Gospel Story Finder

When I turned 21, I started feeling promptings to serve a mission. I had never planned on a mission, so these thoughts were unexpected. My priesthood leader encouraged me to pray about it, and I did so.
My answer came very clearly: I knew that God wanted me to serve a mission. I initially felt excited about serving, but leaving on a mission was more challenging than I had anticipated.
My boss did not understand why I would leave for 18 months, and he didn’t want to give me time off to prepare for leaving. He gave me an ultimatum: “Work or don’t work. It’s your choice.” As scary as it was to not work in the final weeks before my mission, I chose to leave that job.
Completing the medical requirements was also complicated. My doctor in my native country, Russia, had never seen the Church’s missionary medical documents before and refused to sign them.
Obstacles like these made me wonder whether I had really made the right choice. Several times I came close to changing my mind. But in those times of doubt, I remembered the answer I had received to my prayer and was able to stick to my decision to serve. Eventually, I found solutions to these and other challenges I encountered.
I was called to serve in the Russia St. Petersburg Mission. The first few months in the mission field were not easy. But because of what I learned in dealing with the obstacles I faced in preparing to serve, I was able to confront the challenges of my mission. My mission—and the difficulties I faced in preparing for it—taught me that I can do difficult things with the Lord’s help.

Stories from Church magazines are inspiring, but inspiring stories of hope are all around us. Recently, I talked with my colleague, Erin Frederick who last Spring shattered her tibia, the bone just below the knee. Always active, Erin suddenly couldn’t walk. True to her determined spirit, she came to work as soon as she was able, teaching in a wheelchair. During the days of final exams, she suffered an embolism, or blood clot that nearly killed her. After recovering from that, she was determined to do all in her power to help herself heal. She yearns for the day when she will again hike in the mountains. With her determination, fed by hope, I am confident she will.

But this isn’t even half of Erin’s story of hope. About nine years ago, her husband Matt suffered a massive stroke at age 47. Before his stroke, Matt was intelligent, successful, engaging and healthy. After the stroke, doctors doubted he would live. When he survived, they predicted he would never be able to read. Erin and her family were devastated, but neither they nor Matt lost hope. Recovery was painfully slow, yet largely through the help and love of others, small miracles helped Matt progress. To show his love and support, Clayton Hubner, former faculty member at BYU-Hawaii, and a long-time friend of the Fredericks, called Matt about every two weeks, carrying on a somewhat one-way conversation since Matt couldn’t respond. Sometime during their first two years in Hawaii, Matt’s brother-in-law came to visit. While here, he read a simple novel and offered to read it out loud to Matt. He left the book with Matt and challenged him to read it. This small act of love sparked a ray of hope in Matt, who had been a voracious reader before his stroke. For two months, Matt read the first two pages over and over again. Gradually, he could read more. Eight months later he proudly pronounced that he had finished the book. Since then, Matt has made remarkable progress. He recently traveled alone to the mainland, navigating two separate flight changes and finding and checking himself into a hotel. He is now a frequent guest speaker at the University of Hawaii Medical School, where he tells his story of recovery, using a Powerpoint presentation he prepared himself, and fields questions from the audience. After years of depending on Erin and others to fulfill his hopes, he now provides hope to Erin, who hopes to join him on his hikes in the mountains near their home. Erin admitted that Matt will never be everything he was before the stroke, but in many ways, he is much more. What they have gone through has not been easy. There have been times when all they had to cling to was hope. But Erin treasures how she and Matt have grown in ways they never could have experienced if it weren’t for the stroke.

I will start by sharing a brief history of a close friend. I know of a family who lived close to a large amusement park. Like others in the area, this family would drive by the park often. Each time their young son would ask, “Daddy, can we go there? I really want to go there and play on all the rides.” Understanding that his son would continue to ask the same question week after week, the father would reply, “Maybe tomorrow we can go.” This little interchange repeated itself again and again until finally, early one Saturday morning, the boy came running into his parents’ bedroom. He jumped on the bed, startling both of them, and exclaimed with great enthusiasm, “Daddy, tomorrow is today!”

This interesting play on words—“tomorrow is today”—illustrates a valuable point. Everything we hope to accomplish in the future, how we prepare for the responsibilities that will ultimately be ours, is really a function of what we do today. Though some things about the future will always seem uncertain, the future is not entirely a mystery. To a great extent the future is shaped by the accumulation of all our daily activities and disciplined efforts.

Preparing to migrate west with the Saints in 1848, Mary Fielding Smith faced many hardships. During her stay at Winter Quarters, some of her oxen had been stolen, and many of her cattle and horses had died in the severe winter. Strong oxen were necessary to making the trip west in safety.

Mary’s son Joseph, then nine years old, was given the job of driving one of the ox teams. Because they didn’t have enough oxen to pull their wagons, they tied two wagons together and used their few oxen to pull both wagons at once. Though this slowed their progress, they managed to make it the twenty-seven miles from Winter Quarters to the Elk Horn River, where their company was forming and where they hoped to obtain more oxen or horses.

The man who supervised the cattle in the company urged Mary to stay behind, saying, “If you start out in this manner, you will be a burden on the company the whole way, and I will have to carry you along or leave you on the way.”

Undaunted, Sister Smith told him, “I will beat you to the valley and will ask no help from you either.”

After the blessing, the ox got up and was soon ready to pull the wagon again. Two more times other oxen became ill, and twice more Mary asked the brethren to bless them. Each time, they were healed instantly. Despite all difficulties, Mary and her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on September 23, 1848, a full day before the rest of the company.

Sam John could hardly wait until class was over so he could talk with President Murphy. He had a very important question to ask—one that he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
At first Sam had gone to Brother Murphy’s classes because he liked being with the older boys and girls who attended. Then he kept going because of the lovely music. Finally he realized that what he enjoyed more than anything else was the feeling he had when he listened to Brother Murphy’s teachings.
Now he had to know if these things were really true. So Sam John waited patiently until almost everyone had left the class. Then he went up to the white-haired man to ask if he could talk with him alone.
A bench under a spreading tree made a perfect place for Sam to ask his teacher the important question. “Brother Murphy,” he began, “are these things you have told us about Jesus and Joseph Smith really true?”
The man looked down, surprised that a boy only eight years old could be so serious and sincere. Then he took the boy’s hand, looked into his eyes, and asked a question in return. “Sam,” he said, “do you think Sister Murphy and I and all the other missionaries who have been to these classes would spend money to come to Hawaii and take our precious time to tell you these things if we did not know they are true?”
Without hesitation, Sam answered, “I believe these things, too, and I want to be baptized into your church.”
“And what about your father?” Brother Murphy asked. Sam had to admit that he didn’t think his father would be very happy with his son’s interest in the Church, but he promised to talk to him.
A few days later Sam John’s father, a Chinese-Hawaiian, went to the mission home. “What is this you have been teaching my son?” he demanded. “He even wants to become a member of your church.”
“Mr. John,” President Murphy answered. “I’m glad you’ve come to talk with me. There is nothing we’ve taught Sam that you should not also know, especially since your boy wants to be baptized.”
The next night Sam’s father returned to the mission home to be taught, and the next, and the next.
Sam could hardly believe it when a few weeks later his father suggested that Sam wait a short time to be baptized so that he and Sam’s older brother could be baptized too. His mother had become a member of the Church when she was a little girl but she had never been active in it.
Now we are united as a family, Sam thought after he and his father and brother were baptized. And it seemed as if his heart would burst with happiness.

Hi! My name is Elenoa, and I’m from New Zealand. My family and I shine our light by sharing the Friend with our friends!
Every month, my brother and sisters and I can’t wait to get the Friend magazine.
One day my sister Nevaeh asked our mom if she could share the Friend with her friends at school. Our mom said yes. After school Nevaeh told us her friends loved the magazine. Some even wanted a copy of their own!
Now each month when my parents go to the temple, they buy extra copies of the Friend at the distribution center. Then we think of friends who haven’t been coming to Primary or aren’t members of the Church. We visit them with the Friend and a treat.
One of my sister’s friends, Ally, is learning to play the piano. She loves playing the I Can Play It! songs from the Friend.
My brother Makisig says his friend thinks the Friend is cool, and my friend Abigail loves the Family Night Fun pages, with all the activities and recipes. We all love the Friend!

It all started when my friend Brett said, “Last night when I talked to my friend, I found out that her parents have been telling her stuff about our religion, making us sound really bad. She told me that I was wrong for being Mormon, and she seemed to have plenty of evidence. Lots of stuff that I didn’t know about. I figured I can’t defend this if I don’t know what we believe.”
Then he asked me, “Do you want to come over and study scriptures tonight? You know, we could do a little reading, look some stuff up.”
“Seriously?” I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that I was taken off guard. I mean, how many teenagers hang out on weeknights to study the scriptures for fun?
“Sure, I guess,” I accepted slowly. “If you really want to.”
Brett was the only other Church member in my grade, and he’d never seemed very religious. I still remember being surprised my sophomore year when I first met him. He asked me why I chose not to date until I was 16. I was astounded by his question because Brett had been an active member his entire life but he somehow still didn’t know some of the basic teachings of the Church. To him, church was a Sunday thing. I remembered answering Brett’s question about my decision not to date until 16 and then enlightening him on many other standards we had as Church members.
Now, as seniors, we’d grown to be close friends. And once again I found myself surprised by Brett.
I arrived at his house not sure what to expect. As I walked into his family’s study, I noticed the Bible was open and several LDS reference materials were stacked on the desk. He’d already begun. “Look at this,” he said excitedly, pointing to James 2:21–26.
“I thought we could find some answers.” Then he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“After listening to my friend, I know I need to study more,” Brett continued.
“So, are you looking up things about the points she made?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can see where she’s coming from, but you know, the more I find out about what we believe,” he continued, “the more I see and feel just how right our beliefs are. It’s exciting. I want you to help me.”
I’d never considered the scriptures exciting before. I felt humbled by his enthusiasm. He wanted my help because I’d read the Book of Mormon, prayed, felt the Spirit, and from then on hadn’t had doubts.
But at that moment, I realized I too needed to search the scriptures more.
Brett and I really studied the scriptures that night and found the answers to his questions. Time and time again, Brett searched the scriptures in response to criticisms of the Church. As he learned to trust the scriptures, his testimony grew. Not only did that study help him talk with his friend, but his example of asking questions and finding the answers in the scriptures made a difference for me too.

A few years ago our family moved from a fast-paced, congested metropolitan area to a small, rural property outside a quiet little village. Nearby was an abandoned blueberry farm, and through friends of the owner, we obtained permission to pick all the blueberries we wanted.
Several mornings each week that summer we piled into the car with buckets and bags and spent a delightful, delicious hour gathering blueberries. One morning our youngest son, Hyrum, seemed reluctant to accompany us. He was sure we had picked every blueberry and that it would be a waste of time to go again. How surprised he was to find as many blueberries as ever. There were clusters in places he had overlooked, and some of the juiciest berries were growing on branches he was sure he had explored earlier.

Very early in my childhood, I became aware of the importance of prayer and the awesome power of the holy priesthood. During the fall of 1942, the United States was involved in a war. My father was trying to finish building our house. He couldn’t get a furnace because all building materials were needed for the war. As the weather became colder, my little sister, Patricia, and I became very ill. She had bronchitis, and I had double pneumonia. The doctor offered little hope that I would live through the night.
Speaking of that “awful night of nights,” my mother said she became desperate as she felt for my pulse and could find none. She said I looked like a little statue lying there on my bed. She fervently prayed to the Lord, promising if I should live, she would give me back to the Lord for His service. During the night, my father gave me a priesthood blessing. As he laid his hands upon my head, I opened my eyes, and from that time on, I began to feel better. I know that through the prayers of my parents and the power of the priesthood, my life was spared.

The rain was beating down, and yet the buses seemed to keep coming. One after another they would materialize out of the wet, gray evening, roll up to the doors of the huge civic center, disgorge their occupants, and then join the long bus queue in the parking lot. Some were full of young men and others full of young women. As two buses pulled to the curb, girls’ faces peered out of the rain-streaked windows. In the haze they could see young men, teachers and priests, complete with suits, ties, haircuts, smiles, and umbrellas, waiting to meet each young lady as she stepped off the bus and to carefully escort her through the rain, up the steps, into the foyer of the civic center. Forty-eight buses, each of them with “Special Charter” on its destination sign, delivered their precious cargos.
Once inside, each young lady, in her beautiful and still-dry best dress, was again met by a handsome, smiling Aaronic Priesthood young man who offered her a formal welcome to the dinner-dance in a way that only a Virginia gentleman can do and then presented her with a long-stemmed carnation.
Many of the young people gasped as they walked into the auditorium and saw the hundreds of beautifully set tables filling the hall. “I didn’t know there were this many Mormons in the whole world,” said a Laurel, who is one of three Church members in her high school. It wasn’t long before all of the young people and their leaders were seated and enjoying a delicious dinner of roast top sirloin, French-cut green beans, Julienne carrots, Southern-fried chicken, potatoes au gratin, tossed salad, and a delightful assortment of desserts.
The evening began despite the weather, and it continued to get better. After dinner everyone went next door to the civic auditorium where they were entertained by a group of professional singers, dancers, and musicians. Once the program was over, the young people returned to the scene of the banquet, which had been transformed into a ballroom during their absence. Sister Elaine Cannon, General President of the Young Women, and Elder Julian Lowe, Regional Representative of the Capitol and Potomac regions, led everyone around the floor in a grand march, and then the young people danced until midnight.

On his first visit back to Hawaii after many years, his Hawaiian mama was nearly 90 years-of-age. She was blind. As the brethren were standing where the people were gathering, he heard her calling (I hope I can tell this and not lose my composure) "Iosepa, Iosepa." Then he saw his blind Hawaiian mama with a few bananas in her hand, coming to pay tribute to him. Just think of it. Here's an Apostle of God, soon to become the Prophet, who walks through the crowd of people, reaches down and embraces his Hawaiian mama, kisses her, pats her on the head and then confides to his friend, "This is my Hawaiian mother, who nursed me when I was but a boy." [See Nibley, Charles W. 1919, "Reminiscences of President Joseph F. Smith," Improvement Era 193-194]

My Grandma Chasty was the oldest of her Olsen brothers and sisters, and she often took care of them. In the summertime, they played in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah, USA. One day Chasty heard a voice. Get the children out of the riverbed. But Chasty didn’t listen. They were having fun.
Then she heard the voice again. Still, she kept playing. Then the voice spoke a third time. Get out of the riverbed!
This time Chasty hurried the children out. Suddenly, they heard a roaring sound. A great wall of water came down from the mountains. Because Chasty listened to the Holy Ghost, she saved all of their lives.

Walnetta’s musical skills strengthened as she continued to serve. She witnessed the miraculous growth of the Church in her area, and with it came the opportunity to develop her talent. In her early teens, her branch became the Auckland 5th Ward, and its new chapel featured an electric pipe organ. Walnetta had never played an organ before. “The installer handed me a pamphlet and gave me a very quick rundown – it took about fifteen minutes,” she says. It would be the only organ-playing instructions she would ever receive—but she was not fazed. “I knew the Lord would help me. I then made it my business to learn all I could and to practice, practice, practice!”
For 70 years now, Walnetta’s dedication to music has blessed so many. When President Steve Midgely, a former stake president for the Whangarei Stake, had difficulty finding an organist for a stake conference, Walnetta was happy to meet his request. And, whenever Area President David Baxter presided at Takapuna Ward sacrament meetings, he would always stop by the organ after the service to thank Walnetta for the music.
“I’m sure I speak for all music personnel when I say we feel appreciated when the brethren and members are grateful for the music we provide,” she says. “I have played for ward, stake and Pacific Area meetings [and] accompanied Church choirs, particularly in local music competitions.” She feels honoured to have been able to work with so many talented singers and instrumentalists in the Church as they performed musical numbers.
Over the years, Walnetta has served in many other callings and enjoyed those experiences too. Today, she feels just as privileged to provide prelude music in her current Taupo Ward, to invite the Holy Spirit and set a reverent tone for their sacrament meetings. Reflecting on her love for her calling, she is so grateful for the gift that Elder Ashman gave her all those years ago when he asked for a volunteer pianist. “His invitation to play for our meetings and [his] confidence in me has blessed my life,” she says.
Music quickly became her expression of love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and each of the hymns she has learned holds so much meaning for her. The first hymn she ever played was, “Lord, Dismiss Us with Thy Blessing.”
“It is a prayer that God’s Spirit will always be with us,” Walnetta says, “and over the years, that truth has been manifest in my life.”
Could she ever choose a favourite hymn? After some thought, Walnetta’s conclusion is, no. “What is more important to me is that no matter which hymn I play, I am always grateful to feel the Spirit as I have played that hymn.” She continues: “Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) once said, ‘We are in a position, as musicians, to touch the souls of those who listen.’1
“I feel that responsibility.”

Like my parents, I needed courage to live the gospel. I spent one year as a soldier in the German army. Most of the soldiers used bad language, smoked, and did other things I knew I should not do. Sometimes I felt alone, but I always tried to keep Heavenly Father’s standards. My officers respected my commitment and allowed me time off to participate in Church activities.
On the last night of a soldier’s service, the soldier and his friends would drink a lot of alcohol and have a rowdy party. I thought and prayed about what I should do when my last night came. When it did, I told the group of soldiers serving with me, “Let’s do something that has never been done before.” We dressed in our best suits and went to say a quiet good-bye to our army leaders. Our major couldn’t believe it. I felt that Heavenly Father had guided me to find an answer to my problem. Looking back, I can see that the greatest blessings in my life have come by following the counsel of prophets and keeping God’s commandments.

Strong evidence for the existence of the devil is often given by individuals who know they have come in contact with him. Beth, a young California housewife, has been involved in astrology and fortune-telling since high school. She had attended many séances (meetings in which spirits are invited to come to a group to possess the body of an individual and to speak through that person). At one séance, after she dared to invite the spirits to take control of her body and as she felt them actually doing so, she panicked and changed her mind, fighting them off.

Following this close call, there were aftereffects. “I felt like I was in a pit,” she says, “and all these spirits were standing over me. I heard them laughing at me and saying, ‘We’ve got you now.’” Also, Beth found herself developing a split personality.
Both psychiatry and psychology recognize the crippling effects of spiritistic activity upon the mind. In his book, The Haunting of Bishop Pike, Merrill Unger states, “Sustained practice of occultism produces symptoms of split personalities. Psychiatry characterizes the resulting disorder as ‘mediumistic psychosis.’”

In Answers to Gospel Questions, President Joseph Fielding Smith gave some very sound advice concerning the problem of receiving guidance from mediums, magicians, or astrologers. He said:
“The Lord has pointed out very clearly the course that we should take in obtaining inspiration for our guidance. When a person is baptized and receives the Holy Ghost, he is promised that he will receive the necessary guidance for his spiritual and temporal good, provided he is true to his covenants. The Lord will not dwell in unclean tabernacles. Therefore, in order that we may keep ourselves in harmony with the Spirit of the Lord, we must be mentally, spiritually, and bodily clean from every contaminating influence.”
Remember, nothing Satan does is good, although he does a lot of things that look good.
Coming back to Isaiah’s reaction to the astrologers and soothsayers, we see a genuine prophet about his Father’s business. His answer, unsophisticated and deceptively simple, is nevertheless an illuminating ray of spiritual insight for today.
He merely asked: “Will it save you?”

Photograph posed by model
When I crossed the finish line of the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska, I felt extremely grateful to be a finisher because I had been fighting the battle of living with a chronic illness. After receiving my finisher’s medal, I hurried to call my mother. She was thousands of miles away serving a mission with my father in Samoa. With heartfelt emotion and tender tears, my first celebratory words to her were “I’m free! I’m free!”
Four years before then, I had been diagnosed with post-viral fatigue syndrome, often associated with symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. After many blood tests, MRIs, and CAT scans, I was referred to an infectious disease specialist. At last, after months of wondering what was wrong with me, the virus was found. The doctor found the cytomegalovirus (CMV) in one of my blood tests. I asked him about a treatment plan and how long my symptoms might last. His answer was not what I wanted to hear. He told me that I would need to rest often and not overdo it. He told me that the symptoms could last for several months or even years.
How could I rest? I was a full-time elementary physical education teacher and Young Women leader. My husband and I had been married for 16 years and had not yet been blessed to have children of our own, so I tried to fill this void by teaching other children and serving the young women. After offering many prayers, I knew it was time for me to resign from my teaching position. I did not have the strength or the energy to teach or do much of anything. I often experienced daily headaches, joint pain, dizziness, anxiety, loss of concentration, unrefreshed sleep, and extreme fatigue.
What was I going to do? I knew I had two choices: give up or hold on. I chose to hold on because I knew that with my faith anchored in Jesus Christ, I could endure the struggle.
The struggle continued for four years. Getting dressed every morning became exhausting. Just doing one load of laundry wore me out. I could not drive myself to appointments due to dizziness and exhaustion. Asking others for help was challenging for me; but if the Spirit prompted me to do so, I would try to obey. I was amazed at the love that was offered to me. I had always been a giver. I had found joy in service. Now I had to allow others to serve me and hold on to hope for healing.
In priesthood blessings that I received, I heard that I needed to be patient for healing to happen. I had read in the scriptures that if I would “bear with patience [my] afflictions,” the Lord would give me success (see Alma 26:27). I read a general conference talk from President Russell M. Nelson about the Lord’s ways and timing. He testified: “I know that an all-wise Heavenly Father’s perspective is much broader than is ours. While we know of our mortal problems and pain, He knows of our immortal progress and potential. If we pray to know His will and submit ourselves to it with patience and courage, heavenly healing can take place in His own way and time.”1 I knew I must hold on.
When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.
I decided I needed to focus on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do during this physical affliction. I began by compiling a gratitude list. At the top of my list, I wrote that I was grateful for being alive and knowing who I am. By knowing that I am a daughter of God and that my Savior loves me, I was able to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
I became determined to fill myself with a perfect brightness of hope, love, and gratitude by studying the life of Jesus Christ through reading the scriptures, receiving priesthood blessings, and serving others in small and grateful ways.
I was often filled with fear during this affliction. This fear would cause panic attacks and make me feel weary and unsure of my ability to ever recover and be whole. One day I received a card in the mail from my Relief Society president that included a scripture that became my peaceful prescription for overcoming the fear that was holding me back: “Perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). Our Master Healer, Jesus Christ, would cast out my darkness, doubt, and despair and fill me with His light, love, and lift. My fear faded and my faith ignited.
After four years of chronic fatigue, I ran my first marathon in 2011 and have run 12 more since.
Photograph courtesy of the author
After four years, I knew I had been patient in affliction, and I felt physically able and prepared to move on. I wouldn’t be moving on alone. My husband and my children (the oldest of which was born two years into my illness) were my most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
So I began training for the marathon one step at a time. My husband decided to train with me and promised to run the race with me. During one of my training runs, I came upon a street sign that validated my healing. The street name at the top of a hill was Success. At that moment, I knew the Lord had kept His promise to me. I had been taught what I should do to endure this affliction: “Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
The Lord gave me more success than I expected. He renewed my strength and healed my broken heart. I could run again, and after 16 years of not being able to have children, I was blessed to give birth to a son and a daughter (within 21 months of each other). I’m so grateful I held on to God’s guidance I had received in the scriptures.
I pressed forward through the illness with faith in Christ and with my husband and children as my cheerleaders. Now our children are old enough to run with us.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I know the words of Christ tell us all things that we should do (see 2 Nephi 32:3). I know that being patient helps the process of healing to happen. As Paul wrote, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of life requires us to overcome obstacles put on our path. By holding on to hope in Christ, pressing forward with a steadfastness in Christ, and moving on with His perfect love surrounding us, we will, in the Lord’s timing, be made free! (see John 8:36).
The author lives in Alaska.

Back in November 1999, I was asked by our college dean to give a presentation to our college's faculty about how to prepare for Y2K. "Y2K" stood for the year 2000--particularly January 1, 2000--when apparently all computers and basically anything electronic was supposed to crash; when life as we knew it would come to a screeching halt. Personally, I did not worry too much about it. I knew that I would be with a group of students up in the Teton Mountains for a weeklong backcountry ski and winter camping trip called Winter Summit. Nothing happened to us. We had no computers and no electricity, just a lot of great new powder snow. I don't believe anything happened anywhere.
But, still there were many who were worried, which is why I was asked to give the talk. Having taught outdoor survival skills, winter camping, and other outdoor courses, I guess our dean thought I could give some suggestions on how to deal with the impending doom. Without asking him, I decided to take a different approach to the topic. Instead of discussing how to prepare for Y2K, I gave my presentation on "YK2?" Here the "Y" did not represent a year, nor did "2K." Rather the "Y" stood for a question: Why? And the K2 stood for just that--K2--the world's second highest mountain and one of the most difficult and challenging to climb.

The answer was slow in coming, but in retrospect paralleled my desire for faith. That desire was ignited my freshman year at Brigham Young University. On a whim a girlfriend and I decided to spend the weekend in Salt Lake City. While sitting with suitcases in hand at Temple Square, my friend casually remarked, “The president of the Church, David O. McKay, lives just across the street in the Hotel Utah.” Her continual nods of assurance and our curiosity led us to the hotel. Speaking with the bellboy and then the hotel manager about where the famous resident lived was frustrating. Their negative attitude, punctuated with security implications, fell on deaf ears. We left them determined to answer the hypothesis “If I were a prophet of God, behind which door would I choose to live in this hotel?”

After hours of knocking on doors and greeting blank stares from grumpy hotel guests, we staked out three floors. An innocent chambermaid on one of the floors revealed the answer. Excitedly, we hugged each other as only BYU freshmen could. Our enthusiasm was boundless, until we concluded to see if the prophet was home. Being the smallest of the twosome, I was designated to knock on the door. If the knock was answered, I had been programmed to say, “We are selling early orders for Girl Scout cookies. Would you care to place an order?”

As I walked toward the door I felt reticent; yet, as my feet faltered and heart pounded, my friend pushed me forward. It wasn’t until I reached the door and was knocking that she ran like a “flash of light” to the far end of the hall. I was just turning to run when the door opened, and before me stood the prophet. He looked surprised but didn’t say anything. Neither did I, I couldn’t. I felt like I had a key to the celestial kingdom but did not belong—I was not worthy to be in his presence. I started to cry and then to sob. He took me by the hand and said, “Won’t you come in?” I waved to my friend down the hall—whose open mouth betrayed her surprise—and entered the prophet’s home. Our discussion remains personal, but the resulting impact was to change my inner direction dramatically. I resolved, as never before, to not just mirror faith, but to know of faith, to be faithful like Sarah Ann each day of my life so I would be worthy to see again a prophet, my Savior, and my Father in Heaven.

One such opportunity was a moment, a couple of years ago in Ladysmith, in KwaZulu Natal Province, in the Republic of South Africa with Elder Kevin S. Hamilton, then President of the Africa Southeast Area.
After a training session with Elder Hamilton, as a young returning missionary whose family does not share my faith, amidst my anxiety as to how to stay strong, I asked, “President, what should I do to retain my membership in the Church?”
Elder Hamilton looked at me in the eyes, placed his arm around my shoulder and said, “What do you usually tell your new converts?”
I responded, “President, I encourage them to continually come to Church to partake of the sacrament, to pray often, to prepare to go to the temple, to do home visiting (ministering), and to magnify their callings when given one.”
He replied, “Elder, then go home and do those things. Your faith will be strengthened as you continually do them”.

At 53, Elizabeth seized another learning opportunity. She and her daughter Jessie were walking down the street in Bendigo when a man in a black coat and top hat introduced himself as a missionary from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He offered them a book and said it would teach them God’s plan for His children. Elizabeth always eagerly accepted free books, but this one would change their lives.
All through that night, Jessie read The Book of Mormon to her mother, and the Holy Spirit affirmed to them this book was true.
Elizabeth and three of her children were baptized on 2 February 1902. A couple years later, her two grandsons were baptized.