Gospel Story Finder

During high school graduation ceremony, all kinds of thoughts can zoom through your head. What happens next? Are you ready? Will you and your friends stay in touch?
Not me, though. I had only one question when it was my turn to walk up in front of everybody as they announced my name: was I actually going to graduate?
I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a scholar. Studying pretty much never topped my ideal to-do list. And during my senior year I was doing so poorly in one class I didn’t even know if I had passed the class. The final exam earlier that week would seal my fate, but grades wouldn’t post until a week later.
If I failed this class, I wouldn’t graduate high school.
In the end, I squeaked by on the thinnest possible margin and did graduate. (Whew!) At that point I had 14 months until I turned 19, the missionary age at the time. I intended on working during that time to save money for my mission. I knew I wasn’t much of a student, so under no circumstances did I plan on attempting college.
Have you ever felt like that? Like your past performance in some part of your life has proven your abilities once and for all?
Don’t fall for that line of thinking. It’s one of Satan’s biggest lies!
“Once any of us conclude—‘That’s just the way I am,’ we give up our ability to change,” taught Elder Donald L. Hallstrom of the Presidency of the Seventy. “We might as well raise the white flag, put down our weapons, concede the battle, and just surrender—any prospect of winning is lost.”1
School can seem especially intimidating when you’re not doing well. With even a few bad grades on your record, it’s all too easy to decide that’s as good as you’ll ever get. But it’s not true.
“Who we are is not who we can become,” Elder Hallstrom said.2
Despite what nagging whispers of doubt or failure might reach our ears, we can always choose to look ahead and stop beating ourselves up over the past.
“There is something incredibly hopeful about a fresh start,” taught President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency.3
When deciding to make a fresh start, don’t forget to pray to God for help. Tell Him you want to succeed and then pay attention to promptings and guidance from the Holy Ghost and from your leaders.
This might require a bit of priority shuffling. “Our daily conduct and choices should be consistent with our goals,” said Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Many choices are not inherently evil, but if they absorb all of our time and keep us from the best choices, then they become insidious.”4
Fast-forward three and a half years from my high school graduation ceremony. I had worked for around a year and a half, served a two-year mission, and ultimately decided to try college after all.
I wish I could say I felt all grown-up and ready for school, but that’s laughable. I felt more intimidated than ever. If I was so bad at high school, how in the world could I handle college? This time I resolved to do my best and involve God along the way. I prayed fervently to develop new and better study skills.
To my complete shock, I ended up doing so well that semester that I qualified for academic scholarships. Nobody was more surprised than me! Even so, I could also easily look back over the previous months and see the hand of God helping me along as I learned to become a good student.
What I believed about myself back in high school simply wasn’t true. From that point on and with God’s help, I was able to forge a completely new path that carried me through college graduation and beyond.
When we involve the Lord in our climb and decide to make a new start in any area of life, we can reach heights we never dreamed possible.

My family was flying from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to a town in the north of that country called Posadas. I am 15, and although I had been on airplanes before, I was not used to flying in a plane as small as this one. It held about 50 people and must have been about 50 years old. I got a shiver down my back at the thought of crashing, but dismissed it. The plane was a little shaky, like me at that moment, but I was not terrified because I was with my family.
As we began to cross over a large body of water the plane started to tremble and shake a lot. That was when I felt terror. So I closed my eyes and, almost instinctively, said a prayer. I had learned to always pray when in trouble.
As I was asking my Heavenly Father for protection I felt a calm assurance that everything would be all right. I opened my eyes and looked out my window. It was early morning, and while I had been saying my prayer the sunlight and the lake had merged to make the sky and water a deep blue—both foaming with puffs of heavenly white. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever beheld. My fear was gone, and the clouds that once caused the plane to tremble now seemed like Heavenly Father’s loving arms.
Safe in the knowledge that the Lord was watching over us, I began to study the water and the sky for some time, imagining the raging storms that must occur in both. And I thought about my own life, with all of the daily problems, or storms, that I am constantly getting caught in.
Though I’ve been a member of the Church all my life, I had never realized so fully the influence Heavenly Father can have. I knew he has provided an escape from the storms of the world. I realized that by praying, and by holding to the iron rod, I can rise above the storms and reach the emotional and spiritual heights where I can feel his love.
For 15 years I had prayed every day, but I never knew if it was really helping. But on that day in the sky over Argentina, a simple prayer opened my eyes. It was only a starting point, but it helped me understand how much love Heavenly Father has for me. That’s one of the many ways I know that he lives and that I should always call on him in prayer.

Elder Oaks tells a story of a young woman who exercised that kind of faith and trust. For many months, her mother had been seriously ill. Finally, the faithful father called the children to her bedside and told them to say good-bye to their mother because she was dying. The twelve-year-old daughter protested: “Papa, I do not want my mamma to die. I have been with her in the hospital for six months; time and time again you have administered to her, and she has been relieved of her pain and quietly gone to sleep. I want you to lay hands upon my mamma and heal her.”

The father, who was Elder Heber J. Grant, told the children that he felt in his heart that their mother’s time had arrived. The children left, and he knelt by his wife’s beside. Later he recalled his prayer: “I told the Lord I acknowledged his hand in life and in death. But I told the Lord that I lacked the strength to have my wife die and to have it affect the faith of my little children” He pleaded with the Lord to give his daughter “a knowledge that it was His mind and His will that her mamma should die.”

Within an hour the mother died. When Elder Grant called the children back into her room and told them, his little six-year-old boy began to weep bitterly. The twelve-year-old sister took him in her arms and said: “Do not weep, Heber; since we went out of this room, the voice of the Lord from heaven has said to me, ‘In the death of your mamma, the will of the Lord shall be done.’”

It happens almost every Sunday evening. After church and after the dinner dishes are washed, nine-year-old Xinia (pronounced ZEEN-ya) gets out a pencil and several sheets of lined paper and starts writing her letters.
She sits at the kitchen table, absorbed with her writing. Sometimes she’ll look up to ask someone how to spell a word or to say something she remembers about the person she is writing to. But during most of her letter-writing time, she seems to be in her own world—or in the world of the person who is lucky enough to get her letter.
Who is she writing to? “The missionaries,” she answers with a smile. The letter she is working on now is for Elder Ed McCoy, a close friend of the family, who is serving a mission in California. Ed is the only member of his family who belongs to the Church, and Xinia makes sure that he gets at least one letter every week—hers.
“He used to come to our house for Sunday dinner,” she says. After he left for his mission, Sunday evening just didn’t seem complete without visiting with Ed—even if only through a letter. Before long, she started writing letters to the other missionaries, too. Now Xinia writes a letter nearly every Sunday evening to all six missionaries from Belize City. Sometimes she also writes to missionaries who served in Belize and have now returned to their homes. Every Monday morning, her mother mails a stack of Xinia’s letters to places such as Honduras, England, Canada, and the United States.

Not long ago I received a letter concerning a choice young deacon, Isaac Reiter, and the deacons, teachers, and priests who served, lifted, and blessed his life and their own lives.
Isaac fought cancer from the time he was seven months old until his death at age 13. When he and his family moved to a home near a hospital so that Isaac could receive proper medical attention, the Aaronic Priesthood members in the nearby ward were asked to provide the sacrament to them each Sunday. This weekly ordinance became a favorite of the Aaronic Priesthood holders who participated. Along with their leaders and Isaac’s family, they would gather around Isaac’s hospital bed, sing hymns, and share testimonies. Then the sacrament would be blessed. Isaac always insisted that, as a deacon, he pass the sacrament to his family and to those who had brought it. As he lay in his bed, he gathered the strength to hold a plate of either the blessed bread or water. All present would come to Isaac and partake of the sacrament from the plate. Nurses and other medical staff soon began to participate in the meeting as they realized that Isaac was close to his Heavenly Father and always honored Him. Though weak and in pain, Isaac always held himself with the honor of someone holding a royal priesthood.
Isaac was a great example to the young men in the ward. They saw his desire to fulfill his duties, even on his deathbed, and they realized that those duties were really privileges. They began showing up earlier in order to prepare the sacrament and to be in their seats on time. There was more reverence.
Isaac Reiter became a living sermon concerning honoring the priesthood. At his funeral, it was said that throughout his life he had one foot in heaven. No doubt he continues to magnify his duties and assist in the work beyond the veil.

With those two extremes in mind, I would now like to give some examples which might help us inch our way into the center of the spectrum or toward that elusive balance. A few years ago I learned a great lesson while laboring as the new managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. We were at a critical stage in the history of welfare. It was time to go through an agonizing reappraisal of the program in light of current world conditions. I was beside myself with worry and concern.

After praying for a solution, I decided to ask for meetings with some of the Brethren. I poured out my concerns and added my feeling that we were at a stage where further revelation on the subject was necessary. Then I sat back with my yellow note pad and Cross pen and waited for pearls of wisdom.

They each gave me the same pearl: “Brother Pace, I commend you for your concern and conscientiousness in finding solutions to these weighty matters. I, too, have some deep concerns and anxieties, and you are absolutely right—we do need revelation. Now, go get it!” Who, me? I was an employee of the Church, not a General Authority; but I had the responsibility to bring forth well-thought-out recommendations to the Brethren which could be confirmed, modified, or rejected in the appropriate forums. It was my obligation and right to receive inspiration, but it came with intense, agonizing study, research, and meditation.
What can we learn about balance from the recent fuss about historical documents? The lessons on straying off center are vivid. Would the discovery of any document, no matter how contradictory to what you believe to be true, destroy your testimony? It may raise some intellectual questions, but it need not destroy your testimony. There is an avenue to truth greater than intellect and more certain than the five senses. The most glorious of all avenues to truth is direct revelation from heaven. A saving testimony will never come from a spectacular historical or archaeological find, and a testimony need never be lost on the basis of such a find.
This does not mean we should have no interest in history. I love Church history, and my joy when visiting Church historical sites is intensified by knowing their background. But the more lasting impressions are from what is felt there, rather than what is remembered.
A few years ago my wife and I went to some of these sites. Two experiences come to mind which have relevance to this search for balance. In Jackson County we sat on the lawn within the boundaries of the future Jackson County temple. It was sunset. We were alone. We talked of history and prophecies of the future. But we remember most the sweet, peaceful, spiritual witness that Jesus Christ stands at the head of this church and that Joseph Smith is what he claimed to be, a prophet of God. No amount of historical research alone can bring to pass that spiritual witness. It comes only when we become attuned and learn to recognize spiritual things. However, the spiritual witness was strengthened by our knowledge of what has happened and what will happen there. That evening we found the elusive balance.
The next day we strayed off center. We went to Adam-ondi-Ahman, part of a sacred past and destined to be included in a sacred future. Knowing this history helped us understand the significance of the land. We had a history book which told of an altar of Adam and the Nephites. We didn’t know subsequent research has given rise to some questions on the exact location. We arrived an hour before sunset and, in search of the precise location of the altar, we drove to and fro becoming more frustrated by the minute. Fortunately, we came to our senses and drove to a knoll just in time to watch the sunset and enjoy the spirit of the place. Again, the Lord blessed us with a spiritual experience which can be recalled vividly upon reflection.
How often do we get so involved in the search for historical and archaeological details that we fail to take advantage of spiritual experiences right before our eyes. The same historical knowledge which can intensify spiritual experiences can destroy spirituality when we stray too far off center.
A complete testimony was never intended to be gained through history, except that kept by prophets and coming forth as scripture. The Lord didn’t mean for our testimonies to be based on physical, historical evidence.
Do you remember what the Lord told Joseph regarding Martin Harris’s desire to see the plates? “Behold, if they will not believe my words, they would not believe you, my servant Joseph, if it were possible that you should show them all these things which I have committed unto you” (D&C 5:7).
There is no other way to gain a testimony but through the witness of the Holy Ghost. You can rely on nothing else. Spiritual manifestations are generally reserved for the spiritually mature, not so much as a trial of faith as to assure they are not mocked. One must become adept at recognizing the Spirit before a spiritual manifestation can be a sanctifying experience. We have numerous scriptural examples of how pointless a physical manifestation can be without the accompanying receipt of the witness of the Holy Ghost. Conversion comes not by physical manifestations from heaven.
Laman and Lemuel observed many miraculous manifestations such as that recorded in 1 Nephi 3:30–31: “And after the angel had spoken unto us, he departed.
“And after the angel had departed, Laman and Lemuel again began to murmur, saying: How is it possible that the Lord will deliver Laban into our hands? Behold, he is a mighty man, and he can command fifty, yea, even he can slay fifty; then why not us?” [1 Ne. 3:30–31]
Nephi couldn’t believe it and said, “and ye also know that an angel hath spoken unto you; wherefore can ye doubt?” (1 Ne. 4:3). Here we have an example of knowledge being of no eternal value because the Spirit was absent.
Nephi put his finger on Laman’s and Lemuel’s problem in 1 Nephi 17:45. “Ye are swift to do iniquity but slow to remember the Lord your God. Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time; and he hath spoken unto you in a still small voice, but ye were past feeling.” [1 Ne. 17:45]
Even in heavenly manifestations we must acquire the ability to recognize the Spirit and feel the experience as well as see and hear it. Were it not so, Satan could thoroughly confuse us with his own demonstrations. Despite all the spectacular manifestations received by the Nephites and Lamanites at the birth of the Savior, within a short period of time doubts crept into the minds of those who were not converted.
“The people began to forget those signs and wonders which they had heard, and began to be less and less astonished at a sign or a wonder from heaven, insomuch that they began to be hard in their hearts, and blind in their minds, and began to disbelieve all which they had heard and seen—
“Imagining up some vain thing in their hearts, that it was wrought by men and by the power of the devil, to lead away and deceive the hearts of the people” (3 Ne. 2:1, 2).
If a witness of the Spirit is necessary to discern the validity of a visit by an angel, how very vital that witness is in more subtle situations.
How can we acquire the ability to recognize a witness of the Spirit? Even as I attempt to explain, I know it’s impossible to convey an understanding of this phenomenon. We must make the discovery privately and individually.
First, remove yourself from the guilt feelings you have experienced when you have fallen short in your attempts to recognize the Spirit. Have any of you ever been certain you have received a spiritual witness only to have subsequent events prove you were in error? Have any of you had a spiritual witness you dismissed as indigestion only to find out you blew it?
We have more patience with our failures in learning to ski than we do in learning how to recognize the Spirit. When we fall going down the slope, we get up, laugh at ourselves, and try again. When we have a failure in recognizing the Spirit we feel great guilt and are reluctant to go forward. It’s natural to have spiritual setbacks. It’s okay. It’s all right. Stay with it.
We all know it takes years of practice to become a professional athlete and a price must be paid. However, we expect to be overnight successes in spiritual things.
Joseph Smith said, “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas, so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon; (i.e.) those things that were presented unto your minds by the Spirit of God, will come to pass; and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation until you become perfect in Christ Jesus” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 151).
Please note he said, “you may grow into the principle of revelation.” To become proficient in basketball one practices shooting countless shots. By repeating successful approaches and changing failures, the player gets the uncanny ability of knowing as soon as the ball leaves his hands whether the shot will be good or not.
In spiritual things we need to learn when we have had a witness of the Spirit and be able to recognize a counterfeit thrown at us by Satan or self-imposed by our own ambition and desire. Sometimes a young man will tell his girlfriend, “I have received a spiritual witness that you are to be my wife.” In some cases I would suggest the witness is more a desire than a manifestation. If, when the time comes, you receive that witness, put it to the test. Ask her to marry you. If she says yes, you were right; if she says no, you were wrong. But keep your witness to yourself. She is perfectly capable of receiving her own revelation.
What does a spiritual confirmation feel like? It’s the feeling you have when you read the Book of Mormon. It’s the feeling you have when you talk of heavenly things with your parents or a valued friend. Learn to recognize it. Learn to follow it.
If it were possible, I would lay down a formula for instant and certain success. One of the reasons it is so hard to enjoy consistent success is that the variables change each day. We are in tune more on one day than another. We are more emotionally vulnerable on one day than another. Satan works harder on us on one day than another. However, with all the variables there is one constant. The Spirit witnesses only the truth.
If your success ratio for recognizing the Spirit is low, ask yourself these questions:
How well am I living the commandments?
Am I studying the scriptures in order that I might be more attuned to spiritual things?
Am I praying with real intent?
Have I done my homework and gone to the Lord with a well-thought-out solution?
Have I learned to recognize a stupor of thought?
Can I honestly say “thy will be done” and am I willing to take no for an answer?
Don’t fail to invest adequate time learning things of the Spirit. I’m not speaking of religion classes, although I heartily endorse them. I’m speaking of learning how to recognize and obtain revelation. It’s a lifetime course, but you don’t have to wait until graduation to receive benefits. The rewards are immediate. Close in on that elusive balance between intellectual pursuits and that of learning to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. There is a balance and it is incumbent on each of us to find it.

As I thought about all the gifts and cards we would be giving during another Christmas season, suddenly a question came to my mind. Of all the gifts I had received during Christmastime in the past, had any of them significantly affected my life? Then I remembered December 1963.
I was home alone because my parents had gone out. I was a young teacher at the time. Classes had ended, I was on vacation, and Christmas was fast approaching. I looked around for something to read, but I had already read everything in our home library. I decided to go see a neighbor who had a good book collection and had often loaned books to me. This time she offered a book that two young men—foreigners—had left with her.
“I’d like to know your opinion of it,” she said. “The content seems interesting.”
She then added that the young men were missionaries. Missionaries? My interest in the book immediately died. At the time I was not interested in anything having to do with religion, but I took the book anyway.
As I said good-bye, my neighbor added, “Inside the book you’ll find a little note they wrote, suggesting that before reading the book, a person needs to say a prayer to God.”
Not having any plans that rainy Saturday, I decided to read the “interesting” book. I opened it and found the note written by the missionaries. I put the book on my bed, knelt down, and for the first time in my life, offered up a prayer to God in my own words.
As I started to read, the story captivated me. How was young Nephi able to exercise such unshakable faith? I wondered if I would ever be capable of doing something like that. As I read the book of Mosiah, I drew strength from the words of King Benjamin. At the time I had no idea I was reading a book that would become my favorite for more than 40 years.
During those years the book’s pages have provided me with much support, comfort, and strength, and I have discovered many important insights that I shared in talks and lessons at the little Tucumán Branch in Argentina, where I was baptized and confirmed. Two years later, while serving a full-time mission, I also wrote little notes on pieces of paper, suggesting to investigators that they pray before reading the copy of the Book of Mormon my companion and I left in their hands.
So many years have passed since then. But how could I have forgotten the most precious Christmas gift I ever received and the neighbor who gave it to me? I can hardly remember her face, and I struggle to remember her name—Marina. Thank you, neighbor. You have my eternal gratitude.

In March, his physician told us that John had two options: (1) have a feeding tube inserted, which might sustain John’s life for a few more months but that would require him to stay mostly in bed; or (2) have John continue without the feeding tube and endure the difficulties that came with his inability to eat. The doctor said, “It’s your life. You should make the decision. What do you want to do?” Calmly and remarkably clearly, John replied, “No tube.”
Tears trickled from my eyes as we left the doctor’s office. Memories of John’s recent remarks and actions came to mind, making it clear that he had known this was coming and had already accepted it. My love for John led me to support his choice.
I believed I knew what that meant. In reality, I did not. Neither did I know how gratitude would ease my pain.
Throughout his life, John had loved the words of 1 Thessalonians 5:18: “In every thing give thanks.” Before mealtime prayers, for instance, John never asked someone to “say the blessing.” Instead, he always said, “Let’s give thanks.” John knew that gratitude was vital to happiness. He also knew, as the rest of that verse from Thessalonians continues about gratitude, “for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”
John recognized that death is part of God’s plan (see Alma 42:8–9) and that for him, death was near. But he continued faithful in Christ with gratitude.
After leaving the doctor’s office, John and I called a family council. Our family who lived far away joined us through video conferencing. We began with prayer. Then, as I held John’s hand, I shared his decision and what the doctor told us to expect. I spoke of the peace we both felt and reminded our family of the comforting feelings everyone had experienced for months. All of us, including the grandchildren, realized that Papa (as they called John) did not have long to live.
We had expressed gratitude to God for letting us all know that time with John was short and for granting us the opportunity to prepare emotionally. A few weeks prior to this day, our son Spencer had asked John how he felt about dying. John had responded, “I’ve lived a good life, and I am still trying to do so. I’m grateful for my life! As long as Carma Lee is by my side, I’m not eager to die, but I’m also not afraid.” John was prepared and, because of that, he felt at peace (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:30).
We sat in family council, with our hearts aching and tears falling, yet we also felt peace. We asked John if he had any last wishes. He looked at us with love and longing in his eyes; then, although for weeks he had only spoken in a whisper, he said one word distinctly: “Temple.” His sons immediately replied, “We’ll make that happen, Dad!”
Our family council ended with our sons, who were with us in person, giving both John and me a priesthood blessing. As they laid their hands on my head, gratitude filled me. I felt warmth, like that of a loving hug. I knew God would help us traverse the challenges ahead. He would soften the grief and help us find the joy.
That is exactly what happened! We soon attended the temple again, with our sons helping John through the endowment session. I was so grateful! The Spirit filled our hearts.
As John’s condition worsened, he and I continued our practice of beginning and ending each day with prayers of gratitude. As we did so, we found that grief did not overwhelm us or our posterity. Each one had opportunities to hug Papa and express their love and gratitude for him. We found moments of joy. Peace seeped into the hearts of our posterity and others who visited, strengthening them and softening their grief too.
However, despite the peace that prevailed in our home, watching my vibrant, exceedingly active husband deteriorate and lose 50 pounds in a month was heart-wrenching. Late at night on April 21, John lay in bed. He was surrounded by his children and me. We sensed that his spirit would depart his body at any moment. I lay beside him, holding his hand and whispering words of love and gratitude for our life. I thanked him for the inspiring example he had set as he responded to his afflictions by turning to the Lord in faith and gratitude. I kissed him. Within seconds, he was gone.
After John’s body was taken away, our family sat together in our home. Tears fell from our eyes as we expressed thankfulness that John’s mortal suffering had ended. Words of gratitude spilled from my mouth as I thought of the many tender mercies Heavenly Father had given to us (see 1 Nephi 1:20). God had enabled me to care for John in our home, despite having physical issues myself (which actually necessitated multiple surgeries not long after John died).
As we talked, I was comforted as I expressed thanks for the eternal promises of our temple covenants (see Doctrine and Covenants 132:19–20). I told my children I felt like Johnny was hugging me, confirming what I was saying as I expressed gratitude. What a joyous feeling! I reminded my family of President Russell M. Nelson’s words in November 2020: “Practicing gratitude may not prevent us from experiencing sorrow, anger, or pain, but it can help us look forward with hope.”1
Suddenly, I felt a heavenly embrace so strongly that it filled me with awe. I also felt that John was well and happy and that I should be too. Right then, I promised myself—and my sweetheart—that I would be.
As the weeks passed, I marveled that most often peace and joy, not grief, dominated my heart. I contemplated why. One day, I decided to research the words of our prophets and apostles that relate to grief and gratitude. They confirmed what I had already concluded: that I had been strengthened by the comforting power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, along with my gratitude.
The title of a 2005 Ensign article by President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) struck me deeply. It was called “The Profound Power of Gratitude.” In that article, President Monson said:
“God in His infinite mercy has not left grieving loved ones to wonder. He has provided truth. He will inspire an upward reach, and His outstretched arms will embrace you. Jesus promises to one and all who grieve, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’ [John 14:18].”2
I realized I had been experiencing God’s comfort and embrace. They were profound and powerful! They enabled me to look at John’s picture each morning and smile as I said, “Thank you!” to him and to God!
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has perfectly described what I experienced: “When we are grateful to God in our circumstances, we can experience gentle peace in the midst of tribulation. In grief, we can still lift up our hearts in praise. In pain, we can glory in Christ’s Atonement. In the cold of bitter sorrow, we can experience the closeness and warmth of heaven’s embrace.”3
These blessings were what I had felt within minutes of John’s death and in the days since! I am grateful for the peace in my heart and how I continually feel God’s embrace. I never want to lose those feelings! And so, I continue to express gratitude daily for my sacred experiences, for gospel knowledge that brings me closer to Jesus Christ, for the strengthening comfort made possible by Him and His Atonement, and for an eternal perspective and the hope of spending eternity with my Johnny.

About halfway through my third year at college, I realized that the money I had saved to pay for rent and utilities would not be sufficient to get me through the summer. It was that time of year when I could work to pay for the next semester. I found a part-time job as a shop assistant.
All went well until my work schedule changed to include Sundays. During the job interview, I hadn’t said anything about not working on Sundays because at the time the store was closed that day. Nevertheless, the job was important to me, and I liked what I was doing. I worked with a friend, and between us we could be free on two Sundays and work the other two. This let me attend some Church meetings and attend to my calling.
However, soon I found that I could not keep up with this schedule. I actually had a feeling that I wasn’t able to fulfill my Sunday responsibilities even if I didn’t work every Sunday. I started asking myself what I could do to change this situation. After I had prayed to ask for a way to soften the heart of my supervisors, I read 1 Nephi 7. I remembered reading verse 19, where, after Nephi had prayed, the hearts of his brethren were softened. Finally, I was able to speak to my employers about not working on Sundays.
I told my superiors that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they asked me about what Latter-day Saints believed. When I asked them if I could have Sundays off, the response was no. They pointed out that during my first interview, I had said I was available to work any day of the week and had never mentioned any religious needs.
The months passed without any change until one Sunday I rushed out of Church meetings to hurry to work. I asked myself, “What is most important to you?” The response was immediate and impossible to miss: the Church, the gospel, service in my calling, participation with all my heart in Sunday meetings, and discipleship in word and deed.
I decided that I would ask again not to work on Sundays, but this time I would do it with a letter of resignation in my hands, in case they told me no a second time.
I had prayed, fasted, and received supportive text messages from friends.
At the moment of my interview, even though my heart was fluttering, I was calm because I knew I was doing the right thing. This time my supervisor said yes. My prayer had been answered. I tore up my resignation letter as soon as I got home.
I received many blessings from this experience, but the most immediate and tangible blessing was that I was able to keep my job and still keep the Sabbath day holy. For that I am truly grateful to the Lord.

Sometimes, you simply have to take a stand. “The greatest challenge for me was saying no, because all of my friends would go out Friday nights drinking, smoking, some doing drugs,” explains Maxine Ireland, 15. “They’d always ask me. They didn’t ever give up. At first I made excuses why I couldn’t go. But finally I explained what I believe and why I would never do those things. After that, they left me alone.”

October, 1977. With the postlude organ music filling the Salt Lake Tabernacle on Temple Square, Elder Yoshihiko Kikuchi, newly sustained as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, stood near an entrance greeting acquaintances. One of them, a stake president from Japan, introduced a friend of his, R. Gordon Porter, a stake president in Salt Lake City.
“President Porter,” said Elder Kikuchi, “didn’t you serve a mission to Japan?”
“Well, yes, I did,” replied President Porter, wondering how Elder Kikuchi knew.
They were still shaking hands, Elder Kikuchi staring closely at President Porter. “You confirmed me a member of the Church.”
Incredulous, President Porter thought back to his time in Japan. “It had been almost twenty years,” he later said, “but as we shook hands I could suddenly remember that home in Hokkaido, and I could see that young gakusei [student] standing at the door as my senior companion, Delmont Law, talked with him.”
This meeting, across two decades and thousands of miles, is an apt symbol of how the gospel has affected the life of Yoshihiko Kikuchi, taking him from one unexpected transition to another. Through all those changes, he has remained both faithful and humble.

For example, for me Compassion 401 was taught by a loving former BYU professor named J. Douglas Gibb. Let me share a sample of the curriculum. I didn’t know Dr. Gibb when I arrived for the first day of a communications class he taught. I only knew that the classroom was overcrowded and that before we could get started he would need to dismiss many unregistered students who were now trying to add the class.

Looking us over, he simply asked, “How many of you are registered for this class?” About two-thirds of us raised our hands. “Read chapter one,” he told us. “See you on Wednesday.” And with that, we were excused.

I went into the hallway but decided to turn back and watch. Dr. Gibb talked to every student in the room. Where there was a necessity, for graduation or other circumstances, he added someone, but mostly he just got to know the students, one by one. No one left the room without feeling his concern and receiving his help.

Almost embarrassed, he explained, “I’ve reached the point in my life where I just don’t want to offend anyone—not even my cat.”

Both then and now, Dr. Gibb is the type of man I want to be, and over the short dash of my undergraduate time at BYU I came to know him both as a friend and as a mentor. He changed my life and the lives of many others by the way he taught both inside and outside BYU’s classrooms.

And then I recalled just such a couple who requested some years ago that I perform their marriage ceremony. I shall call them Tim and Sue. They were a young man and woman of great promise. They had come from good homes. They were well educated. They professed a deep affection one for another. The ceremony was such that it should have been unforgettable, with eternal blessings pronounced under authority of the priesthood of God.
The years have passed, and three children have come to that home. From outward appearances they have been a happy family, but recently Tim and Sue came to see me again, this time each alone. There were no smiles, only tears. They came to talk of divorce. Words of love, once spoken in deep earnestness, had now become words of accusation. It was unbelievable. It was like a vicious March storm that suddenly follows the warmth of the first soft day of spring.
“What of the children?” I asked. Sue replied that she thought separation preferable to exposing the children to their constant quarreling. The children, she said, were old enough to feel the meanness of those arguments. They were sensitive enough to experience deep wounds that will leave ugly scars.
What had happened to Tim and Sue? What is happening to tens of thousands like them? Why is it that in this country approximately one in three or four marriages ends in divorce?
Some 400,000 couples are divorced each year in the United States. They are the parents of more than half a million children. More than six million of the adults of this nation are now divorced or separated.
Even in those lands where divorce is difficult if not impossible to obtain, the same disease is evident—the same nagging, corrosive evils of domestic misery, of separation, of abandonment, and of immoral and illegal relationships.
Here is one of the tragic reasons for mounting juvenile delinquency: literally millions of children who come from homes where there is no parental love and consequently very little child security. Here is a root cause of our soaring public welfare burden, which is devouring billions of our treasure. Here is a denial of the kind of family ordained of God from the beginning. Here is heartbreak and failure.
I do not wish to dwell further on the problem. It is all too obvious. Rather, I desire to say a few words about the prevention of such tragedy.
To those of you who, with glad hearts, dream of marriage and the establishment of a home, I wish to repeat what was said of old: “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.” (Ps. 127:1.)
May I quickly suggest four cornerstones upon which to build that house? There are others, but I choose to emphasize these. They come of the gospel of Jesus Christ. They are not difficult to understand nor difficult to follow. They are well within your reach with a little effort; and I do not hesitate to promise you that if you will establish the home of which you dream on these foundation stones, the perils of your married life will be diminished, your love for one another will strengthen through the years, you will bless the lives of your children and of your children’s children, and you will know happiness in this life and joy eternal.
The first of these I call Respect for One Another, the kind of respect that regards one’s companion as the most precious friend on earth and not as a possession or a chattel to be forced or compelled to suit one’s selfish whims.
Pearl Buck has observed, “Love cannot be forced. … It comes out of heaven, unasked and unsought.” (The Treasure Chest, p. 165.)
This respect comes of recognition that each of us is a son or daughter of God, endowed with something of his divine nature, that each is an individual entitled to expression and cultivation of individual talents and deserving of forbearance, of patience, of understanding, of courtesy, of thoughtful consideration. True love is not so much a matter of romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the well being of one’s companion.
Companionship in marriage is prone to become commonplace and even dull. I know of no more certain way to keep it on a lofty and inspiring plane than for a man occasionally to reflect upon the fact that the help-meet who stands at his side is a daughter of God, engaged with Him in the great creative process of bringing to pass His eternal purposes. I know of no more effective way for a woman to keep ever radiant the love for her husband than for her to look for and emphasize the godly qualities that are a part of every son of our Father and that can be evoked when there is respect and admiration and encouragement. The very processes of such actions will cultivate a constantly rewarding appreciation for one another.
The second thing I mention is a very simple thing, but I regard it as a very basic thing. For want of a better phrase I call it The Soft Answer.
It was said of old that “a soft answer turneth away wrath.” (Prov. 15:1.)
We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention. To me there has always been something significant in the description of the prophet Elijah’s contest with the priests of Baal. The scripture records that “a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.” (1 Kgs. 19:11–12.)
The voice of heaven is a still small voice; likewise, the voice of domestic peace is a quiet voice.
There is need for a vast amount of discipline in marriage, not of one’s companion, but of one’s self.
I know of few more meaningful statements for fathers and for fathers-to-be than this counsel given by President David O. McKay. Said he: “A father can do no greater thing for his children than to let them feel that he loves their mother.”
How much greater the peace in the homes of the people, how much greater the security in the lives of the children, how much less divorce and separation and misery, how much more gladness and joy and love there would be if husbands and wives would cultivate the discipline of speaking softly one to another, and if both would so speak to their children.
Declared Paul: “… ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath. …” (Eph. 6:4.)
I repeat, the voice of domestic peace is a gentle voice.
I turn now to the third cornerstone on which to establish a stable and happy home. I title it Honesty with God and with One Another.
A wise man with long experience as a lawyer, as a counselor, as a church leader once told me that he was convinced that money is perhaps the major factor in strained marital relations and the tragic consequences that flow therefrom.
My young friend of whom I spoke earlier accused his wife of being extravagant, a waster of their means. In bitterness she told me that he was stingy, a poor provider. Their bickering over pennies had led to the erosion of their love.
I am convinced that there is no better discipline nor one more fruitful of blessings than for those who establish homes and families to follow the commandment given to ancient Israel through the prophet Malachi: “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, … and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)
Marriage usually brings with it the incurring of many obligations. To you, my young friends, I should like to suggest that you make it your first obligation to live honestly with God in the payment of your tithes and offerings. You will need his blessings; oh, how much you will need them! I give you my solemn testimony that he does that which he has promised to do. Among those blessings will be peace in the home and love in the heart.
As you discipline yourselves in the expenditure of your means, beginning with your obligations to your Father in heaven, the cankering selfishness that leads to so much strain in domestic affairs will go out of your lives, for if you will share with the Lord whom you do not see, you will deal more graciously, more honestly, and more generously with those whom you do see. As you live honestly with God, you will be inclined to live honestly with one another.
Now in conclusion, as the fourth cornerstone I should like to suggest Family Prayer.
I know of no single practice that will have a more salutary effect upon your lives than the practice of kneeling together as you begin and close each day. Somehow the little storms that seem to afflict every marriage are dissipated when, kneeling before the Lord, you thank him for one another, in the presence of one another, and then together invoke his blessings upon your lives, your home, your loved ones, and your dreams.
God then will be your partner, and your daily conversations with him will bring peace into your hearts and a joy into your lives that can come from no other source. Your companionship will sweeten through the years; your love will strengthen. Your appreciation for one another will grow.
Your children will know the security of a home where dwells the Spirit of the Lord. You will gather them together in that home, as the Church has counseled, and teach them in love. They will know parents who respect one another, and a spirit of respect will grow in their hearts. They will experience the security of the kind word softly spoken, and the tempests of their own lives will be stilled. They will know a father and mother who, living honestly with God, live honestly also with one another and with their fellowmen. They will grow up with a sense of appreciation, having heard their parents in prayer express gratitude for blessings great and small. They will mature with faith in the living God.
The destroying angel of domestic bitterness will pass you by and you will know peace and love throughout your lives which may be extended into all eternity. I could wish for you no greater blessing, and for this I humbly pray in your behalf, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I was young, I never wondered, “Should I go on a mission?” I always knew that I wanted to serve a mission, and I was called to be a missionary in England. Very early in my mission, I had a very important decision to make. I had to decide just what kind of missionary I was going to be. Was I going to be a really good missionary? Would I follow every rule and always do my best? Or would I just follow most of the rules and do my best some of the time? I decided that I wanted to be a really good missionary. Every day I got up at the time we were supposed to get up, or even a little early. Every day I studied the missionary discussions and the scriptures. And every day my companion and I tried to not miss any opportunities to talk to people about the gospel.
I have always found that when we do the little things correctly, the Lord gives us the strength to accomplish big things. One day my companion and I were walking to an appointment when we both got the feeling that we should go another way. After we changed directions, we noticed a man walking toward us. He was wearing a Brigham Young University sweatshirt. We stopped and asked him about it.
He said that his sister had traveled across the United States. She had stopped in Provo, Utah, and bought him the shirt at the BYU campus bookstore. Neither he nor his sister was a member of the Church, and he knew nothing about it or BYU. My companion and I were able to teach this man and his wife about the gospel and baptize them. Meeting this man was not a coincidence. The Holy Ghost guided my companion and me to meet him. Because we were following the rules and keeping the commandments, we were able to hear the still, small voice.

When Jesse Gneiting’s older brother James received the Eagle award in Scouting, Jess promised himself that someday he, too, would become an Eagle Scout. He earned the Star award at the age of 13 (right on schedule) and began his Eagle Scout service project—earning money to purchase an American flag for his hometown community of Lewisville, Idaho. The fund-raising part of the project consisted of collecting aluminum cans around Lewisville and out on the desert where his family farmed. Jess’s plans were continuing well and his advancement to Eagle seemed only months away. But then an unexpected obstacle appeared.
After returning from a leadership training program for Scouts of the Teton Peaks Council, Jess noticed a lump on his leg just below the knee. A preliminary examination didn’t show anything wrong, but when the lump didn’t recede and it became painful for Jess to walk, his parents took him back to the doctor.
“I may have rheumatic fever,” Jess told his mother as he left the doctor’s office. “I’m to go to the hospital tomorrow for tests.”
Soon after, Sister Gneiting took Jess to the Idaho Falls hospital were X-rays were taken and he was told he had cancer. He and his parents were advised to leave immediately for the University Hospital in Salt Lake City. Tests there revealed that surgery was necessary, and during the operation, Jess’s leg was amputated above the knee.
Five days after the operation he came home and began chemotherapy and other treatments. At times the medication made him so sick he wouldn’t recover for a week. Afterwards, however, he would return to school where he was student-body vice-president and editor of the yearbook. He also began wrestling, the only sport in which he could participate.
By Christmas, the treatments had drained Jess’s body of all energy. But he began to feel better after chemotherapy had ended, and he earned the Life Scout award.
The National Boy Scout Jamboree in Pennsylvania was held the following spring, and Jess was able to attend, even though his monthly checkup in April revealed lung cancer. Upon his return, it was discovered the tumors in his lungs had doubled in size and another operation was imperative. Afterwards, Jess’s activities were severely curtailed and he was able to complete only two six-week terms the entire school year. Though he longed to return to school and participate in the activities, he was unable to do so.
Yet more than anything, Jess wanted to become an Eagle Scout, and during this time he began in earnest to accomplish that goal. To fill his days and keep his mind occupied, he worked on merit badges. His mother helped him by calling or taking papers to members of the Scout committee. His younger brother, Tom, and members of his troop, finished gathering the aluminum cans needed to complete his Eagle project.
Finally all of Jess’s application forms were in and approval was up to the board of review. On the second Sunday in May they came to the Gneiting home and interviewed Jess. His papers were sent immediately to the National Council in the East where approval generally takes from two weeks to a month. But Jess didn’t have that much time—each day he was getting weaker, and breathing had become so labored that he couldn’t live without an oxygen supply. The Scout office in Idaho Falls called headquarters to push Jess’s papers through, and as soon as they received approval, the court of honor was scheduled.
In May Jess received the Eagle award. Almost everyone in Lewisville attended the ceremony, including every Scout leader in the district. Jess’s brother James made the presentation. Jess himself presented the flag to Bishop R. LaVon Walker of the Lewisville First Ward, Rigby Idaho Stake, to be used by the small community.
On June 15, the Gneiting family went fishing at a nearby lake. That evening, for the first time since he had become ill, Jess let his father carry him into the house, and before he went to sleep, Jess told his parents, “I won’t make it through tomorrow.” At one the next afternoon, he died.
But nothing, not even cancer, had kept him from accomplishing his life’s goal—to become an Eagle Scout—a privilege he enjoyed for almost three weeks. (Written by Joyce Lindstrom)

When I was 16 years old, I had been attending church regularly for almost a year, but I was not a member of the Church yet. I really enjoyed going with my friends. However, my parents did not have kind feelings toward the Church or my attendance. This fear that I would join the Church led my family to decide that moving across the country from Arizona to North Carolina would be best. I was really upset, and I did not want to leave, but I had little choice in the matter.
On my last Sunday in Arizona the leaders knew that I was leaving and decided to have a testimony meeting just for us boys. It was amazing for me to hear the testimonies of my closest friends and others in this meeting. I could feel the Spirit so strongly I could almost touch it. As the boys took their turns bearing their testimony, I could not stop myself from standing.
I bore a simple but heartfelt testimony that I knew the Church was true and that Jesus is my Savior. I had never borne my testimony before, but as the words came out of my mouth, I realized how much I knew they were true. As 16-year-old youth, it was hard for any of us to show our feelings, but I know that I was not the only one a little choked up. I felt so good, and it was a feeling of eternal joy. I was home. It was at that meeting that I knew that I would join myself with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My whole conversion process can point to this one moment as the turning point.
I am so glad I had this lesson, because despite all my prayers, my family and I moved to North Carolina. I had hope, for I knew that just because I was moving away from my friends, I was not moving away from the Lord. The simple testimony I had gained carried me through my time in North Carolina, even though I was no longer allowed to attend church during our time there. When my family moved back, my parents’ hearts were softened a little, and I was allowed to attend Church meetings again. On my 18th birthday, I was baptized, thanks in part to a lesson on testimony.

I was thrilled when I passed the driving test and at long last was permitted to drive the family station wagon. My parents gave me a set of keys, which I proudly attached to my keychain, vowing to honor their trust in me. But one evening, while my parents were away, a heavy rainfall and a weak moment tested my good intentions.
My parents left my brothers and me for a few hours while they ran some errands. It started raining, and soon we saw large puddles outside of the house. We lived in an area surrounded by rich farmland, and whenever the ground was soaked by a good rain, fat earthworms (we called them night crawlers) would pop to the surface, almost like magic. When the rain cleared, we could see hundreds of plump night crawlers slithering along the slick mud around our garden and along the walkways.
My brother Bobby wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but he approached me with an idea for earning some money from the worms. He’d heard about a place across town that purchased night crawlers for fishing bait. He figured we could collect hundreds of night crawlers from the wet ground, drive to the bait store, sell them, and then be back before our parents returned. I didn’t know much about fishing or selling bait, but I knew I shouldn’t drive the car without permission. I rationalized that I knew how to drive safely and we wouldn’t be gone very long. But first, of course, we had to collect the worms.
It was still damp outside when we gathered flashlights and a few empty cans and began digging through the soft mud in search of the slithery creatures. The plan didn’t quite hold the attraction for me that it did for my brother, but I got past my squeamishness and grabbed my share of squirmy night crawlers. We spent some time picking worms from the mud and then realized that we needed to hurry across town to the bait shop. I didn’t know where it was, but my brother assured me he knew how to get there.
I followed his directions, and soon we found ourselves driving through dark and unfamiliar streets. We were miles from our home and safety. My brother was determined to sell the worms, but all I wanted was to get back home as fast as possible. Just as I was ready to turn the car around, we saw a dimly lit shed ahead of us, with people standing in line holding jars and buckets. I reluctantly agreed to stop at the shed just long enough to sell the night crawlers. However, the line moved very slowly, and more time passed before my brother finally made it to the counter where they weighed the worms and paid us for them. We knew we had been gone far longer than we planned.
When we pulled into the driveway, our parents were already home. My heart sank; I knew I would be in a lot of trouble for taking the car without permission. My stomach was tight as I remembered the numerous opportunities I’d had that evening to make better choices. We held our heads low as we entered by the back door, hoping to avoid attention. No such luck. But we were unprepared for the reaction.
Our parents sat at the kitchen table, their faces stricken with fear and grief. Tears poured down our mother’s face; our father’s eyes were red, and he was clearly distraught. Rather than greeting us with anger, they both cried out in relief that we were alive and safe. Then they asked where we had been.
I felt very foolish and childish as I offered my stammering answer: “Um … we were out selling night crawlers.” Their grief and emotion cut me to the soul. I would never knowingly or intentionally have caused my parents such hurt, but I knew I had done exactly that. I was acutely aware that I had not lived up to the trust and responsibility they’d placed in me, nor had I lived up to my own goals.
The lessons I learned that night were far reaching. I had given my parents my word, and I didn’t keep it. When we make a covenant with Heavenly Father, we have a responsibility to keep it. Just as my parents were thankful to see us come home, Heavenly Father welcomes us with love when we return to Him.
Eventually the trip my brother and I made to the bait store became part of our family folklore. For years it served as a gentle reminder that we always need to be on the right path. Otherwise, one of our parents was sure to ask, “Were you out selling night crawlers?”

I helped with a project at school to make “bottles of love,” which are plastic bottles filled with single-use plastics. These are items that are used once and thrown away, like plastic bags. Each family made bottles of love and took them to school. The bottles were sent to an organization that made them into plastic bricks. The bricks could be used to build outdoor benches and houses for people in need.
I realized that my family uses a lot of plastic daily, which is a real environmental problem. I wanted to start caring for the environment. But I couldn’t do it alone. So I decided to ask people at church to help too. I spoke with my leaders and the bishop of the ward. He asked me to talk about the project in a meeting. Many people joined the project. After a few months, we collected more than 100 bottles of love!
The project continues today. When I collect a lot of bottles, I go with my family and Primary friends to the drop-off area. We leave the bottles there to be turned into building materials.
I like this project. It makes me feel that I can really help this world that God created for us. It helps me value and respect nature and animals. Taking care of nature is one way I can follow the Savior. I also like that it’s a way to help others.
Sometimes it’s not easy to take the time to make the bottles of love. But I feel that we can change and choose to do small, good acts daily. I also learned that to do something “big” we need the help of others. We can impact others and help them join the change. I believe this is an important part of the gospel of Jesus Christ: to change, help others, and do good in the world.

My boyhood home in California was located relatively close to large orchards of apricots, cherries, peaches, pears, and other delicious fruits. We also lived near fields of cucumbers, tomatoes, and a variety of vegetables.
As a boy I always looked forward to canning season. I did not like scrubbing the canning jars or working in our hot kitchen. But I did like working with my mom and dad. And I loved eating my work! I am sure I ate more fruit than ever made it into any of our canning jars.
My memories of time spent in the kitchen with Mom and Dad are stirred every time I see a bottle of home-canned cherries or peaches. The basic lessons I learned about temporal self-reliance and provident living while picking and canning produce have blessed me throughout my life. Interestingly, simple and ordinary experiences often provide the most important learning opportunities we ever have.
A pickle is a cucumber that has been transformed according to a specific recipe and series of steps. The first steps in the process of changing a cucumber into a pickle are preparing and cleaning. I remember many hours spent on the back porch of my home removing stems from and scrubbing dirt off of the cucumbers we had picked. My mom was very particular about the preparing and cleaning of the cucumbers. She had high standards of cleanliness and always inspected my work to make sure this important task was properly completed.
The next steps in this process of change are immersing and saturating the cucumbers in salt brine for an extended period of time. To prepare the brine, my mom always used a recipe she learned from her mother—a recipe with special ingredients and precise procedures. Cucumbers can only become pickles if they are totally and completely immersed in the brine for the prescribed time period. The curing process gradually alters the composition of the cucumber and produces the transparent appearance and distinctive taste of a pickle. An occasional sprinkle of or dip in the brine cannot produce the necessary transformation. Rather, steady, sustained, and complete immersion is required for the desired change to occur.
The final step in the process requires the sealing of the cured pickles in jars that have been sterilized and purified. The pickles are packed in canning jars, covered with boiling hot brine, and processed in a boiling-water-bath canner. All impurities must be removed from both the pickles and the bottles so the finished product can be protected and preserved. As this procedure is properly followed, the pickles can be stored and enjoyed for a long period of time.

“No!” I shouted, staring at my father in disbelief. My dad had just announced that he had been called as a mission president and we would be moving to the South American country of Chile for three years. The world felt as if it were falling in around me. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. Three years. Chile. Moving. The thoughts swirled in my head until I felt dizzy.
I looked at my younger brother, David, who had previously been grinning broadly, as he promptly burst into tears upon seeing my display. I felt guilty to be putting on such a show, but I couldn’t help it. Three years away from everything I loved.
Suddenly another thought entered my mind: Russell! Russell, my 18-year-old brother whom I absolutely idolized, had just graduated from high school and would not be coming with us. “I won’t go!” I told myself. “I’ll stay here and live with my friends.” But even as I thought it, I knew that it wouldn’t work.
I was still upset when we drove to the airport four months later. On the plane, the flight attendant frequently handed me warm towels to dab away my tears. My dad put his arm around me and leaned in close to my ear. “A turtle doesn’t get anywhere by staying in its shell,” he whispered. “It has to stick its neck out.” At the time I didn’t realize how much wisdom was in those words or how many wonderful experiences awaited me.
We reached Chile, and I began sticking my neck out by meeting new people, making new friends, and attending a new school. I stuck my neck out as I learned Spanish, shared my beliefs with others, and learned about another culture by being a part of it. The adjustments weren’t easy, but each experience helped me improve. I slowly began to adapt and form a deep love for a country that I initially had wanted nothing to do with.
Before I knew it, three years had passed, and it was time for our family to leave. I remember sitting on the back porch of our home in Santiago, watching the sun casting the beautiful orange glow so typical of a Chilean sunset. “It’s incredible,” I thought. I had fought so hard against coming, and now I didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t imagine leaving the people with their friendly greetings and kisses on the cheek. I couldn’t imagine leaving the majestic snow-capped mountains and beautiful Pacific Ocean. I even loved the crazy buses that zipped through the streets of Santiago, the noisy street vendors, and the stray dogs.
“Okay, Whitney,” my dad called from inside the house. “It’s time to go.”
I got up and looked around for the last time. “Goodbye Chile,” I murmured quietly. “I’ll miss you.”
While I was excited to see my friends again, and I couldn’t wait to hug Russell, who had returned from his own mission a few days earlier, my heart felt like it was breaking. Living in Chile had changed me so much. My views, opinions, personality, dreams and hopes had all been shaped by my experience there. I didn’t fully realize how much I loved it and how wonderful and unique my time there had been.
As our plane touched down 10 hours later, my dad came and put his arm around me. “So, what did you learn?” he asked.
I smiled at him. “I learned that a turtle doesn’t get anywhere by staying in its shell. It has to stick its neck out.”