Gospel Story Finder

Early in my service as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was attending a conference in the Monument Park West Stake in Salt Lake City. My companion for the conference was a member of the General Church Welfare Committee, Paul C. Child. President Child was a student of the scriptures. He had been my stake president when I was an Aaronic Priesthood youth. Now we were together as conference visitors.
When it was his opportunity to participate, President Child took the Doctrine and Covenants and left the pulpit to stand among the priesthood to whom he was directing his message. He turned to section 18 and began to read: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God … And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:10, 15).
President Child then raised his eyes from the scriptures and asked the question of the priesthood brethren: “What is the worth of a human soul?” He avoided calling on a bishop, stake president, or high councilor for a response. Instead, he selected the president of an elders quorum—a brother who had been a bit drowsy and had missed the significance of the question.
The startled man responded: “Brother Child, could you please repeat the question?” The question was repeated: “What is the worth of a human soul?” I knew President Child’s style. I prayed fervently for that quorum president. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity and then declared, “Brother Child, the worth of a human soul is its capacity to become like God.”
All present pondered that reply. Brother Child returned to the stand, leaned over to me, and said, “A profound reply; a profound reply!” He proceeded with his message, but I continued to reflect on that inspired response.

Art’s son, Brody, loved the Church, but he was concerned about serving a full-time mission. He was nervous about his natural shyness. “I wasn’t a big talker,” he explains. And up to that time, he “wasn’t super motivated to study the gospel.” He prayed every day, but his worries persisted.
His family was supportive. His father recalls: “We reminded him how important his mission would be, not only for his own growth but also for those he would meet and teach.” Just the same, Brody remained nervous. That’s when the letters arrived.
They were an answer to Brody’s prayer. Reading them was like being able to sit down and visit with his own father years ago when he was the same missionary age. It was a profound experience. “The first letter talks about him struggling, like me,” Brody explains.
The second letter was written when his father got his call. “That’s the one that was crucial for me,” Brody says, “to see how excited he was. There was a great change.”
In the third letter, Brody’s father talks about his first area and his struggles learning how to teach the gospel. Brody learned another lesson: “The harder you work for something, the more rewarding it’s going to be. His decision was hard for him. The letter shows he’s glad he went.”
Brody’s parents saw how amazing the letters were. Brother Hansen realized that at the time he wrote them, he thought he was writing to his friend. But, as it turns out, he was really writing to his own son who would experience similar feelings and doubts 30 years down the road. “As an adult, I hadn’t been able to share those feelings in the same way,” his father says. “Brody needed to read about those feelings in writing from a 19-year-old’s perspective.”
What about Brody’s concern about his shyness and his gospel knowledge? The Lord helped him with those too. “At the Missionary Training Center, my teachers and my branch president reassured me that overcoming shyness and gaining gospel knowledge were things I could work on,” he recalls.
When Brody spoke in sacrament meeting before leaving on his mission, he says it was the first time he teared up at church. “My parents were pretty excited to hear me talk that much.”
Elder Hansen was called to the Switzerland Geneva Mission. He knows Heavenly Father answered his prayers. Those letters from his father weren’t delivered when expected, but they couldn’t have come at a better time. “The coolest part is the timing,” he says. “What can’t be explained is why those letters sat untouched in the mission home for all those years. I already know that God loves me, but this strengthened my testimony that He wants me to know I’m doing the right thing,” Brody says.
To others who may be struggling with the decision to serve a mission, Brody says, “Really pray about it. Be specific with the Lord. I hadn’t really done that before, and when I did, I got a specific answer.”
The answer may not come in the form of 30-year-old letters. “But the Lord will help you,” Elder Hansen explains. And he knows from experience.

On the first Saturday after Brad Rawlins returned home from his sophomore year of college, he woke up at 5:00 A.M. After his morning prayer, he put on what he used for playing tennis—a pair of gray gym shorts and a long-sleeved white shirt. The shirt was a remnant of his mission that wasn’t good enough to wear to church but also not worn enough to throw away.
After lacing up his tennis shoes, he walked quietly to his parents’ room.
“Dad,” he whispered from the doorway. There was no answer; he walked over to the bed. “Dad?” he said loudly.
“What’s wrong?” his dad asked, sitting quickly up in bed.
“Nothing, dad. It’s just me.”
“What time is it?”
“Five thirteen. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going over to play tennis, or at least hit the ball against the practice wall.”
“You woke me up at 5:00 on a Saturday morning to tell me that?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“What’s there to worry about?”
“I don’t know, dad. Parents are supposed to worry.”
“I never worry about you. You’re the most dependable person I know. How many boys when they are 15 plan their retirement?”
“I like to plan ahead. Did I tell you how my mutual funds did last quarter?”
“Brad, please leave me sleep,” his father groaned, lying back in bed.
Brad turned and padded silently toward the hall. At the door he paused to turn back to his father. “Let.”
“What?” his father snapped.
“Let me sleep, not leave me sleep,” Brad explained.
“What are you saying?”
“Poor grammar, dad. You should watch that.”
After Brad had left the house, his father lay in bed staring at the ceiling. After 15 minutes he woke up his wife.
“What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“I’m worried about Brad.”
“Why? He’s a dependable boy.”
“I know.”
“He works hard. He’s faithful in the Church. How many other boys his age are ward clerks?” she asked.
“But he’s no fun. We’ve raised a 22-year-old, middle-aged son. How on earth is he ever going to talk a girl into marrying him?”
They both lay there staring at the ceiling.
It was a bleak summer morning. The clouds hung in ominous clusters. Brad pulled up to the curb in his small compact car. He heard the steady thump of a ball being hit against the only practice wall on the court. He got out to see who it was.
She wore a blue warm-up suit. Her long, dark hair was tied in a ponytail that swung to the rhythm of her moves as she repeatedly hit the ball against the wall.
He stood behind and to the left of her, fascinated more by the grace she exhibited in her fluid movements than by her tennis skill. Finally the ball hit a metal post on the fence and bounced crazily away from her toward Brad, who picked it up and threw it back to her.
“Are you waiting to use this?” she asked, wiping her brow.
“Yes, but that’s okay,” he said.
“I was waiting for a friend,” she explained, “but I guess he isn’t coming. I’ll let you use this, and I’ll jog home.”
“I play tennis, if you want to practice.”
“That’s called mixed singles, isn’t it?” she asked with a smile.
“I can give references if you’re worried about what kind of person I am. In high school I won a dictionary for a speech contest on good citizenship. I’m a returned Mormon missionary. That’s why I’m wearing this white shirt. In another year it will be worn out.”
“I’m LDS too,” she said. “Third Ward.”
“Really? I’m Second Ward.”
“Can you play tennis?” she asked.
“I’m sure I can beat you,” he replied confidently.
He was not prepared for her serve, which rifled along the line and out before he could get to it.
“Fifteen-love,” she announced dryly.
“That was a nice serve.”
“I know.”
For the first time in his life, he found it hard to concentrate on the game. He found himself entranced by her movements. She tossed the ball vertically upward with her left hand, her right arm moving the racket initially behind her, and then rapidly toward the descending ball, the two meeting in air like some rendezvous. He absorbed everything about her motion—the gliding of her ponytail, the concentration on her tanned face. He was watching her follow-through when he noticed a ball landing near his feet and bouncing away.
“Thirty-love,” she called.
“I’m really better than this,” he tried to explain.
In the next few minutes he managed to bring the game to deuce. In the process he gained a respect for her skill.
The clouds, which had been gathering in the valley, finally spilled over.
“Deuce,” she announced, preparing to serve.
“It’s raining.”
“This will only take a minute,” she said.
“What will?”
“To beat you.”
“I don’t want to get wet.”
“Do you want to concede?” she asked cooly.
“No.”
“Let me serve then.”
By this time the rain was falling heavily. They ran to his car and waited for it to quit.
Away from the court her face lost the cool front reserved for competitors and took on the ability to convey emotion. On this morning the emotion was that of sadness.
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Jenny Thomson,” she answered, gazing forlornly out the window at the sheets of rain dancing on the courts.
“You’re really sad about not winning?” he asked.
“No, it’s not that. The guy who was supposed to meet me didn’t come. We’ve been going together for a year. We used to come here every morning and practice. Last night we got into a big argument. I thought he might come this morning and we could work out our problems. But he didn’t come.”
They talked about school, the Church, her interests, his summer job as a computer programmer in a bank.
From out of the rain, a soaked figure of a young man running appeared. He stopped beneath an enclosed picnic area and looked around.
“Craig, over here!” Jenny yelled, suddenly happy.
He ran over to her side of the car. He was obviously an athlete; he wore a red warm-up suit for the university track team.
“Get in or you’ll drown!” Jenny laughed, reaching up to tousle his dripping hair.
Craig climbed into the back seat of the car with difficulty, joking with her about the cramped leg room.
“Hey, kitten, I brought you some breakfast,” he said, bringing a small bag of donuts from a sewn-in pouch of his sweat shirt.
“I don’t usually eat in the car,” Brad said politely.
They were so happy to be together that they didn’t hear Brad. Brad observed the look in Jenny’s eyes when she talked to Craig and suddenly felt very lonely.
Craig reached up and touched her hair and grinned. “Kitten, you look like a witch. Stringy hair. Look at that.”
“I don’t think she looks like a witch,” Brad said.
Jenny turned around to face Craig. “How about you? You look like a fuzzy teddy bear that was left out in the rain!”
She turned back to the front. The car was so small that it was difficult for them to face each other when they talked.
“If you want to give me the donut sack, I have a place for litter,” Brad remarked, knowing that they probably wouldn’t hear.
“I was hoping you’d come and that we could talk,” Jenny said.
“Kitten, I need to see your face when we talk.”
Brad got out of the driver’s seat and jumped in the back, while Craig ran around to the driver’s seat.
Brad picked up the empty bag in the back and put some of the crumbs on the floor into it. He found that one of the chocolate iced donuts had spotted the upholstery.
Craig reached out and grabbed both her hands. “What we’ve got is too good to just throw away.”
“If we’re going to marry, it will be in the temple. If it’s in the temple, you’ll need a recommend. If you want a recommend, you’ve got to attend church.”
“I know, and I will.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a tournament.”
“Next Sunday?”
“I promised my brother I’d take him waterskiing.”
“When?”
“During the summer it’s hard to work everything in.”
“Say, Jenny,” Brad asked, “I’ve got a spray can of cleaner and a cloth in the glove compartment. Could you get it for me?”
Jenny released Craig’s hands and retrieved the cleaner and rag for Brad.
“Craig,” she said, “it’s always going to be that way. In the fall it’s football, and during the winter it’s skiing. When are you going to take things seriously?”
“Kitten, don’t you love me?”
“Sometimes it takes more than love,” she replied.
“What else is there?” Craig asked, putting his arms around Jenny.
Meanwhile, Brad sprayed the foam on the chocolate spot.
“There’s nothing more than love, kitten. Look, a man has got to live his life the way he sees best. Sitting for three hours on a hard bench is not my idea of excitement.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work out, Craig. Maybe we should call it quits now.”
He pursed his lips and looked at her. He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “Okay, kitten. It’s your decision. Good luck. I’ll see you on the courts.”
Then he was gone, running out into the rain.
She sat very still and watched him go, the red of his jogging suit fading into the dreary morning.
After a few minutes, the tears came.
“I keep tissues in the glove compartment,” Brad said. He got out of the back seat and slipped into the front. He sat and awkwardly studied the steering wheel while she sobbed. There were a hundred thoughts running through his mind, but nothing seemed appropriate.
As time passed silently, he determined he must say something. “Breaking up is so hard to do,” he said, recalling the lyrics of a song.
He continued. “Life is full of troubles. But just as the rain today will go away, leaving the sun to shine, subsequently the flowers to grow, giving happiness to children who view the flowers but forget the rain that begat them, so also is life.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, a smile forming.
“I have no idea. I heard it on TV once. I hoped it would apply to this situation.”
She quit crying and entered the silent brooding stage. Finally she said, “I think I got some chocolate on your seat covers. I’m sorry.”
Brad came to life, overjoyed at something to talk about. “Don’t worry!” he said, reaching back to get the cleaner and rag. He found the spot in the middle of the front seat. “Watch this. You’re really going to get a kick out of this.” He sprayed a white, thick foam on the spot. “Watch those tiny bubbles go. Look, bend down and listen. Do you hear them?” She bent down, her head next to his as they intently watched the foaming action. When it quit foaming, he wiped it up and the spot was gone.
“How about that! It does that every time!” Brad announced triumphantly.
He gave her a ride home. Jenny invited him into her house to meet her mother. She explained that her father had died over a year ago.
It was a small, white frame house with picket fence in front and a large backyard with a garden and fruit trees.
Her mother came out from the kitchen to meet him. She was a short, rounding woman with a dab of flour on her cheek.
“Do I smell bread baking?” he asked.
“Saturday is my day to bake. Would you like a piece? I just took some out of the oven.”
Brad and Jenny sat around the kitchen table and had a thick slice of hot wheat bread dripping with butter and honey.
“This is very good,” Brad said enthusiastically. “I bet this wheat was ground today, right? I could tell. It’s very moist, too. What’s your secret?”
Jenny excused herself so she could change clothes.
“I take a cup of raisins, put it in the blender, and then add it to my recipe. You can’t really taste it but it does make the bread moist.”
“It’s very good. One thing I’ve always said is that my wife is going to learn how to bake bread.”
“Jenny said she’s going to learn this summer.”
They both stopped at the same time, aware of their hidden thoughts.
Brad stayed there the whole day, helping Jenny and her mother with the garden, mowing the lawn for them. At supper time the three of them had a picnic in the backyard.
When he left, she walked him to the car.
“My mother likes you,” she said.
“I am greatly appreciated by the mothers of the girls I date. What are you doing next Saturday?”
“I’ve got a tennis tournament. Why don’t you enter?”
The tournament was an all-day affair. When it was over, Jenny had won the women’s singles and Craig the men’s singles. That night Brad took her out.
“And what have you planned for humble, unobtrusive, feminine me tonight?” she asked as they walked to the car.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“My mother figures I’m challenging your masculinity by doing better than you today. She doesn’t want you to get away. What are we going to do to celebrate my victory?”
“We could go to the movies?” he replied.
“That’s not the most original idea I’ve ever heard.”
“You don’t want to go to the movies?”
“Whither thou goest, I will go. On my mother’s orders.”
“I’m willing to listen to your suggestions,” Brad said, opening the door for her. “If you don’t want to go to the movies, what do you want to do?”
She mimicked a movie star. “Take me to a nice quiet place. I want to be alone with you.”
“You’re not serious?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your faith in me is underwhelming. I’ll show you where I want you to take me.”
He followed her directions. When he pulled up the drive where she had directed him, he said, “It’s a cemetery.”
She grabbed her neck with both hands as if choking herself. “Aaargh! There’s something moving in the bushes.”
He parked the car, and she led him hand in hand past the rows of marble markers to her father’s grave. “Dad,” she said as if introducing someone, “this is my friend, Brad. He’s good with computers, fair in tennis, a returned missionary, and probably the most decent guy I’ve ever met. Say something to dad, Brad.”
“Jenny, he’s not here.”
“I know, but I come here sometimes to remember. You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here.”
Brad looked down at the marble slab. “Sir, your daughter is taking good care of your roses.”
They sat down on the lawn. She talked to him about her father—all the little girl stories of a daughter who loved her daddy. Then they walked back to the car.
It was a warm night, and the smell of flowers was rich. He reached out and said simply, “I forgot to tell him that I love his daughter.”
“Brad, I’m not ready for this.”
“I want to marry you—in the temple.”
“No, it’s too soon.”
“When you broke up with Craig, you told him you wanted someone who was faithful in the Church. That’s me.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m not completely over Craig I guess. Craig was like fireworks. You’re more like a comfortable fire on a snowy evening. A relationship needs some excitement, some brass bands. I’m still hung up on the dream of Prince Charming who will come and take me away to his castle.”
“Jenny, life isn’t that way. If the prince takes you away forever, then he’s got to arrange for your luggage. So he trades his white charger for a work horse and a cart. And if he’s been in a suit of armor all day in the summer, you’ll have some shirts to wash.”
“I guess it boils down to the fact that I’m not in love with you. I should be, Brad, but I’m not.”
“Please try. Okay?”
“Okay. My mother is going to kill me if I mess this up.”
They spent much of their summer together. Brad took a new interest in after-shave lotions, certain brands of toothpaste, but nothing seemed to change between them.
It finally happened on a hot August day. Brad had worked during the morning, but he met Jenny for lunch downtown. After lunch they went to a jewelry store to look for a gift for a friend of Jenny’s who was getting married.
“What would you suggest I get her?” she asked Brad as they browsed among the expensive items.
“Some bread pans.”
“For a wedding gift?” she asked.
“Why not?”
“You’re really hung up on homemade bread.”
“I just think it’s important for families to learn to live sensibly.”
“Well, you’re very sensible,” she replied cooly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A marriage has got to be more than two people grinding wheat together. Don’t you ever do anything for fun? Have you ever taken a bunch of pitted olives, put one on every finger, and then sucked them off one by one?”
“No.”
“Not in your entire life? I think that’s incredible.”
“Is it too much to ask a wife to learn to bake bread?” he asked, his voice taking on an edge to it.
“It wouldn’t stop there with you! You’d want me to learn to make pickles, too! Well, aren’t I right?”
“Homemade pickles are nice,” he reflected.
“I knew it.”
“Jenny, you’re not going to get me to argue. I’m not going down to your level. I’m above that. I can control my temper!”
“Then quit shouting,” she said.
“I’m not shouting. We’ll just ask an impartial observer a simple question. I’ll go ask that man over there.”
He walked over to a distinguished man looking at some diamond bracelets. “Excuse me. Could you answer a simple question we have? Do you think it’s too much to ask a wife to learn to bake bread?”
Jenny stood on the man’s other side. “No,” she snapped, “that’s not the question we want to ask. The real question is, do you want me to be something I am not?”
The man stared at Brad on one side, at Jenny on his other side, and then quickly turned, bumping into Brad as he fled from the store.
“It’s all your fault,” Brad said self-righteously. “You offended him.”
Jenny ran out of the store. Brad followed her as she hurried along the sidewalk filled with the busy lunch-hour crowd.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m going home.”
“You can’t walk home. It’s five miles. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No you won’t. And quit following me!”
“I’m not following you. I’m walking beside you.”
They continued this way for a block.
“Don’t you ever sweat?” she asked sharply. “It’s 97 degrees out, and you’re wearing a suit.”
“It’s a summer suit. Besides, I perspire as much as anyone.”
“Not you. You’re perfect.”
He yanked off his suit coat. “Look,” he said, pointing to a damp part of his shirt, “do you know what that is? It’s perspiration!”
“You can’t even say the word sweat,” she accused.
“That’s gross.”
“See what I mean?”
“Okay, Jenny, you asked for this!” Brad shouted. “SWEAT!” Curious shoppers looked up from the store windows as Brad and Jenny rushed by.
“It doesn’t matter to me now,” Jenny said curtly.
“Does that mean you won’t marry me?”
“Of course that’s what it means. I’ve got to be me. That’s all I can be. We’ve both tried to fit into each other’s mold, and it won’t work.”
They walked silently for the next three blocks.
Finally Brad broke the terrible silence. “Do you want a mint? I saved them when I went to my cousin’s reception last week. They’re still good.”
When Brad reached into his suit coat, he found a diamond bracelet.
“Jenny, why did you do this to me?” he asked with a pained expression.
“I didn’t eat any of your precious mints.”
“There’s a bracelet in my suit coat.”
“I didn’t put it there.”
“Do you know what they’re going to do to me if they catch me with this?” he asked.
“I think it’s ten to twenty years. Maybe less for a first offense. Brad, I’m going to ask you a question, and you must answer me truthfully.”
“What’s the question?”
“How did this urge to steal develop? Maybe it started with candy when you were a kid. But now it’s out of control, isn’t it?”
“Jenny, I’m an Eagle Scout. What’ll I do? I can’t think, Jenny. You’ve got to help me.”
“Turn yourself in. It’ll go easier for you. At least that’s what they always say on TV.”
“When this hits the papers, they’ll release me as ward clerk, won’t they? Just when I got the membership records up-to-date.”
“Wait a minute!” Jenny said sharply. “That guy we were talking to! When he bumped into you, he must have slipped the bracelet into your pocket. He’s the thief. He must have been worried about the cops. This way, if the cops nab him, he’s clean. But if, on the other hand, he gets out okay, then he comes looking for us. If I turn around, he’ll probably be following us. He might even kill us for the bracelet.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Brad said.
“I’m going to drop a mint when you hand it to me. When I pick it up, I’ll turn backwards to see.”
When she stood up again, and they began walking, she was strangely silent.
“What’s wrong?”
“There are two men following us,” she gasped. “Please, let me scream.”
“No, if you scream, they will know that we know about the bracelet. We’ve got to work out a plan.”
“Brad, if we don’t get out of this, I want you to know that suddenly I realize that I’m in love with you. You’re so brave, so cool, so dependable in a crisis. You won’t let them kill me, will you?”
“I’ll try not to.”
“That’s all I get, just a college try?”
“I’m sorry. Of course I won’t let them kill you.”
They continued walking, Brad thinking and Jenny holding tightly to his arm.
“They think the bracelet is in my suit coat, right? Suppose we act like we’re very hot, and I put my suit coat on the ground while we get a drink at the park. They’ll go for the suit coat, and we’ll make a dash for it.”
“That’s brilliant,” she said. “Great thinking, Brad.”
They entered the walkway into a neighborhood park. “No, it won’t work,” she said.
“Why not?”
“If the cops come, we’re accomplices. You’ve got to slip the bracelet out of the suit and take it back with us to the jewelry store.”
Brad took out the bracelet with the next mint and gave it to Jenny. They sat down on a park bench. Taking off their shoes and leaving the coat on the bench, they entered a children’s wading pool where four children were playing in the water.
She splashed him.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, his shirt dripping.
“Just for effect,” she said. “We’re supposed to be very hot; we’re cooling off here.”
“Oh, right.” He reached down and scooped up an armful of water, soaking her face and hair.
They edged over to the opposite end of the circular pool where two boys were folding newspapers on the lawn.
“Hey,” Brad whispered, “we need to borrow your bikes.”
“You’re crazy,” one of the boys answered.
“It’s no use,” Brad said to Jenny.
Jenny looked at the oldest boy. “Please, if you don’t help us, we’re going to be killed. Trust me, won’t you?”
“Okay,” the boy said.
They jumped out of the pool, grabbed the bikes, and began peddling barefoot along the lawn toward the street. The two burly men who had been following them raced to the suit coat. Finding nothing in the pockets except a mint, they ran after the two.
“We’re going to make it, Jenny,” Brad said, looking back at the two men gasping after them a half block back.
“Brad, I’ll learn to make wheat bread.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to change you. Not really. I need you just the way you are, Jenny.”
They reached the jewelry store two blocks ahead of the men. Parking their bikes, they ran inside.
A lady clerk came over quickly. “You don’t have any shoes on, and you’re both soaked. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Simon, I’ll talk to them.” A large, bald man came out of the back room.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“We were here a while ago,” Brad explained. “We got in an argument about baking bread and Jenny said I was trying to change her, which I don’t really want to do at all, and we asked a man, but he was a crook, and then he left, and then Jenny left because she was mad and …”
“What he’s trying to say,” Jenny interrupted, “is that this bracelet is hot.” She took the bracelet from her pocket and placed it on the counter.
The man picked it up and felt it. “It certainly is. How hot is it out there today anyway?”
“No, what she means,” Brad began—
“I know what she means,” the man said. “You see, I’m a plainclothesman.”
“Maybe so, but I like your tie,” Brad said.
“No, Brad,” Jenny said. “What he means is that he’s a cop.”
“You mean a policeman?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Compton.”
“Don’t throw us in jail. We can explain,” Brad said.
“I know,” the detective said. “When we caught our thief, he didn’t have the bracelet on him. We figured you were either accomplices or being innocently used. I sent two men to follow you.”
“Well, lieutenant, I guess this about wraps it up,” Brad said, with a sudden bravado.
“Not quite,” Jenny said.
“What else?” the detective asked.
“An engagement ring.”
“There was no engagement ring, just a bracelet,” Brad said.
“For me, Brad, for me.”

Once a well-intentioned teacher set out to teach a class of youth a lesson in charity. After class instruction the class was to go home, secure cans and boxes of food, and bring them to a party. At the party the class would wrap the food, with a prize going to the best and most creative wrapping. The class members ate, drank, talked, and had a good time in general. Once all the food was wrapped, they placed the brightly wrapped packages in boxes and piled into cars to deliver them to a poor family to brighten their Christmas.

The boxes were placed on the porch. The students retired to the background, and the teacher pushed the doorbell. One child came to the door and looked out. When he saw the boxes, he was very excited. He called out, and his mother and the rest of the children came with great expectations—presents, lots of gorgeous presents! One of the children reached out for a package, hurriedly ripped the paper from it before his mother could stop him. It was a can of beans. “Ugh, it’s beans!” he cried. I was in that class. That is what I remember most of the evening: “Ugh, it’s beans!” It rang through my heart and soul. “Ugh, it’s beans!” It registered in my head and stuck there until I had to do something about it.

Where were the fulfillment and joy that charity should bring? I went to the teacher. I was the only one. I asked why I felt so sorrowful when I should feel something else. Finally, whether out of desperation or inspiration, the teacher blurted out: “If you feel that way, why don’t you do something about it?”

I did. I read about the principle of charity. It is the love of Christ. I didn’t do my part of the activity out of love. I gave something that was not mine. I suppose that many of the parents who earned the food which we gave were not even aware that they were being “charitable.” I decided, finally, that I would test the principle of charity.

I thought and prayed about it until I was blessed to understand that some neighbors of mine had a real need. They were old. They could not keep their house clean. It was not messy, but wallpaper needed cleaning, walls and woodwork needed washing, and floors needed real scrubbing and new wax. The man of the family had helped us with some home repairs years before. I do not think he charged all he could have. While old people scared me, I determined that I would approach them. They were skeptical.

I worked; I scrubbed, waxed, and rubbed. I sweated and got stiff and tired. When I was finished, things actually looked better. They were grateful and wanted to pay me for my efforts.

I took my pay in the fresh understanding that acts of love which cost you real effort reap you real rewards! Charity is a true principle. I knew it then. I know it still. I am grateful for the force of “Ugh, it’s beans” in my life. I repented of my shallow experience and sought out a deeper one so that I would know the principle of charity is true and good. Surely the Lord is the best paymaster.

It was unlike any other commencement or baccalaureate exercise I had ever attended or participated in myself. It was held one week ago, last Thursday, on the twenty-third of May. There were forty-four graduates, all male. They did not have traditional academic robes or caps or gowns. Their attire, to a man, was light blue denim shirts and dark blue denim trousers. The ceremony was not held in a fieldhouse or a stadium or even a lovely auditorium. The exercise was held in a modest interdenominational chapel at the Utah state prison. The graduating class consisted of forty-four men who had successfully completed a year’s course of Bible study sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints but open to all who cared to come and participate. These forty-four represented more than a dozen different religions, and, of course, many of them had no formal religious affiliation at all. At this very moment a lot of images and impressions are coming back to my mind, and I hope I can catch them long enough to share some of them with you.

One is of the delightful, tall, cordial, and warm inmate who conducted the exercises. He immediately warmed the group to the evening. About half were pleasantly and appropriately called “outsiders.” He said he wanted the outsiders particularly to appreciate that he was in prison even though he had hired one of the biggest criminal lawyers in America: “It’s only after I was through with the trial that I fully understood that designation. What it means to be a criminal lawyer is that he thought he was a lawyer and I think he’s a criminal.”

I remember the prayers. The opening prayer was given by a young man, but he seemed like a boy and looked like a boy and I think had not yet begun to shave. He gave there the first verbal and public prayer, according to the chaplain, that he’d ever given in his life. He was frightened to death, but it was a prayer of the heart, and you would need to have been there and to have heard it to appreciate fully what that might have meant. He was in the prison for ten years to life on an armed robbery charge. The closing prayer was given by a man who was, I suppose, forty-five or fifty years old—just a pleasant, warm, slightly chubby man who looked as if he should have been somebody’s uncle and undoubtedly was. He was in for a life term on second-degree murder.

The choir sang, among other numbers, the Hammerstein-Romberg song “Stouthearted Men.” If you could have seen the looks on their faces and felt the feeling in their voices, you would have known something about stouthearted men that you’d never understood before. I don’t think any two of them crossed paths on the same note at any given moment during the rendition. But it was a choir of angels. It really was. When they sang, “Give me some men who are stouthearted men, who will fight for the rights they adore. Give me ten men who are stouthearted men, and I’ll soon give you ten thousand more,” they knew something about rights that had been adored and lost, that were adored all the more because they had been lost, and that perhaps were desired more greatly because someday they might return.

I remember just a couple of other impressions. A young man who was now on the outside had come back to get his certificate and to encourage his colleagues. He said something that I wrote down. I’ll call him Howard, though that isn’t really his name. He looked out to his colleagues and said, “Guys, the perspective in prison is really bad. It really looks better on the outside. Try to remember that.” Then he turned to the outsiders, to the friends and families who had come in, and said, “You people are a light in a dark place. If it were not for love like yours, we would not be able to get from where we are to where we need to be.”

He was followed extemporaneously by another delightful young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty years of age. He had been in and out very quickly—I think for less than eight months on good behavior—and talked about what it was like to be back out, to be keeping a job, dating girls, going to church, and trying to live a moral and law-abiding life. He turned to friend and stranger alike and said, “Please understand that those of us at the halfway house need faith and prayers, too. We have reentered a world of temptation.”

I would also like to mention the concluding comment of the inmate who conducted the service. He said, when it was all over, with some emotion in his voice and a little mist in his eyes, “This is the most auspicious occasion of our year. It is better than Christmas. It’s better than Thanksgiving. It’s even better than Mother’s Day. It’s better because we’re enlightened, and that’s as close as we come to being free.”

Then the gates clanged behind my wife and me. That night we went home, and I confess I couldn’t sleep. Pat fell asleep, it was late, and our children were already asleep, but I couldn’t sleep. That experience haunted me and does yet at this pulpit. That’s why I choose to speak to you tonight as I do. I had in the early hours of that morning, and have had somewhat since, feelings and thoughts and a response to bondage and freedom and their relationship to enlightenment and love in a way that I confess I have never had before—even though I’ve studied those principles and read the doctrines and thought I had a pretty good understanding of what all of them might mean.

When I was in elementary school, we walked home on a paved trail that wound back and forth up the side of a hill. There was another trail, unpaved, called the “boys’ trail.” The boys’ trail was a path in the dirt that went straight up the hill. It was shorter but much steeper. As a young girl, I knew I could walk up any trail the boys could. More important, I knew I was living in the latter days and that I would need to do hard things, as did the pioneers—and I wanted to be prepared. So every now and then, I would lag behind my group of friends on the paved trail, remove my shoes, and walk barefoot up the boys’ trail. I was trying to toughen up my feet.
As a young Primary girl, that is what I thought I could do to prepare. Now I know differently! Rather than walking barefoot up mountain trails, I know I can prepare my feet to walk on the covenant path by responding to the invitations of the Holy Ghost. For the Lord, through His prophet, is calling each of us to live and care in a “higher and holier way” and to “take a step higher.”1

Even the boys I dated had to uphold the same standards and values that I had. That is how I became friends with Jeremy, who introduced me to the Church and gave me a Book of Mormon. I took it home, and my parents quickly replaced it with several “anti-Mormon” books. I was deeply intrigued and read them all. I kept waiting for the moment to prove that my church was right. Eventually Jeremy left for a mission, and I lost interest, deciding that my parents were right even though I had not proved it to myself.
Jeremy’s family forwarded his regular e-mails, in which he told of the people he was helping. On one occasion, he sent me a tape. I sat on the floor with my college roommate and listened. He talked about his faith and bore testimony of his beliefs. Inwardly, I had been searching for such conviction. My roommate was in tears at the sound of something so powerful. She asked me if I had read the Book of Mormon, and her question ate at my conscience. Could I actually know a church without having studied its scripture? I decided to read the Book of Mormon.
Two weeks later missionaries began to teach me. I prayed that God would help me make the right decision so that my conscience would be at ease. By the end of the lessons, my eyes had been opened to something I knew to be right.
My mother asked me to meet with a leader in our church. I knew him to be a very bright scholar and was somewhat intimidated. But the man I thought would confound me and have all the answers had none. All he could tell me was that many believed these matters, so who was I to question? He told me how disappointed my parents would be, and my heart ached. I had never outright disobeyed my parents. But how could I continue to be a part of something I knew was wrong? I had to stand up.
In the font, I knew the rest of my life would be different. It would be a lot harder, but I realized that part of growing up is making choices that are right. As I leaned back into the water, I felt peace! I could hardly believe the joy. I had decided what I believed and took courage in my own conviction.
My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.
Growing up, trusting my decisions, and receiving consequences was not easy. But such joy has entered my life because I made the right decision. That moment of peace at my baptism has guided my life. Every big decision I make must have that peace, or I cannot live with it. I believe that if we choose what is right, we can get through anything.

I went on a fathers and sons’ campout with my ward. My friends and I hiked down a canyon. We chose the oldest boy, Hunter, to be our leader. When we came to a curve in the canyon, Hunter warned us that we shouldn’t go around the curve. He had a feeling that something bad would happen if we did. So we turned around and walked in the other direction. Later, when we were hiking with our dads and we went around that curve, Hunter’s dad almost stepped on a rattlesnake! A rattlesnake’s rattle is a warning, but the Holy Ghost can warn us about all kinds of danger. I am thankful Hunter listened to the Holy Ghost so we could all be safe.

Mary Galuak, a refugee from South Sudan and mother of four children, soon to be five, learned tailoring through self-reliance classes held in late 2023 by the Eldoret Kenya District of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At successful completion of the training, she and other tailoring participants were each provided a Butterfly pedal-powered sewing machine, starter fabric, and thread. Participants were encouraged to start with small projects, such as pillows, to earn immediate revenue.
In early 2024, through her marketing efforts, Mary was invited to submit sample uniforms to a school in South Sudan. She recruited three other self-reliance class participants to assist in the work. Sample uniforms were designed, sewn, and shipped in early February.
Roughly 10 days after submitting the samples, Mary was notified that she had won the contract. The time frame to complete the uniforms was two weeks. Together with her three associates, Mary began earnestly sewing to meet the contract requirements.
Mary explained the significant behind-the-scenes challenges. “Starting a business is the most difficult process, but with perseverance and consistency, it is possible. Marketing to get customers has been so hard. I know God answers every prayer. Without Almighty Father’s help, I would have not won this contract. It has given me a lot of experience in patience and hope for something better. I have had unsuccessful attempts to get some contracts for sewing school uniforms, but I didn’t give up.”
The contract is sufficient to cover costs and pay participants, with monies left over to purchase additional supplies. It is not as lucrative as she would have hoped, but Mary bid the job low to get it.
Mary had other concerns amidst this project. Her fifth child was due in early April and she and her family had been patiently waiting for the green light from the Church’s Temple Patron Assistance Fund to travel to Accra, Ghana to be sealed in the temple. They hoped to complete their temple work before the airlines restricted her travel because of her pregnancy. Despite numerous delays before and after embarking, the Galuak family was sealed on 1 March 2024. Her tailoring team covered for her absence.
Due undoubtedly to the stress of the uniforms contract and traveling challenges, Mary delivered their fifth child, Blessing, in the early morning hours of March 12, three weeks early and just 8 days after returning from Accra and the temple. Blessing’s name honors Mary’s grandmother, who died just before Mary learned she was expecting her fifth child.
Mary said she was so happy to be part of the member-focused self-reliance program. She said, “Self-reliance has blessed me and my family with a lot of opportunity and experiences that allow us to focus on the gospel of Jesus Christ. I know the talent and skill and knowledge I have received from tailoring classes will bless the lives of my relatives, friends, and family members in the future. I am so grateful for all the blessings I am receiving from the self-reliance program.”

For the past three years the name of “Bob Gunther” had appeared on seminary rolls, yet no one had ever seen him at any Church meeting.
Just who is this Bob Gunther then? The seminary students from the San Lorenzo wards in California could tell you. At the beginning of each seminary year for the past few years, the students had signed the name of Bob Gunther to the roll as a practical joke. This joke led to what is now known as “The Bob Gunther Story.”
Early one Monday morning Neal Jarecki, a 16-year-old boy, was on his way to school. To Neal this was just another normal school day, but unknown to him, it was a day that would change the rest of his life. Neal was going to school early this particular morning to meet a girl he knew—Kim Spier, a Latter-day Saint.
When Neal arrived at school, he found Kim with a group of LDS girls studying in the library. He asked them why they were always at school so early, and they proceeded to tell him about seminary. Suddenly a voice from among the girls said, “Hey, we can get Neal to be Bob Gunther!”
Neal just stood there, not knowing what was happening, and said, “What?” The girls then told Neal that they would like him to play the part of Bob Gunther, an imaginary person who had been enrolled in seminary for the last few years. After asking a few questions about what he would have to do at seminary, Neal finally agreed to be part of this practical joke. As the day went on, though, Neal began to have second thoughts and wondered what he was getting himself into.
During the afternoon Neal received a phone call from Kim and Marlene from the seminary class, asking him if they could drop off some Church books for him to read. He said yes, so at 5:30 P.M. Kim and Marlene dropped by Neal’s home to give him a half dozen pamphlets, a Book of Mormon, a Doctrine and Covenants, a Pearl of Great Price, Gospel Principles, and one volume of Church history. Neal’s mouth dropped open, and he said, “I still have to do my homework this evening.”
He finished his homework as quickly as possible that evening. Then a thought flashed through his mind. “If I’m going to seminary tomorrow, the teacher is going to be suspicious, so I’ll need some proof of identification.” Neal hurriedly went over to the public library and purchased a library card with the official name “Robert Neal Gunther” printed on it. The rest of the evening Neal studied as much Mormon literature as he possibly could. But he really didn’t absorb too much because there were too many facts going into his mind in such a short period of time.
Tuesday morning came early as Kim drove over to pick up Neal for seminary. Many students in the class knew Neal, so she told as many as possible before the teacher arrived that Neal was playing the part of Bob Gunther. Finally Neal was introduced to Brother Mike Danielson, the seminary teacher. Only Brother Danielson didn’t believe he was Bob Gunther at all. He even had a good laugh when he was shown the library card.
Now that the climax of the joke was over for Neal, it was just a matter of sitting through the class. And the lesson that day, from the book of Daniel in the Old Testament, really sparked Neal’s interest. It ended with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego being cast into the fiery furnace under orders from King Nebuchadnezzar. Brother Danielson told them that the next day in class they would find out what happened to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Neal decided to come again the following day to find out what happened.
Early Wednesday morning Neal showed up at seminary like he said he would, and from then on, Neal went to seminary every morning. It wasn’t long before Neal was asked if he would like the missionaries to come to his home and teach him about the Church. He agreed, and on a Friday two elders taught him the first lesson. Approximately two weeks later, Neal was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Today Neal is an active priest and a strong member of the San Lorenzo Second Ward in California.
What started off as a simple, practical joke by a group of seminary students ended with a young man’s membership in the Savior’s true church. The nonexistent “Bob Gunther” had developed into a fine missionary.

In England, my wife and I became acquainted with Dorothy James, the widow of a clergyman who lived at the Close of Winchester Cathedral. She brought out a family Bible which was lost for many years.
Years before, the possessions of a family member had been sold. The new owner found the Bible in a small desk that had remained unopened for over 20 years. There were also some letters written by a child named Beaumont James. He was able to find the James family and return the long-lost family Bible.
On the title page my wife read the following handwritten note: “This Bible has been in our family since the time of Thomas James in 1683 who was a lineal descendant of Thomas James first librarian of the Bodleian Library at Oxford, who was buried in New College Chapel August 1629. [Signed] C. T. C. James, 1880.”
The margins and the open pages were completely filled with notations written in English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. One entry particularly touched her. From the bottom of the title page, she read, “The fairest Impression of the Bible is to have it well printed on the Readers heart.”
And then this quote from Corinthians: “Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men: Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in the tables of stone, but in fleshly tables of the heart. 2 Cor. 3:2–3.”

First, I would like to tell you about the angel who consented to be my wife after I had made four marriage proposals. When Shelley was fifteen years old, she had an experience that changed the rest of her life. At a youth conference, she unexpectedly met an apostle. He did not know Shelley or her family, but he invited her to do something really surprising. He asked, “Will you kiss your father on the cheek every night and tell him that you love him for one full year?”

Shelley agreed, even though silently she thought, “This is going to be impossible!”

The apostle did not know that her father was a wonderful but very, very reserved man. Shelley had never seen her father kiss anyone, including her mother, and she had never heard her father say, “I love you,” to anyone. But, as impossible as it seemed, she decided to do what an apostle had invited her to do.

The first few nights as she kissed her father on the cheek and said, “I love you, Dad,” he did not react positively at all.

She persisted night after night, but her father would simply sit rigid, like a statue, while she kissed him on the cheek and said, “I love you, Dad.”

This continued for one entire year. By then it felt good expressing love to him, so she decided to continue. Eventually, one night she heard her father whisper, “I love you, too.” The next night, he kissed her on the cheek as well.

A few days later, her beloved father suddenly passed away from a heart attack.

Please don’t misunderstand. I am not telling you to kiss people who don’t want to be kissed. I am not telling you that it is okay for anyone to react to kindness with anger. I am telling you of the power that has come into Shelley’s life because she learned at a very young age to follow the prophets of God.

Shelley’s father did not join the Church before he passed away, but many years later another apostle asked her, “Shelley, do you know why the Spirit clearly prompted that apostle to invite you to do what he invited you to do?” He then said, “It was because Heavenly Father knew that you could soften your father’s heart before he passed away so that he could accept the gospel on the other side of the veil.”

Not many young women set a turkey trot race as their goal—but Debbie and Lori Wright of the Orem 47th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, did. They decided to accept the challenge of running the 4.25-mile race with their Laurel adviser, Lorraine Gaufin. Since neither of the sisters had raced before, they set up their own jogging schedules, trained on their own, and even got matching T-shirts with “Lorraine’s Laurels” printed on the back. The race was long enough to discourage them. It wasn’t the easiest goal they’ve ever achieved, but they ran a good race, They both finished the course, and Debbie brought home a turkey she won in the post-race drawing.

I always knew I wanted to be a mother, but when I was growing up, it wasn’t always on my mind. When my fiancé and I were engaged, one day I was talking with one of my college professors—a woman I greatly admired—about my engagement. She said something that brought my life choices into sharp focus. “You are wasting your talent,” she told me as she shook her head. She went on to say that someone as smart as I was should not get married young. She assumed I would have children in my future and would be “throwing away” my education and chances of a stellar career on my future motherhood. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she thought I was making a terrible and naïve mistake.
It’s been several years since that conversation, and my husband and I have two little girls. Kate is three years old and is my little sweetheart. She moves through life at a leisurely pace, savoring all of the little details she notices. Annabel is one year old, with bright, blue eyes and a head of curls. She’s exuberant and determined. Though I didn’t change my mind because of what my professor said, our discussion has stayed with me. In one way my professor’s predictions were correct: I do not have a prestigious working career. But my professor got the most important point wrong, because I have wasted nothing.

After work one evening, Kylie Laney said to her coworker Mike Comfoltey, “I’m speaking in church tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
Mike, who is not a member of the Church, agreed to attend.
Kylie gave her talk, but Mike didn’t make it to church that Sunday. At work the next day, she joked with him, “You have to come next week then!”
He did. The priests made him feel welcome in their quorum. He enjoyed church and kept going. Then Mike started going to Mutual with Kylie and his new friends from the Danville (California) Second Ward. On Kylie’s invitation, he took the missionary lessons.
“I liked the feeling of being at church,” Mike says. “I liked being with the missionaries. It just felt right.” He prayed about the Church, received an answer, and was baptized last month.

Four-year-old Alex knew this was true. When he was in preschool, Valentine's Day was coming up. He decided to sign all the valentines for his friends by himself. It took a long time to sign six valentines with the letters, A-L-E-X. He did it painstakingly.

The day came and he and his mother got in the car to drive to preschool. Forgetting a note Alex needed to take to school, his mother asked if he knew where the note was. He didn't know so suggested they pray. She agreed. As soon as the prayer was done, she remembered where the note was in the home, ran and got it and hurried back to the car. The first thing Alex said was, "It wooked! I didn't think it would wook and it wooked." His mother asked, "What worked? "We pwayed and we found the note." She agreed and started the car, when all of a sudden they remembered Alex had forgotten his valentines and he didn't know where he had left them.

Alex said, "Let's pway again." Thinking that his testimony would be shattered if she didn't find the valentines, she said, "No, I'm sure I can find them." She again ran into the house. After a short time, she came out smiling, having found the lost valentines. The minute she got in the car Alex exclaimed, "It wooked again." She asked, "What worked?" "I pwayed again and it wooked. We found the valentines." The faith of a child. If Alex knows that Heavenly Father knows him and loves him and if Alex trusts Heavenly Father enough to pray for help in the issues of notes and valentines, how much should we also trust and know that He is there.

Another convert expressed it this way: “As my husband and I were baptized, I had no idea just how involved we would become. My first calling was that of chorister in sacrament meeting.
“Then I was asked to be a Mia Maid leader. I asked the question, ‘What is a Mia Maid?’ I learned from experience. That is a girl at the delightful age of 14. The girls have so much enthusiasm and energy. I am thrilled with my calling in MIA. It keeps me feeling young and needed and busy.
“My husband, too, has held many positions in the ward, and his determination and dedication have been a strength to me.”

One of my favorite parts of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is making new friends. I love the opportunity to meet new people of my faith. I love going to seminary, but when I first started, I felt left out. I was the youngest student, and everyone else knew each other. They didn’t speak to me very often. I was secretly battling low self-esteem, but I prayed, and I really felt God’s love for me. I made a goal to get to know the other students better, and I actually came to know how much they cared about me. I know that God wants us to grow and have meaningful relationships. He has provided ways for us to do that through the programs of the Church.

I never met my great-grandmother Hettie, but I have always felt a connection to her for many reasons. She was described to be similar to me in appearance, with her very pale skin and dark hair; she was from England (which I believe is where my love of all things British stems from); and she was known especially for her astounding faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I was casually studying her life a short time ago when I remembered a story I’d heard about how she had helped her husband, my great-grandpa, miraculously recover from an illness that had brought him to his deathbed.
As I researched further, I found a journal entry from my grandpa (Hettie’s son), and I found out that this illness wasn’t just any sickness—my great-grandpa had contracted the deadly Spanish flu during the pandemic that lasted from 1918 to 1920.
I was shocked.
The journal entry explained that my great-grandfather had come home from work feeling sick. A doctor came, diagnosed him with the dreaded Spanish flu, and put up a red quarantine sign in the yard to make sure no one visited their home.
The Spanish flu was highly contagious, just like another virus I know.
My grandpa described how most of the homes in their city had these quarantine signs in their yards and explained how terrifying the whole ordeal was for those two years.
It’s not often I can fully relate to my ancestors, but when I read this, I felt tears prickling my eyes.
It was no coincidence that I was reading this story at this time.
In the journal, my grandpa went on to explain how the doctor visited their home again about five days later, when his father had grown so sick that he was unresponsive. After seeing how quickly people were dying from this terrible disease, the doctor concluded that there was nothing more he could do for my great-grandfather and told Hettie that all she could do was keep him comfortable until he passed away.
My grandpa wrote that Hettie cried quietly for a few moments after the doctor left, but then suddenly looked up with a determined look on her face. She told my grandpa and his brothers to kneel and pray for help. She explained to Heavenly Father that she knew He had the power to help her save her husband if it was His will, and that she would do whatever she could to save him. She pleaded with Him to let him live.
After the prayer, my grandpa explained that Hettie was inspired to create a thick paste out of mustard and hot water and to spread it over thick strips of fabric. She then wrapped them all around her husband’s chest in one last effort to clear his lungs. She covered him with blankets and stayed up all night, holding his hand, squeezing it every now and again to see if he would respond.
At around four o’clock in the morning, she finally got a good, strong squeeze of response from him, and eventually he opened his eyes. That night he was able to hold full conversations. Because of the Lord and because of Hettie’s faith in Him, my great-grandfather was going to live.
It was a true miracle.

How do three lovely young ladies who are completely deaf speak fluently with confidence and joy?
The answer? With patient faith, hard work, and tender help from parents, sisters, teachers, and their Heavenly Father.
The Ferguson sisters, Deborah, 23, Julie-Ann, 18, and Heather, 15 are from Bangor Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, and were born with hearing impairments. Two more sisters, Amanda, 22, and Gail, 20, along with parents Peter and Lillian have normal hearing. The girls’ grandparents were also born deaf and mute.
But communication is no problem for this outstanding family. Trust in the Lord and determination are working miracles in their lives.
Proof of this is abundant in Deborah’s many achievements. Her happy personality and eagerness to live life to the fullest have overcome some hearing problems. Since graduating from seminary, she has participated in the Church Scouting program, serving in assistant leadership positions.
Among other hard-earned awards are trophies of all shapes and sizes for numerous sports, including soccer, badminton, squash, and swimming.
“When we held a youth dance festival,” said Young Women president Sister Geddis, “Deborah was the best at keeping on the beat, moving perfectly with the music.” Deborah explains, “Although I can’t hear sound, I feel vibrations through the floor, and with care I can dance as well as anyone else.”
Whether dancing or studying, no obstacles will prevent Deborah from enjoying every program the Church has to offer. “I hope to be a missionary,” she says. “I love to serve and have a great desire to spread the gospel amongst other people with hearing disabilities.”
Her younger sister Amanda feels the same way. Although able to hear perfectly herself, she has seen her family achieve goals they have set and she is determined to help others less fortunate. She is taking a three-year university course in sign language for the deaf so that she will be qualified to interpret and teach.
“I’d like to begin by sharing the gospel with my grandparents, aunt, and uncles who are also deaf,” Amanda explains. “I feel they’re missing so much. I’d love to help them learn the truth.”
Learning plays an important part in sister Gail’s life too—especially in seminary. “It’s a great program. I gain such a lot. Reading the experiences of people in the scriptures has helped me appreciate my own family and their present struggles.”
Gail has an outstanding talent for dealing with children. Acting as “ears” for younger sisters for many years, she has developed patience, kindness, and sharp sensitivity to others’ needs.
Those listening ears are greatly missed by Julie-Ann and Heather for many months each year. These two leave home and family behind and attend school at the renowned Mary Hare United Kingdom Grammar School for the Deaf in Newbury, England. Due to the high academic standards, for one pupil to be accepted at this outstanding school is an accomplishment, but for two from the same family to attend is almost a miracle.
“Letting the children be educated so far away has been a traumatic experience for us all,” Brother Ferguson says. “But through prayer we found comfort and confirmation that our decision was right.”
“We all send letters once or twice a week,” says Julie-Ann, “and there’s a special telephone at school which allows three-way conversations between pupil, interpreter, and parent, so we don’t have to go too long without help from home on any problem.”
“Brother and Sister Williams from Newbury Branch pick us up for church each Sunday,” says Heather. “We enjoy that. There’s a lovely feeling among the members.”
“I love learning everything I can about the Savior and his church,” says Julie-Ann. “I do home-study seminary, and it always helps me. I find sacrament meetings a bit frustrating sometimes, especially when I can’t understand every word the speakers say. People are kind and write things down for me, but often speakers go too fast for me to get all the details.”
Both girls are excellent lip readers, however. In addition, they use hearing aids. They are becoming so expert at understanding others that they are even learning another language—French. “It’s difficult,” says Heather. “I have to concentrate much harder than students with normal hearing.”
Reading music has been part of their lives since infancy. “Our mother used to point out how notes go up and down in hymnbooks at church,” says Julie-Ann, “and if the congregation doesn’t sing louder than the piano, I can pick out the beat and sing hymns.”
“We play recorders the same way,” comments Heather. “I feel pulsation of sound through my feet and legs, and with plenty of practice, we get the tunes right. We have a good orchestra here.”
Although Julie-Ann, Heather, and Deborah use their talents to achieve results in life equal to, and often better than, those of people without hearing impairments, they are sometimes disappointed and hurt by the attitudes of many people towards their disability.
“I prefer to be treated just like everyone else,” Heather says. “It’s really embarrassing when I’m in a crowd and someone starts speaking to me very slowly, waving their arms to emphasize what they are saying. It’s as if they think I am stupid and couldn’t understand them otherwise.”
“Yes,” agrees Julie-Ann, “it’s nice to be accepted as part of the group, spoken to normally, and not stared at as if we’re odd. I often feel like telling people, ‘I’m exactly the same inside as you are.’ It makes me heartbroken and depressed when they are afraid or don’t want to understand me.”
“That’s right,” Heather adds. “I don’t always understand a question the first time someone asks. If I ask them to repeat it, they often say, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and go away! I’d rather they try again and again, so we can learn about each other. I don’t like brief conversations with only ‘Hi!’ or ‘How are you doing?’ I’d prefer to talk properly, long discussions, not too fast or too slow, but real conversations with facial expression and feeling.”
Perhaps because of a certain isolation that deafness creates for them, all three girls have developed a close, personal relationship with their Heavenly Father.
“I talk to the Lord in prayer much of the time,” says Julie-Ann. “I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit strongly and am constantly grateful for the promptings I receive. We watched a video of general conference. During remarks about keeping high standards and avoiding friendships with the wrong crowd, I felt so warm inside as the Spirit testified this was important advice. I could have cried. I didn’t want that wonderful feeling to go away.”
The Fergusons seem to be a part of fulfilling prophecy. In Isaiah 29:18, the prophet wrote, “In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book.” [Isa. 29:18] Not only are the Fergusons hearing the truth of the gospel themselves, they are becoming well educated and prepared to share those words with all who care to listen with ears, eyes, hands, and hearts.