Gospel Story Finder

When Len Hope was about seventeen years old, he spent two weeks attending a Baptist revival near his home in Alabama, in the southern United States. At night, the young African American man would come home from the revival, lie down in the cotton fields, and look up at the heavens. He would beg God for religion, but in the morning the only thing he had to show for his effort was clothing wet with dew.
One year later, Len decided to be baptized in a local church. Soon after, though, he dreamed that he needed to be baptized again. Confused, he started reading the Bible—so much so that he worried his friends. “If you don’t stop reading so much, you will go crazy,” they said. “Already the asylum is full of preachers.”
Len did not stop reading. One day, he learned that the Holy Ghost could lead him to truth. At the advice of a preacher, he retreated to the woods to pray in an old empty house hidden in a tangle of bushes. There he wept for hours, pleading with God for the Holy Ghost.
A short time later, as Len waited for an answer to his many prayers, a Latter-day Saint missionary gave his sister a tract about God’s plan of salvation. Len read it and believed its message. He also learned that Latter-day Saint missionaries had authority to confer the gift of the Holy Ghost on those who accepted baptism.
Seeking out the elders, Len asked if they would baptize him.
“Yes, gladly,” said one of the missionaries, “but if I were you, I would read a little more.”
Len got copies of the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, and other Church books—and soon read them all. But before he could be baptized, he was drafted to fight in the world war. The army shipped him overseas, where he served bravely at the front. Then, after returning home to Alabama, he was baptized by a local Church member on June 22, 1919, and finally received the gift of the Holy Ghost.1

We see this continually in people’s lives. One example was the woman who had little money to spend but wanted to share a Christmas treat with her neighbors. She didn’t feel that she could buy even inexpensive containers, but she was quite self-reliant. With what she had on hand, she made charming remembrances using brown lunch-size paper bags decorated with a white paper roof, a door and windows, and the words “Merry Christmas, Neighbor!” These brown-bag houses, filled with her home-dried apple slices, were welcome gifts.

Let me share with you another experience or two from which I learned valuable lessons.

During our BYU years we lived in Lindon. Early one Christmas Eve I received a telephone call. I told Donna that I must run in to Provo to the office. By doing so, one of our teachers could have a much happier Christmas.

I thought I was alone in the Maeser Building. Not so. President Ernest L. Wilkinson, whose office was at the other end of the hall, walked into President Berrett’s office, then into Brother Tuttle’s office, looked in the storeroom, and then stepped into my office. Without saying a word to me, he looked around my office and walked out. Although I knew him to be absorbed in whatever he did, I shook my head and muttered to myself, “Well, cuss you!”

Shortly thereafter, Vice President Harvey L. Taylor came into the office and made the same tour. Startled to find me at my desk, he asked, “What on earth are you doing here on Christmas Eve?” I explained why I was there. He then told me how much I was appreciated and how grateful he was for one who would go the extra mile. He wished me a merry Christmas and left.

After he was gone, I had generous thoughts about President Wilkinson. If he was smart enough to have a man like Harvey Taylor ­follow him around, I could put up with his exasperating ways.

In 1976 following a conference in Copenhagen, Denmark, President Spencer W. Kimball invited us to a small church to see the statues of Christ and the Twelve Apostles by Bertel Thorvaldsen. The Christus stands in an alcove beyond the altar. Standing in order along the sides of the chapel are the statues of the Twelve, with Paul replacing Judas Iscariot.
President Kimball told the elderly caretaker that at the very time Thorvaldsen was creating those beautiful statues in Denmark, a restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ was taking place in America with apostles and prophets receiving authority from those who held it anciently.
Gathering those present closer to him, he said to the caretaker, “We are living Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ,” and pointing to Elder Pinegar he said, “Here is a Seventy like those spoken of in the New Testament.”
We were standing near the statue of Peter, whom the sculptor depicted holding keys in his hand, symbolic of the keys of the kingdom. President Kimball said, “We hold the real keys, as Peter did, and we use them every day.”
Then came an experience I will never forget. President Kimball, this gentle prophet, turned to President Johan H. Benthin, of the Copenhagen Stake, and in a commanding voice said, “I want you to tell every prelate in Denmark that they do not hold the keys! I hold the keys!”
There came to me that witness known to Latter-day Saints but difficult to describe to one who has not experienced it—a light, a power coursing through one’s very soul—and I knew that, in very fact, here stood the living prophet who held the keys.

The houselights fall; the last few coughs and whispers fade; and a girl comes on stage. Under a soft spotlight her face is beautiful, its innocence incongruous in the gaudy, western saloon. As she feels her way from table to table, her eyes wandering blankly across the painted bar and rows of painted bottles on the canvas backdrop, the audience realizes that she is blind.
“Is there no one here?” she asks timidly, to be answered only by silence. “Will no one help me?” she says a little louder, her voice quavering on the edge of a sob. There is no reply from the empty saloon. She sits down unsteadily in a chair, her face inexpressibly weary, her shoulders drooping. “Will no one help me?” she whispers hopelessly. Her vacant eyes pass once over the audience as if yearning to penetrate the darkness, and then with a small sigh she bows her head and seems to give up.
Suddenly, a few rows back, a man springs to his feet. He struggles free from the row of knees and backrests and is quickly on the stage. Drawing up a chair to face the actress, he takes her two small, trembling hands in his two large, strong ones. “I’ll help you, dear,” he says softly.
His words produce instant pandemonium. The audience surges to its feet, sending wave after wave of cheers and applause crashing against the tiny stage, and for several long minutes the melodrama waits; the stage crew waits; the actors backstage awaiting their cues wait; the whole little theater world waits while men and women and children are happy out loud.
It wasn’t exactly a theatrical triumph; there was no such line in the script; the man wasn’t a cast member; no one was more surprised than the “blind girl” at the unexpected offer of assistance. The incident, which really happened, wasn’t so much theater as it was a peculiar form of magic, and it took place, as that sort of magic often does, at a little theater in West Yellowstone, Montana, known as the Playmill.

On that same long journey around the earth, we met another friend who once was on the faculty of Brigham Young University. His children were then grown, and he and his wife concluded that rather than retire into idleness—as they could well have done, and as millions of others do—they would find some place in the world where they could help some of our Father’s children by teaching them the truths that would save them.

They found such a land. They sold their beautiful home; they sold their car; they left friends and relatives for a distant, less comfortable place. But as they cast their bread upon the waters, the Lord opened opportunities for them to teach and lift and help. No one can foretell the consequences of their pioneering.

As I have thought of this man and woman who left the comforts of home and society and friends at an age when most people want to slow down and take it easy, I have thought of the words of the Lord, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” (Matt. 19:29) I have thought the same whenever I meet or hear of other elderly brothers and sisters, single or married, who either volunteer or accept calls to serve the Lord in the missions of the Church.

May I tell you of the hour of my true conversion to the Lord Jesus Christ and his restored gospel. Perhaps my experience will strengthen those who desire a closer relationship with our Father in Heaven and a more profound testimony of the truthfulness of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Some years ago while traveling to a mission in Germany, I found myself, in stormy November, aboard a ship sailing from New York to Bremerhaven. The ocean boiled with turmoil. We were all seasick. All we could eat were soda crackers and Zwieback. I was almost afraid I was not going to die!
As the days passed it dawned on me: “I’m really going on a mission.” Do I truly have a testimony? Am I prepared to bear it “at all times and … in all places”? (Mosiah 18:9).
I thought I had a testimony, but now the real trial of my faith was coming. I was going to a foreign land where the only words I could speak in German were Volkswagen and auf Wiedersehen.
During the voyage I realized my testimony was not a spiritual fire of conviction, particularly of the Book of Mormon. And so I knelt down on the cold steel floor of that rocking ship and begged the Lord with my tears. I prayed, “Dear Father, I have got to know that the Book of Mormon is true. I have read it, I think I understand it, but I desire the fire which helps a man know that the Book of Mormon is thy word. Please, Father, help me.”
Somewhere out on the lonely Atlantic, during those turbulent days, a sweet spirit and peace came to me—“the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philip. 4:7). I received a witness that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and that supernal event became my hour of conversion.
If you question whether you have a testimony of the restored gospel, I encourage you to read, ponder, and study the Book of Mormon. Why the Book of Mormon? Because this holy scripture is the great testifier and converter. This ancient record is a spiritual compass for us to follow. Joseph Smith said, “The Book of Mormon was … the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book” (History of the Church, 4:461). When you come to know that this testament of Christ is true, you will know that Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration and that Ezra Taft Benson is the Lord’s prophet today. The Book of Mormon was written for our day to convince us “that Jesus is the Christ” (Book of Mormon title page). If your soul is searching for a more profound testimony of Jesus Christ and his restored kingdom, I suggest, in conjunction with studying the Book of Mormon, there are four steps you can take which will lead you to your hour of conversion.
These four steps are (1) Desire, (2) Works, (3) Prayer, and (4) Trust in the Lord. Let me briefly explain.
First, Desire: Oliver Cowdery desired a more firm witness of the plates which contained the Book of Mormon record. The Lord said to Oliver: “If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?” (D&C 6:22–23). The Lord told Oliver that, first of all, a person needs to have desire.
Alma said, “Even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you” (Alma 32:27).
Second, Works: Oliver Cowdery took a positive action. He moved himself from thinking to doing. In my case, while on board that ship, I had more intimately studied and pondered the Book of Mormon. Young Joseph reflected on the Bible, then went into the woods to pray. Moses climbed Mount Sinai. My Great-grandmother Nelson boarded a ship in Denmark, with a flock of little children, to join the Mormons in Utah. Righteous works yield a divine harvest. The Lord said, “He who doeth the works of righteousness shall receive his reward, even peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come” (D&C 59:23).
Third, Prayer: “Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed” (Hymns, 1985, no. 145).
As we sincerely pray to the Lord and rely upon his divine whisperings, that still, small voice will come to us (see Hel. 5:30). We will receive a peace, knowing that God has answered our prayers. Remember the peace that Oliver received. These spiritual embers can grow into a flame of testimony (see Hel. 5:45).
Alma, upon meeting the four sons of Mosiah, who had been on a fourteen-year mission, rejoiced at their knowledge of the truth. He said, “They had searched the scriptures diligently, [and] they had given themselves to much prayer, and fasting; [and] they taught with power and authority of God” (Alma 17:2–3).
“Ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ,” counseled Moroni, “if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, … he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moro. 10:4).
Surely the Lord would not ask us to pray if he did not intend to answer our prayers. “He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him” (Heb. 11:6).
Fourth, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Prov. 3:5). We can trust the Lord. He is our truest Friend. He always keeps his word. “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith,” admonished Ether (Ether 12:6).
May I ask you to extend your trust in the Lord. Take the Book of Mormon into your hands. As you read it, ask yourself, Could any man write this? Then ask the Lord, Is this thy word?
A word of caution: Satan wants to stop you. He will try to distract, deceive, and weaken your desire, your righteous works, your sincere prayers, and your trust in the Lord. Do not be afraid. We have already overcome the evil one at another time and place. We are told that in the great premortal war, “[we] overcame [Lucifer] by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of [our] testimony” (Rev. 12:11). We had a valiant testimony in our premortal state, and we can resist Satan and awaken that testimony again today.
The Book of Mormon is our testimonial Liahona (see Alma 37:45). This voice from the dust guides us to know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that his Church has been restored.
If you have even a small desire for a greater witness, please do the works of righteousness, trust in the Lord, pray and anxiously explore the Book of Mormon. I testify that it is the word of God. This iron rod marks the path that will guide your soul to your hour of conversion. I rejoice with you in that glorious event. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Gift of baptism. My companion and I had been teaching a 14-year-old girl named Martha, and she was nearly ready for baptism and confirmation. We had a few more lessons to teach, and she needed to stop working on Sundays so she could come to church. She loved what she was learning and believed it, but she worked for her aunt and was too young to get any other job. Martha struggled with the decision, so we taught her the blessings of the Sabbath day and encouraged her to pray.
Christmas Eve was a rainy day, and when it was almost time to go home, we felt we should stop by and say hello to Martha. Almost before we knocked on the door, she came running out and hugged us, jumping up and down with enthusiasm. She said, “I don’t have to work on Sundays anymore! I’m coming to church! I’m going to get baptized!” Even the rain seemed wonderful after that. Christmas Eve seemed like the perfect time to see someone make the decision to devote her life to Christ. We were two of the happiest missionaries you’ve ever seen.Erin B., Utah

An example of that happy, optimistic spirit is a 13-year-old girl I know named Elsa, whose family is moving to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1,800 miles (2,900 km) away from her friends. It’s not very easy when you are 13 to move to a new place. Elsa was understandably unsure about the move, so her dad gave her a blessing. At the very moment of the blessing, her mom’s phone chimed with a text. The young women who live in Louisiana had sent this picture with the caption “Please move into our ward!”
These young women were optimistic they would like Elsa without even meeting her. Their enthusiasm created optimism in Elsa about the upcoming move and answered her prayer about whether everything would be all right.

A true story from Fiji.
Jamesi walked out to the small fenced area where his family kept the pigs. “Here you go, pigs!” He tossed them some food, and the pigs snorted happily.
Then Jamesi carried clean water bottles to the tap outside. Cold water gushed into the bottle as he turned on the tap. Feeding the pigs and getting water for his family was how he helped every day.
“Jamesi!” Mom called. “Ready for church?”
Jamesi shut off the water tap and carried the last heavy bottle inside. “I am now!”
Every Sunday Jamesi’s family went to a Christian church in their town. He liked learning about Jesus Christ.
Soon Jamesi and his younger sisters, Unaisi and Marama, were walking with the rest of their family to church. A few stray chickens clucked in the street.
But when they got there, the doors were closed. “I forgot that the church is closed this week and next week since the pastor is gone,” Dad said.
“Is there another church we can go to?” asked Jamesi. He would be sad to not have church this week.
Dad thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I think I know one.”
Jamesi and his family followed Dad back to their house. They all got into their small wooden boat at the edge of the river. Dad sat in the back to run the motor.
The boat hummed down the river. Jamesi looked for birds hidden in the tall green trees. After about 15 minutes, they saw a small church building. It had a sign that said “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“This is the church I was thinking of,” said Dad. He drove the boat to shore, and everyone got out. They could hear music coming from the chapel.
Inside, Jamesi sat down with his parents and siblings. They listened to the speakers and the songs. Jamesi felt a warm, happy feeling inside.
When the meeting was over, a nice lady came to talk to them. “We have a special class for children,” she said. “It’s called Primary. Would you like to come?”
Jamesi looked at his sisters. He felt a little nervous to go to a class where he didn’t know anyone! At least his sisters could come too. Maybe it would be fun.
“Sure,” Jamesi said.
“Let’s go!” Marama looked excited.
Jamesi and his little sisters followed the lady to a classroom. There were lots of children sitting on small chairs, talking and laughing. When Jamesi sat down, they smiled at him. Everyone was so nice!
They sang songs, and the other kids helped Jamesi and his sisters learn the words. Then they had a lesson about Jesus Christ. Jamesi felt different here than he did at their other church. It was a good different.
When church was over, Jamesi’s family climbed back into the boat to go home. Jamesi looked at the sign outside of the church building again. It had Jesus Christ’s name on it. So it must be Jesus Christ’s Church! Jamesi wanted to follow Jesus.
“Can we come here again next week?” Jamesi asked.
Mom and Dad smiled. “We were thinking the same thing,” Mom said.
“Yay!” Unaisi cheered.
Jamesi grinned. He knew they had found something special. And he couldn’t wait to learn more.
Jamesi and his family kept going to church and chose to be baptized! They are happy to be members of Jesus Christ’s restored Church.
Illustrations by Bethany Stancliffe

President Henry B. Eyring shared an incredible witness and reminder that covenants can banish fear, doubt, and uncertainty that can otherwise stifle our efforts to become what God wants us to become. While entering into sacred temple covenants with his eternal companion, Kathy, President Eyring was taught by a prophet of God, President Spencer W. Kimball, to strive to keep his covenants in such a way that he could “walk away easily”16 from other pursuits when the call to greater consecration came. As President Eyring observed:

The loving counsel given by President Kimball in the temple to be able to “walk away easily” became a reality. Kathy and I received a call to leave what seemed an idyllic family situation in California to serve in an assignment and in a place that I knew nothing about. However, our family was ready to leave because a prophet, in a holy temple, a place of revelation, saw a future event for which we were then prepared.17

I have in my possession two letters, among others, that are years old. They are cherished thank-you notes, simple but enduring. One is from Frank Riggs, Jr., of Montgomery, Alabama. His came following a multistake conference in Atlanta, Georgia. Frank is a returned missionary from Denmark. He came home early when multiple sclerosis struck his healthy body.

Dear Elder Ashton:
Thank you for the thoughts and spirit you shared at our multistake conference this past weekend in Atlanta. It was a fairly strenuous experience for me with my limitations, but well worth the effort. Maintaining a level of involvement in service-related activity is very important to me—I am perniciously vulnerable, as one might guess, and determined to avoid the quagmire of self-concern, and your closing remarks yesterday gave me a fresh awareness of my possibilities in this area.
Thank you for reading my letter. It was no great chore to write it, though the job had to be done somewhat piecemeal. Sorry about the misstrikes, but, as we say, “Them’s the breaks.” And I tried to do my best.

Bedridden and with little or no use of his arms and legs, he put the correspondence together with his typewriter and a pen. He typed his letter to me with the movement of his head moving the pen in his mouth.

Help with temporal tasks is also a form of ministering. At the October 1856 general conference, President Brigham Young announced that handcart pioneers were stranded in deep snow 270–370 miles (435–595 km) away. He called for the Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City to rescue them and to “attend strictly to those things which we call temporal.”4
Lucy Meserve Smith recorded that the women took off their warm underskirts and stockings right there in the tabernacle and piled them into wagons to send to the freezing pioneers. Then they gathered bedding and clothing for those who would eventually come with few belongings. When the handcart companies arrived, a building in the town was “loaded with provisions for them.”5

“Good morning!” she practically shouted as she pulled my covers off. I gave her my usual cheerful grunt, then proceeded to let out a long, mournful yawn. Yep! It was morning; I wished it were not. I am not what you would, even casually, call a morning person.
Then there’s my mom. How she ever keeps that smile on her face when she goes to bed so late at night is a mystery to me. Maybe she sleeps with a clotheshanger in her mouth. I’d go bananas if I didn’t get my full 7 1/2 hours of peaceful slumber. I guess Mom’s just used to it. She could go to bed early, but she would rather fold clothes, finish up the dishes, or do something where she can have some time to herself. Believe me, she certainly needs it.
I come from a pretty big family—four brothers, four sisters, and one dog—so Mom doesn’t get much time for breathers. Like this morning for instance. Mom was polishing shoes between pouring and flipping pancakes. She was also going through her purse, looking under cushions, and searching Dad’s pockets looking for lunch money. She ended up writing checks. Then while she was busy ironing a shirt for my brother, I got the chance to complain to her. I politely explained that either she and I would have to go shopping after school or I would have to quit school because I didn’t have anything to wear. I calmly told her I was sick and tired of making my older sister’s bed just so I could wear something of hers. Mom wasn’t much help. All she did was suggest a few strange outfits that I wouldn’t be caught going to the moon in.
As soon as I was through, my sister started whining to Mom. She was upset that Mom had fixed pancakes because she was on a diet. Mom said she didn’t have to eat them, and my sister shot back, “Mothers who care about their children on diets, don’t tempt them with pancakes!”
“Oh brother,” Mom said as she looked at the ceiling.
By now the family had to hurry and eat so there would be time for family prayer. I was right in the middle of a perfectly buttered and jammed pancake when the dog came running through the kitchen.
“Stop the dog! Stop the dog!” my youngest brother yelled. My mom told him to hold on so she could find out what was going on.
“The dog just had a new experience!”
“What are you saying?”
“He threw up on the carpet!”
Mom just groaned and told everybody to hurry and come for prayer. It took five to ten minutes for everybody to kneel down. Then as soon as we had prayer, and a lecture from Dad on turning off the lights, chaos hit our humble home. Everyone claimed they hadn’t had their turn in the bathroom. Nobody could find his schoolbooks. Everyone was going to miss the bus. My sister was wailing because she couldn’t find her navy blue socks. I knew where they were—on my feet. I told her she could wear my white ones. My dramatic younger brother said he had to have a note to excuse him for being sick the day before or he’d be accused of sluffing and classified as a delinquent for life. Mom was trying to help everybody as she reminded us all that she only had two hands. Finally, five good-bye Dad’s, and four good-bye Mom’s were said. (My sister was still mad about the pancakes.)
Well, I never got my turn in the bathroom, so I went to school with seeds from the raspberry jam stuck between my molars. I was sitting in seminary trying to get some of them out with my tongue when my teacher asked, “How many of you here honor your father and mother?” My hand went up like everyone else’s, of course. Then the teacher spent the rest of the class explaining what honor really means.
“Honor,” he said, “to show respect, consideration, courtesy, admiration; to pay attention to, think much of, etc.”
We talked about honor until I felt good and guilty, but I also determined to try harder to honor my parents, especially my mom parent. I think I’ll start by telling them how much I love them. Then comes the part that really counts—showing them.

Saturday was finally here. It was time for our surprise adventure!
“I hope we’re going to the trampoline park,” I shouted from the backseat. Mom wouldn’t tell us where we were going, but the street we were on looked familiar. …
Then it hit me. We were going to the care center. Our school class had gone there a few times. We each had a “grandparent buddy” to talk to and play games with. My buddy was named Bill, and he was pretty cool.
But not as cool as a trampoline park, I thought as Mom pulled into the parking lot. When my brother saw the red and tan building, he groaned.
“This is going to be the worst day ever!” he grumbled. “This isn’t a fun adventure at all.”
Mom looked at us from the rear-view mirror. “Oh come on, give it a shot. By the time we’re through, you just might change your mind.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t so sure. I helped Mom carry bags of small quilts into the lobby. It felt calm and peaceful inside.
“Do you know why I like coming here?” Mom asked. I shook my head.
“I feel the same way here as when I see new babies at the hospital,” she said. “Like I’m close to heaven.”
Close to heaven. I liked that.
We showed the receptionist at the front desk the quilts we wanted to hand out, and he led us to a room where we could visit.
“Is Bill still here?” I asked. “The one who’s married to Ruth and likes baseball?”
One of the workers nodded. “Oh, yes! Bill is still here. We sure love him.”
We started talking with some of the people, and it was actually pretty interesting hearing about their lives. And after a while, I saw Bill sitting in his wheelchair.
“Hi, Bill!”
He didn’t look like he remembered me, but that was OK. I picked out a small quilt with a baseball pattern and laid it on his lap.
“He gets cold a lot, and that will really help him,” said one of the workers standing nearby. “His wife will be happy to see it. She comes to visit him every day.”
Our visit wasn’t long, but it was long enough to see Bill smile. On our way out, we read a piece of paper posted on Bill’s door that told some fun things about his life. We learned that he grew up on a farm and learned to play baseball from his stepmother.
“Hey, Mom, look!” I pointed to a line on the paper. “He was so good at baseball that he was going to sign on with a professional team! But then he served in the military instead.” It was neat to learn a bit more about Bill.
Soon we were back in the van, buckling our seatbelts.
“So?” Mom asked us. “What did you think?”
I smiled. “I actually had fun. And I feel really happy. I think it’s because we helped Bill.”
As Mom drove home, we talked about different ways we can show people love and how the Spirit tells us when we are making good choices. We were all feeling so great that we decided to go back and visit another day.
What a great day! I thought as we pulled into our driveway. It was a fun adventure after all.

Thirty-eight years ago my husband and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple by President Gordon B. Hinckley. The counsel and direction he gave us that day have become a beacon for our lives. When we left the temple as husband and wife, we went to a park near the temple grounds and recorded in a journal the words of wisdom we had received. He counseled us to always remember our prayers night and morning, to pray as a couple and as a family. He counseled us to always pay a full and honest tithing. He counseled us to read the scriptures daily and to apply the principles in our lives. And he counseled us to remain worthy. He said, “Always live in such a way that when you need the Lord’s blessings, you can call upon Him and receive them because you are worthy.” He said: “There will come times in your life when you will need immediate blessings. You will need to live in such a way that they will be granted—not out of mercy but because you are worthy.” I didn’t comprehend then what that meant, but in the 38 years that have followed, we have called upon our Father in Heaven for many “immediate blessings.” Daily, these holy habits and righteous routines have helped steady us on the path that leads back into our Father’s presence. And today I say, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”

READER 6: How do we know that God really cares?
READER 1: Mrs. Houstalis, I’m sorry, but the examination shows that your baby has no vision in one eye and just partial vision in the other.
READER 4: How much vision? How much?
READER 1: Well, very little.
READER 4: No, it can’t be. Surely there’s enough to see. He’s got to see.
READER 1: Now, Mrs. Houstalis, I’m going to tell you something. It doesn’t matter whether your son can see or not as to what kind of a person he’s going to be. If he is going to be a healthy human being, it will be your doing. And if he is going to be an emotional cripple, it will be your doing. The fact that he can see or not has nothing to do with it.
READER 4: We took Steve home, and it was something to adjust to … frightening. We were very grateful for the tiny bit of vision—something like 3 percent—that Steve had in his right eye. Not much, but next to total blindness it meant everything. One afternoon when Steve was seven, he came home from school, and I gave him a plateful of his favorite cookies that I had just finished baking.
READER 3: Mommy, there must be something wrong with the lights in the classroom because they kept flashing off and on today.
READER 4: I absolutely froze. My heart started pounding. I had refused to face the possibility that Steve might lose the little vision he did have—although the doctors warned me that he might. And now the doctor confirmed. There was no hope. The retina had detached. He had no sight now. But I will never forget a most beautiful experience at the end of a Church meeting. I had been deeply moved, and I turned to Steve and said that anything he would ask in prayer would be granted.
READER 3: Anything? Anything, Mom?
READER 4: Immediately I realized what a foolish thing it was to have said. But I had to stand behind my words. “Anything, Steve.” After the service Steve wanted to tell me what he had asked for. I didn’t really want to hear. I was nearly afraid to. “What did you ask for, Steve?”
READER 3: Well (pause), do you think God would help me get some music in braille for my flute?
(Music interlude.)

I first saw Karen Aydlotte at a multi-stake fireside at BYU. She was the speaker. She was smiling and joking and telling us that there was a good chance she might not live much longer, that she had cancer, an often incurable form of it.
Several weeks later I met Karen through a mutual friend. She was very open with her feelings. We talked a good deal about life and death. For me, for most of us, it is easy to put the reality of death into what Shakespeare aptly phrased as “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.” For Karen death was hard reality. She had to reconcile living with dying.

In British Columbia, Canada, Scouts of the Fifth Kelowna Troop arranged a special Remembrance Day recognition evening. The young men, ranging in age from 11 to 13, moved out of their comfort zones to interview LDS veterans in the Vernon British Columbia Stake, the troop’s sponsor.
Patrol leader Michael Edis of the Kelowna Second Ward conducted the evening as master of ceremonies. After a flag ceremony, the singing of the Canadian national anthem, and a presentation on the history of Remembrance Day, each Scout gave a short biography about the veteran he had interviewed. Each veteran was then presented with a “thank you” crest.
“They risked their lives for us,” said Brady Wilson. “It was fun to give out the thank-you awards and listen to their stories.”

As I went into surgery a few years ago, I was still conscious when the doctors and nurses were standing around me waiting, I said to the specialist, “There are numerous people full of faith who are praying for you this morning.” He quietly replied, “I’ll need their prayers.” It is my firm conviction that the numerous prayers were heard, that his hand was steadied and guided, that his judgment increased, and that as a result of the blessings of the Lord, healing followed and my voice returned to a satisfactory extent. The skeptic might have other answers.