Gospel Story Finder

For several years, I performed in the trumpet section of the Utah Symphony Orchestra, necessitating frequent trips between Provo and Salt Lake City, a distance of about forty-five miles each way. Sometimes this required two trips a day, one very early in the morning and another at night because I was also teaching at BYU. One morning I began a sincere prayer of thanksgiving as I left home, remembering the Lord’s blessings and offering sincere gratitude with the same commitment and feeling I would invest in performing a song I loved. By the time I had passed the city of Lehi (about the halfway point), the Holy Ghost had filled my heart with the pure love of Christ and opened my mind to receive insight and guidance throughout the prayer that continued until I reached my destination.

I learned that morning that expressing gratitude to our Father in Heaven with real intent invites the companionship of the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost then teaches us how to pray and what to pray for. Join me in reading four brief passages of scripture that teach us this essential principle:
It seems rather clear that we should pray carefully and seek to benefit from the kind and willing assistance of the Holy Ghost. It will not surprise you that solitary trips between Provo and Salt Lake City have continued to be beneficial times of prayer for me. Those prayers usually begin with an extended expression of sincere gratitude, a song of thanksgiving sufficient to soften my heart and invite the precious companionship of the Holy Ghost. They always result in enlightenment and pure joy.

I once met a young sailor who was a member of the crew of an atomic submarine based in Scotland. He was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the crew. The submarine would go on extended cruises encompassing many weeks. As this young Church member was assigned to his station on his first cruise, he found that other crewmen had plastered the walls in his area with suggestive pictures of scantily clad women. This offended him. He took all the pictures down and destroyed them. He was conscious of the probable reaction of the other men but, nevertheless, had the courage to do what he thought he should. Not one picture was put up again. As a matter of fact, on that first cruise, he began to teach a Sunday School class attended by two or three of the other men. He learned an important lesson—generally speaking, others will show respect for one who has the courage of his or her convictions and isn’t afraid to do what he feels is right.

A few years ago, when Elder Merrill J. Bateman of the Presidency of the Seventy was in Japan, the missionaries introduced him to a young Japanese brother who had just joined the Church. He was from a non-Christian background. When he met the missionaries, he was interested in the message, but he could not understand or feel the need for a Savior, and he didn’t have a witness regarding the gospel. One day the missionaries decided to show him a film about the Atonement. The young man saw the film, but still he didn’t have a witness.

“The next morning he went to work. He worked in an optician’s shop making eyeglasses. … An elderly woman came in. He remembered her coming in a few weeks before. She had broken her glasses. She needed a new pair. When she had come in earlier, she didn’t have enough money and had gone away to save more in order to purchase the new glasses. As she came in that day, she again showed him her spectacles and showed him the money that she now had. He realized that she didn’t have enough yet. Then a thought came to him: I have some money. I don’t need to tell her. I can make up the difference. So he told her the money she had was adequate, took her glasses, [and] made an appointment for her to return when he had finished making the spectacles. …

“She returned later. He had the glasses ready for her. He handed them to her, and she put them on [and exclaimed] ‘… I see. I see.’ Then she began to cry. At that point, a burning sensation began to grow within his bosom and swelled within him. He said, ‘… I understand. I understand.’ He began to cry. Out the door he ran, looking for the missionaries. When he found them, he said, ‘I see! My eyes have been opened! I know that Jesus is the Son of God. I know the stone was rolled away from the tomb and on that glorious Easter morning He arose from the dead. He can make up the difference in my life when I fall short.’”2

Some years ago while I was serving as a ward clerk, the ward supplies for the new year arrived on my doorstep. Among the numerous boxes, one box addressed to the ward clerk caught my attention. Taped to the box was a tag with bold type: “If all else fails—Please! Follow instructions.”
I did not consider this generic, and I was sure that someone at Church headquarters knew me personally.
Although humorous at the time, the image of this little tag has permanently attached its message to my mind: “If all else fails—Please! Follow instructions.”

One day I received a party invitation from one of my best friends, Joshua. The only problem was that his party was going to be on Sunday. I told him that I really wanted to be with him on his birthday but that Sunday was the Sabbath Day and not a day for me to go to parties. I asked him if he could change it to Saturday so that I could go. I learned that since he is Jewish, his Sabbath Day is on Saturday. Joshua understood why I couldn’t come to his party. Instead, I took a present to his house on Tuesday after school and shared leftover cake from his party. Tuesday even turned out to be his real birthday, and it was fun to share it together. He had even saved a party bag and treats for me!

During the past months across our area, the Church History Department has conducted oral interviews with returned sister missionaries and mission leaders who served from 2011 to 2015. The worldwide collection project coincides with the tenth anniversary of youth missionary service age reduction as announced by President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) and the later introduction of the sister training leaders to help the mission leadership cope with the surge in the number of serving missionaries.
Conducting these interviews with this Church history focus group has blessed lives. For the sisters, sharing their stories bring to remembrance the tender mercies of the Lord as they reflect on their conversions, desire to serve, preparations, own endowments, time in the missionary training center, mission experiences and life after mission. The Church history specialists have felt the joy of service participating in this project. In many cases, it was highly emotional documenting the lives and services of these faithful sisters. It was wonderful receiving journal donations as well as seeing some pictures, mufflers and tags as they shared their stories.
We are so grateful for the lives, services and testimonies of all our faithful sisters who served missions for the Church. This project invoked beautiful sentiments among the sisters.
Here is one of such shared with us by Sister Aghojare Chika who served in Nigeria Benin City Mission about this project and its impact on her personal and family lives: “Dear Elder and Sister Ihesiene, I am very grateful for the great opportunity the prophet gave me to share my mission experience as regards to President Monson’s declaration of the new age of serving missions and including sisters in the leadership council in the mission field.
“I am grateful to you for remembering and reaching out to me to be part of those to be interviewed. I feel so privileged and honored. I am delighted to inform you that this interview has blessed my life and family miraculously.
“Honestly, before the invitation and the interview, we have been going through so many challenges and difficult times. I became so worried about my situation that I was almost going into depression. My companion (husband) tried speaking to me severally and reassuring me of things getting better but to no avail.
“During the interview, listening to the questions and recounting my challenges and difficulties while preparing for mission in 2013, most especially being beaten and slaps received about two days before my departure for MTC which left me with a bloody eye, brought me strength and hope. Remembering while I was on the field and how the Lord used me to reach out to countless numbers of His beloved children and bringing them into His fold, and to inspire my fellow missionaries especially sister missionaries as a sister training leader and strengthening many families brought me so much joy. Seeing how much the Lord has blessed me, as I was recounting my blessings during the interview, such as serving my last three months with a great member missionary who acted as our third companion as he was ready to proselyte and teach lessons with us, and who later became my eternal companion and the father of our lovely kids.
“How the Lord made me become a registered midwife with the help of the Perpetual Education Fund and my husband and above all having my family join the Church immediately after I returned from my mission were miracles beyond my comprehension and am sincerely grateful.
“Dear Elder and Sister Ihesiene, all these amazing memories remembered during the interview; and whilst on my way home brought me down on my knees in tears to converse with Heavenly Father which has been a routine for the past few weeks. But this time, instead of kneeling in tears of confusion and questions, I kneel in tears of repentance and gratitude. Since that day I have got peace beyond human understanding and a hope of better days for me and all around me even as I continue to remain faithful in my service to God and man. I will always overcome, and His blessings and promises are sure to be mine in the name of Jesus Christ”.
Indeed, how beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ! (See Isaiah 52:7.) How profound the testimonies and lives of these wonderful sisters and mission leaders who understood that there can be no greater service rendered than to labor for the salvation of the human souls! We know that the Lord remembers these sisters for their worthy examples and immense contributions to the work of salvation. Sweet is their remembrance and eternal their rewards!

President Packer's quote has special significance to me because I am a recovering TV addict. I am not proud of this condition as it has had far reaching ramifications in my life. I developed this condition during my teenage years and it severely hindered my intellectual, physical, spiritual, and social development.[2] For example, as a freshman in high school I got an "A" in Algebra. As a sophomore I got a B in Geometry. Then a B- in Algebra 2 as a junior. As a senior I limped across the finish line with a C in Trigonometry. Yes, my intellectual development suffered during this time and I likewise experienced similar declines in the rate of my physical, spiritual, and social development.

Fortunately, through a series of divinely orchestrated events I was blessed with a desire to take ownership of this problem. How I got there was much less important than what I was going to do about it. Just a few months before heading out on my mission, I came to ask myself, "How has watching countless reruns of Gilligan's Island, Star Trek and the Bugs Bunny-Road Runner Hour made me a better person? How was I better off for watching TV sporting events, especially NFL games on the Sabbath?" I was stumped. I could not come up with a single meaningful answer to these very important questions. At this point it became clear that I was wasting too much precious time on programs of no lasting value. I was idling away my time when I needed to be "up and doing,"[3] growing and serving and increasing my ability to perform the important work that lay before me. In summary, I needed to become a better disciple of Jesus Christ. So in keeping with the words of our Savior--"if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out"[4] -- and believing that moderation would not work for me in this situation, I made the decision to stop watching TV, "cold turkey."

Now to be perfectly clear, I am not suggesting that watching television in and of itself constitutes a sin. Of course there are many good uses of this marvelous invention. However, I had lost control in this area of my life and therefore needed to take a bold and decisive course of action to solve this problem. In essence, I began to live by the following counsel that Elder D. Todd Christofferson gave at a BYU-Idaho devotional in January of 2009.

As I filled my time with more wholesome and productive activities--beginning with feasting on the word of God--I instantly became more optimistic, more curious, more creative, more able to think independently, more aware and thoughtful of others. I left on my mission during this period of reawakening and did my best to love and serve others and was richly blessed in the process. The momentum continued after my mission. I was more agreeable and helpful at home, more effective in my church service, my grades dramatically improved and, more importantly, I was blessed to find my eternal companion in a most unlikely and miraculous fashion. Turning off the TV as a young single adult was a defining moment in my life and the blessings of this decision have continued for more than 30 years.

I was trapped.
At 18, I knew the Church was true. The Lord knew I knew. The missionaries knew I knew. But my parents didn’t know I knew.
It took me three weeks to work up the courage to tell Mom about it. I didn’t dare tell Dad.
“Mom,” I asked after she had recovered from the shock of hearing that her Catholic son wanted to become a Mormon, “how can I tell Dad?”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know if you should. He’d kill you,” she said, confirming my fears. “But don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll tell him someday.”
“But, Mom, I want to get baptized as soon as possible.”
“If you wait until you go to college,” she said, “you’ll be away from your father, and he’ll have time to make adjustments before he sees you again. It really would be much easier on both of you.”
I knew what she was saying made sense, but I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. I talked to the elders.
“It’s your decision,” said one elder. “Of course we’d like you to get baptized now, while you’ve got the desire and the understanding and the guidance of the Spirit. But you’ve got to do what’s best for you. The only way to be sure,” he said as he patted me on my shoulder, “is to fast and pray about it.”
I had never fasted or prayed in my life, but I was willing to give it a try. My head hurt and my stomach growled, and at every possible chance I prayed and pondered what I should do. I made a list of pros and cons. I talked it over with the elders, my friends, my mom. And I prayed some more.
Finally, near the end of my fast, I had a feeling, a strong feeling, that I should get baptized as soon as possible. I didn’t want to cause problems in my family, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. I knew I had to get baptized.
I told the elders. I told my friends. And then I found the courage to tell my mom and dad. Dad didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor with his face turning red and his feet shuffling uncomfortably. He was too upset to speak all night. The next evening he did something he’d never done before—he came up to my room to talk with me. I was sure my life was over, but Dad surprised me.
“Son,” he said, sitting on my brother’s bed, “I want you to know that I think you’re making a serious mistake by joining the Mormon church. But you’re old enough now to do what you think is best. When I was your age, I was allowed to make my own decisions, and I guess I turned out okay.”
He stood up to leave. “Dad,” I said, “believe me. I’m sorry that you don’t feel good about my joining the Church. But I’ve thought about it, prayed about it, and I know it’s what I’ve got to do.”
Then Dad did something else he’d never done before. He hugged me.
I was baptized the next week. My baptism fanned the spark of testimony I had gained from the missionary discussions into a fire that burns bright even today.
My experience taught me that Heavenly Father answers our prayers and that some answers don’t come easily. When the answers do come, blessings will follow if we find the courage and strength to act on them.

It was in a sacrament meeting that I came to better appreciate the power of a mother’s teaching. A young returned missionary, Clint Jordan, was telling us about his mission and of the variety of experiences he had had in sharing the gospel.
But then he said something that made me more than just a casual listener. “I really wouldn’t have had any of these experiences,” he said, “if my mother hadn’t taught me the real value of prayer.”
He continued, “I can still hear my mother’s voice telling me over and over again, ‘Clint, there’s no reason to be afraid. Whenever you are alone or you begin to feel afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.’”
Gathering my children together after the meeting, I could still feel the power of that testimony. A mother’s example, and the example of her son, gave me greater resolve to instill that same understanding of prayer in the hearts of my small children.

After an operation, a young man was wheeling Spencer W. Kimball back to his hospital room. The strong medicine used during the operation had left the prophet barely conscious.
The young man got angry at something. He swore, using the Lord’s name.
Spencer W. Kimball struggled to speak. “Please … don’t say that. I love Him … more than anything in this world. Please.”
At first, the young man was silent. Then he apologized.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

One item that is always on the agenda of every class or quorum presidency each month is the members they don’t see very often or at all. The deacons have only a couple of members they don’t see regularly. In the presidency meeting, Mark Jones asks, “Have any of you seen Francisco?”
Royden answers, “Not recently. I think the last time I saw him was two weeks ago.”
Mark says, “I’ll talk to the bishop about it. I think he has a problem getting a ride to church.”
Royden then brings up a project he’s trying to work out. Their ward is so spread out that long-distance telephone calls are required to reach from one area to another. Royden is trying to figure out who can make calls to whom without using long-distance telephone service.
“It’s like the food chain,” explains Royden. The others look at him blankly.
“It’s like bears and deer and grass,” continues Royden. “Something eats something that eats something else, and so on.”
“Oh,” says Jay Venable, first counselor, “like a phone web. That’s a good idea.” And they are soon figuring out a plan to contact the other quorum members without running up phone bills.

His testimony also became independent. Although brought up in the Church, Jo had, earlier in life, gone through a less-active stage. He drifted in with the wrong crowd, did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned.

“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)

By the end of the first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop turned up unexpectedly, offering to take Jo for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through I was reminded of the First Vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”

Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.

While serving as bishop a number of years ago, I became alarmed by the number of young people who came to me, frightened and confused, thinking their parents were not in love and were even heading for divorce because of family disagreements. Because I knew the parents well and knew they were deeply in love, I explained to their children that while this was unpleasant, it was sometimes a part of marriage and did not mean the family was about to disintegrate.

At this critical point in her life, Minerva had two experiences that took her out of the art world. The first experience crystallized her desire for life with a family—specifically, for life with Herman. In a testimony meeting she was listening to a sister speak on the joys of marriage and motherhood. “I thought of all the men I had met in my search for ‘the right one,’” wrote Minerva later. At that moment, she realized that “back on the Idaho desert, herding his cattle and branding his calves was a man more nearly meant for me than anyone else in the world” (unpublished autobiographical sketch, 1937, transcription from handwritten manuscript). Never one to doubt her own judgment, Minerva returned home to Idaho and married Herman.
The other experience helped her to strengthen her feeling that she had a mission as an artist and that she should place her art in the service of her faith. Minerva later recorded how Robert Henri, one of her renowned teachers, asked her, shortly before she left New York, whether any artist had ever told the “great Mormon story.”
“Not to my liking,’ I answered. ‘Good Heavens, girl, what an opportunity. You do it. You’re the one. That’s your birthright. You’ll do it well.’
“I felt that I had been commissioned” (unpublished manuscript, 1947).

Two days after David got home from his mission, he went to the fitness center his family had joined while he’d been away. An hour later, after working out and taking a shower, he stood with a towel wrapped around him, in front of a mirror. He began to blow-dry his hair. A guy his age approached the mirror, spread shaving cream on himself and began to shave his chest with a razor.

David had never seen anyone shave their chest before—he couldn’t help but stare.

The guy noticed David in the mirror. “How’s it going?” he asked. He turned around and stuck out his hand. “Brad Eppley here. Commodity trading.”

They shook hands. “I’m David Warner.”

“David, great to meet you. I notice you’ve got hair on your chest. The only reason I mention it is because most of the guys in the club shave their chests.”

“I didn’t have hair on my chest when I was 12. So why is a hairless chest such a big advantage now?”

Brad flexed and glanced at his reflection. “Shows muscle definition. And girls love it. With girls, appearance is everything. You know, like the kind of car you have. By the way, what do you drive?”

“A ’78 Pontiac.”

“That ugly green bomb that’s dripping oil all over the parking lot is yours? What do you do, wear a mask when you get into it so nobody will know who you are?”

“It’s not so bad. It gets me around.”

“Yeah, like that’s really the purpose of a car. You seem so out of it. When’s the last time you went out with a girl?”

“It’s been two years.”

Brad threw up his hands. “Well, there you have it! I’m not surprised.”

“The reason I haven’t dated for two years is because I’ve been on a mission for my church.”

“Are you a Mormon?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How much do they pay you to do that?”

“I paid my own way.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You want to know what I’ve accomplished in the last two years? Plenty, I’ll tell you. Right now I drive a BMW, I live in the best condo in town, I’ve got the best sound system they make, I go out with the best looking girls. And what have you got to show for your two years?”

“I’m grateful for the experiences I had.”

“What kind of experiences?”

“Having my prayers answered, knowing that Heavenly Father loved the people we were working with.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but tell me this, can you deposit experiences like that in a bank?”

“No, but I wouldn’t trade my mission for any amount of money.”

“Look, no offense intended, but maybe you’re not really right for this club. I mean, there’s plenty of other places to work out where you’d feel more comfortable. Like outside, for example, where all those biblical things are—you know, like animals and flowers, things like that. I mean it’s just a thought.”

“You may be right. Is everyone here like you?”

“No, not everybody. For me, though, this club is perfect. They’re open every day of the year, even Christmas. Okay, I admit it, I’m a little on the compulsive side. I come here every day. I have a routine—Monday, abs; Tuesdays, pects …”

“Abs?”

“Abdominal muscles. Pects is pectoral muscles. You don’t get around much, do you? By the way, do Mormons have monasteries? I mean, if they do, you’d be perfect. Well, anyway, I come here every day. If I miss one day I really feel it. Like the time my aunt died. They made me go to the funeral. Yeah, this is a great place. Cheyenne and I come every day. You might have noticed her. You can’t help noticing her. But don’t get any ideas. I’m the man of her dreams, the key to her heart and, really, if you think about it, the hope of her future.”

“Well, good for her. Excuse me.” David went into the locker room to get dressed.

Brad finished shaving his chest, wiped off the excess shaving cream with a towel, and then smeared a white cream on his chest. He came out to talk to David. “You want to know why I’m doing this now?” he asked.

David sighed. “Well, not really, but go ahead.”

“To rid myself of razor stubble. Let me tell you, it’s a big problem. You put on your shirt and it’s like having sandpaper on your chest. This cream is supposed to take care of that. It’s the first time I tried it. Wish me luck.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Just as David was about to leave, Brad suddenly yelled, “Aaaah!” He rushed into the locker room area. “I’m having some kind of allergic reaction! My whole chest is on fire. I’m going to take another shower to get this stuff off me. Look, can you go find Cheyenne and tell her what I’m going through. Tell her not to worry about me though. She’ll be in the snack bar drinking a large tomato juice. That’s all she ever drinks.”

It was easy for David to find Cheyenne. Brad was right—she was beautiful and she was drinking a large tomato juice.

“I have a message from the man of your dreams,” David said, trying to keep a straight face.

“I don’t dream much actually. Sometimes though, when I have a pepperoni pizza late at night, I have a recurring nightmare.”

“By any chance is your nightmare about a guy with an absolutely hairless chest?”

She laughed. “How did you know?”

“I met him. He told me to tell you he was having a reaction to the cream he put on his chest to get rid of razor stubble.”

“Poor baby,” she snickered. She pointed to a full glass of tomato juice on the other side of the table. “You want some tomato juice? I ordered one for Brad, but it looks like he’ll be a while.”

“You might not want to be seen with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“See that car out there? It’s mine.”

“You’ve been around Brad too much. Sit down and drink the tomato juice.”

He sat down and took a sip. “This is the first time I’ve been alone with a girl for two years.”

She looked worried. “What were you in for?”

“In for?”

“You don’t look like the armed robbery type. And with that car of yours it couldn’t have been auto theft.”

“I wasn’t in prison.”

“Sorry. What were you doing for two years?”

“I was a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“The Mormons, right? That sounds like a nice thing to do. What was it like?”

He told her about his mission and then said, “I’m really grateful for the experiences I had.”

She looked up from her tomato juice. “You’re the first guy I’ve met who said he was grateful for anything. What are you grateful for? What did you get out of your mission?”

“I found out what’s really important in life?”

“Which is?”

“The people we meet every day are important.”

“Why?”

“Because every one of them is our brother or our sister.”

“That makes you my brother then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She gave him a teasing smile, but then looked into his eyes, recognized something very deep and serious, became uncomfortable, and looked away.

They talked for another 20 minutes, until Brad came in and sat down. “You still here?” he asked David.

“I asked him to stay,” Cheyenne said. “I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

“Is that right? Well, you should see his chest. It’s an absolute hairy mess I’ll tell you.”

“Why do you think I care about things like that? It doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“Well thanks a lot, after I slave all day. What’s this guy got that I don’t have?”

“Gratitude. You have everything a guy could want, but I’ve never heard you say you were grateful for any of it.”

“Hey, look, everything I’ve got is like teetering on the edge of a huge cliff and any moment it can all be swept away. I have to keep fighting just to stay where I am. There’s no time for gratitude in my life.”

“Are you grateful that I came into your life?”

He paused. “It’s not like you don’t get anything from our relationship. I’ve introduced you to some very influential people.”

“Are you grateful for anything?” Cheyenne asked.

“I’d be grateful if you’d quit talking about this.”

There was an uneasy silence. “I’d better go,” David said.

“Let me walk you to your car,” she said.

“Don’t even go near that car,” Brad said. “What if somebody sees you?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

David and Cheyenne walked out to his car. “Beautiful sunset,” he said.

They stopped to look at the sunset. “You find something every day to be grateful for, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Even when things are going bad?”

“There’s always something to be grateful for.” He opened his car door. “I’d better go.”

“What if sometime I decide I want a little more gratitude in my life? What would I have to do?”

“You could start by coming to church with me.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard.”

“I could come by for you this Sunday.”

“Actually I think it’d be better if I drove myself. Brad gets kind of crazy with jealousy sometimes.”

“Yeah, sure. Church starts at nine. Do you know where it is?”

“I pass by it every day on my way to work.”

“I’ll wait for you at the door.”

Brad came running out. “We need to go now. Get in the car.”

“See you.” She turned and walked toward Brad’s BMW. “Brad, did you notice the sunset?”

“What about it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not like I’ve never seen a sunset before. I mean, it happens every day.”

“I think today I will choose to be grateful for a sunset.”

“How can you talk about sunsets when my chest is still on fire?” They got in the car and drove off. David stayed a minute more to look at the sunset, and then he drove home.

Recently, I was at home with my 4-year-old daughter, Romana, and we were both in my bedroom. I left the bedroom and went to the living room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. A few minutes later, I called out to her: “Romana, you are alone in the bedroom, come to the living room to be with me and your dolls.”
Without hesitating, she replied: “Mom, I am not alone, God is with me! We are never alone, remember?” I was so touched to hear my little girl saying those words. A few days earlier, during our family study, my husband and I had taught our children that our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us, despite our weaknesses and challenges. We are never alone!

“Sarah,” Mom called, “Janeen is here.” As Sarah started down the stairs, she ticked off plans in her mind. First I’ll show Janeen my new soccer ball, and then we’ll make jewelry with her bead set. Later we can watch that new video Mom bought. And tomorrow, Janeen will help me learn a new kick shot. It was going to be the best weekend ever!
Sarah paused. What if Janeen doesn’t like staying over at my house? Everyone wanted to be Janeen’s friend. She was really nice, and she was one of the best soccer players on the team.
Sarah forgot her worries as Janeen waved to her from the bottom of the stairs. “Come on up!” Sarah called.
The two girls laughed and chattered while they rearranged Sarah’s basket collection and strung beads. Then Mom put on the movie, which was even better than Sarah had expected it to be. Janeen laughed so hard that she spilled her popcorn.
When the movie was over, they went to the kitchen while Sarah’s mom fixed them ice-cream floats. Janeen gazed at the top cupboard and admired the elegant bowls and glasses that sat on the shelves. The most beautiful piece was a large pitcher.
“That crystal pitcher has been in my family for many years,” Mom explained. “My mother gave it to me on my wedding day.”
“We only use it for special occasions,” Sarah added.
When the girls finished their ice cream, it was time for bed. After Mom said good night and the girls went upstairs, Sarah whispered, “Janeen, are you sleepy?”
“Not at all!”
“Mom said she doesn’t mind if we talk until we get sleepy, as long as we’re quiet.”
“Great!” Janeen whispered. “Did I ever tell you the joke I heard from my big sister’s friend?”
As Janeen spoke, Sarah’s eyes grew large and her stomach started to feel strange, as if something she had eaten didn’t agree with her. The joke wasn’t really funny, and Janeen used words that Sarah knew were wrong to say. What should I do? she wondered. If I ask Janeen to stop talking like this, she might think I’m acting like a baby.
When Janeen finished her joke, she started to tell Sarah a story she’d heard at school. She had forgotten about being quiet and was talking right out loud, and Sarah knew that Heavenly Father didn’t want her to hear this story, either.
Her face grew hot, and by this time, there was a gigantic lump in her stomach. If I tell Janeen I don’t want to hear any more, she might get mad at me. Maybe she’ll even want to go home. After a few more words, though, Sarah couldn’t listen any longer.
“Janeen,” she interrupted, “I think we should stop talking about this kind of stuff, OK?”
Janeen grew quiet.
Sarah took a deep breath and rushed on, “My parents have told me I shouldn’t listen to that kind of story or use those words. And they don’t make me feel very good inside.”
Janeen was silent for a while. Then she said, “OK. They don’t make me feel good inside, either, really. You know, I think it’s neat that you talk about this kind of stuff with your mom and dad.”
Sarah let out her breath, and the lump in her stomach started to shrink.
The next morning after breakfast, Sarah’s mom suggested, “Why don’t you go outside for a game of soccer?”
With a whoop, the girls scrambled for the ball. They played hard. The sun was hot, and there were lots of tumbles as they practiced blocking shots. Finally Sarah stopped under a shade tree at the edge of the yard. “Whew! Time for a break!”
They raced for the back door.
“Mom, is there anything to drink?” Sarah called as the girls washed their hands.
“How about lemonade?”
Sarah and Janeen grinned at each other and opened the refrigerator.
They froze in place, their eyes glued to the second shelf.
Instead of ice-cold lemonade, Mom’s beautiful crystal pitcher was filled to the brim with smelly, black mud!
The girls turned around to find Mom standing behind them. Chuckling at the expression on their faces, she invited, “Sit down for a minute.”
As they sat at the table, Mom continued, “Girls, I’d like to talk to you about something. I guess you didn’t hear me coming upstairs last night. As I passed your bedroom, I heard you talking.”
Sarah stared at her mom, then glanced at Janeen, who was studying the floor. Janeen’s face was red, and Sarah knew that hers was too.
“Just as I was about to knock, you decided to stop, so I thought I’d speak to you this morning, instead.”
Seeing their stricken faces, Mom added gently, “Don’t worry—I’m not angry with you. But I would like to explain why Heavenly Father doesn’t want you to say or hear things like what you were talking about last night.
“Imagine yourself on a sizzling hot day in the summertime. You’ve been outside playing for a long time, and you’re thirsty.”
The girls nodded—that’s what had just happened!
“Now, you’ve come into the house and opened the refrigerator. A tall pitcher of cold lemonade is waiting for you, and you know that it’s going to taste great.” She smiled and brought out a frosty container of real lemonade and some glasses. “Did you know that, in a way, our minds are like a pitcher?”
Sarah and Janeen gave each other a puzzled look.
“First, remember that whenever we see or hear something, it goes into our minds, and it’s there for keeps. Now, when you saw the crystal pitcher last night, how did it look?”
“Beautiful!” Janeen exclaimed. “It was clean and sparkling.”
“If we allow ourselves to see or hear only good things, then our minds stay clean and pure, like lovely crystal. Our thoughts and ideas are uplifting to others around us, just like icy lemonade makes everyone happy on a hot day.
“Now,” Mom asked, her eyes twinkling, “what would you think if you opened the refrigerator and instead of lemonade, found the pitcher with mud?” She placed the pitcher in front of Janeen and Sarah.
“Yuck!” they chorused.
“Right!” Mom said, smiling. “Yuck is the word.” Then her face grew serious. “You know, if we put wrong messages and bad language into our minds, it’s like filling this container with mud—pretty soon we feel sick.”
Sarah remembered last night’s lump in her stomach and nodded.
Mom reached over to wipe a smudge of dust from Janeen’s face. “And if the ‘mud’ is on the inside, we can’t just take a cloth and scrub ourselves clean.”
The girls were silent awhile, thinking and staring at the now-not-so-pretty pitcher in front of them.
“So, if we fill our minds with good words and ideas, we’ll think about them and be happy. We can help our friends feel good, too, right?” Janeen asked, hesitantly.
“We won’t stay healthy inside if the things in our minds are harmful, just like we wouldn’t feel too great if we ate some mud!” Sarah added.
“That’s right.” Sarah’s mother agreed. “I think you understand very well.” She smiled again and poured each girl a big glass of the real lemonade before taking the other pitcher to clean it.
Soon Sarah and Janeen went outside to continue their game. As she was closing in to score a goal, Janeen stopped suddenly. “You know, the pitcher-of-mud idea your mom showed us is really cool. I never thought about why listening to some jokes makes me feel bad inside. I’m going to explain it to Kim the next time she tells me that kind of story.”
When it was almost time to take Janeen home, Mom called, “Girls, it’s a long ride to Janeen’s house. Would you like a drink before you leave?”
Sarah and Janeen looked at each other and grinned. “Lemonade, please,” they giggled, “and hold the mud!”

“Dora … Dora!” Ed was calling me in his coaxing voice. That usually meant he wanted me to do something for him. I dropped my spigot and walked over to where he was.

“We’re going to go swimming. Do you want to go with us?”

“Nah, I don’t want to.” I started to walk away.

“How come you never want to swim?” he asked.

“I don’t like drowning. That’s why.”

“You’ve never drowned yet,” he reminded me.

“I don’t intend to either,” I told him. “Even if I did go swimming, it wouldn’t be a hundred miles up in the air where you can’t climb out on the ground.”

“Ah, come on, Dora,” he coaxed. “We need you for a lookout so we don’t get caught.”

“What’ll you give me?”

“A pretty bottle. I found one where Papa was digging. Been buried a long time, and it’s purple.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Will you come?”

Why not? I thought. “If it’s as pretty as you say,” I finally agreed.

He pulled a piece of lavender colored glass from his pocket.

“It’s broken,” I said.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t,” he replied. “But just look at the color when the light shines through it.”

He was right. It was beautiful.

It was a long walk to the swimming spot we had found on the other edge of town. I guess it was worth it to the boys, who liked to be sweating hot when they climbed up the side and dropped into the cool water of the tank that stood by the tracks to fill the tenders of the train locomotives when they came by.

All my coolness had evaporated in the heat, and I stood waiting for the boys in the shade below the tank. I was grateful for any breeze that stirred the air to cool me off, and I kicked back the hot sand with my bare feet to see if there were a cooler spot underneath.

“When are you coming down?” I shouted up. I was answered only by loud splashes and playful laughing. They didn’t hear me. They didn’t even hear the mournful wail of the faraway train whistle or my shouts of “Train’s coming!”

They did hear the wild shriek of the brakes, though, as the engine shuddered to a stop. The sudden suspension of splashing in the tank told me that. I knew it was too late for them to climb out now without being caught, so I hid down in the shadows and tried to look invisible.

The engineer jumped out and turned on the spigot to fill the water tender on his train. If he noticed me, he ignored me. Soon he closed the valve, climbed back in the engine, and with a double toot of the whistle was on his way again.

After the train sounds died away, Ed shouted down, “Turn some more water into the tank.”

“What for? Aren’t you wet enough already?” I teased.

“So we can get out. That train drank half the water, and we can’t reach the top.”

“Can’t reach the bottom either,” Frank added.

“Where’s the tap?” I asked, looking around for it. I could only see the one the engineer used to drain the tank.

“I don’t know,” Ed shouted impatiently, “but find it!”

Finally I found another valve. But the tap had been shut off by stronger hands than mine. “I’m not strong enough,” I cried.

“Oh, come on,” Ed encouraged. “Try harder.”

“Why don’t you stand on each other’s shoulders?” I suggested.

“We tried that, and it doesn’t work. We still can’t reach.”

“Climb up the sides then.”

“It’s too slippery,” Ed called.

“Go get Papa,” Frank insisted.

“He’ll be mad,” I reminded him.

“He sure will,” Ed said, reconsidering.

Finally, however, there seemed to be no other solution, so I started off on a run to find Papa.

I was stumbling from fatigue and panting for breath when Mr. Leslie, one of our neighbors, came along on his horse.

“Why, what’s the matter, Dora?” he asked.

“My brothers will drown in the water tank. They can’t get out.”

“The train tank? They shouldn’t be in there.”

“I know they shouldn’t, but they are. They were swimming and the train came along and took most of the water. Now they can’t reach the top to get out and I can’t turn on the tap and they’ll drown.”

“There, there, now calm down. We’ll get them out,” Mr. Leslie said soothingly. “I have my rope right here.” He reached down and pulled me up behind him on the horse, and we loped all the way back to the tank.

“Ed?” I called to the silence that had settled down as we rode up. “Mr. Leslie’s going to turn on the water.”

When the water started running into the tank in a slow trickle, Mr. Leslie climbed up and pulled the boys out one at a time with the rope. When they were all out and scrambling into their clothes, Ed asked Mr. Leslie, “You aren’t going to tell Papa about this, are you?”

“Can’t think of any reason why not,” Mr. Leslie replied.

“ ’Cause he’ll whip us good,” Frank said.

“A little whippin’ never hurt any boy that I know of,” Mr. Leslie teased.

“He’ll never let us go swimming again,” Frank pleaded.

“It’ll save us a lot of trouble if you could just forget this happened,” Ed suggested. “We’re willing to pay by working for you. We’ll both pull weeds for you for half a day.”

“I’ll help too,” I offered.
The next morning when we got up Papa was waiting with a little green willow.

“Somebody needs a whipping,” he said. I couldn’t figure out how he’d heard about swimming in the train tank so soon.

“Come over here,” he directed, and he led us out by our water tank. “Look at that mess.” He pointed to a mire where the cows had sloshed up and down all night in the mud made by my siphon. He picked up the onion hose that had been pulled from the tank.

“Who,” he thundered, “thought of this?”

“I didn’t do it,” Ed said.

“Me neither,” Frank insisted.

“Well, I’m sure it wasn’t Georgie,” Papa said. “Dora, was it you?”

I turned my face down so I wouldn’t have to look at his blazing eyes, and he could tell I was guilty.

“Run along, boys,” he said. “I have some private business with Dora.”

He had to switch me a little so I’d learn my lesson. Then when he was through he said, “That was really a smart way to get a cold drink, but it sure made a mess, didn’t it? Next time remember to turn it off.”

(To be continued.)

Some years ago, President Romney and I were sitting in my office. The door opened and a fine young man came in with a troubled look on his face, and he said, “Brethren, I am going to the temple for the first time tomorrow. I have made some mistakes in the past, and I have gone to my bishop and my stake president, and I have made a clean disclosure of it all; and after a period of repentance and assurance that I have not returned again to those mistakes, they have now adjudged me ready to go to the temple. But, brethren, that is not enough. I want to know, and how can I know, that the Lord has forgiven me, also.”

What would you answer one who would come to you asking that question? As we pondered for a moment, we remembered King Benjamin’s address contained in the book of Mosiah. Here was a group of people who now were asking for baptism, and they said they viewed themselves in their carnal state:
“… And they all cried aloud with one voice, saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins, and our hearts may be purified; …
“… after they had spoken these words the Spirit of the Lord came upon them, and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience. …” (Mosiah 4:2–3.)
There was the answer.
If the time comes when you have done all that you can to repent of your sins, whoever you are, wherever you are, and have made amends and restitution to the best of your ability; if it be something that will affect your standing in the Church and you have gone to the proper authorities, then you will want that confirming answer as to whether or not the Lord has accepted of you. In your soul-searching, if you seek for and you find that peace of conscience, by that token you may know that the Lord has accepted of your repentance. Satan would have you think otherwise and sometimes persuade you that now having made one mistake, you might go on and on with no turning back. That is one of the great falsehoods. The miracle of forgiveness is available to all of those who turn from their evil doings and return no more, because the Lord has said in a revelation to us in our day: “… go your ways and sin no more; but unto that soul who sinneth [meaning again] shall the former sins return, saith the Lord your God.” (D&C 82:7.) Have that in mind, all of you who may be troubled with a burden of sin.
And to you who are teachers, may you help to lift that great burden from those who are carrying it, and who have their conscience so seared that they are kept from activity, and they don’t know where to go to find the answers. You help them to that day of repentance and restitution, in order that they too may have that peace of conscience, the confirming of the Spirit of the Lord that he has accepted of their repentance.

A second significant event occurred a few years later when I was called to serve a mission to Peru. My grandfather, who was not religious but was the man I respected most, did not want me to go. Mine was a Chinese family, and my grandfather was its patriarch. In effect, the family was our religion, and obeying and honoring our elders was our moral code. For weeks my grandfather did not talk to me because of my intention to go on a mission. One week before I left, he offered me a present. He gave me the razor I used during my mission—a razor I still keep to this day. He was a loving man. In order to help him feel better about my mission, I told him I would do what I could to find his relatives living in Peru.
In the first three months of my mission, I met Guillermo “Willy” Hauyon, my grandfather’s nephew. I told Guillermo I had heard there was a Chinese poem in the family from which each generation took a word and incorporated it in their given names. To my surprise, he produced the poem and copied it for me. When I returned to Uruguay after my mission, I had my grandfather transcribe the poem in his own handwriting. Today it is a precious reminder of my grandfather and my heritage. The poem contains 48 Chinese characters and is used to mark generations; it has since proven invaluable in helping determine family relations.