Gospel Story Finder

I had the opportunity as a boy of being raised on a ranch. I had many opportunities to work outdoors side by side with my father and three brothers. On our ranch we raised beef cattle, sheep, horses and often had milk cows, chickens, and even pigs. On any given day in the summer when we were not in school my dad would get us up early and take us out to the fields and get us started on some task that needed to be done that day. Sometimes we would be working together and other times we would be left to ourselves to complete the task. It often seemed rather simple when dad would describe what he would like us to do. But frequently it didn’t turn out that way. One day my dad took me to a pasture where our bucks (or rams) were. He explained to me that he wanted me to herd the bucks from where they were now to another pasture that was probably a half a mile away. He left me with one of our dogs to help. It didn’t seem like too difficult of a job. So I told him I understood and he left. Our dog named Queen and I began to herd the 30 bucks towards our destination. Things were going quite well until we came upon a stream of water that didn’t have a bridge. For those of you who are not familiar with sheep, they do not like water. Well I knew they didn’t like water but I could see that the water was not very deep so I thought I could get them to cross the stream. So I began to yell and whistle and rush the bucks, trying to scare them into the stream. I also knew that sheep would follow each other almost anywhere, so I thought if I could get one across the stream the others would likely follow. Even with the help of Queen we couldn’t get the bucks to go into the water. I even got so desperate that I caught one of the bucks and waded out into the stream myself pulling the buck with me all the way to the other side. I was thinking that if the others could see one on the other side they would be willing to go across with it. Well, as I let go of the buck that I had just pulled across onto dry land, he could see the other sheep on the opposite side of the stream and he jumped back into the stream and went back to where the others were. Now I was standing on the opposite side of the stream by myself, and the bucks were all running off in the other direction. What seemed to be a simple task had become very complicated and challenging.

I think that sometimes our lives our like this experience, in that we may be going along living life quite smoothly and then an unexpected obstacle may get in our way. Sometimes these obstacles are created by our own bad choices and other times we had nothing to do with putting the obstacle there. Regardless of the source of the challenge it can be very difficult to overcome and seem overwhelming to us. Fortunately, we have been given tools to assist us as we face these challenges in our lives. Elder Richard G. Scott; states
As you seek spiritual knowledge, search for principles. Carefully separate them from the detail used to explain them. Principles are concentrated truth, packaged for application to a wide variety of circumstances. A true principle makes decisions clear even under the most confusing and compelling circumstances. It is worth great effort to organize the truth we gather into simple statements of principle.
At times in our lives, the trials we are facing do seem to be very compelling and confusing. It is comforting to me to know that if I apply correct principles to my challenges the decisions that I make can become clearer. Elder Boyd K. Packer explained,
From doctrine, we learn principles of conduct, how to respond to problems of everyday living, even failures, for they to are provided for in the doctrines.
Principles are general and abstract; they do not refer to specifics. Principles relate to the “big picture.” Living by principles means using them to make decisions in the situations we encounter. I would like to mention three of these gospel principles that I feel would help us as we face the challenges in our lives. I recognize that this is not a complete list of principles to apply; however, it is a place to start.

And I can testify that this is true, because I’ve experienced it firsthand.
When I was called to serve a mission on Temple Square, I was able to serve with other sister missionaries from over 40 different countries. It was amazing to see how despite our differences in culture, race, traditions, and even small things like food preferences, we were united as one through serving God and furthering the gospel of Jesus Christ.
We weren’t divided by differences—we saw the good in one another; we saw one another as children of heavenly parents, regardless of appearance or differences; and we loved one another dearly.
My mission was a beautiful experience I have always carried with me.

Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
When I was a boy, my father gave me a Christmas present I will never forget. It was a green Matchbox® racing car, which I absolutely loved. This car was the favorite thing I received that year. I played with it all the time. Then one day I got angry—I now can’t even remember why—and I threw my cherished car in a fit of anger. It landed in a wisteria bush.
Photograph by Getty Images
In Australia, Christmastime is in the summertime. These were long, hot days and the wisteria bush was thick with its full summer growth.
I soon calmed down enough to realize I had better find my car. I looked for hours. Days. Weeks, even. But I never saw my car again. It was forever lost in the tangles of the thick bush. I felt terrible! My father gave me something because he loved me, and I threw it away. Even today, when I think about this experience, I feel distressed at how I rejected this gift given in love.

At the University of Utah, in an evening seminar, I was speaking to the M.B.A.’s and senior business students. I noticed a young man with a baby sitting alone near the front of the hall. Afterwards he came up and spoke to me, still holding the baby. He had a few questions about his career. I said, “Where is your wife?” He said, “Well, when we were married, I promised her that she would have the opportunity of attending Relief Society. Tonight is Relief Society, and so I have our son at this seminar.”

Every woman here should understand the importance of Relief Society in her marriage, and every priesthood holder should understand it.

What the power of the Spirit can communicate beyond the meaning of words is clearly seen in an experience of Brother Peter Mourik, real estate director for the Church in Europe. He met with city officials, including the mayor, to negotiate the purchase of the former city hall. If it could be purchased, it was to be converted into a meetinghouse for the Church. The mayor of the neighboring German town was also present, inasmuch as a recent change in the boundaries involved both communities in the transaction.
The gentleman who introduced Brother Mourik to the mayors and officials did so in a spirit of levity. He said, “I want to introduce Mr. Mourik here, who represents this denomination … this sect … this group.” He finally got around to saying “This church.”
Then Brother Mourik raised his hand and said, “Mr. Mayor, I object.”
The mayor answered, “The meeting hasn’t even started. What are you objecting to?”
Brother Mourik replied, “Before we start, I’d like everybody to understand who and what it is I represent. I represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the only true church upon the face of the earth today!”
This statement incited laughter. Then the mayor said to the gentleman introducing Brother Mourik, “You’d better be careful what you say about this church!”
Brother Mourik thought that this had settled the preliminaries. But the mayor of the smaller town spoke up and said, “I would like to say something about this church. We have leased a schoolhouse to them for over two years. I have found them to be a very beautiful people. I go to the swimming pool on the school grounds quite often. One night I found a special gathering of their church members near the pool. They were holding a baptismal service. I sat quietly at the rear of the group and watched. They sang a hymn. I thought it was beautiful. Then someone prayed, and when he said ‘Amen,’ they all said ‘Amen.’ I was impressed with that. Then a teenage girl got up and spoke about what Christ and the Church meant to her. She was moved to tears. I, too, was deeply moved. I was further moved by the heartwarming sincerity, the oneness and spiritual unity of these people. When I went home, I said to my wife, ‘Let’s get more information about this church. We need to find out more about it.’”
When the mayor concluded, Brother Mourik said: “Mr. Mayor, you would make a good bishop in our church,” and they all laughed again.
But the feeling in the meeting had changed profoundly. The Spirit of the Lord was there and was speaking to the hearts of those present. So Brother Mourik was impressed to say, “Since the mayor has explained to you what our church is about, I’m sure now you understand why we need to purchase the building at the lowest possible price.”
The Church bought this choice piece of property at a very greatly reduced price. This was accomplished because Brother Mourik had the courage to bear his testimony. This testimony was accompanied by the power of the Spirit, which inspired the mayor to speak and which communicated a favorable conviction about the Church to the city officials. What the Spirit communicates to the hearts of men is beyond the power of words to portray!

My classmates and I were staying overnight at Tanyllyn Lodge as part of our sixth-form geography field trip into the Welsh mountains. I was glad that my friend Louise and I were assigned to share a room.
It took us a while to get ready for bed. We took turns using the one tiny sink in the room, and the even tinier mirror. Our clothing for the next day had to be set out along with our hiking boots and thick socks. Louise finished her preparations before I did and climbed into her bed.
When I had finished doing everything except saying my prayers, I hesitated beside my bed. Louise was not a member of the Church and had no idea that I prayed each night.
My first instinct was to slip into bed as she had done and then feign sleep while I silently prayed. But I anticipated two big flaws with that decision. First, I knew Louise would start talking to me and I’d never make it through my prayer uninterrupted. Second, I was a little daunted by the next day’s grueling agenda and felt that I needed the comfort of a fervent prayer on my knees.
I dithered in indecision for a few minutes, then turned to Louise and told her I was going to say a prayer. She looked a bit startled, but before she could say anything, I went down on my knees at the end of the bed, bowed my head, closed my eyes, and offered a silent personal prayer. She was still watching me when I rose.
There was a rather awkward silence as I crawled into bed. As I furiously searched for something to say, Louise said, “Sian, do you do that every night?”
“Yes,” I replied.
There was a slight pause, then, “What do you say?”
The question surprised me. I had never really considered the possibility that someone would not know how to pray. I told Louise that I began my prayers by addressing our Father in Heaven, I thanked him for things I had received, asked him to help and bless me, and then closed my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ.
There was another pause, and during the silence I felt my heartbeat quicken. Before I lost my nerve, I asked her if she would like to pray with me.
“Okay,” she said, with curiosity in her voice. “What do we do?”
We knelt together by the side of the bed, and I said a prayer aloud. When it was over, I asked her how she felt.
She smiled shyly, “Well, you’ve given me something to think about,” she responded.
I don’t know what Louise’s thoughts were as we lay in our beds afterward. Mine were thoughts of gratitude. Lying there in the dark, I knew the Spirit had been in that room confirming to me that we do have a Heavenly Father who loves us and listens to our prayers. I hope that Louise felt it too.

One such experience occurred late one evening during a busy holiday season. I was hurriedly searching for a scripture to strengthen my sacrament meeting talk the following Sunday. My mind was crowded with concerns about arriving relatives, unfinished holiday preparations, and the chaotic state of my house. I wondered why I had ever said yes to the bishop at such a hectic time. After a long, fruitless search, at last I came upon the eleventh chapter of 1 Nephi, which details Nephi’s remarkable vision of the Savior’s birth and earthly mission. Somehow the full impact of this vision had escaped me in earlier readings, but tonight the meaning of those words struck me forcefully. Nephi wrote joyfully:
“And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father! Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?
“And I answered him, saying: Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.
“And he spake unto me, saying: Yea, and the most joyous to the soul.” (1 Ne. 11:21–23; italics added.)
The words seemed like a newly discovered treasure. For the first time, the meaning of Lehi’s white-fruited tree was entirely clear. The fruit which tasted so exquisitely sweet represented the irresistibly sweet love of God. I had found the theme for my talk—and the strength to get through the next demanding days, as well. Pressures could mount and cash registers jingle; no matter. My heart had once again been warmed and strengthened by God’s love.
Yet the most lasting impact of that frantic late-evening search was the awakening of a precious memory: my own personal discovery of God’s love.

Some time ago, Sister Haycock and I accompanied President and Sister Kimball, President and Sister Tanner, and others on a visit to the Holy Land for the dedication of the Orson Hyde Memorial Gardens. While there, we visited a number of places held sacred in the memory of Christians, and particularly Latter-day Saints, because we were walking where Jesus walked.
We visited the Garden Tomb, and after sitting with President and Sister Kimball inside the tomb, we came out into the sunshine and beauty of the garden. The cameramen who recorded the trip were anxious to get pictures of President Kimball walking in the garden, but I was concerned because the path was paved with flagstones, making it rough and uneven underfoot. I cautioned President Kimball to be careful and not fall. He responded quietly and with dignity: “Don’t worry, Arthur. I am used to walking on holy ground.”
We then visited the Garden of Gethsemane. We saw the small but beautiful garden with its ancient olive trees that many believe were there when Christ knelt and prayed to his Father just before his betrayal. Again a film crew wanted to record the event for history. Our Israeli guides went to the priests in charge and asked permission for President Kimball’s party to enter the part of the garden that was fenced off. Permission to enter for five minutes would be given, the priests said, upon the payment of 5,000 Israeli pounds per person. For President and Sister Kimball and one photographer, that would be 15,000 pounds, or 450 U.S. dollars, for 5 minutes. The Israeli guides shook their heads, and one of them said, “No, this is a holy man. He came here to worship, not to pay tribute.”
In addition to all his many other virtues, President Kimball has a wonderful sense of humor. While traveling in Europe a couple of years ago, it became necessary to stay over for a full week before going to Poland to finalize arrangements for official recognition of the Church in that land. I thought perhaps we could use the time to climb the Matterhorn, visit the fjords of Norway, or explore beautiful England by taking a boat trip on the Thames River, but instead, President Kimball said he wanted to visit the missions in Italy, Austria, and Germany. He left it up to one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve and myself to arrange the itinerary. We arranged special meetings each night in a different city or country.
As soon as we arrived in the first mission, President Kimball asked when the missionary meeting was to be held. I told him that we hadn’t planned any missionary meetings because all of the missionaries would be attending the general meeting that night. He said he still wanted a special missionary meeting. I told him the reason we didn’t plan a separate meeting with the missionaries was because of the time and energy required. He replied, “I know what you are trying to do. You are trying to save me, but I don’t want to be saved. I just want to be exalted!” I then went to the phone and arranged meetings all over Europe for the balance of our trip.
One day recently, about noon, I was urging President Kimball to have some lunch and then take a nap. He resisted, and I indicated that if he didn’t do as I suggested, Sister Kimball might scold me. He looked up at me and with a chuckle and a sly grin said, “Well I’d rather have her scold you than me!”
One evening President Kimball stayed late at the office, and so I continued working at my desk. It turned out that he was going to a dinner at the Lion House at 6:30 and was waiting for Sister Kimball to come and meet him so they could go to the dinner together. About 5:30, he urged me to go home, but I told him that I would stay as long as he did. He insisted, so I said, “I am torn between doing my duty to stay close to you and doing what you ask me to do.” He looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “They both ought to be the same, hadn’t they?”
I was with President Kimball when I saw the mantle of presidency fall upon him the day after Christmas 1973. I had taken President Harold B. Lee to the hospital in Salt Lake the afternoon of December 26 because he was tired and the doctor thought he ought to get a rest and have a checkup. His family had gone home for a brief period, and I was alone with him in the room when he began to have difficulties. Within seconds I called a nurse and then a doctor, and immediately the alarm was sounded—“cardiac arrest.”
A team of doctors and nurses with sophisticated equipment began an heroic hour-long struggle in an effort to save his life. As I watched, I became convinced that unless the Lord did indeed work a miracle, President Lee could not live. I at once called President Romney and then reached President Tanner in Phoenix and got in touch with President Lee’s wife and family. Again convinced that unless the Lord took a hand there would be a change in the leadership of the Church, I felt that the next President of the Church should be present.
I immediately went to the phone and called President Kimball, and when he heard my voice, he responded in his usual cheerful manner, “Well, Arthur, how are you tonight?” I said, “Not very well. I am at the hospital with President Lee, and he is very ill. I think you should come at once.” He said, “I’ll be right there,” and I hung up. As I did so, I was conscious of the fact that I had not even told President Kimball which hospital we were at. Nevertheless, he was the first to arrive. Then President Romney came, and then President Lee’s wife and family.
It was on this sad occasion that I learned a great and fundamental lesson in priesthood and Church government. As you know, President Romney was a member of the First Presidency, while President Kimball was the President of the Quorum of the Twelve. As soon as President Romney arrived, President Kimball turned to him and said, “President Romney, what would you like me to do?” At the moment there seemed little that any of us could do, except pray and wait. A short time later, the doctor came and gave us the awful news that President Lee was dead. Quietly, President Romney, knowing that the First Presidency was now dissolved at that precise moment and that the mantle had fallen upon President Kimball, turned to him and said, “President Kimball, what would you like me to do?”
In a recent conference President Kimball said: “We believe that we have in this Church the answers to all questions, for the Lord is the head of the Church, and He has given us the program. Our message is what it has always been, and our hope is that our people will live the commandments of the Lord. They have been revealed in the holy scriptures and by living prophets throughout many years.”
No, President Kimball is not an ordinary man. He is a Prophet of the Lord.

“Although the pageant was cancelled last year, we still had auditions and a workshop. I loved being part of the community of the pageant, it really felt as if we were one big family sharing love and faith. Living on the temple grounds was fantastic and I felt the Spirit very strongly. We camped on a site nearby, until one night we got flooded out and were blessed when local members asked us to come and stay with them.
“The directors are amazing; it’s not all about speaking with the perfect accent, flawless singing, absolutely perfect dancing—although it is all very professional—it’s more about the feeling. The people whom we depict in the pageant story knew what they were doing. The miracle was that ordinary people were transformed into a supportive community of faith and love, and that is what has been reproduced as the cast members come together to depict this awe-inspiring story. We too are ordinary people meeting together, often as strangers in the beginning, and creating a community of faith and trust.”
Lizzie will play the part of Sarah Ashton, the eldest daughter of the main character, Arthur Ashton. In the story he loses his wife, and the pageant tells of his journey of doubt, belief and faith. Lizzie explains that like many people, she has experienced grief in her family, but has been uplifted by focusing on the promises of the temple, finding comfort in the knowledge that families can be together forever, which Lizzie calls the linchpin of her faith.
“The story is about the hope that the temple gives, and it is wonderful to be a part of this special event; I can’t wait!”

Many years ago my husband, Ken, and I moved to Provo, Utah, so he could attend Brigham Young University. Before our move, Ken had traveled there, bought a mobile home, and arranged for water, gas, and electricity to be turned on when we moved in.
We arrived in Provo on a cold December night. All our belongings were packed in the back of a rental truck. We were tired and tense from the long trip. Six months pregnant, I was feeling the effects of cleaning, packing, and traveling. Shawna, our 15-month-old daughter, was tired and crying.
As we opened the door to our home, a blast of cold air greeted us. The electricity and water had been turned on, but for some reason the gas had not. Too exhausted to do anything else, we put a mattress on the floor and plugged in an electric blanket to keep us warm. We tried to sleep with our daughter between us, but she cried most of the night. When morning came we were almost as tired as when we had gone to bed.
After we unloaded the truck, Ken left to return it, check with the gas company, and arrange for a phone to be installed. I dressed Shawna in her snowsuit. Then I placed her in her highchair to play with a few toys while I started to unpack the boxes.
When I unpacked our electric frying pan, I decided to heat water in it to wash out the cupboards. As I turned on the kitchen sink, the faucet came off and water shot up into the air. I tried to turn off the water valve under the sink but could not get it to turn. Frantically, I searched for the water shutoff valve for the house. By the time I found it, the kitchen and living room were flooded.
As I desperately started moving boxes out of the water, Shawna sensed panic and began to scream. Carrying her with one of my arms, I continued trying to lift boxes with the other arm.
At that moment I started into premature labor. Now I was truly panicked. I didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood, and I didn’t have a phone to call for help. Desperately I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me!”
I’ll never forget the knock that came at the door minutes later. The woman standing there was shivering, with soapsuds up to her elbows. She introduced herself as Amalia Van Tassel, the branch Relief Society president, and told me the Spirit had sent her.
I would later learn that Amalia had been standing at her sink washing dishes when she felt prompted to check on the new family who had just moved in. Sensing that it was urgent, she called to her oldest daughter to watch her other children and, without even stopping to dry her hands or grab her coat, ran to my door.
Amalia had me lie down, comforted Shawna, cleaned up all she could, and invited our family to dinner. She brought light, safety, and comfort into that dark December day. Rest stopped my premature labor, Ken fixed the sink, the gas man turned the gas on, and portable electric heaters dried the soaked carpet.
I have always been grateful to Heavenly Father for answering my prayer that day and for the loving Relief Society president who quickly followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.

Howard Long was a World War II vet, and he wasn’t in the best of health. Of course, he and his wife, Stella, managed all right. They were pretty independent and really active in the Church. They didn’t need much more than a short home teaching visit to keep their spirits up.

While walking home from school that Tuesday afternoon, I was mulling over in my mind how to out-campaign Tony Toronto, Jill’s opponent. I was piecing together terse, catchy campaign slogans when I spotted Howard Long a half-block down the street. He was on his front lawn, trying to start his mower. My first inclination was to move to the opposite side of the street and pass by as inconspicuously as possible.

Just as I started across the street, Sister Long opened the front door and called out, “Howard, just leave it alone.” There was genuine worry in her voice. “Get one of the neighbors to give you a hand. You’re going to have a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

“It’s always hard to start,” Brother Long huffed.

Generally I was on the shy side, especially around adults. But for some reason I cut back to the sidewalk running past the Longs’ front yard. “Hi, Brother Long,” I called out awkwardly. He looked in my direction, nodded and smiled. “Could you use a hand?”

Howard took a breath and shook his head. “Oh, I think I can get it, Kyle. But I appreciate your asking. I just …”

“Howard,” Sister Long cut him short, stepping out the door and onto the front step. “Don’t be so bullheaded. Let the boy help you.”

Brother Long glanced over his shoulder toward his wife and then looked back at me, winking. “Well, if you don’t mind,” he conceded, stepping back. “I better not rile the boss. I wanted to get the lawn mowed before the garbage truck comes tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed the pull rope and worked on starting the motor. It wasn’t long before I was wiping at my brow with the back of my hand. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to start, Brother Long,” I concluded.

“It was getting a little sluggish last fall,” he admitted. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Look, my friend Joel Manning knows a bunch about engines,” I offered. “If it takes gas, he can fix it. I’ll give him a call.”

“Oh, we don’t need to bother you anymore,” Sister Long said. “You’ve got plenty to do without worrying about us. We’ll make out.”

“It’s no problem. Can I use your phone?” I asked, moving toward the house.

A moment later I jabbered into the phone. “I need your help, Joel, old buddy. I told the Longs you could fix anything that guzzles gas.”

“Huh?”

“Get over here. Their lawn mower’s dead and I’ve been bragging about you so long and hard that they insist you come over or they’ll call me a liar.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

“Come on, Joel. You’ll be helping me make my home teaching visit,” I joked.

Fifteen minutes later Joel and I were hunched over the mower. Joel figured out the problem right away: a loose spark plug connection. He was magic. It wasn’t long before that mower was just humming. The Longs didn’t have a huge yard so while Joel mowed, I grabbed a leaf rake and cleaned up the dead grass. There were also some leaves and branches in the backyard, so we hauled those out to the curb for the garbage truck to pick up the following morning.

It was pushing 6:30 when we finally finished, and both Brother and Sister Long were shaking their heads and apologizing for taking our whole afternoon. “I just didn’t know how Howard was going to get all of this done,” Sister Long commented in amazement.

Brother Long pulled out his wallet and started digging for a few dollar bills. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

Joel turned to me with a quizzical expression and asked seriously, “Does your bishop let you take money for home teaching? Mine doesn’t.” He winked and grinned.

I coughed and shook my head, trying to appear serious myself. “I don’t think we accept pay for home teaching unless we get it done the first part of the month. Maybe next time.”

Turning to Brother Long, Joel said, “I guess you got the famous end-of-the-month home teaching bonus package. It’s a special deal for families that have to wait to the end of the month for the home teachers to show up,” he joked. “I figure that Kyle’s families probably qualify for this bonus package every month.”

I felt good leaving the Longs’ place that afternoon, but I didn’t think any more about further home teaching. After all, it wasn’t something that preyed on my mind often. I had lots of other things to worry about.

Some classes are very humble indeed. President Kimball and I once attended a seminary class in North Dakota. We did not meet in a fine room with a blackboard and projector and special school chairs. We met in the very small bedroom in a very small house.
The teacher, Sister Two Dogs, sat on the edge of the bed. The students crowded together on the floor. It was no less a class than one held in a beautiful building. The most important ingredient, the Spirit of the Lord, was there. I attended a seminary graduation in Omaha, Nebraska. The speaker, again a young man, described this experience.
“Each morning I awoke to the sweet voice of my mother calling out, ‘John, John, time to get ready for seminary!’ The year rolled on and the mornings grew cold and wet and dark; still the happy voice of Mother would sing out, ‘John, John, time to get up for seminary!’” Then he added, “I learned to hate that sound!”
But then, choking back the tears, he thanked his mother for what she had given him. And I think only later did he realize that she had to be up first every morning.

I would like to share an example of a time when I was grateful for blessings I received:

In 2009, my Father passed away at the age of 71. As the news spread throughout the community, we received many phone calls and visits from family members, neighbors, ward members, coworkers, and friends. We received monetary gifts, dinners, and groceries – just an abundance of gifts. We even received the gift of music – singing, chanting and dancing. For several weeks, we received an outpouring of love. We were overwhelmed and touched by the generosity of so many. What was a sad time for us became a happy and joyous time because of the love and support that we received from the community. It felt like a big party for our family as we gathered every night to eat and mingle together with visitors. What I remember most at the time, was how everyone made us feel so loved and cared for. Going through this experience makes the plan of happiness much more real to me and it makes me appreciate it more. I know that I will see my Father again. That brings joy to my heart and strengthens my faith. After this experience, it motivated me to want to give service to others especially to those who must go through a family member’s death.

I will always be grateful to all those who blessed our family in our time of need. Their gift of love and service brought a spirit of warmth and happiness into our lives.

One tragedy of love has already occurred this year. A beardless youth became so enamored of a young miss (although she did not encourage him) that each day for 47 consecutive days he wrote her a special delivery letter, until finally, on the 48th day, she eloped with the mailman.
The lad was probably blessed, since he had nothing to offer the lady except a mission yet unserved, a college education one quarter complete, and no funds. (He had spent all of his money on stamps.)

Hi! I’m Hilary, and I’m 11. If you’ve ever been bowling, you know you have to roll a ball down a long lane and try to knock down the pins at the end. You also have to wear funny-looking shoes. When you knock down all the pins at once, you get a strike. But that’s not as easy as it sounds.
The first time I went bowling was for my friend Meg’s birthday a couple of years ago. Meg invited a bunch of girls from Primary and school. I was excited to go, but I was a little nervous too. I always worried about trying new things.
We walked into the bowling alley and heard the loud crash of balls hitting the pins. We all jumped and giggled at the sound.
“OK, girls,” Meg’s mom said. “Go over to the counter and get your bowling shoes.”
Bowling shoes? I didn’t know I would have to wear different shoes. The girls started telling the worker their shoe size, but I shrunk to the back of the group. I had really long feet, and there was no way I could shout out my shoe size like everyone else. I was afraid they’d laugh and make fun of my big feet. I walked back to our lanes and sat down.
“Don’t you want to bowl, Hilary?” Meg’s mom asked.
“I think I’ll just watch for now,” I said.
The girls came back and plopped down to put their shoes on. Everyone laughed and talked, and I smiled with them. Maybe I would get some shoes later.
But as I watched my friends bowl, I started worrying about how I would look. I was taller than my friends, and I had long arms and legs. I wasn’t very good at sports, either. I thought I looked like an off-balance windmill when I tried to do sporty things—awkward!
“Hey, Hilary,” Meg called. “Do you want to try with my ball? You can take off your shoes and bowl in your socks.”
I really wanted to, but I was too worried about everything. (I told you I worried a lot!)
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m having fun watching.”
It wasn’t a lie. I was having fun watching my friends. But I knew I would be having a lot more fun if I could just stop worrying and bowl with them. So I sat watching by myself.
After that day, I promised myself that I would be braver about trying new things. A few months later I was back at the bowling alley again. It was McCall’s birthday this time. I blushed when I had to say my shoe size out loud, but then I looked around and saw that no one had even noticed. That made me feel a little better.
When it was my turn, I made myself pick up a bowling ball. Then I shuffled slowly up to the lane. I felt like everyone was watching me as I tried to make my body move as gracefully as possible. The ball rolled down the lane a little crooked and a little slow, but it hit three pins!
“Nice job!” Erin said.
McCall gave me a high five. I grinned so hard I thought my cheeks would break. This wasn’t so bad after all! I kept bowling and had a great time for the rest of the party.
Now I try not to worry about what I’ll look like or what other people will think when I try new things. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel awkward, but take my advice—don’t let worrying or being scared stop you from doing something new. There’s a good chance you’ll love it! I’m still not a very good bowler, but I have fun learning. Maybe someday I’ll even get a strike!

I was in another country not long ago holding a fireside for young adults. During the question-and-answer portion of the meeting, a young brother raised his hand and asked when the Church would provide more financial assistance for young adults to help them become self-reliant. I thought about this for a moment and then felt impressed to ask him if he had served a mission. He replied that he had. I asked him if he had learned to set goals while on his mission, to plan, to exercise faith, and to work diligently. He was good-natured about it and smiled as he replied that he had in fact learned those life skills. I then said to him, “You are an agent, not an object. You have the ability to act and to do whatever it is that you choose to do. You have been taught everything that you need to be successful in life. Now it is up to you to go forward in faith and to act, rather than to sit back and wait to be acted upon.” I hoped that he felt my love for him and that somehow this exchange helped him to reorient his vision for himself.

I’m almost always in my office on Tuesday and Thursday mornings by 6:00 a.m. Those are my Book of Mormon days. I came in, however, a little later on this particular Thursday because it was an exam day. I stopped by Winchell’s to get some doughnuts in hopes of sweetening the experience just a little. It was kind of a gray day. As I went into the doughnut shop, there were two lines. In the line to my right was a young man whom I recognized as a participant in our Wright Leadership Seminar program. We chatted: “How are you? How is school going?” You know, the usual conversation. There was an older man standing just in front of this student. I had not paid much attention but did notice the man fumbling through his pocket and counting his change. Looking up at the order board, he changed his order from a drink and a doughnut to a hot drink. I went about my business, ordered my doughnuts, and said goodbye to this young man as he went on his way. Shortly, I saw the clerk come from behind the counter and walk over to the man with his drink. She laid a doughnut on the table and said, “That young man has bought you a doughnut.”

I wish I’d thought of that. But I didn’t. It took a BYU student to think of that. I watched the student as he walked down the street toward school, and he never looked back. Not for credit. Not for admiration. He simply walked on, his BYU backpack flung across his shoulder and his physics book under his arm.

For Scout camp this summer, we took our Scouts to Flaming Gorge. One day we rafted the Green River below Flaming Gorge Dam. They were letting extra water out of the dam, so the currents in the river were impressive. Each raft had a guide who told us how and when to stroke—“forward three,” “left four,” “back two.” We responded quickly with the required strokes. In this way the guide directed us to currents in the river in which we could enjoy the rapids as well as safety.

Like Sister Chieko N. Okazaki, I have discovered that some lives are woven together in a divine pattern of friendship and kindness (see Ensign, May 1993, page 84).
I was 15 years old when I came in contact with a pair of missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my hometown of Tilburg, the Netherlands. My parents were charmed with these two young men, and when the missionaries asked if they could take me to church, my parents agreed. I was raised in a Christian home, so I did know of a Heavenly Father. But I had never thought about life or about his plan for us. At church and from the missionary discussions, I soon discovered the true gospel. My life changed, and I asked my parents for permission to be baptized. They refused, but that did not stop me from living according to the laws of Heavenly Father.
About this time, I became acquainted with Ans, a young woman who was a little bit older than I was. Later she told me that she had been searching for the truth and was so impressed by the enthusiasm I radiated that she decided to investigate the Church. She lived in another town, so our contact stayed rather superficial. However, I later learned that she joined the Church.
During this same time period, I took my friend Angela with me to a Young Adult camp. The experience convinced her to investigate the Church, and she was baptized several months later. She moved to the United States, but we stayed in contact and our friendship continued.
Unfortunately, my life took another direction after I introduced Ans and Angela to the gospel. I moved to Dordrecht and distanced myself from the Church and was not baptized. But no matter what I thought of the Church or what I was doing with my life, both Ans and Angela stayed in touch with me. They avoided talking about the gospel, but they were there for me when I had questions. I had not lost faith altogether, and it continued to work on my conscience. Then Ans moved closer to where I lived, and our friendship blossomed. She visited me often and showed her love for me in small, subtle ways.
I am now married to a wonderful husband and have two sweet children. About a year ago I came across a book in the public library about the history of the Church, and I checked it out. I was very touched by the book’s description of the hardships the pioneers endured; they were willing to go through many things because of the gospel. Reading the book revived my testimony. I knew the Church had to be true!
Great was their surprise when I told my friends that I wanted to be baptized. Ans and I shed many tears of happiness after my baptism. Angela could not be there, but I felt her support and encouragement.
I am very grateful to Heavenly Father for these friends. Our lives have been woven together over the years, and the pattern is getting more clear all the time. I truly believe what Sister Okazaki said: “We can never afford to be cruel or indifferent or ungenerous, because we are all connected, even if it is in a pattern that only God sees” (Ensign, May 1993, page 85).
My investigation of the Church lasted 15 years. And though the missionaries who first taught me were disappointed to see my testimony wither, their work wasn’t in vain. If they had not sown the seed, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I will never be able to thank them enough for what they did. The seeds they sowed I shared with others—and they, in turn, continued to nourish the seed in my heart until it flowered in joy and our hearts were woven together in faith and love.

I remember a personal experience that helped me learn to replace doubt with hope. I was serving as a stake president at the time. My children were small. My wife and I owned a tortilla-making business, and we worked long hours.

One of those nights, when my wife and I had to make tortillas from midnight until 3:00 a.m., three young men came to our shop. All three were high on drugs. Two of them wore ski masks and long raincoats. The raincoats hid their weapons. They threatened us, put us inside the shop, and closed the door. One stood guard outside, repeatedly shouting, “Kill them! Kill them!”

One of the young men put the barrel of his gun against my temple and forced me to lie down. The other put the barrel of his gun to my wife’s chest. I prayed that my children would not become orphans, and the Lord protected us. The robbers finally locked us in the bathroom and disappeared, driving away in my truck.

We escaped and called for help. The police came and so did my brother. As soon as possible, we took my wife home. Then my brother and I went looking, unsuccessfully, for my truck. Feeling very sad, I returned home at 5:00 a.m.

To my surprise, my wife and children were not there. A neighbor told me that my four-year-old daughter was suffering stomach pain, and they had rushed her to the hospital. Knowing that we would desperately need money for her care, I felt I had no choice but to return to the tortilla shop and fill the orders for the day. Since my wife and I were the only workers, I was alone, rushing like crazy, kneading, putting dough in the hopper, adjusting the size, running back and forth to finish tortillas and wait on customers.

By now it was 8:00 a.m. I began to reflect on the events of the night. The question went through my mind, “If you are the stake president, why is all this happening to you?”

I pushed the malicious thought aside and prayed for strength. Then I heard a voice behind me: “President.” It was my bishop and a brother from the ward, my home teachers.

The bishop said, “We don’t know how to make tortillas, so we can’t help you here. But don’t worry about your truck, your wife, your sick daughter, or your other children. You stay here and we will help you with the rest.” My eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

They took charge of everything but tortillas. That afternoon when I returned home, I found my house clean and tidy, my shirts ironed, and food waiting for me. No one was home, but I knew that the Relief Society had been there. The police had found my truck, and someone from the ward had paid to get it released.

I quickly went to see my wife and daughter. The bishop had been there and had given my daughter a blessing. She had appendicitis, but everything was under control.

As my wife and I talked, we were impressed that the bishop had not used fast offerings or items from the bishops’ storehouse to assist us. Rather, he used the resources and mercy of the members of our ward.

A few days later, while my daughter was recuperating and my wife was helping me in the tortilla shop, three women arrived. They were the mothers of the young thieves and had come to offer their apologies. They explained that the police had caught their sons. Later these mothers practically dragged their sons into the shop to ask forgiveness, and we forgave them.