Gospel Story Finder

Tears of frustration filled my eyes, so I couldn’t make sense of the words I had been reading.
“And it came to pass that I beheld others pressing forward,” read the verses I was studying for seminary. “And they came forth and caught hold of the end of the rod of iron; and they did press forward through the mist of darkness, clinging to the rod of iron, even until they did come forth and partake of the fruit of the tree” (1 Ne. 8:24).
I was 14 and struggling. I didn’t have many friends. Those I had were beginning to experiment with alcohol, tobacco, pornography, and immoral behavior. The pressure to participate was growing daily. I was struggling to stand up for my beliefs. I was struggling to find friends. I could understand why temptation was called “mists of darkness” (1 Ne. 12:17). I felt blind to the light of the Spirit.
I was trying to do what was right, doing my best to follow “the path which led to the tree” (1 Ne. 8:22). But I could relate to those people “who had commenced in the path” but were lost because of the “mist of darkness.” I felt like I had “wandered off and [was] lost” too (1 Ne. 8:23).
I rarely cried. But that night in my room, as I read those verses, I couldn’t keep the tears from spilling out. I really felt lost, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted a solid metal handrail right there by my bed that I could grab on to and follow back to heaven.
My seminary teacher had said the rod of iron symbolizes the word of God in the scriptures and given through the prophets today. But I couldn’t hold on to a symbol. I shut my scriptures and poured my heart into prayer: “Father, where is my iron rod?”
The question stuck in my head for days. Then one night, like Lehi, I “dreamed a dream” (1 Ne. 8:2).
In my dream I was on my stomach on the seminary classroom floor. Something behind me held my legs so tightly that I couldn’t get free, and it was slowly pulling me backwards. Terror smashed me so I could hardly breathe. I was too scared to look back, but I knew I was being dragged into a darkness that would mean more than death. It meant spiritual destruction.
I looked around desperately for anything I could grab on to. It was then that I saw in front of me the Book of Mormon resting on a chair. Somehow I knew that if I could just make it to the book, I would be safe.
I woke up halfway between safety and destruction. I knew I had to go one way or the other.
Suddenly, I was more interested in the Book of Mormon. But while the dream was my wake-up call to read the Book of Mormon, it was the actual reading that changed my life. The Lord blessed me for being obedient. I found spiritual strength in the face of temptations. I found confidence to break ties with my old friends and reassurance that I was better off by myself until my prayers to find better friends were answered.
Most important, I could feel the Spirit when I read the Book of Mormon. I could feel the love of God. It felt so good I never wanted to put the book down. I had found my iron rod.
Soon after, tears again blurred the words I was reading. But this time they were tears of joy as I read Nephi’s promise to his brothers.
“And they said unto me: What meaneth the rod of iron which our father saw, that led to the tree?
“And I said unto them that it was the word of God; and whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction” (1 Ne. 15:23–34).

Tonight while preparing a talk, I was reading one of my old New Eras (Feb. 1978). I came across an article called “The Basic Concepts of Honesty” by Elder Howard W. Hunter. I read it and decided to do my talk on honesty.
That article changed my life. I had been cheating on some of my school exams. I thought it really didn’t matter, that it was a little thing. Well, Elder Hunter made me realize that the little things count too. Cheating is not honest. With the Lord’s help I will find the time to really study for my tests.
Name Withheld

We were visiting some friends this past summer. A very young son with a new tricycle was disturbed because his parents were giving us their attention and all of us were ignoring him. He rode his trike as fast as his little legs could pedal, calling, “Look at me!” The inevitable happened as he looked at us instead of where he was going. He rode directly into a lawn chair. To try to stem the tears and take his mind off the hurt, his mother said, “That naughty chair hurt you. Let’s spank the chair.”
I suppose her response momentarily distracted the boy, but the mother was letting her son blame something else for the accident rather than himself.

The Young Women of the La Canada (California) First Ward are planning to make waves—big ones. They intend to repeat their win of last year in the stake swim meet, which in itself isn’t surprising until you realize that because of failure to meet swimsuit standards only one girl from their ward qualified in 1974.
Two years ago most of the girls didn’t have or want a one-piece swimsuit. Last year in bishop’s youth committee, the bishop asked, “What are we going to do about winning the meet this year?” The subtle coaxing came across, and various suggestions were proposed. Availability and costs of buying appropriate suits for everyone were discussed and dismissed. Sewing was the best alternative to promote both unity and modesty.
Finding 47 yards of chlorine-proof, stylish, inexpensive, and two-way-stretch fabric proved as hard as mastering the butterfly stroke. Moving from yardage stores to sportswear factories to fabric distributors, everyone had just about given up when a distributor, who admitted he had a soft heart for Mormons, got an appointment with one of California’s largest swimsuit manufacturers. The girls were offered an orange-and-purple-patterned fabric and immediately took to it with scissors and sewing machines. Soon every girl in the ward had a new suit, as did eight nonmembers. Many of the girls had never owned a one-piece suit. The stake meet was more than a swimming test for the La Canada young women—it was a victory through obedience to and acceptance of gospel standards.

by Vickie L. Barnes
Bang! The runners spring into action in response to the starter’s signal. Tiffany is ahead in a second. Her feet pound the soft pavement of the track. She sets her pace, expecting to be passed by the other runners. As she runs, she looks over her shoulder. They are all there—all six of them—their faces strained in their effort to maintain the pace Tiffany has set. She looks forward again, her mind now racing faster than her feet. She is ahead! She has never raced before, so she really doesn’t have anything to compare the experience to, but she feels as if she can go the distance at this pace. The realization that she is ahead seems to give her an extra boost—a little extra energy.
Members of Tiffany’s ward track team line the inside of the track, calling her name, shouting their enthusiasm and encouragement. Tiffany takes one more look over her shoulder. With an exhilaration she has not experienced before, Tiffany bursts through the ribbon at the finish line.
Tiffany won first place in the 12- to 13-year-old division of the 880-yard race in the annual West Jordan Utah South Stake Youth Track Meet. She was one of 200 participants in 11 track and field events. But victory at the finish line was only the beginning of Tiffany’s story. In all her 12 years, Tiffany had never won anything and had never felt that she excelled in anything. She had been an average student because she lacked the self-confidence required for achievement. During the track meet, Tiffany learned she has a physical prowess not enjoyed by many young women. She now trains at least once a week with her Beehive leader, a former high school coach, in preparation for participation in high school and college track.

Just past midnight on December 23, 1972, when she was nine years old, an earthquake struck Managua. “I was saved because there was a piece of furniture behind me, but my legs were trapped.” Hearing her and her mother’s screams, neighbors came to pull them from the destroyed adobe house. In the wreckage, they found the body of her older brother in the bed next to hers. “Material possessions are just so temporary, but the important thing is our family,” she said.

Life isn’t always ideal. Some of you might have had painful experiences similar to someone I’ll call Amber, a client I worked with in my position as a counselor with Family Services. Amber has given permission for this part of her story to be shared in this article.
Shortly after Amber was born, her mom decided to leave Amber’s father. Once Amber was old enough to care for herself, her mom left her home alone all day to work two or three jobs.
Amber saw happy families around her with both a mother and a father and wished her family could be together too. She took care of herself most days, and when her mom was home, she enforced strict rules and expectations to protect Amber from getting into trouble.
Amber’s difficult childhood left her with a lot of negative feelings toward her parents.

He was 16 when he first caught the vision of the gospel of Jesus Christ. From that time on, Daniel Choc’s main goal was to be engaged in the service of his fellowmen. This desire was fulfilled only months later when he was called to serve as a part-time missionary. He was later called as the first full-time Cachiquel missionary in Guatemala. And finally, on March 29, 1976, his earthly mission came to an end.
At the time the gospel opened his mind, Daniel had received only three years of schooling. He was needed at home to take care of the family cow. His father, Pablo, now branch president at Patzicia, didn’t have a pasture, so the cow had to be grazed along the sides of the roads. Until he was 16, it appeared that Daniel would join the countless other Indians of Central America who had little or no employable skills. Fortunately, he and his sister Carmela, then 14, were invited to spend two years in Paradise Valley at the Foundation for Indian Development, a laboratory farm school directed by Brother Cordell Andersen.
Although a member of the Church, Daniel had never had an opportunity to give a speech, bear his testimony, be advanced in the priesthood, or have a calling or position.
At Paradise Valley, Daniel responded to Church opportunities and to educational experiences. He was almost immediately advanced in the priesthood and was called to be Sunday School president. He also took the lead in directing family home evenings for one of the family groups of the school. He then confided to Brother Andersen that in spite of the Cachiquel reputation as a family-oriented people, they weren’t happy in their homes and families. He determined he would be the stimulus to change this upon his return to Patzicia.
Daniel quickly learned the various agricultural and health care skills taught at the laboratory school and soon became a tractor instructor. In September 1971, he was called to be a local missionary to the Pokomchi Indians. During his 16-month mission he and a companion taught and baptized 26 Pokomchis.
Brother Andersen wrote, “Our family thrilled as we witnessed his first speech in church and his first spoken testimony. Progress was rapid for this humble Indian boy who responded eagerly to the previously undreamed of opportunities to improve himself and learn to help his people. He worked hard, played hard, and in his quiet way influenced a whole community of Pokomchi Indians for good.”
After completing two years of training at the school, he returned to his hometown. The branch members there were amazed at his growth. In a later discussion with Brother Andersen, he outlined a plan, which has since been used for creating the first all-Indian cooperative in Guatemala, the Center for Indian Development. Daniel was keeping a personal promise to do what he could to benefit his people and help them break the cycle of poverty.
Shortly after returning home he was called as the first full-time, LDS, Cachiquel Indian missionary. On February 4, 1976, an earthquake devastated the country. He lost his mother and two brothers in the disaster.
Elder Choc did not abandon his mission, but like other missionaries, he spent his preparation days helping to rebuild the damaged areas. He and several other missionaries were on such a project on March 29, 1976, at Patzun when a wall toppled, crushing him. Elder Choc was rushed to a nearby field hospital, but he was already dead.
He was taken home where a makeshift roof was constructed on the site where his home had once stood. Curtains from the destroyed chapel were used for shade as members, neighbors, and missionaries gathered to pay tribute to Elder Choc.
Two former companions spoke at the funeral. “He was my junior companion, but he taught me so much that I always knew that he was the leader,” one of them commented.
Many will remember Daniel Choc because he was the first of his people to serve on a full-time mission. Others will remember him because he gave his life while in the service of his fellowmen.

When my son Daniel was six years old, he saw that I was worried because I had to attend a stake conference. I was unsure about what to teach the Saints. He came up to me and said, “Daddy, that’s really easy.” That’s how children see everything.
“Let’s see, Son,” I told him. “Since it’s easy, tell me what I can talk to them about.”
“Talk to them about prayer,” he told me.
“That’s a good subject,” I told him, “but they’ve heard a lot of talk about prayer; what could I tell them that’s new?”
“That’s easy too, Daddy. First tell them, ‘Before you start to talk to Heavenly Father, think about the things you want to tell Him.’”
“That sounds like a magnificent idea,” I replied. “And then?”
“Well, once you’ve thought of it, tell it to Him! When you finish, wait and see if He has something to tell you.”
So, through our prayers, the Spirit speaks to our spirit and testifies to us of the reality of our Savior.

I’ve loved to dance since I was three. So when I was in middle school, I was excited when tryouts for the dance team came around. I had no doubt that with my talent and experience, I would easily make the team.
A few days after the tryouts, the names of the dance team were posted. To my dismay, I couldn’t find my name anywhere on the list. I was devastated. I went home and cried on my bed. I was mad at the dance teacher and disappointed that I had not been good enough to make the team. My mom quietly walked into my room and suggested that I ask Heavenly Father for the strength to make it through this “bump” in my life. I reluctantly agreed and said a short prayer. After the prayer I didn’t feel any better, so I continued moping around and being miserable. I slept terribly that night.
The next morning I pulled myself out of bed. The memory of my failure was fresh in my mind, and I wanted to just slip right back under the covers. But before I did, I remembered a promise my bishop had made. He said that if I would read my scriptures every day, even if only for 15 minutes, then I would be blessed. If I ever needed a blessing, it was now.
As I read, I discovered this verse in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (Doctrine and Covenants 98:1–3).
I was shocked. I sat in my pajamas with my messy bed-hair and marveled at how much I had needed these scriptures. All the feelings of anger and sadness washed away in those three verses. I felt the love of my Heavenly Father and knew that He knew what I was going through. With this new perspective, I could see that not being chosen for the dance team really was just a small bump in the road of my life. I fell to my knees in gratitude and thanked Heavenly Father.
For the rest of the day, I was able to keep the Spirit with me and look at my trials as opportunities for growth. I will always hold these verses close to my heart. And I will remember my bishop’s promise about the blessings of turning to the scriptures. I am very grateful I can be a part of this Church and have a knowledge of the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is truly a plan of happiness.

When I was a branch president in Nigeria, a young sister who was a convert expressed her desire to serve a mission. Her father, not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, strongly disagreed with her plan. Our branch council discussed the situation. We decided it would be appropriate for the branch presidency to visit her father.
The visit was initially unsuccessful until I felt inspired to share with her father the story of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac, as described in Genesis chapter 22. Abraham is an example of trust and faith in God. Even though Isaac was Abraham and Sarah’s only son, born when they were both old, when the Lord asked for a sacrifice Abraham willingly obeyed.
As Abraham was about to sacrifice his son, an angel intervened. “Lay not thine hand upon the lad,” he said, “neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me” (Genesis 22:12). The word fear in that verse means “to feel reverence and awe for [God] and to obey His commandments.”1
The father was touched by this reminder of Abraham’s obedience. He said he never expected that he could be asked to do something similar, albeit not of the same magnitude. He accepted to have his daughter serve and to support her financially for 18 months.
The sister served honorably. When she returned, she married a man in the same branch. They still serve faithfully in the Church and have three children. All of her siblings have become members of the Church. Her brother also served a mission. And her youngest sister is married to my youngest brother.
When I think back about this father’s decision, I am impressed. He let his first child, a convert to a faith different from his, serve a mission. I am also reminded of the blessings his family received as more of his children became members of the Church. Today they are happily married to worthy spouses, faithfully living the gospel of Jesus Christ. The father never joined the Church, but surely his sacrifice, like Abraham’s faith in God, is “counted … to him for righteousness” (Genesis 15:6).

Just last week a sprightly fellow accidentally jabbed my foot with his umbrella. Physical pain can cause anger, and I winced and gritted my teeth. I expected him to mumble an “excuse me” and rush off into the crowd, but he stopped dead still.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry, miss.” His accent was English. “Are you quite all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” I said.
“Are you quite sure? I do hope so!”
“I’m fine,” I said smiling. It wasn’t the charm of the accent but his total sincerity that melted away my pain and anger. Perhaps we could even say that an apology is not really an apology without sincerity, for if we speak words without the heart strings attached, we are easily recognized as hypocrites and our apology is just a series of hollow words without meaning. Only the sincere apology can melt the heart and help repair the injury. And it usually does just exactly that.

My family moved to a little desert town in the United States during one of the hottest months of the year. But among the Latter-day Saint kids, my reception was cold.
I was 15, and my family had already moved 10 times, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to make friends. I tried everything I knew to break the ice, but after five months I still didn’t have a single friend who was a member of the Church.
Luckily, I had lots of good nonmember friends at school. But that didn’t make it any easier at early-morning seminary and church. I actually sat through five months of seminary without anyone saying hello to me, except my seminary teacher. And in my Sunday School class there was always one empty seat between me and everyone else.
Tom Jeppson* was the ringleader of the LDS kids. He had never really said anything to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he had noticed me until one morning when he met me at the seminary doors.
“Go home. We don’t want you here,” he said.
I started to laugh. He had to be joking, right? But when I looked at his face, I knew he wasn’t kidding. I looked at the others standing close behind him. They didn’t say anything, which I figured meant they agreed.
As I turned away, I heard the doors slam behind me and muffled laughter.
I’m never going to seminary again, I swore to myself as I walked the short distance to the high school. It is all their fault.
That day seemed like it would never end. After school I rode the bus to my street, but I didn’t go home. I went to my seminary teacher’s house. He lived a few doors down from me, and I really liked him. In fact, I liked his whole family.
He usually gave me a ride to seminary each morning, so I wanted to tell him not to worry about picking me up anymore. Actually, what I really wanted was some sympathy.
Sister Murray answered the door. Brother Murray wasn’t home yet, but she invited me in for a drink of lemonade. It wasn’t long before I was telling her the whole story. She was sympathetic until I said I wasn’t going to seminary anymore and that I might not go to church ever again.
“If this is really the true Church, people wouldn’t act like that,” I said.
I expected her to plead with me to come back. I wanted her to tell me she would talk to all the kids’ parents and get them in a lot of trouble. I thought she would be ready to do almost anything to keep me active. Instead she said, “Well, fine. You’re not hurting any of those kids by not going. You’re hurting only yourself.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I quickly finished my lemonade and told her I had to go.
I stayed away from seminary and church for three weeks. My seminary teacher called a few times to check on me. I missed seminary, but I was too proud to admit it. I kept telling myself everyone was probably feeling pretty guilty they had made me become inactive. I told myself they would be in trouble on judgment day.
Still, I couldn’t forget what Sister Murray had said about me hurting only myself. And then, one day when I was reading the Book of Mormon, a scripture caught my eye: “See that ye do all things in worthiness, and do it in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God; and if ye do this, and endure to the end, ye will in nowise be cast out” (Morm. 9:29).
As I read the words, the Spirit filled my heart and I realized Sister Murray was right. Sure, the kids had been real jerks. But they couldn’t keep me away from the Church if I was determined to be there. And best of all, they couldn’t cast me out in the end, when it really mattered—not if I endured.
I got out of bed and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M., so I wouldn’t miss seminary the next day.
We lived in that hot, windy desert town for five more months and nothing really changed—except my heart. For the first time, I understood that no one was responsible for my salvation but me. I didn’t miss another day of seminary or church. And although the LDS kids were still cold, it didn’t matter. I was filled with the warmth of the gospel.

A few years ago, President Uchtdorf told a story of a large passenger jet with 257 people on board that left my homeland of New Zealand for a sightseeing flight over the Antarctica. Unknown to the pilots, someone had modified the flight coordinates by a mere two degrees. This error placed the aircraft 28 miles to the east of where the pilots assumed they were.

As they approached Antarctica, the pilots descended to a lower altitude to give the passengers a better look at the landscape. Although both were experienced pilots, neither had made this particular flight before, and they had no way of knowing that the incorrect coordinates had placed them directly in the path of Mount Erebus, an active volcano that rises from the frozen landscape to a height of more than 12,000 feet. As the pilots flew onward, the white snow and ice covering the volcano blended with the white clouds above, making it appear as though they were flying over flat ground. By the time the instruments sounded the warning that the ground was rising fast toward them, it was too late. The airplane crashed into the side of the volcano, killing everyone on board. It was a terrible tragedy brought on by a minor error-a matter of only a few degrees.

President Uchtdorf went onto explain how he taught this principle to young pilots by posing this question, “if you were to take off from an airport on the equator, intending to circumnavigate the globe, but your course was off by just one degree. By the time you returned to the same longitude, how far off course would you be? A few miles? A hundred miles? The answer is an error of only one degree would put you almost 500 miles off course.

President Uchtdorf concludes this analogy by stating, “Small errors and minor drifts away from the doctrine of the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring sorrowful consequences into our lives. It is therefore of critical importance that we become self-disciplined enough to make early and decisive corrections to get back on the right track and not wait or hope that errors will somehow correct themselves.”

Now here’s the key point President Uchtdorf makes that I would like you to try and remember, “The longer we delay corrective action, the larger the needed changes become, and the longer it takes to get back on the correct course-even to the point where disaster might be looming,”(Dieter F. Uchtdorf, A Matter Of A Few Degrees, April 2008 General Conference).

I grew up on a farm outside of town. One evening, my parents were away at church meetings, and I was left in charge. One of my younger brothers ran into the house and told me the garage was on fire. The garage was only a few feet away from our house.
The one side of the garage where my father had been repairing a tractor was on fire, and flames had reached the car on the other side. I told my brothers to get far away from the garage so they wouldn’t be hurt. Then I grabbed a broom and started beating out the fire.
One of my brothers came to help, but he suddenly caught on fire and started to run. I yelled at him to stop and roll, but he just kept running. I chased after him and pulled him down to put out the flames. The thought came to me to have him stand in the canal near our home. I told him to do that while I put out the rest of the fire.
I know I had Heavenly Father’s help in knowing what I needed to do to put out the fire that day. The doctors said that if I hadn’t told my brother to stand in the cold water of the canal, he would have needed surgery from the burns. Instead he healed so well that there was only one small scar on his foot. It was a miracle.
I know that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and that He watches over us. He stands ready to help us when we pray, listen, and follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

During my second year of college, I worked at the university library as a student assistant. One day in December I was assigned to work with another student assistant. I had never met him before, so as we worked I tried to strike up a conversation. We talked about school, work, and our families.
Later in the afternoon he started to sing songs that mentioned God. I asked him about his religion. I hoped he would ask me the same thing so I could talk to him about the Church, and he did. I was so excited, because this was a great missionary opportunity. With a big smile, I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He looked surprised and, in a not-very-pleasant tone of voice, replied, “The Mormons? You’re a Mormon? Those people don’t believe in Jesus Christ.”
His words were hard for me to hear. Whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t to hear that I didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. I had heard stories like this, but now it was happening to me. What should I say? How could I respond to such a remark? The only thing that came to mind was, “But it’s the Church of Jesus Christ!”
I knew I had to repeat in my mind the Young Women motto—“Stand for Truth and Righteousness”—and put it into action. But how?
I proceeded to tell the other assistant that our church is the Church of Jesus Christ, that we believed in Him as our Savior, and that I understood the love He has for God’s children. I expressed from the depths of my soul that I believed in Jesus Christ, that I was a member of His Church, and that I had been taught to love Him and to follow His example.
My coworker did not want to listen anymore. He responded reproachfully to the things I said even while I kept trying to explain. He also talked about the Book of Mormon in the same manner as he had spoken about the Church. I could tell he didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to listen to what he was saying either because he was trying to contend with me. I knew I shouldn’t go on explaining, so I bore my testimony. I told him that I knew everything I was saying was true. I could feel it in my heart.
As I left the library, I wondered how anyone could possibly talk about the Church that way. I thought about what I had felt as I testified to him and wondered if I should have allowed him to express himself the way he did. I felt anger and fear and thought of things I could have said. I felt frustrated and doubted my own level of spirituality because he had not changed his mind. Had I failed?
On the way home, I prayed. I wanted to get rid of my negative thoughts. I wanted to feel sure of what I had been taught my whole life, and I wanted to feel that Heavenly Father was pleased with me for what I had done. Prayer was the best tool I had. Prayer and the Holy Ghost had helped me know what to say and how to testify to my coworker, and they also helped me to know that my Heavenly Father was pleased with me.
This experience helped me to know with a greater certainty that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ and that, just as He was persecuted, so is His Church. I learned the importance of having a firm testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and His Church.

I was sitting on Mom and Dad’s bed, missing them an awful lot, when the phone rang.
“Hey, Levi. Guess what?” Dad said. “Your sister Nora was born this afternoon!”
I could tell Dad was happy, but his voice also sounded weird—like he was worried.
“How big is she?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.
Dad was silent for a moment. “A little more than two pounds [0.9 kg],” he said. Now he definitely sounded worried. Nora was supposed to be born during Christmastime, but it was still September. “She’s tiny, all right,” Dad continued. “Remember to pray for her, Levi. And pray for us too so we can trust that Heavenly Father knows what’s best for our family.”
After I hung up the phone, I went into the kitchen and picked up a bag of beans that Mom was planning on making into soup. The package said it weighed almost as much as Nora did right now. I held it in my hands, trying to imagine what a baby that size would look like.
“Her spirit was just with Heavenly Father,” I thought, remembering what I had learned about the pre-earth life and the plan of salvation. I knew that even if Nora died, we would get to see her again because we were all sealed together as a family. But I also hoped she would stay with us here on earth.
Over the next few months, Mom and Dad were at the hospital a lot. Grandma and Grandpa came to our house to help take care of me and my younger brothers and sisters. The ward fasted and prayed for our family, and nice ladies from the Relief Society brought dinners for us sometimes. Everyone wanted to know how Nora was doing.
One evening, Mom and Dad called all of us into the living room. They told us that Dad was going with the bishop to give Nora a blessing. After Dad left in his suit and tie, Mom gathered all of us around the couch to say a prayer.
“Please bless Dad as he gives Nora a priesthood blessing,” Mom prayed. Her voice grew soft. “And please, if it is Thy will, allow her to come home and be healthy.”
As we prayed, I could feel the Holy Ghost fill the room with peace and love. It was like Heavenly Father was telling me that, no matter what happened with Nora, it was all part of His plan.
Later that night, Dad came home and told us that something wonderful had happened at the hospital. Usually Nora’s room was loud and noisy. There were lots of machines and monitors with alarms and flashing lights, and nurses and doctors were always hurrying around to help the tiny babies there. But when Dad and the bishop arrived, things were different. All of the machines were quiet. The nurses were sitting by the babies, reading or watching over them. Dad and the bishop were able to give Nora a blessing without any interruptions.
I don’t know whether Nora will grow up here on earth or return to live with Heavenly Father soon. But I do know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, and I feel peace when I remember that He has a plan for every member of my family.

Moving? Tomorrow? It can’t be time already, thought eleven-year-old Sarah as she folded the last of her mother’s dish towels and put them into a barrel. The family had been planning for the past few weeks to leave Kirtland, Ohio, for Missouri with some of the other Saints, but they didn’t know exactly what day they would leave. This morning Sarah’s father had come into the kitchen and told his family that tomorrow was moving day.

Just a month ago, when spring was in its glory throughout the Kirtland area, Father had told Sarah that she must do all that she could to help Mother get ready to move. However, Sarah had tried to convince herself that they wouldn’t have to do it. How can I leave Kirtland? she’d wondered. We’ve never lived anywhere else.

Kirtland was the place where Sarah and her brother John and sister, Laura, had all been born. Another brother, two years younger than Sarah, had even been buried in Kirtland shortly after he was born. It was the place where Sarah and her parents had been taught and baptized by Brother Sidney Rigdon. Brother Rigdon had been their minister when they had all belonged to the Campbellite Church, and the whole family had loved him. They had been glad to read the Book of Mormon when he had brought it to their home. It was only right that Brother Rigdon had baptized them when they were sure that the gospel was true.

Sarah had been excited about turning twelve in the fall and going with her best friend, Mary, to Sister Eliza Snow’s school for girls. But Sister Snow’s family and Mary’s family had already moved to Missouri, so there would be no school. She had hoped that someone else would teach the school once things settled down a little. But things hadn’t settled down.

The rest of that day and night went quickly. Suddenly it was daybreak and time to leave their home. When the wagon was packed, the whole family climbed aboard, with Father sitting on the front seat to drive the oxen he had bought only last week. John, looking very big for a seven-year-old, sat next to Father. Five-year-old Laura and Sarah sat in the back of the wagon with Mother. They all watched Kirtland grow smaller as they joined the other wagons leaving the city.

The first few weeks of the trip seemed especially long because of the slow pace of the oxen. John and Laura had been excited about the trek at first, but even they calmed down as time passed. One night Sarah was awakened by the low voice of her father. There was something in the sound of his voice that frightened her. She crawled out from under her blanket and drew back the wagon flap.

The worried look on Father’s face eased a little when he saw her. “Sarah, I need your help. Your mother has a high fever. Can you go to the river and fill the bucket with some water?”

Sarah was afraid. Mother had never been sick! She had always been the one to take care of others when they were ill. Quickly Sarah filled the bucket and returned to the wagon. All night long she and Father took turns wiping her mother’s face with damp cloths to keep her cool. Mother was too sick to say a word, and this really upset Sarah. By morning Sarah realized that she must take care of her brother and sister and fix whatever breakfast she could put together. She knew that she must remain calm so that John and Laura would not be frightened by Mother’s illness. Quietly she woke the children and told them what had happened.

“Will you go and get some small pieces of wood to start the fire, Laura?” she asked. “You’re really good at finding wood.” Turning to her little brother, she said, “John, if you can get some larger pieces, we can build a fire together.”

John crawled out from under his blanket and began to work without complaining. Sarah was amazed at how helpful her sister and brother were. They seemed to know exactly what to do.

Sarah cooked breakfast and quickly cleaned everything up. Mother didn’t seem much better, so Sarah stayed in the back of the wagon and put soothing, damp cloths on her mother’s face. Father had been able to fix a lid on a bucket so that the water didn’t spill with the wagon’s movement. Because the children helped so much, the family was able to keep up with the company.

Sarah spent every spare minute planning and cooking meals, keeping their clothes washed, and tending Mother. Laura and John gathered wood each night for cooking, and they helped in any other way they could. John found some empty wooden spools, and he and Laura were busy making a surprise for the family.

One morning Sarah awoke and realized that her family had been gone from Kirtland for six weeks! Mother was almost well, but she still let the children take care of things together. How proud she was of Sarah’s cooking and John and Laura’s fires.

“Do you know what’s happened to us, Sarah?” Mother said softly. “With the Lord’s help, we are relying on each other now. This is what we’re supposed to do. If I hadn’t been sick, you children would never have been able to show your father and me the many things you can do for our family.”

Before Sarah could reply, John and Laura climbed into the wagon holding something under a cloth. Father climbed in behind them and said, “I don’t know what these two are up to, but they made me stop everything to come and see what they’ve made.”

The children uncovered a checkerboard made from a weathered board, and a set of tiny checkers made from the spools John had found. Laura beamed and said, “John rubbed charcoal on some spools to make the black pieces, and I colored the other ones with some berries we found along the way. We thought everyone could take turns playing checkers.”

Sarah felt tears come to her eyes. She would miss Kirtland and its happy memories, but she was taking with her the best part of those memories—her family.

Last week a new stake presidency was sustained in the Monterey Stake, and the new president of that stake came up with his wife to talk to the General Authority who had established that stake and introduced them to the stake members. The president of that stake said, “I met this young lady, my wife, at BYU. I was a nonmember of the Church. I don’t know why I went to BYU, but I did. I met this girl and fell in love with her. As I told her that I’d fallen in love with her and would like to have her as my wife, she said, ‘I’ll marry you only in the temple.’ I didn’t understand what the temple was, but when she said that, I began to investigate, and as a result we were married in the temple. I am where I am today because she was prepared to take her individual stand and do that which is right. Regardless of our relationship otherwise, the only way she would be married was in the temple. So we were married in the temple. I know five other couples who can tell you the same kind of story, that they met LDS girls who were not prepared at any cost to give up the standards of their Church, and as a result they are holding stake offices here in this stake.” Those are things, I think, my brothers and sisters, that we should keep in mind.

So it was in my life. The decision to set aside two years and serve a mission for the Lord has had a greater impact for good than any other thing. In fact, every good thing in my life is a result of my decision to serve a mission. It was during my mission that I received a clear and unmistakable witness of the Spirit that the Book of Mormon is true and that Joseph Smith was the Lord’s prophet of the Restoration. I realized my biggest desire was to be sealed to my wife and, with her, raise a family in righteousness. I determined to serve God and His children all of my life. I made the covenant with God that I would keep His commandments, repent, and continue to call on His name all of my life. I came to know God love and trust Him. I knew that He loves His children and that “he doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world, even that he layeth down his own life that he may draw all men unto him” (2 Nephi 26:24). I knew that God loves me and other members of the Church and that “he inviteth . . . all to come unto him and partake of his goodness” (2 Nephi 26:33). All of these deepened my love for God and for His children, wherever I have been blessed to meet them.
This is not all. It was during my mission that I knew the joy of sharing the gospel with others. I love the people I taught. One of the great joys of my life is to see their children being raised in the gospel and their grandchildren being blessed by the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only did I love these wonderful people, but they have loved and strengthened me and my family over all these years.