Gospel Story Finder

Over the years I have watched one dear sister give service far beyond any calling to teach or lead in the Church. She sees a need and serves—not “Call me if you need help,” but “Here I am; what can I do?” She does so many small things, like holding someone’s child in a meeting or taking a child to school who has missed the bus. She always looks for new faces at church and steps forward to make them welcome.

Her husband knows that when they attend a ward social, he can generally count on her saying, “Why don’t you go along home. I see they are a little short on help to clear up and do the dishes.”

He came home one evening to find her putting the furniture back in place. That morning she had the feeling that she should see how an elderly sister with a heart condition was managing a wedding breakfast for a grandchild who had come from out of state to be married in the temple.

She found the woman sitting alone at the church, in despair, surrounded by the things she had brought in preparation. Somehow there had been a double booking of the hall. In a few hours the guests would arrive. Whatever could she do?

This attentive sister took the older sister home with her and put her down to rest. Then she went to work moving the furniture around. When the guests arrived, a beautiful wedding breakfast was ready to be served.

She learned that spirit of service from her mother. The spirit of service is best taught at home. We must teach our children by example and tell them that an unselfish spirit is essential to happiness.

Twenty-three year old Tom Monson, a relatively new bishop, before leaving home that night, had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.

Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then bolted for the door even before the benediction had been pronounced.

Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw a flurry of activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”

“Yes,” was the anxious reply.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he passed away.”

He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”

“I was baptized at five o’clock in the morning in a river. The water was very cold, but I felt warm. It was a good feeling.”
Recalling his conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ some twenty-two years ago, Kriangkrai Pitakpong, president of the Khon Kaen District echoes experiences similar to those enjoyed by the almost 4,000 converts to the Church in the beautiful country of Thailand.
Because proselyting is not permitted in Thailand, most investigators come from member referrals. Other investigators, like Kriangkrai Pitakpong, become curious when they see the missionaries. “I used to see the missionaries riding their bicycles, and I wondered who they were and what they did. When I finally made contact with them, I accepted their invitation to attend the English language classes they were conducting. Then I began studying the gospel and reading the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in October 1970, when I was nineteen years old.”

She was sure it was late fall of 1993. At least that’s what Amy Westerby thought when she left Provo one morning to travel to Antelope Island located in the middle of the Great Salt Lake in Utah. Somewhere along the way, she seemed to go back in time 600 years before Christ.
Amy had been selected to play the character Susan in the new seminary videos where truths from the Book of Mormon are played out in modern scenarios. This day she was there to participate in the opening shots of the video called I Will Prepare the Way, where her character walks along a long, white sand beach. She was also going to get the chance to see Nephi’s boat being built.
According to Amy it was amazing to see a huge wooden boat being constructed before her eyes. And the men playing Nephi and his brothers were so realistically dressed. It felt a little like a time machine. “It was great just to be there,” said Amy, “and watch the whole thing happen.”

On the evening the special event occurred, I entered the place for the meeting and was immediately intrigued by the arrangements that had been made. All who entered were asked to sign their names on slips of paper that were then folded and dropped into a cardboard box. When the large crowd was seated, and the honored guest had taken his place on the stand, there was a song and a prayer, and then the chairman arose to announce the proceedings. No speakers had been assigned for the evening, he said. He pointed to the cardboard box that was now on the rostrum. Names would be drawn from the box, he explained, and those who were chosen in this manner would be asked to represent all who were present in making expressions of appreciation and love for our friend.
One by one the names were drawn. As the hour passed, a procession of unrehearsed speakers filed to the podium and revealed the story of selfless service that our friend had given to members of the community.
As the meeting drew to a close, the name of a local physician was drawn from the box. For many years the good doctor had lived as a neighbor to our honored friend. He had recently returned to his home following treatment in another state for what had proved to be a near-fatal illness. As he spoke, he explained that for many years he had contemplated how his own life and that of our friend had been devoted to serving others. He told of leaving his home to make professional calls at hours both early and late, and of frequently encountering our friend departing on what appeared to be responses to the call for help from someone with a problem. At these times, the doctor said, he felt particularly close to his neighbor in the fellowship of service that they shared.
At this point in his remarks, the doctor paused, and his voice became touched with emotion. Making reference to his recent illness, he related how he had left this same community several months before, not knowing whether he would ever recover and return. No farewell testimonial had been held in his honor. He confessed that he had been disturbed by the obvious difference in the feelings of the community toward himself and our friend, especially in view of the service that both of them had given. Tonight, he said, he had learned why this was so.
With all of the apparent parallels between his life and that of his friend, there was one very important difference that had set them apart from each other in the eyes of the people in the community. For all of his services, the doctor pointed out, he had collected a fee. That was the difference. He had not realized until tonight how much his fees had cost him.
All of us who knew the good doctor and had benefitted from his kindly ministrations realized that he was being too critical of his own compassion and charity. But he succeeded, in those dramatic circumstances, in teaching all of us a lesson that we would not soon forget.

Harold B. Lee served as a stake president during the 1930s. Times were hard—many people had lost their jobs. Worried about the 4,800 families in his stake whose fathers had no work, he called a meeting of all the bishops.
Harold: Every needy family in your wards must be given food and a few small gifts for Christmas. Visit them on Christmas Eve, and when you have finished, report back to me.
On Christmas Eve morning, he was driving to work. He saw a small boy walking in the snow without a coat or gloves.
Harold: Where are you going?
Boy: I’m going uptown to a free picture show.
Harold: Well, hop in. I’m going uptown, too.
Harold: Son, are you ready for Christmas?
Boy: We aren’t going to have any Christmas at our house. Daddy died three months ago and left Mama and me and a little brother and sister.
Harold: Give me your name and tell me where you live. You will have a Christmas. I promise that you won’t be forgotten.
That night, when the last bishop came to report, Harold realized that he had forgotten his promise.
Harold: Bishop, do you have enough to make one more visit? There is another family who needs our help.
Bishop: Yes, I have enough. Give me the address, and I’ll make the delivery.
President Lee went home. He was grateful that the little boy’s family was provided for but felt sad to have nearly forgotten them.
On Christmas morning, President Lee made a promise to himself.
Harold: From now on, I will be more aware of others’ needs. I will know my people better, and I will find out how I can help them.
He developed a welfare program to store food and other necessities for the members of his stake. When the leaders of the Church saw what he was doing, they called him to expand the program for the whole Church. The Church welfare program continues to provide for needy Latter-day Saints today.

I went to summer camp for six weeks, and at first I was really bored. But then I decided to read my scriptures. When my brother came to camp, he brought up the 1997 April New Era. I borrowed it from him and read every article. I have never really sat down and enjoyed a magazine so much. It helped strengthen my testimony. I especially liked “Clean Again.” It made me realize what I have to work on. Keep up the good work.
Joseph BreeCrescent City, California

I am also reminded of President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), who was assigned to succor members of the Church in Germany following World War II. “Through the God-inspired welfare program, he literally fed the hungry, comforted the weeping, and lifted closer to heaven all with whom he met.”2
Years later, President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) referred to that event at a dedication service in Zwickau. At the meeting, an elderly Church member approached him and said: “Please tell President Benson that we love him. He saved our lives: mine, my wife’s, my children’s, and many, many others.’ He was as an angel sent by God to literally restore to us hope and confidence in the future.”3

This past holiday was pretty special for our family because it had been about 5 years since we were all together for Christmas. The one thing I wanted most was to take a family picture. Because of scheduling (people working or people returning to the mainland), we only had one morning to be able to do this. Imagine getting the grandchildren up early (one was 6 months and another was a 2 year old), everyone getting “nicely” dressed, and then everyone driving to Ho’omaluhia. Everything seemed to be under control…except, (Houston, we have a problem) it was raining! There was no blue on the ocean, mist/fog was all over the place, and the Ko’olau mountaintops were covered with dark gray clouds … We all started calling/texting each other from the different cars…“Okay. What are we doing? What are we going to do with this rain that does not look like it’s going to go away soon?” I get a phone call and one of our sons, Keola asked, “Do we have a backup plan or are we going on faith?” In the background, I could hear our 6 year old granddaughter (Riley) say, “Faith. Choose Faith.” Looking out the car window, I thought, “How do I pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to stop the rain?” “How do I explain to Riley this is an almost impossible request?” However, we continued to the end of Ho’omaluhia having faith that Heavenly Father is in charge. This picture is even more precious now because it’s a clear manifestation of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love for the Kaluhiokalani ‘ohana. The rain stopped, we took our pictures, and it started pouring again as we drove out of Ho’omaluhia. There is no doubt in our sons, their wives, and our grandchildren that we experienced a miracle that morning. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were aware of our circumstance that morning.

Speaking of a marriage meant to last, let me just share some tender remarks made by President Hinckley about Sister Hinckley near the end of their lives. He said:

"May I be personal for a moment? I sat at dinner across the table from my wife the other evening. It was fifty-five years ago that we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. The wondrous aura of young womanhood was upon her. She was beautiful, and I was bewitched. Now, for more than half a century, we have walked together through much of storm as well as sunshine. Today neither of us stands as tall as we once did. As I looked at her across the table, I noted a few wrinkles in her face and hands. But are they less beautiful than before? No, in fact, they are more so. Those wrinkles have a beauty of their own, and inherent in their very presence is something that speaks reassuringly of strength and integrity and a love that runs more deeply and quietly than ever before."[14]

Now this is an example of lasting love! When you marry, don’t marry for looks, wealth, or any other fading quality. Look for someone who will “wear well” as we like to say in my family. Look for a marriage that will last.

I remember quite clearly the night when a young woman came to me as her bishop and confessed some rather sordid activities. I remember thinking as she began to talk that I knew what kind of person she was. That is, I knew from the way she dressed and talked that she was "dangerous." I knew that when I had been a student at BYU a few years earlier I would not have associated with her. I remember pleading with the Lord that He would help me to help this young woman, that He would bless me to overcome my first, rather judgmental, impression enough to really understand her. As she continued with her story, I felt something I can only describe as the pure love of Christ come into my heart. I know that this feeling didn't come from my natural self--I'm not that good. She felt that love and I witnessed miraculous healing and change in her over the ensuing months. I know from personal experiences like this one that the Lord can fill us with His love so that we can overcome our personal limitations and selfishness to help each other.

On the night of May 22, 2011, amid the sound of blaring sirens, a massive tornado touched down in the heart of Joplin, Missouri, USA, destroying homes and lives. The Joplin First Ward was hit hard by the twister, but right away Bishop Chris Hoffman and the ward council started accounting for ward members.
“We had a response plan in place because we had talked about these preparations in ward council before they happened,” he said. “We also relied on the Spirit to know what to do. Power lines were down. Cell phones didn’t work. We prayed and listened for answers, and they came—they always came. It was gratifying for me as a bishop to hear members say, ‘This is what I’ve done,’ instead of, ‘What do you want me to do?’”

My wife, Maria Isabel, and I served in Central America, being stationed in Guatemala City. There I had the opportunity to meet Julia, a faithful member of the Church. I had the impression to ask her about her family. Her mother died of cancer in 2011. Her father had been a faithful leader in his stake, serving as a bishop and as a counselor to his stake president for several years. He was a true undershepherd of the Lord. Julia told me of his tireless efforts to visit, to minister, and to serve. He indeed rejoiced in feeding and tending the precious sheep of the Lord. He remarried and stayed active in the Church.

A few years later, he went through a divorce, and now he had to attend church alone once again. He felt out of place and also felt that some people were critical of him because of his divorce. He stopped attending church as a negative spirit filled his heart.

Julia spoke highly of this wonderful undershepherd, who was a hardworking, loving, and compassionate man. I vividly remember that a feeling of urgency came to me as she was describing him. I just wanted to do something for that man, a man who had done so much for so many throughout those years.

She gave me his cell phone number, and I began calling him, hoping to have the chance to meet with him personally. After several weeks and many, many phone calls without success, one day he finally answered the phone.

I told him that I had met Julia, his daughter, and that I was captivated by the way he had served, ministered, and loved the precious sheep of the Lord for so many years. He was not expecting a comment like that. I told him that I really wanted to visit with him eye to eye, face to face. He asked me my purpose in proposing such a meeting. I replied, “I really want to meet the father of such a wonderful lady.” Then for a few seconds there was silence over the phone—a few seconds that seemed to me like an eternity. He simply said, “When and where?”

The day I met him, I invited him to share with me some of his experiences visiting, ministering, and serving the precious sheep of the Lord. As he was recounting some touching stories, I noticed that the tone of his voice changed and the same spirit he had felt so many times as an undershepherd came back. Now his eyes were filled with tears. I knew this was the right moment for me, but I found that I did not know what to say. I prayed in my mind, “Father, help me.”

Suddenly, I heard myself saying, “Brother Florian, as a servant of the Lord, I apologize for our not being there for you. Please, forgive us. Give us another chance to show you that we do love you. That we need you. That you are important to us.”

The following Sunday he was back. He had a long conversation with his bishop and remained active. A few months later he passed away—but he had come back. He had come back. I testify that with our Savior’s help, we can love His precious sheep and minister to them as He would. And so, there in Guatemala City the Lord Jesus Christ brought back one more precious sheep into His fold. And He taught me a lesson on ministering that I cannot forget. In the name of the Good Shepherd, the Beautiful Shepherd, the Magnificent Shepherd, even the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

After being kidnapped by two sheriffs and brutally treated by them, his life constantly being threatened, the Prophet Joseph was rescued by his friends. Instead of his being escorted across the Mississippi River into Missouri, as the sheriffs intended to do, he was brought to Nauvoo. While in Nauvoo, the prophet took the two sheriffs to his home, placed them at the head of his table, and his wife waited on them as though they were the most honored guests that had ever graced her house. Joseph said, “I have brought these men to Nauvoo, not as prisoners in chains, but as prisoners of kindness. I have treated them kindly. I have had the privilege of returning them good for evil” (Documentary History of the Church, 5:467).

A similar feeling to the one I experienced is described by Elfriede Pawlowski in the book Behind the Iron Curtain. She had been struggling with “an evil power” that seemed to try to prevent her from accepting the gospel. Then one day in branch meeting, this dark power tried to overcome her again. She later wrote:
I prayed fervently that the Lord would free me from this power so I could understand the gospel. . . . Then something happened that I will never forget. A new skin almost seemed to be drawn over me. It began with the top of my head and went down over my shoulders and over my entire body right down to the tips of my toes. At first, I was somewhat frightened, but a feeling of freedom came over me, a lightness, and a deep feeling of gratitude. [Elfriede Pawlowski, “If God Is for Us, Who Can Be Against Us?” in Behind the Iron Curtain, 72]

Several years later our family was living in New York City for the summer, and we were attending a scholarly workshop together with lots of other aspiring scholars. Many of my colleagues were Christian, and one week we decided to perform an ecumenical gesture by attending the Riverside Church with my Christian colleagues. We got up in the morning and announced to our children that we were going to the Riverside Church, and our little boy said, “Wow, I really don’t want to put on my crunchy clothes today, and I really don’t want to go to that church.” First I pleaded. Then I just grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door. As we got to the Riverside Church and went through the entrance, we looked in and realized that people had not brought their children to this meeting. The two thousand people in the church were sitting there quietly, waiting for the beginning of the meeting, and my five-year-old son shouted out, “But Daddy, this isn’t even the true church!” So much for the ecumenical gesture of the Seelys that week.

Dad said no sacrifice by the family would be too great for the privilege of supporting me in the mission field, and he meant it. He knew what that kind of sacrifice was. I remember how the family had spread margarine on the bread and then scraped most of it off again while my older brother Ron was in the mission field. I also sensed Dad’s special gratitude when occasionally I was able to spare a few dollars of the earnings from my part-time job to add to what was sent to Ron.

Yes, I knew it would mean sacrifice, gladly offered. I also knew I had to do all I could.

I took a firmer grasp on the handle, holding it a little lower this time to get a better weight advantage from the heavy steel head. Several more strokes, and now I could feel myself becoming angry. How could I strike any harder? Why didn’t the cement break?
“I hope he doesn’t get back before I’ve shown some kind of progress,” I said to myself, glancing toward the tool shop.
When I had told the boss on Monday morning that I had quit school to work for a few months so I could go on a mission, I had hoped he would be kind of proud of me. Instead he had said, “Why do you want to waste your time like that?” Ever since then he had seemed bent on going out of his way to make snide comments about the Church and other crude remarks that, I suspected, were designed to shock me. But he was the boss and the one who would let me stay or let me go.
I had been much more comfortable last week when I first got this job and was helping Bert Godfrey lay a brick wall to replace an old wooden one that had burned down. How could I help but like that leather-faced but kind-hearted man who had served three missions, two of them building missions.
The company had hired me for ten days, mostly to help build that wall. But Bert and I had worked so well together that we had finished it in a week. He didn’t seem to mind that I was a bit clumsy and lacked experience. He knew I was trying and he knew why. He just kept talking to me about serving the Lord.
Bert hadn’t told me that the real boss was on vacation, and it had come as a surprise when I showed up for work the next Monday morning. So far, though, my strategy seemed to be working. Although I was earning more than I had ever earned before, I figured that if I worked so hard that I was worth still more than they were paying me, maybe the boss would feel he just couldn’t afford to let me go.
I looked again at the long I-beam rail with 13 steel legs extending from it like a giant comb with most of its teeth missing. It had long ago served as a bumper guard, preventing cars in the parking lot from hitting the adjacent building. It had been installed by digging 13 large holes in the ground in a straight line, spaced at eight-foot intervals. A steel post was cemented into each hole, and the connecting bumper rail welded to each post. Recently the entire rail had been removed by having two large “hysters” extract the whole thing in one piece, and it was lying in the driveway with each post encased in a barrel-sized cement block.
As I heard boots scuff the loose gravel on the asphalt pavement leading from the tool shop, I let loose a wild flurry of blows. I was glad that a few beads of sweat had formed on my forehead. “Here, try this,” the boss said as he handed me a heavier sledgehammer. That wasn’t quite the kind of help I had in mind.
I smiled as I traded him the smaller hammer, but I could tell that he sensed it wasn’t a completely honest smile. He watched me for a few minutes more, and then without further comment, turned away to supervise the crew working on the remodeling project in the steel fabrication plant.
“The only difference between the hammers is that this one is heavier and harder to lift,” I grumbled silently as the steel head collided with the stone-hard cement. Finally one small chunk broke off. After several more strokes my arms started to ache, but the cement still remained intact.
At this rate I knew it would take me three days to complete the job. I also knew that if I didn’t show substantial progress by noon, I’d be out of a job and back standing in the labor lines at the Employment Security Office taking any kind of work available. Three days of that had made me especially anxious to keep this job.
Besides, it was 1954, and thousands of striking workers with families to feed were looking for short-term, full-time employment. How was a 20-year-old youth going to compete with them for the few jobs available?
It took only a few more hard but unsuccessful strokes to persuade me that I had reached my limit and that it was time for me to treat the problem as one needing more strength and wisdom than I possessed.
Resting the heavy hammer on the ground and trying to compose my anger and frustration, I felt the need and desire to discuss the problem with the Lord. Without either kneeling or closing my eyes, I started praying aloud to the Lord and explaining the task I faced. In a conversational but sincere way I reminded him that I wasn’t asking for the money so I could buy a yellow convertible. He had called me on a mission, and I knew he wanted me to go. This job had already been an answer to my prayers, but I needed to keep it. I didn’t expect him to send a host of angels from heaven with sledgehammers, but I knew he could help me.
Never in my life has a prayer been answered more immediately or clearly. Suddenly my mind was filled with a thought so lucid and strong that my heart started pounding. It was a simple solution, as I later considered it. To brighter or more experienced minds it might have occurred earlier, but to me it came as a direct answer to my prayer.
The compelling instruction said to me, “Instead of striking the cement, strike the steel.”
Still not fathoming exactly why, I raised the hammer and brought it crashing down five or six times on the steel post right next to the cement. As a large section of the cement cracked into big chunks and fell off, I realized that the blows to the steel had started a series of strong vibrations that were transmitted all along the steel shaft.
I quickly forgot the weight of the hammer. With new energy I struck the steel again and again, then moved on to the next post, amazed at the magnification of my efforts as the steel vibrated and the cement cracked.
Less than two hours later I had removed the cement from all 13 posts and stacked the large chunks in a pile. With the sledgehammer on my shoulder and a prayer of gratitude in my heart, I went to find the boss.
“I’ll need some help moving the railing out of the driveway,” I said, trying to conceal the excitement I felt inside. Thinking I was giving up on the project, he motioned me to follow him to the parking lot.
As we rounded the corner of the building and he saw the railing and the pile of cement, he stopped quite suddenly. His eyes blinked and opened wide. His chin started to drop a bit. For a full minute he stood silently, looking first at the railing, then at the cement. After a moment more he turned, motioned me to follow him again, and said, “Come on, I’ll give you another job.”
Nothing more was said about the incident, but the following morning when I arrived for work, he simply said, “Lloyd, you’re welcome to stay on as long as you like.”
I worked there for nearly three months before entering the mission home. He then let me come back to work again for another ten days until I departed with my group for the mission field. Never after that memorable morning did he, in my presence, make a disparaging remark about the Church or my plans to serve a mission.
Many times since that day the Lord has helped me strike the steel instead of the cement in solving other problems. But as I departed for the mission field in late November 1954, I knew that I was called of the Lord. I knew that he was listening to my prayers. And I knew for myself that he would give no commandment save he would prepare a way for it to be accomplished.

A friend of mine was recently released as the bishop of his ward. A few days later, knowing I had also served as a bishop, he asked to speak to me.
“Is it normal to feel what I’m feeling?” he asked.
“What are you feeling?”
“Disconnected, I guess. I have been involved in so many people’s lives, and now all of a sudden, it’s over. Will I ever feel so involved again?”
His question took me back to the time of my own release. I remembered having similar feelings. I missed being deeply involved in helping people draw nearer to the Savior and to their Father in Heaven. I missed encouraging them to seek and follow the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. Serving as a bishop had been a wonderful blessing, and now it was gone.
But was it really? As a little time passed, I realized that the blessing of giving service never disappears. It is an abiding opportunity. As disciples of Jesus Christ, aren’t we always to remember Him? (see D&C 20:77, 79). Aren’t we always to help others draw nearer to the Savior and to their Father in Heaven? Aren’t we always to help others, especially our spouses and families, seek and follow the inspiration of the Holy Ghost?
As my friend and I talked, we both realized that service doesn’t end when we are released from a calling, whatever that calling may be. For the followers of Christ, service never ends. Soon we receive a new calling, and we begin again as we all move forward together.

Audrey felt wiggly. It seemed to her that sacrament meeting would never end. She twisted and knelt backwards on the bench. Mom made her turn around. She slid to the floor and sat under the bench. Dad picked her up and set her back in her seat. She made a face at Rebekah, her older sister. Rebekah put a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh!”
Audrey frowned. She leaned forward and looked down the long row. Except for Audrey’s family, the only person on the bench was an old man. A cane rested against his leg. Audrey looked at the old man’s cane. It was smooth and shiny. She looked at his hands, resting quietly in his lap. Then she looked at his face. He seemed to be listening to the speaker, but when the other people laughed, his mouth did not even smile. Audrey thought his eyes looked sad.
She wanted to help. Slowly and quietly, Audrey slid off the bench. Softly and reverently, she tiptoed over to the old man. Mom and Dad watched her go. She put her finger to her lips and smiled at them. Then she climbed onto the bench next to the old man.
He looked down. Audrey scooted closer to him and patted his wrinkled fingers. He opened his fingers and wrapped her little hand in his. Audrey leaned her head on the old man’s arm and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Be happy,” she wanted to tell him. She tipped her head to look up at his face. The old man smiled down at her and winked.
During the closing hymn, Audrey heard him singing. His voice was low and scratchy, but Audrey thought he didn’t sound sad. After the meeting, Audrey’s mom and dad came to shake hands with him.
“We’re Brother and Sister Noe,” Dad said, “and this is our daughter Audrey.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I am Brother Campbell,” he said.
After that Sunday, Audrey’s parents invited Brother Campbell to sit with their family during sacrament meeting every week. Audrey always felt less wiggly sitting next to Brother Campbell. And even better, Brother Campbell always smiled.

We just celebrated Pioneer Day a few weeks ago. May I share my own pioneer-like experience with you when I went back to grad school? At the time, I was newly divorced with 3 children and living in North Carolina. Through many sleepless nights, I made the decision to take my kids and go to Utah State to finish a masters and PhD in Mathematics so I could teach at a university. We started across the country in an old Oldsmobile station wagon, which didn't get out of Tennessee before it started having problems. The trip was one adventure after another until we finally reached Logan and marveled at the beauty of the place. We were especially amazed at the number of LDS churches; it seemed like one on every corner. We were all excited to start over and make Logan home for a while. We were alone, I and three kids, and 2000 miles from any family that I had. I had no support group but the members of my ward. A part of me was terrified that I might fail and what would we do then. We certainly had no money to get back to the east coast.

I studied and studied for my classes, taught classes as a TA, and tried to be both mother and father to my children. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. There were many, many nights when I cried myself to sleep, begging the Lord to help me get through. I really did try to do my best, and though my efforts didn't always seem very effective, I did learn some Mathematics and my children survived. I know that there were times when the Lord held me up by my arms and gave me strength when I had none. I know that there were times when I couldn't remember something on a test and then it would come to my mind or I would remember how to figure it out on the spot. I can honestly tell you that I worked well beyond my capacity and that I relied on the Spirit and the power of the Atonement to complete my work there. I know how I got through the program, on my knees and by the blessings of a loving Heavenly Father who wanted me to succeed as much as I did.

As I've had time to reflect over the years since then, I can see that the Lord has been beside me in every trial and in every success. I have never seen a burning bush. I've only audibly heard a voice speak to me once in my life and that was a life-threatening situation that called for immediate action. Instead, I have tried to figure out what was the best thing to do and sought confirmation by prayer. Sometimes, foolishly, I haven't waited for an answer. Sometimes, I've felt like I wasn't really sure what was best, but I've learned without a doubt that the Lord would take care of us and that has built my faith to move forward and how the blessings have showered down!