following that, he said, “Now you may proceed to do that which must be done in order to make that blessing possible.”
He knew, and I knew, that not even for God’s prophet can anyone be exempted from law. Not even for God’s Son could divine law be broken!
Consider the power to love. I remember a mother I met once as I made a professional house call. This woman was confined in an iron lung. The ravages of polio had effectively destroyed all the breathing muscles so that her life was completely dependent upon this large metal tank and the electrical motor that powered its noisy bellows.
While there, I watched her three children as they related to their mother. The oldest interrupted our work to ask permission to go to a friend’s house for an hour. Later the second child asked her mother for help with arithmetic. Finally the youngest child, so small that she couldn’t see her mother’s face directly, looked up at her image in a mirror that had been placed over the mother’s head and asked, “Mommy, may I have a cookie?” I’ve never forgotten that lesson on the power of love. This woman, virtually disabled and certainly incapable of any degree of physical enforcement of parental authority, sweetly influenced that home solely with the power to love!
The power of love between a man and a woman is special. The love shared with my beloved companion, Dantzel, has increased the power of love for both of us. That love brought us to the altar in the temple of the Lord. Her love for me motivated her to teach school during the early years of our marriage. When things were tight, she held a second job at night. Once when things were exceptionally tight, she even sold her blood in between her two jobs to keep us solvent. (Her dear parents may have wondered what kind of a son-in-law they had on that occasion!) I thought of that many years later when she needed a transfusion urgently and her blood couldn’t be matched readily with donor blood from the blood bank. What a privilege it was for me to donate mine directly to her.
Can the power to love be misused? Sadly, yes. The illegitimate union of the sexes has, in my observation, been one of the greatest causes of grief. In some instances, the improper use of this sacred physical endowment has even destroyed its use in later years.
Misused, the power of love can cut off spiritual power. The abuse of the power to love can result in no love at all. Only its cheap facsimiles of lewdness and lust remain in the wake of pleasure without conscience. Instead of feasting at the banquet table of bounteous love with his own posterity, one is left with scraps from the table—only the refuse from what might have been.
The ashes of burned “love” smolder with the smoke of sadness. Yet the embers of evil still burn. But as loud voices argue on, let us remember that those who advocate abortion have already been born! Those who freely deny God with their amoral and agnostic practices will one day find that He may just as freely deny them! (See 3 Ne. 28:34.)
The source of our spiritual power is the Lord! The ultimate source of spiritual power is God our Father. The messenger of this power is the Holy Ghost. This power differs from electrical power. An electrical appliance consumes power. The use of His spiritual power replenishes our power. While electrical power can be used only for measured periods of time, spiritual power can be used for time and eternity!
Our spiritual power line is strengthened through prayer. As we counsel with God in all our doings, he will direct us for good. (See Alma 37:37.) Prayer is available whenever we ask for it!
But the Lord places the initiative upon us. He expects us to reach for his power, just as we must insert the plug in the outlet for electricity. He said, “If thou shalt ask, thou shalt receive revelation upon revelation, knowledge upon knowledge, that thou mayest know the mysteries and peaceable things—that which bringeth joy, that which bringeth life eternal.” (D&C 42:61; italics added.) Personal worthiness and scripture study enable us to do more with this power.
Rewards result from the righteous use of the spiritual power belonging to the priesthood! And they are so great that they are almost beyond human comprehension. To those couples who bear and share that priesthood worthily and remain faithful to the law of the everlasting covenant of eternal marriage, enduring the congested years and trials of diapers and dishes, crowded kitchen and thin pocketbook, service in the Church, education and the burning of the midnight oil, the Lord makes this promise: “Ye shall come forth in the first resurrection; … and shall inherit thrones, kingdoms, principalities, and powers, dominions, … [and there] shall be a fulness and a continuation of the seeds forever and ever.” (D&C 132:19; italics added.)
The spiritual power line conveys revelation. Revelation is given to the President for the Church, and to leaders and teachers in their respective callings. Personal revelation is provided for the glorification of individual members and families in the Church. These lines are well insulated, and they are not scrambled! Our Father is a God of order! No one else receives revelation to govern the Church; that will be delivered only to the President of the Church. The father in the home next door will not receive revelation for his neighbor’s family.
It is possible to disregard or even misuse spiritual power. Some have misused the power of prayer by making that sacred communication trivial. Some well-meaning Saints even do the right things for the wrong reasons, if they narrowly center on the percentages they report rather than on the precious people they serve.
Like cutting the cord with clippers, it is possible to use spiritual power so carelessly as to destroy one’s very connection to that power. I know a husband who dominates his wife as though she were his possession. He seems to regard her about as he does his automobile or his suitcase, which he uses for his own purposes. And I know a wife who dominates her husband to the point that he has lost all feelings of worth.
Remember, “The rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and … the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness.” (D&C 121:36; italics added.)
The unrighteous use of priesthood authority surely severs the connection to the Source of that authority. (See D&C 121:37.)
Worship strengthens our power line to deity. There can be no true worship without sacrifice, and there can be no true sacrifice without a cause. The cause that earns our love and priority is the cause of Jesus Christ.
Speaking of his own atonement, the Savior proclaimed, “To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world.” (John 18:37.) His example of worship, sacrifice, and commitment to cause becomes ours! His is the ultimate source of all our power to do good.
As we carefully and prayerfully protect the spiritual power line that links us to the Savior, we become more like him!
Of his sacred name and mission I solemnly bear special witness. Of his divine sonship I proclaim sacred testimony. That this is his church I fervently declare, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A related work that rests primarily on priesthood shoulders is the Savior’s call, echoed by President Thomas S. Monson, to rescue those who have drifted from the gospel or who have become disaffected for any reason. We have had wonderful success in this effort, including excellent work by young men. An Aaronic Priesthood quorum in the Rio Grande (Spanish) Ward in Albuquerque, New Mexico, counseled together about whom they could bring back and then as a group went to visit each of them. One said, “When they came to my door, I felt important,” and another confided, “I feel happy inside that someone actually wants me to go to church; it makes me want to go to church now.” When the quorum members invited one young man to come back, they asked him to come with them on the next visit, and he did. They were not just inviting him to attend church; they were immediately making him a part of the quorum.

Ray Bonnet of the Indianapolis Fifth Ward, Indianapolis Indiana North Stake, earned his Eagle badge, an outstanding achievement for a young man born with cerebral palsy.
Ray chose to earn is Eagle rank without any special considerations. It took six years of hard work, including a mile hike on crutches, week-long summer camps, swimming, completing the requirements for 21 merit badges, serving in various leadership positions, developing lifesaving skills, showing Scout spirit, and providing community service.
As his Eagle project, Ray organized his troop to assist in building six microfilm readers and developed a creative approach to extracting names from microfilm in genealogical research.

One youth Sunday School teacher wondered how to help two young men with autism act for themselves. When she invited class members to share what they were learning, she worried that these two young men might refuse her invitation. But they didn’t. One stood to teach what he had learned and then invited his classmate with autism to help him. When the first began to struggle, his classmate stayed with him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel successful. They were both teaching that day. They were teaching what the Savior taught, but they were also teaching how the Savior taught. When the Savior taught, He acted out of love for the one He was teaching, just as this classmate did for his friend.5

For centuries, black powder was the most powerful explosive available. It could launch cannon balls, but it wasn’t effective for most mining and road construction projects. It was just too weak to shatter rock.
In 1846 an Italian chemist named Ascanio Sobrero synthesized a new explosive, nitroglycerin. This oily fluid was at least a thousand times more powerful than black powder. It could easily shatter rock. Unfortunately, nitroglycerin was unstable. If you dropped it from a small height, it’d blow up. If it got too hot, it’d blow up. If it got too cold, it’d blow up. Even placed in a cool, dark room and left alone, it’d eventually blow up. Most countries banned its transportation, and many banned its manufacture.
In 1860 a Swedish scientist named Alfred Nobel began trying to stabilize nitroglycerin. After seven years of experimentation, he achieved his goal by absorbing nitroglycerin into a nearly worthless substance known as diatomaceous earth, or kieselguhr. Kieselguhr is a porous rock that can be crumbled into a fine powder. When mixed with nitroglycerin, kieselguhr absorbs the nitroglycerin, and the resultant paste can be shaped into “sticks.” In this form, nitroglycerin was much more stable. It could be safely stored, transported, and used with undiminished explosive power. Nobel named the combination of nitroglycerin and kieselguhr “dynamite.”
Dynamite changed the world. It also made Nobel wealthy. Without a stabilizer, nitroglycerin was just too hazardous to be commercially valuable, as Ascanio Sobrero found out. By itself, as I mentioned, kieselguhr was of little value. But the combination of the two components made dynamite transformative and precious.
In a similar way, the combination of the gospel of Jesus Christ and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints provides powerful and transformative benefits for us. The gospel is perfect, but a divinely commissioned church is required to preach it, maintain its purity, and administer its sacred ordinances with the Savior’s power and authority.
Consider the combination of the Savior’s gospel and His Church as established by the Book of Mormon prophet Alma. The Church was responsible for preaching “nothing save it were repentance and faith on the Lord, who [would redeem] his people.” Using God’s authority, the Church was responsible for administering the ordinance of baptism “in the name of the Lord, as a witness [of entering] into a covenant with him [to] serve him and keep his commandments.” The people who were baptized took on themselves the name of Jesus Christ, joined His Church, and were promised great power through an outpouring of the Spirit.
People flocked to the Waters of Mormon to hear Alma preach the gospel. Though they revered those waters and the surrounding forests, the Lord’s Church was not a location or a building, nor is it today. The Church is simply ordinary people, disciples of Jesus Christ, gathered and organized into a divinely appointed structure that helps the Lord accomplish His purposes. The Church is the instrument through which we learn the central role of Jesus Christ in Heavenly Father’s plan. The Church offers the authoritative way for individuals to participate in ordinances and make lasting covenants with God. Keeping those covenants draws us closer to God, gives us access to His power, and transforms us into who He intends us to become.
Just as dynamite without nitroglycerin is unremarkable, the Savior’s Church is special only if it is built on His gospel. Without the Savior’s gospel and the authority to administer the ordinances thereof, the Church isn’t exceptional.
Without the stabilizing effect of kieselguhr, nitroglycerin had limited value as an explosive. As history has shown, without the Lord’s Church, humanity’s understanding of His gospel was likewise unstable—prone to doctrinal drift and subject to the influence of different religions, cultures, and philosophies. An amalgamation of those influences has been manifested in every dispensation leading up to this last one. Though the gospel was initially revealed in its purity, the interpretation and application of that gospel gradually took on a form of godliness that lacked power because the divinely authorized framework was absent.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints enables access to God’s power because it is authorized by Him both to teach the doctrine of Christ and to offer the gospel’s saving and exalting ordinances. The Savior yearns to forgive our sins, help us access His power, and transform us. He suffered for our sins and longs to pardon us from the punishment that we otherwise would deserve. He wants us to become holy and be perfected in Him.
Jesus Christ has the power to do this. He didn’t simply sympathize with our imperfections and lament our eternal condemnation in consequence of sin. No, He went beyond that, infinitely beyond that, and restored His Church to enable access to His power.
The core of the gospel that the Church teaches is that Jesus Christ bore “our griefs, and carried our sorrows.” He had “laid on him the iniquity of us all.” He “endured the cross,” broke “the bands of death,” “ascended into heaven, and … sat down on the right hand of God, to claim of the Father his rights of mercy.” The Savior did all this because He loves His Father and He loves us. He has already paid the infinite price so He can “[claim] all those who have faith in him [and advocate]” for them—for us. Jesus Christ wants nothing more than for us to repent and come unto Him so that He can justify and sanctify us. In this desire, He is relentless and unwavering.
The access to God’s covenantal power and His covenantal love is through His Church. The combination of the Savior’s gospel and His Church transforms our lives. It transformed my maternal grandparents. My grandfather Oskar Andersson worked in a shipyard on Högmarsö, an island in the Stockholm archipelago. His wife, Albertina, and their children lived on the Swedish mainland. Once every two weeks, on Saturday, Oskar rowed his boat home for the weekend before returning to Högmarsö on Sunday evening. One day, while on Högmarsö, he heard two American missionaries preach the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Oskar felt that what he heard was pure truth, and he was filled with unspeakable joy.
The next time he returned home, Oskar excitedly told Albertina all about the missionaries. He explained that he believed what they taught. He asked her to read the pamphlets they had given him, and he told her that he didn’t think that any of their future children should be baptized as infants. Albertina was furious and threw the pamphlets on the rubbish heap. Not much was said between them before Oskar returned to work on Sunday evening.
As soon as he was gone, Albertina retrieved those pamphlets. She carefully compared their doctrine with the teachings in her well-worn Bible. She was astonished to feel that what she read was true. The next time Oskar returned home, he received a warm welcome, as did the copy of the Book of Mormon he brought with him. Albertina eagerly read, again comparing the doctrine to that in her Bible. Like Oskar, she recognized pure truth and was filled with unspeakable joy.
Oskar, Albertina, and their children moved to Högmarsö to be close to the few Church members there. A week after Oskar and Albertina were baptized in 1916, Oskar was called to be the group leader on Högmarsö. Like many converts, Oskar and Albertina faced criticism because of their new faith. Local farmers refused to sell them milk, so Oskar rowed across the fjord every day to purchase milk from a more tolerant farmer.
Yet during the ensuing years, Church membership on Högmarsö increased, in part because of Albertina’s powerful testimony and burning missionary zeal. When the group became a branch, Oskar was called as the branch president.
Members of that Högmarsö branch revered that island. This was their Waters of Mormon. This was where they came to a knowledge of their Redeemer.
Over the years, as they kept their baptismal covenant, Oskar and Albertina were transformed by the power of Jesus Christ. They longed to make more covenants and receive their temple blessings. To obtain those blessings, they permanently emigrated from their home in Sweden to Salt Lake City in 1949. Oskar had served as the leader of the members on Högmarsö for 33 years.
The combination of nitroglycerin and kieselguhr made dynamite valuable; the combination of the gospel of Jesus Christ and His Church is beyond price. Oskar and Albertina heard about the restored gospel because a prophet of God had called, assigned, and sent missionaries to Sweden. By divine commission, missionaries taught the doctrine of Christ and by priesthood authority baptized Oskar and Albertina. As members, Oskar and Albertina continued learning, developing, and serving others. They became Latter-day Saints because they kept the covenants they made.
The Savior refers to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as “my church” because He commissioned it to accomplish His purposes—preaching His gospel, offering His ordinances and covenants, and making it possible for His power to justify and sanctify us. Without His Church, there is no authority, no preaching of revealed truths in His name, no ordinances or covenants, no manifestation of the power of godliness, no transformation into who God wants us to become, and God’s plan for His children is set at naught. The Church in this dispensation is integral to His plan.
I invite you to commit yourself more fully to the Savior, His gospel, and His Church. As you do so, you will find that the combination of the Savior’s gospel and His Church brings power into your life. This power is far greater than dynamite. It’ll shatter the rocks in your way, transform you into an inheritor in God’s kingdom. And you will be “filled with that joy which is unspeakable and full of glory.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In a little Mormon town like Whitney, religion was in the very air everyone breathed. It was the center of the community’s existence. “Father and Mother taught their family complete devotion to the Church and full integrity in the payment of their tithes and offerings,” President Benson declares. He often recounts the time when his father had to choose between paying his tithing or a $50 debt. He paid the tithing, and almost immediately received an unexpected offer of $50 for a hay lifting tackle he had built.

It was almost the end of the month, and I had visited every sister on my new visiting teaching list except one. I’d never met Joan (name has been changed). She did not attend church, and in the recent past, she had not wanted to have contact with the Church.

I had made many phone calls to her home throughout the month, but they were always greeted by her answering machine, no matter what time I called. I left several voice messages, introducing myself as her new visiting teacher, telling her I was looking forward to meeting her, and asking her to return my call. But Joan never called back.

With only a few days left in the month, I decided to drop by Joan’s home unannounced with a plate of muffins. But as I drove up and down the busy highway near her street, I realized that none of the numbers on the houses matched the address I had been given for her. I became increasingly frustrated, thinking, “Why am I doing this? She probably won’t even be home, and if I leave the muffins on her porch, some dog will most likely eat them.” Finally I checked my ward directory and discovered that Joan’s address on my visiting teaching list was incorrect. With the correct address, I found the home within minutes.

Armed with my muffins, I walked toward Joan’s house. I hesitated when I saw a big No Trespassing sign but cautiously continued toward her porch. I rang the doorbell two times. No answer. Thinking, “Well, at least I tried,” I left the muffins and my note near Joan’s front door.

That evening at dinner, I mentioned to my family my apparently wasted hour attempting to reach this faceless, voiceless, impossible-to-contact sister. During the meal the phone rang. Contrary to our mealtime practice, I answered it. The woman on the phone identified herself as Joan. Suddenly feeling as though I had been reunited with a friend, rather than the stranger she was, I whooped, “Joan! I’ve wanted to hear your voice for so long! I’m so excited you’ve called!”

Joan explained that she hadn’t returned my calls because of recent turmoil in her life. She continued, “Today I was at the courthouse, feeling defeated and humiliated as I stood in front of the judge and my estranged husband. When I drove home, I prayed, ‘God, I feel so worthless and unloved.’ Sobbing, I asked, ‘If You love me, please show me.’

“When I reached home, there before my eyes, as though a miracle from God, was a plate of muffins and a note saying, ‘I’m thinking of you. Love, your visiting teacher.’ It was as if God were saying to me that He loved me. I just wanted you to know that I know God used you to answer my prayer today.”

Since that day Joan has become my friend. We have read the scriptures and prayed together, and she has joined me at church. She has been a gift to me, teaching me never to give up when serving the Lord.

The empty sound of the ringing on the other end of the telephone line repeated itself over and over, and I puffed out a small breath of air—half sigh, half-confused laugh. So what do I expect Sister Randolf to do—sit home waiting for a call from me? She has better things to do with her life.
I rubbed my hand over my face and turned because the digital clock on my radio had just clicked a number change. It was 8:16 now. Rick would be over in less than 15 minutes, and the panicky feeling swept through me again. “She’s just got to be home,” I said aloud. But the ringing persisted, and after three more rings I pushed the disconnect button.
“Nobody is ever there when I need them,” I mumbled to myself. “Nobody cares about me.” But even as I said the words, I knew they just weren’t valid. Sister Randolf did care about me, and there were others who met in the old brown chapel just a few blocks from my home who cared about me too.
The quietness of the house seemed strange, and I wandered into the living room where at least the ticking of the grandfather clock could keep me company. The steady ticking had often comforted me as a child when I was upset about something. But even listening to the quiet rhythm didn’t subdue my present turmoil.
Slipping into the recliner where dad liked to relax and smoke his pipe didn’t help my confusion either. It just reminded me of what dad had said as he and mom were leaving. “Well, you and Rick will have the house all to yourselves, huh?” he had said with a chuckle. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Dad expected Rick and me to take advantage of being alone in the house!
Mom had just laughed and had scolded him with mock concern. “Honestly, Stuart.” But she hadn’t mentioned the matter later, and when I thought about it, she had never really said how she felt about a lot of things. But then, neither of my parents had ever been religious and they had always believed in letting my brother, Tom, and me do our own thing. Well, now Tom was in California, mom and dad were at their convention in Chicago, and I was alone—all alone in our three-bedroom rambler. But I wouldn’t be alone long. Rick was coming, and that was just the problem.
I reached for the living room phone next to me on the end table and placed it on the armrest of dad’s chair. Again I dialed the number—the number that I had called so often because I had needed to talk to Sister Randolf about so many things. She was one of the best things that had ever happened to me. She and, of course, Rick. But they wanted such different things for me.
“Rick.” I said his name aloud, sighed, and started tingling inside as I thought of him—the way he looked, his light brown hair, his gentle smile, and the way he acted, his cute sense of humor, and the pleasant way he treated people. When I thought of him, I always felt warm inside, and when I was with him—oh, the feelings! But hadn’t Sister Randolf told us that?
“Girls,” she had said, “don’t think you won’t have those feelings because you will. They’re natural. They’re a part of your physical and emotional makeup, and they’re important to have because they’re part of the beautiful plan. It’s what we do with those precious feelings that makes the difference, because if we don’t control them, they will control us.”
She had held up two rings then—one a diamond, the other a rhinestone. “Don’t ever let the spurious or artificial get mixed up with the real thing,” she had added. “Please don’t settle for the counterfeit. Don’t sell yourselves short.” And she had written the word spurious on the board and then the word genuine. Then she had told us about the beautiful life that she knew was ahead for each one of us. “It’s out there,” she said. “It’s just ahead of you, and that life is meant to be yours. If you could see into the future, you wouldn’t settle for anything less because you wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less. I have tasted a little of that life,” she continued. “It’s filled with love and with children. Oh, sure, there are frustrations sometimes, and my children can be little characters, but …” Tears came into her eyes. “There is nothing,” she had said with emphasis, “nothing sweeter or more beautiful than knowing your love is an eternal commitment. There is such security and peace in knowing that you are living life our Heavenly Father’s way and that your love is something special and sacred between you and your partner. Something so special and sacred that you waited for it because you didn’t want to cheapen it.”
I couldn’t remember the rest of what she said, but she had made it sound so beautiful and so right. I had wanted that kind of life more than anything.
Then Sister Randolf had added with a chuckle, “I know that here in the building in our Young Women classroom it sounds easy. ‘It’s a cinch,’ you’re thinking. ‘Of course that’s what I want. I want the genuine.’
“But out in the field,” she said, “well, fieldwork is often more challenging than classroom work, isn’t it?” We had laughed. Then she turned serious again. “It may be difficult for you at times. But you can do it. And I want you to know that if you need to call me at any time, I’ll be anxious to talk to you and help you.”
I swallowed as I finished dialing the number, and I glanced at the clock again. It was 8:20 now. “I’ll be over at 8:30,” Rick had said.
“Why are you doing this to me, Rick?” I whispered as the telephone rang again. “Why are you making me feel all mixed up?” Fieldwork difficult? It was difficult all right. That’s putting it mildly, Sister Randolf, I thought. Very mildly.
“Now where are you?” I called out in exasperation as if she could hear me. “Help me, Sister Randolf! Answer your phone!” But I wondered what I would say if she did answer. I wondered how I would put into words what I was feeling. How could I explain to her that life isn’t simple. That the feelings I had for Rick were genuine and not artificial. That he needed me. And that that was why I was so mixed up now. My present turmoil was symbolic of the tug-of-war of my entire last year. One side of me thirsted for and pulled me toward the gospel’s eternal values. The other side of me pulled toward the world and its “anything goes” attitude.
I remembered how Rick had reacted when I had told him that mom and dad had gone to Chicago. “Sarah, why didn’t you tell me?” he had whispered. “Just think, the house all to ourselves! No one to bother us.” His breath brushed my cheek, and there was a tenseness in his voice unusual for Rick. I began getting nervous about what he was thinking. “We love each other,” he had said then.
“Yes, but, Rick …”
He laughed a little, and the old Rick returned as he lifted my chin. “Hey don’t look so horrified. What am I, some kind of an ogre?”
I laughed. “Believe me,” I said, gulping, “you’re hardly an ogre. You’re, well, you’re … That’s just it. If you come over, I’m just afraid of what …”
He put his hand over my mouth. “Everything will be okay,” he said, his voice cracking slightly with tenseness again. “Hey, I know what’s best for us, don’t I?”
Do you, Rick? I thought. Do you? Rick was a member of the Church and had attended until his mother died of leukemia when he was only ten. After he moved in with inactive relatives, his life had changed drastically. But now Rick wasn’t ten anymore. He was a college man, and he liked to pretend he was tough and wise, but I knew better. I had seen his vulnerable side—the side of him that he rarely lets others see. We were close, and I knew Rick had been deeply hurt by what life had meted out to him. More than anything I wanted to make him happy because I loved him. I didn’t ever want him to be hurt again. Rick needed me. He loved me and needed me.
Thinking of Rick made me pull myself to the edge of dad’s chair. Maybe I was silly to worry about my feelings. On television the networks showed bed scenes now, and the movies—well even Superman, the great hero, hadn’t been so perfect. According to the screen, making love out of wedlock was expected and accepted in today’s world. And hadn’t Rick said it would be okay? He loved me and I loved him. We’d get married in a year or two after he had a little more schooling behind him. I wasn’t worried that he would be a good husband because he was a good person—better than he knew. We’d have kids and he would make a good father. It would be all right because we’d make it all right. We would!
I put my head in my hands and pressed them hard against my face because I knew it wasn’t all right and it was 8:25.
Oh, Sister Randolf, please come home immediately! I need to hear your voice right now! I decided to try her number one last time. This is it, I thought. If she isn’t home this time … well … It rang 14 times before I slammed down the receiver. The phone slipped with a thud to the floor, and I hit the armrest where it had been. “Well, I tried!” I said. But a hollowness filled the pit of my stomach, my lips twisted, and the roof of my mouth felt dry.
“I tried, Sister Randolf,” I said. “I wish you had been home, but you weren’t, and I can’t help that.” But I sighed as I thought of Rick’s arms around me and how I always felt whenever he held me close. Maybe I’m glad you weren’t home, Sister Randolf, I thought. My breathing became jerky as the grandfather clock’s hand hit the six mark. It was 8:30. I stood up quickly, stretched my neck, and took a deep breath as I walked to my room to brush my hair. I looked into the gold-framed mirror at the girl in the reflection. I pulled my hair back and then let it fall around my face. There was no emotion in my eyes, and I felt like an empty form.
“I said I tried,” I repeated again to myself. “Can I help it if she wasn’t home?”
Pushing my mascara wand against my lashes, I concentrated on my eyes. At first they were just eyes, and then I looked closer. Rick always said he liked my eyes. I looked even closer, as if I were trying to look inside myself, but all I could see were the little gold flecks and my own reflection in the dark pupils. “Hey, you in there,” I whispered, “who are you?”
I pushed the wand against my lashes again. “It’s too bad Sister Randolf wasn’t home to tell me what I believe, but that’s just the way it is,” I said. “It’s not my fault.” The words seemed to echo through the room. “It’s too bad Sister Randolf wasn’t home to tell me what I believe?” The person I was looking at in the mirror was me. Those were my arms, my torso, my hair, and my face. And behind the face, behind the eyes, was a mind—my mind. Nobody else’s—mine. “To tell me what I believe?”
I thought of what my dad always said. “You’ve got to stand on your own two feet in this world.” Sister Randolf had said something similar in a lesson on free agency. I had to admit to myself that whatever I decided would be my decision. My choice. Nobody else’s. And I knew. I knew very well what the right choice was. I had felt the Spirit of truth before, and I was only kidding myself if I tried to pretend I didn’t know. But that was not the problem really. That was not why I was kidding myself. The problem was whether I could be strong enough. Could I be firm with Rick when he had a way of melting my bones just by looking at me?
Could I?
I looked back into my eyes and tried to remember the quote that always made me feel strong inside. “Choose you this day.” Oh, yes, that was it. “Choose you this day whom ye will serve; … but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Josh. 24:15). I stood straighter and did feel stronger. “Choose you this day, Sarah Beckstead!”
“Rick will just have to realize that I’m my own person and make my own decisions and that I have to be accountable for those decisions and actions and … well, he’ll just have to understand.” I picked up my brush again and began brushing my hair with firm, swift strokes. But suddenly the strokes weakened, and I looked back into my pupils with panic because I had heard a car drive up and a car door shut.
Rick. My stomach hurt and I put down the brush. But what about Rick? Rick’s footsteps were sounding on our driveway. I could picture him climbing our steps. I pictured the way he held his head when he smiled at me. I thought of how hurt he had been in his life. He’ll think I don’t love him and I do, so much, I thought.
The doorbell rang and I began trembling. What am I going to do? I changed my plea to a prayer. “Oh, Father in Heaven, I love Rick. I care about him, and I don’t—” I stopped talking. “I care about him,” I repeated. I guess it struck me then. I tried to continue my prayer, but I had my answer. “I care about him.” I opened my eyes. You silly girl, I said to myself, don’t you see? If you care about Rick, you want the best for him. Of course, I thought. Of course! I don’t just want what’s best for me; I want what’s best for him too. I don’t want him to blow it. I want to help him. It was so clear now that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Rick needed me all right.
Then something else struck me. I had never shared with Rick the feelings about the gospel that I had had in the old brown chapel. I had never told him, the person I love most, about the kind of life that is possible for him—for us. I had never told him how important he is in our Father in Heaven’s eyes—that we are both too important, too precious, to cheapen ourselves. That our love is genuine, something sacred and worth waiting for. I had never told him that I believe—that I know—that we can share that love forever. As close as we were, I had never ever even told him.
I began trembling again, but this time I was trembling with a desire to tell Rick.
Hurrying to the door, I grabbed my jacket just as Rick was beginning to tap loudly, probably wondering what was wrong with the bell. “Rick,” I said, slipping through the doorway and closing the door behind me, “I’ve got so much to tell you. We need to have a talk right now.”
“Where are we going?” he asked with confusion as I pulled him down the steps.
“For a walk!”
“Oh, great! Right now?” Rick looked back at our front door. “I was thinking—”
“I know what you were thinking, but you don’t want to be thinking that right now.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Come on.” I pulled him down the driveway to where it meets the sidewalk.
“Hey, whoa!” He pulled me to a halt, turned me around, and placed his hands gently on my shoulders. “Now,” he said, “what’s the hurry? Is it that important?” His soft blue eyes looked into mine, but I returned his gaze without flinching.
“It is, Rick,” I answered firmly. “It really is.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” I said.
Rick continued looking into my eyes until at last he sighed. “Well, if you’re that sure.” He looked up at the sky, sighed, and looked down at me again. This time he had a small smile on his face, and as he began chuckling, he lifted my chin. “You’re really something, Beckstead. You know that, don’t you?” To my surprise, there was admiration in his voice. And I was almost sure there was something else—relief. Rick was relieved! Deep down he knew.
“So, which way do we go?” he asked with mock disgruntlement as he looked up and down the sidewalk.
I grinned happily, welling over inside, feeling as if I would burst as I slipped my hand in his and turned in the direction of the old brown chapel. “How about this way?” I said softly.

One of the greatest blessings of my life was being able to serve a full-time mission. It was a wonderful event for the whole family, since I was the oldest of three brothers. My parents were converts to the Church and had been baptized when I was four years old, thanks to two fine missionaries who knocked on the door of their home in Bernal, a suburb south of Buenos Aires, Argentina. As a result, my parents always hoped their children would likewise help people find the religion that had made them so happy.
Things were going wonderfully as the first year of my mission went by. Then, when I was serving in Córdoba, Argentina, I received some sad news from home: my father was very ill. He had recently undergone surgery, and the doctors had found that his illness was much advanced, in the terminal stage.
The mission president decided that I should go home, visit my father, and return to the mission field the next day. So I went home and found my father on the verge of death, most of the time unconscious and immobile. I spent most of my time at his bedside. Those were hours of sorrow, of peace, and of the abundant companionship of the Spirit. All my thoughts were centered on the Lord and His great plan.
At some point my father regained consciousness. He looked at me but did not recognize me. However, as I began to express how much I loved him and how grateful I was to be his son, he realized he was listening to his eldest child, the missionary. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, and making great effort to communicate, he said, “Your mother is a saintly woman; she is our example.” Then I clearly heard these words from his lips: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
He did not say much more. I wrote down his words in my journal, left the house, and returned to the mission field. A few hours later my father passed away.
With the passage of time, as I began my own family and watched my children grow up, this experience with my father came to my mind. As I pondered the significance of life and death, I thought, “What last words of counsel would I leave my children if I knew the time had come to leave this world?” I could not think of anything better than the counsel I had received from my father: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
The law of tithing is a great blessing to our family. I have learned that the Lord does not need my tithing; rather, I am the one who needs the blessings that come from obeying this law.
I have also learned that it does not matter if our donation envelope is bulging or if it contains just a few coins. We have met our obligation to the Lord if our tithing is 10 percent of our income. As we pay our tithing we become partners with the Lord. We take a stand in favor of building temples, in which all the ordinances of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ are made available to families. We take a stand in favor of building meetinghouses, where we can attend each Sunday with our families and partake of the sacrament if worthy. We take a stand in favor of helping missionary work reach the ends of the earth. And finally, we take a stand in favor of having the Church “stand independent above all other creatures beneath the celestial world” (D&C 78:14).
I consider the law of tithing a law of protection for my home and the most important principle in the sound financial management of our family’s resources.
Church members who understand the principle of tithing know that it is not primarily about money; it is about faith. Let us have faith in the promises of the Lord, who declared, “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).

“Ouch!” Nate cried. “That hurt.”
Meg looked over at her little brother. Mom had brought them to their favorite playground for the afternoon. Nate was digging in the sand near the swings. Now two girls playing near him were throwing toys at him.
“That’s not very nice,” he said. “Please stop.”
The two girls just laughed and kept throwing toys and sand.
Meg was upset. Nate hadn’t done anything to the girls. He had been playing by himself. They should be nicer to him.
Meg looked for Mom. She was talking with other adults on the other side of the playground. Meg worried that by the time she got Mom to come help, Nate would be really hurt.
Meg decided to take care of it herself. She walked over and stood between Nate and the girls. The girls looked surprised. They stopped throwing toys.
“That’s my little brother,” Meg told the girls. “You should be nice to him.” Then Meg had an idea. “What if we play together? Do you know how to play freeze tag?”
One of the girls smiled and said, “That’s my favorite game!”
As the girls ran off toward the field, Nate turned to Meg. “Thanks for helping me. You’re a great sister.”
Meg smiled and hugged him. She was glad she had been able to help her brother.

One Saturday afternoon my little sister, my mom, and I decided to make cookies. My mom suggested we make a double batch and give them away.
While the cookies were baking, we talked about listening to the Spirit and serving others. My mom told us how grateful she was for inspired sisters around her that had recently brightened her day with a phone call or nice card. She then suggested that we give the cookies to someone Heavenly Father would like us to serve. We all went into different rooms and said our own personal prayer about who should receive the cookies. My mom and I had two of the same names, and my mom and little sister had also agreed on a family. The names we came up with were not even people that we typically interacted with.
From this experience, my testimony of prayer has been strengthened so much! Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and guided us to the people we should serve.
I will always remember that special day when we delivered the cookies to those who the Lord wanted us to. I am so grateful to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in my life. I am glad that I can pray for direction and help. I love the Church and my family. I am so blessed to have Young Women leaders to teach me about our gospel.

My call gives ample evidence to the truthfulness of the Lord’s statement early in this dispensation: “That the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”1 I am one of those weak and simple. Decades ago, when I was called to be the bishop of a ward in the eastern United States, my brother, slightly older and much wiser than I, called me on the phone. He said, “You need to know that the Lord hasn’t called you because of anything you have done. In your case, it is probably in spite of what you have done. The Lord has called you for what He needs to do through you, and that will happen only if you do it His way.” I recognize that this wisdom from an older brother applies even more today.