Gospel Story Finder

My father’s father came from Sweden, and his wife from England. They met on the ship coming over. He waited for her to grow up, and then he proposed marriage. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple, and he wrote in his journal, “Today is the happiest day of my life. My sweetheart and I were married for time and eternity in the holy temple.”

Three days later, on April 23, 1898, he wrote, “Took the train at the Rio Grande Western Depot enroute eventually to Scandinavia, where I have been called as a missionary.” Off he went to Sweden, leaving his bride of three days.

His journal, written in pencil, came to me from an uncle who somehow chose me to receive his father’s journal. The most frequent entry in the journal was, “My feet are wet.” But the most beautiful entry said: “Today we went to the Jansson home. We met Sister Jansson. She had a lovely dinner for us. She is a good cook.” And then he said, “The children all sang or played a harmonica or did a little dance, and then she paid her tithing. Five krona for the Lord and one for my companion, Elder Ipson, and one for me.” And then there were listed the names of the children.

When I read that in the journal, there was my wife’s father’s name as one who was in that household, one who probably sang a song, one who became the father of only one daughter, the girl whom I married.

After a recent stake conference meeting where I had discussed the role of the family in the Church, I was approached by a sweet woman who said: “Bishop, I’m a widow and I really appreciated everything you said today. I have a lovely family, but I have many problems and I do need help. My priesthood leaders have families of their own and they have lots of problems and I don’t want to bother them and add to their problems. So what should I do?”
I asked her, “Do you have a good home teacher who really cares about you?”
She said, “Yes, I have a home teacher and he comes by every month or so; but he isn’t very involved with our family.”
Then I asked, “Well, do you have a visiting teacher who visits you and understands you?”
She said, “Yes, the Relief Society sometimes comes.”
At this point, I was praying for a right answer, when a lovely sister, who was standing nearby and heard our conversation, said, “Excuse me, but I was a widow; and even though I have just remarried, I know how you feel and I understand your problems. Please let me drop by. I’d like to visit with you.”
Dr. Tom Dooley offers some interesting insights regarding those who have known difficulties and can now share the burden of another. I quote:
“One of Dr. (Albert) Schweitzer’s most important concepts is that of the Fellowship of Those who Bear the Mark of Pain. … Who are its members? Those who have learned by experience what physical pain and bodily anguish mean. These people, all over the world, are united by a secret bond. He who has been delivered from pain must not think he is now … at liberty to continue his life and forget his sickness. He is a man whose eyes are opened. He now has a duty to help others in their battles with pain and anguish. He must help to bring to others the deliverance which he himself knows.
“Under this Fellowship come not only those who were formerly sick, but those who are related to sufferers, and whom does this not include?” (Thomas Dooley, “A Worldwide Fellowship,” Words of Wisdom, ed. Thomas C. Jones, Chicago: J. B. Ferguson, 1966, p. 150.)

In the months and years after the First Vision, Joseph Smith faced intense opposition. He said that he frequently fell into many foolish errors and often felt condemned for his weakness and imperfections. He sought forgiveness for his sins and follies and prayed to know his standing before God. As he did, an angel appeared, called him by name, and said that he was sent from the presence of God, that his name was Moroni, and that God had a work for him to do.[9]

How comforting and ennobling it must have been to Joseph to know that in spite of his weaknesses, God had a work for him to do. He repented of his sins and served and sacrificed throughout the remainder of his life. He was persecuted. He was thwarted time and again in his efforts to establish a Zion community, but he never gave up. He suffered, but he endured. In the end, he was killed for his convictions. Through his sacrifice and service he became the magnificent instrument of the Restoration. The power of God was upon him, and he was fruitful.

What is the precious fruit of his life? Today, the Church he helped to establish is thriving, and millions are blessed immeasurably.

As we sat in sacrament meeting one Sunday morning, our bishop asked the members of our ward to give a more generous fast offering. My husband and I were newlyweds struggling to make ends meet while he completed his education. Shouldn’t wealthy ward members be the ones to increase their fast offerings?
The bishop promised ward members they would experience miracles in their lives if they doubled their fast offerings. Despite my concerns, the Spirit confirmed to me that his promise was true.
Trembling as I wrote our fast offering check the following week, I doubled the amount. “We’re going to starve,” I said to myself as I sealed the envelope.
A few days later as I got into my car to drive to work, the red warning light came on for the oil. I added oil, but it leaked from the engine as quickly as I poured it in. When I called our mechanic, he told me to drive straight to his shop. Holding back tears, I drove a few miles to his repair shop and silently said a prayer.
The mechanic warned that the repair would probably be expensive but had to be done. He also pointed out that it was almost time to replace the car’s timing belt—another expense we couldn’t afford. I left the car at the shop and went to work devastated.
Later, when the mechanic called, he was upbeat and excited. “Of course he is,” I thought. “He’s about to make a ton of money off of us.”
Actually, he called to share an amazing story. As he was working on our car, a friend happened by his auto shop. This friend, who works at a dealership that services my make of car, asked our mechanic what he was working on. When our mechanic explained the problem, his friend said, “Well, you know there’s a recall for that problem. It’s covered by the automaker.”
I couldn’t believe it! Then our mechanic explained that oil had gotten all over the engine, so the automaker would also cover the replacement of the timing belt and other belts!
Tears of gratitude sprang from my eyes as I recognized the blessing we had received from the Lord. I felt overwhelmed by His love and embarrassed by my lack of faith.
I haven’t had perfect faith since this incident a few years ago, but I know that the Lord is acutely aware of our needs and struggles. I know He loves us and wants to help us. I also know that Heavenly Father will test us and not always answer our prayers as quickly as He did in this instance.
Most important, I have a testimony of the blessings we can receive by paying a generous fast offering and of the blessings others receive as a result of our generosity.

Recently a mission president asked me to speak to a troubled missionary who was having extreme homesickness problems. His intense yearnings were causing poor performance, a waste of time, a lack of concentration, and a dislike for his present assignment. I took the occasion to tell him that some of the right kind of homesickness could be desirable, but it must be kept under control. Let me say at the outset, yearning is defined as “to have a strong or deep desire; be filled with longing” (American Heritage Dictionary, second college edition, 1982). This missionary seemed very sincere in wanting to do better. Proper yearnings for home can be beneficial.
Not just children but all of us will want to think of home under joyous or trying circumstances. We let ourselves become homesick for love, acceptance, security, understanding, and guidance that generally are taught and shared there. Home should be the place in which a person can unburden his soul and find renewed strength to face the world; where there is comfort, joy, and understanding; where best friends live; and where we can learn to be our best selves.
There is a certain kind of yearning for home we should never want to lose. Home should be an anchor, a port in a storm, a refuge, a happy place in which to dwell, a place where we are loved and where we can love. Home should be where life’s greatest lessons are taught and learned. Home and family can be the center of one’s earthly faith, where love and mutual responsibility are appropriately blended. Thinking of home with its pleasant and happy memories can make us stronger during our present and future days here upon the earth.
President Benson has always loved his childhood home. He loves Whitney, Idaho, his birthplace. He loves the homestead where all eleven children were born and reared by noble parents.
Over a lifetime of worldwide travel, he yearned to return often to his home, and he did so. His heart has always been in Cache Valley. He loved going back and visiting with family members still there and seeing the friends of his birth, his neighbors, his teachers, his bishops, his kin who had such an impact for good on his life. He calls them “the finest people in all the world,” and Whitney “the ideal farm community.”
It revitalizes President Benson to go back to his roots, to go back to the land that nourished him and built character in him and provided him the sacred beginnings of a life devoted to God, family, and country. Truly, President Benson loves his childhood home.
I am concerned for people today who do not have a longing for or thoughts of home. It is unfortunate that among us we have people who have never experienced home life that has been and is desirable so that there can be an anxiousness under control for thoughts toward home. Our responsibilities are to share the warmth of our homes by being good neighbors and friends.
To know who we are is important, but to know where we are in relationship to our earthly home and heavenly home is essential if we are to receive all the blessings our Father in Heaven has for those who love him and keep his commandments. Our eternal home is our ultimate destination. A proper yearning for home can prevent our getting lost in detours or paths that lead us away.
It is reported that one summer at a Young Women’s conference in Alberta, Canada, three hundred girls were camped in tents scattered among tall pines. It rained every day and was very cold and wet. Even so, there was no murmuring in the camp. The last day of the conference, the leader addressed the young women under cloudy skies. Despite the unseasonable cold, there was a feeling of warmth among them for this their temporary home. Maybe because of the cold they were all drawn together and felt warm from the inside out.
The speaker began her remarks by asking, “Where are you going following this outdoor conference?” The united chorus of three hundred young women resounded through the tall pines. “Home!” they cried out. “Where?” they were asked again, and they responded with even greater conviction: “Home!” They knew where they wanted to go most of all and were anxious to get there.
The most attractive home that we will ever share will be that abode with our families with appropriate relationship to our Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Even the prodigal son could not resist the pull of home. He spurned his father, his home life, and his heritage, lavishly wasting his inheritance on riotous living. When he had nothing and was reduced to living off the spoils that only swine would eat, his thoughts turned homeward. Could there have been moments, as he gleaned the fields for husks to eat, when he longed for the security, safety, and acceptance he’d had before? Might he have been deeply homesick? Repentant, and hoping his father would accept him as a servant, he finally returned home. His father rejoiced, welcoming him back with open arms and complete acceptance. He no doubt knew that welcoming his wayward son was crucial if he hoped to ever return to his heavenly home. (See Luke 15:11–32).
Over the years I’ve counseled with many whose homesickness threatened to interfere with their missions, marriages, and families.
But I’ve come to see that being homesick isn’t all bad. It’s natural to miss the people you are closest to. It’s normal to long to be where you feel secure, where those you love have your best interests at heart. It’s understandable to want to return to the place where you learned how to walk and talk, where you felt loved even when friends turned away, and where you were accepted, regardless of the situation. There’s no place on earth that can take the place of a home where love has been given and received.
Recently we’ve witnessed the tragic devastation that Hurricane Andrew left in its wake in southern Florida and Louisiana. Tens of thousands of people have lost their homes. Armed forces personnel have raised tent cities to try and at least provide these victims with shelter. But the sobering fact is that, at least for a time, many of these people literally cannot go home. I cannot imagine how they must yearn for what they so recently had.
I have known other men and women who, for one reason or another, could not go home or who had no home to go to. I have felt their pain and seen their tears. It is, at best, a heartbreaking situation.
In another application, I have also known men and women who have jeopardized the privilege of returning to their heavenly home. Some were dealing with problems that made them ineligible to enter the temple and make the eternal covenants that bind us to our eternal home. I have felt their heartache and their longing for opportunities that, at least for a time, were beyond their reach.
The ramifications are poignant and endless. Perhaps we’ve all had these overwhelming thoughts come to mind: What if I am unworthy? What if I could never go home?
If he could have his way, Satan would distract us from our heritage. He would have us become involved in a million and one things in this life—probably none of which are very important in the long run—to keep us from concentrating on the things that are really important, particularly the reality that we are God’s children. He would like us to forget about home and family values. He’d like to keep us so busy with comparatively insignificant things that we don’t have time to make the effort to understand where we came from, whose children we are, and how glorious our ultimate homecoming can be!
We are literally the children of our Heavenly Father. We kept our first estate. During our experience in premortality, we lived with and were cared for and taught by a loving Father. Among other things, we were schooled in what had to be a perfect spiritual and educational environment. And we rejoiced when told of the plan whereby we could prove ourselves. Hence the day arrived when it was our turn to experience a period of probation and testing, a period during which a veil would be drawn over our memories so that we would be free either to walk by faith and by the Spirit or to forsake our spiritual heritage and birthright.
Now we’re here. And I’m sure we would all agree that this second estate has lived up to its billing. It is a time of testing, of probation. The challenges and duties and responsibilities, at times, seem to overshadow almost everything else. Sadly, it’s easy to become so encumbered by the press of daily life that we lose our focus.
One definition of the word focus is “directed attention” or “emphasis” (Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary). Perhaps as much as anything in this day and age of mass media, instantaneous worldwide communications, and modern conveniences that seem to help us pack more into each day than would have been considered possible just a few decades ago, we need to focus on and direct our attention to the things that really matter. And simply, what really matters is a personal testimony of Jesus Christ, an understanding of who we are and what we’re doing here, and an absolute determination to return home.
What young musician, finally scheduled to debut in a capacity concert hall after years of agonizing rehearsal, would, while en route to the performance, stop to join a long line forming at the latest hit movie, forgetting the thousands of people waiting to hear her?
What world-class runner, after training for well over a decade, would find himself in the Olympic finals, only to stop running halfway through his race to watch the high-jump finals taking place on the other side of the field?
These examples may seem preposterous—but how much more tragic it is for someone who, equipped with a testimony of the truth and a knowledge of the purpose of life, becomes more absorbed in life today than in life forever. Who’s just a little more concerned about his or her status and standing in mortality than in eternity. Whose focus is not directed to God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ, with whom it is possible to have a glorious connection and bond.
I fear that, at times, we run the risk of acting like seasoned, conditioned athletes who are more interested in what kind of jogging suits we’ll wear than in buckling down to train for the race. C. S. Lewis had an intriguing way of evaluating this dilemma: “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. … We are far too easily pleased” (A Mind Awake: An Anthology of C. S. Lewis, ed. Clyde S. Kilby [New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1968], p. 168).
The prophet Mormon put it another way: “Why are ye ashamed to take upon you the name of Christ? Why do ye not think that greater is the value of an endless happiness than that misery which never dies—because of the praise of the world?” (Morm. 8:38).
When we have a yearning and don’t know what it is for, perhaps it’s our soul longing for its heartland, longing to be no longer alienated from the Lord and the pursuit of something much higher, better, and more fulfilling than anything this earth has to offer.
After Joseph, son of Jacob, had been reunited with his brothers, he asked them to return home to Canaan to bring his father, Jacob, to him in Egypt. As the brothers were preparing to depart, Joseph said to them simply, “See that ye fall not out by the way” (Gen. 45:24).
Might our Heavenly Father have given us much the same counsel as we departed his presence to begin our earthly sojourn?
May our yearning for home be the motivation we need to so live that we can return to our heavenly home with God our Father on a forever basis, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

About 10 years before I joined the Church in 1976, I had a dream. In my dream I saw my father, who had been dead for some time. He called me by my nickname, “Mya, you will later do something in a foreign country that will be very important for your family.” It was a dream I could never forget—what did my father mean?

Throughout my life, I had always been very interested in my family history. After I became a member of the Church, I had another dream. In this dream, I was receiving some guests—very distinguished people. I had prepared a salmon, but I needed to put some plates on the table for the guests. There was always some interruption when I tried to add more plates, but I knew there should be many more. I awoke for a time after the dream but still felt very sleepy. I went to sleep again—and the dream was repeated. I felt I was being told that I had the salmon (which I understood represented the gospel)—I just needed to make it ready for others. I knew that I needed to get names to the temple!

That was the beginning of many hours in the family history library, searching out family records. Time did not exist while I was working there. I had a distant goal of some day being able to take these records to the temple, but I was afraid I would never realize this goal because of the language barrier.

I was so excited when I heard that the temple ceremony had been translated into Icelandic! For 19 years I had worked on my genealogy but never dared to dream that I would be able to go to the temple. And now—somehow—I had the feeling that I was not worthy, and I was afraid my husband would never allow me to go. I watched as members of the branch planned for the trip and went for their temple recommend interviews.

When President Ólafur called me into his office one Sunday and asked why I hadn’t asked for a temple recommend, I told him of my fears and misgivings. He said, “Why do you judge yourself so harshly? Will you believe you are worthy if I, as a servant of the Lord, tell you that you can go?” President Ólafur also told me he would visit with my husband to ask him permission for me to go. I was so happy when I left his office, I embraced everyone I saw. I was still happy when I got home, but the fear came back. I told my husband what had happened, and he said, “Of course you will go!”

When I finally entered the temple in London, my father’s words in that dream 29 years earlier suddenly became clear to me. Here I was, in a foreign country, prepared to do temple ordinances for my ancestors. There are not words to describe the feeling I had at that time. When I came into the celestial room after my own endowment, I felt like Simeon of old when he saw the child Jesus in the temple (see Luke 2:29–30). I, too, felt that after this experience, I could die in peace.

Truly, this was a dream come true!

When Alex’s father, René, thinks back on the 13 years he spent outside the Church, he laments what he missed.
“Those years were very difficult,” he says. “Sometimes I couldn’t help but think about the time I was losing by not enjoying the marvelous life the gospel offers.”
The Escobar family had joined the Church in Córdoba when Alex was a child. They stayed active until moving back to their native country of Bolivia shortly after Alex’s baptism. While in Bolivia, they forgot “what the gospel means to our lives,” René says.
When they returned to Córdoba two years later, Alex’s mother, Carmen, occasionally attended church with the couple’s four children. But René, an avid football player, spent Sundays sleeping off Saturday’s games and associated activities—activities that often meant breaking the Word of Wisdom.
“I was the hardheaded one,” he says. “At times I thought I was completely lost, which we think when we no longer have the companionship of the Spirit.”
What finally turned René around was the realization that his example was hurting his children. “My sons were like orphans who attended church by themselves because their father was not active,” he recalls.
“I began to examine my life and the effect my example was having on my children,” says René, who is grateful that the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ allowed him to repent. “I realized I wasn’t living up to my responsibilities as a father. All these things helped me remember the Lord, get on my knees, and ask Him to help me return.”
As René’s faithfulness and testimony grew, a series of callings followed. Several years after reembracing the gospel, he received an impression that the Lord had prepared him for an important new calling.
“The result is that my father is my bishop,” Alex said.
While Alex served in the Argentina Resistencia Mission, everyone missed him, but they were grateful he was sharing his example with others. And they’re grateful for having been sealed in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple in 2009.
Bishop Escobar is happy that Alex is the first missionary he sent into the mission field after being called as bishop. “It’s exciting to have a son serve,” he says. “We all missed Alex, but I’m the one who missed him the most. He is the one who supported me.”

Some years before he was called as an Apostle himself, Elder Robert D. Hales recounted an experience that demonstrated his father’s sense of that holy calling. Elder Hales said:

Some years ago Father, then over eighty years of age, was expecting a visit from a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a snowy winter day. Father, an artist, had painted a picture of the home of the Apostle. Rather than have the painting delivered to him, this sweet Apostle wanted to go personally to pick the painting up and thank my father for it. Knowing that Father would be concerned that everything was in readiness for the forthcoming visit, I dropped by his home. Because of the depth of the snow, snowplows had caused a snowbank in front of the walkway to the front door. Father had shoveled the walks and then labored to remove the snowbank. He returned to the house exhausted and in pain. When I arrived, he was experiencing heart pain from overexertion and stressful anxiety. My first concern was to warn him of his unwise physical efforts. Didn’t he know what the result of his labor would be?

“Robert,” he said through interrupted short breaths, “do you realize an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ is coming to my home? The walks must be clean. He should not have to come through a snowdrift.” He raised his hand, saying, “Oh, Robert, don’t ever forget or take for granted the privilege it is to know and to serve with Apostles of the Lord.”

I think it is more than coincidence that such a father would be blessed to have a son serve as an Apostle.

I served in the Hungary Budapest Mission. When I returned home early, it was hard because all my companions were still out on their missions and I missed being a missionary. I also feared that other Church members would judge me, but fortunately, everyone treated me with love and understood my situation.
As time passed, I felt better. I read an article in the Liahona about early-returned missionaries that helped me feel better because I didn’t feel I was the only one anymore (see Destiny Yarbro, “Home Earlier Than Planned,” Liahona, Jan. 2018, 44–47). And I also took to heart what my aunt said: “Missionary work continues wherever we are.”
Lucas Ludwig Saito, São Paulo, Brazil

Just as a little child starts to develop a sense of identity as he or she repeatedly hears a name, I believe our names are important to our identity always. As a young mother I returned to take a class from the university I had previously attended and found naturally that things were very much changed from the time when I had begun my studies. I didn’t know anyone. One day one of my past professors came into the room, noticed me, and said, “Janette Callister, how nice to see you.” She turned to my current professor and said she remembered me as a good student. I still remember the good feeling I had that somebody really knew me and remembered me for good.

Many years ago John Burroughs, a naturalist, one summer evening was walking through a crowded park. Above the sounds of city life he heard the song of a bird.
He stopped and listened! Those with him had not heard it. He looked around. No one else had noticed it.
It bothered him that everyone should miss something so beautiful.
He took a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. It struck the pavement with a ring, no louder than the song of the bird. Everyone turned; they could hear that!
It is difficult to separate from all the sounds of city traffic the song of a bird. But you can hear it. You can hear it plainly if you train yourself to listen for it.

Aaronic Priesthood bearers from five stakes left a priceless gift to future generations of Washington State residents. They donated over 6,000 hours of labor to help build a 220-acre park in the quiet valley of the Snoqualmie and Tolt Rivers near Carnation, Washington. The more than 1,500 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders were among 20,000 Scouts from the area who worked with the United States Army, the Canadian Army, and Washington State officials in the largest youth Bicentennial project in the United States, the John MacDonald Memorial Park.
The young men from Bremerton, Renton, Seattle, Seattle East, and Seattle North stakes pitched tents among the dense fir trees and lived almost like pioneers for five consecutive weekends. They carried logs for shelters, cleared and raked meeting areas, built picnic tables, and nailed ramp separators for the suspension bridge that connects the two areas of the park. When they were finished, there were 40 hike-in campsites, hundreds of picnic tables, many log shelters, several rest room facilities, and five miles of trails through the park. “They were just ecstatic for the chance to do something permanent,” explained one leader. “They were busy every minute.”
They were tired, but happy Scouts who proudly carried their flag in the parade that marked the opening of the park several weeks later. All the town of Carnation and visitors from throughout the country gathered to watch as the Renton Second Ward Cub Scout pack led the parade through the small town and into the park.
“This park … is an honored tribute to our past. Scouts of today and tomorrow will use this beautiful land to learn … of yesterday’s greatness and tomorrow’s promises. The park will reinforce our customary spirit of using the heart, mind, and hands to live sensibly with nature’s rivers, forests, meadows, and mountains,” reads a plaque on display at the Memorial. These are the words of the man who was the inspiration behind the park, John M. MacDonald, a longtime volunteer leader with the Chief Seattle Council.
The proud smiles of the young men as they marched in the parade showed the plaque’s words coming true.

Old Mom had one superior: Fred, the superintendent of the herd. Only he could punish her offenses.
One day a drifter wandered into the circus lot. For days he teased Old Mom. Bellowing with rage and thrashing her trunk, she tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t quit. One day his abuse was too much. Old Mom snatched him in her trunk and threw him against a wall. Then she seized a nearby bull hook (commonly used to punish disobedient elephants), handed it to Fred, and began to “talk” into his ear, pleading like a naughty child. She wrapped her trunk softly around his body, and Fred slowly dropped the bull hook. Perhaps Old Mom believed that she had talked him out of a spanking, but the truth was that Fred had seen the bully teasing his elephant all week. He ordered the man from the circus grounds and warned him to never return. Fred was Old Mom’s protector as well as her punisher.

At age 25, I felt ready for marriage. I had already served a mission and felt that marriage was the next step for me. Marriage was promised to me in my patriarchal blessing, and a recent priesthood blessing had told me that it would happen “soon.” Not long after that, I started a new semester at school and quickly began dating someone. I’ll spare you all the details, but right before we were going to get engaged, he broke up with me. On my birthday.
I was devastated. This was the only thing I had prayed for consistently and so deeply for the past five years. And I felt like not only were my prayers not answered, but the very thing I had longed for was intentionally taken away from me.
I was so confused. I had felt spiritual feelings during the relationship that this was the right decision. But it just felt like God was being cruel and merciless—like He was intentionally taking good things out of my life. It seemed like the things He was doing were contrary to what I knew about His nature.
I had a bit of a faith crisis because there was no way I could look at what I was told about God and what He had done in not answering my prayers and reconcile the two logically. But my only choice was to go to Him with my broken heart—broken from both my unanswered prayers and my failed relationship. I felt like I had nothing left.
In trying to draw closer to Him, I began reading the Book of Mormon every day with a sincerity I hadn’t been capable of before. And little by little, as I expressed what tiny acts of faith I could to keep my broken heart soft and close to Him, answers started coming.
Eventually I realized that there had been some red flags and unhealthy patterns in the relationship that I had been unwilling to see. I began to understand that God had approved of my agency to move forward in the relationship. I started to see all my unanswered prayers in a different light. And I realized that God had been merciful all along.
Because I felt so broken and vulnerable after this experience, I looked for the most uplifting and wholesome friends I could find. I eventually began dating one of those friends. I learned to take this new relationship very slowly, and we laid a great foundation of friendship and selfless love that eventually took us to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. God answered my prayers, over time and after I had exercised faith in Him.

Each summer, seven-year-old Dennis helped Grandpa farm his fields, located three miles outside their hometown. Dennis loved everything about Grandpa and his farm. He marveled at the morning sun boiling up over dark hills, the liquid gold of sunset clouds, and the skill in Grandpa’s strong hands as he worked the land that meant so much to him.
Most of all, he marveled at Grandpa’s faith. Dennis could see it in his pale blue eyes that burned in his sunbaked face like fire whenever he spoke of Heavenly Father.
“Give us strength of body and spirit, dear Father, to do today that which we must,” Grandpa prayed one morning as Dennis and Grandma sat at the breakfast table with bowed heads. “Let us be of service, and let our faith be strong.” After breakfast Dennis and Grandpa climbed onto Grandpa’s tractor and set off down the lonely road to the farm.
After working a few hours, Grandpa stopped the tractor and gazed across the hilly landscape of his half-furrowed fields. “Well, son,” he said. “What do you think?”
Dennis wiped the sweat and dust from his face with the back of his hand. “I think I’m tired. There’s too much field, Grandpa. It seems to go on forever, and I’m afraid we’ll never get it done. Besides, it’s hot, and I think there’s enough dirt on me to plant a garden.”
Grandpa laughed and ruffled Dennis’s dusty hair. “You may be right, sprout. But to have a good harvest I’ve got to plow a good portion of earth. Half jobs yield half results, and half a crop just won’t do. Besides,” he added with a wink, “to put off work at my age could be fatal.” Grandpa chuckled and passed a canteen of cold lemonade to Dennis.
Dennis grinned and swallowed a few big gulps.
“You know,” Grandpa said as he squinted into the gold-brown haze of the late morning light, “President Joseph F. Smith once said, ‘We cannot give up; we must not lie down.’ He was talking about the courage of faith. He said, ‘Men who possess that divine quality go on.’”*
Dennis scrunched up his face until he looked like a dirt clod with eyes. “What’s ‘courage of faith,’ Grandpa?”
Grandpa mopped his forehead with a worn bandanna. “To go on. In our case, it means finishing these furrows no matter how hot and dirty the job, no matter how big the field. Especially when that old sun up there and the ache in my back tell me to quit right now.” He patted Dennis’s leg, raising a cloud of dust. “But your help takes the quit right out of it.”
Dennis smiled.
Later, when the canteen was empty, Grandpa decided that it was time to refresh their water supply. He turned the tractor and began to drive it up the hill toward the nearby spring.
But he misjudged the steepness of the hill. Suddenly the front of the machine began to lift off the ground, tipping them backward. “Jump!” he yelled to Dennis as the tractor arched back.
Dennis leaped to safety. Grandpa tried to follow him, but it was too late. The tractor pitched over backward, pinning Grandpa beneath it. He screamed, his face twisted with pain. He turned his head toward Dennis, who stood frozen with horror. “You’ll have to go for help,” Grandpa gasped. “And be quick, son. Be quick!”
For a moment Dennis stood there, his heart drumming. Grandpa’s life depended on him! He took a deep breath and plunged down the hill. All he had were his short legs and the knowledge that help was three long, hot, dusty miles away.
He hit the bottom of the hill at a dead run. His throat and lungs burned as he started down the road that seemed to stretch out forever. His heart and head pounded. Dark thoughts beat at him in rhythm with the hammering of his feet on the hard-baked earth. “I’m only seven. I’m not a runner. I’m already tired. I can’t do it. I’m only seven. …”
Spilling into his thoughts like a flood of light came the words of a prophet: “We cannot give up; we must not lie down.” Then Grandpa’s prayer from that morning echoed through his mind: “Give us strength of body and spirit, dear Father, to do today that which we must.”
Hot tears filled Dennis’s eyes as he ran. “Help me, Heavenly Father,” he prayed aloud in ragged, winded gasps. “Help me to do what I must.”
A little while later, Dennis burst into his house, staggering with exhaustion. “Dad!” he croaked. “Grandpa needs help!” Within moments, help was on its way.
He had done it. He didn’t know how, but Heavenly Father had made it possible. And so had the courage of faith.
Grandpa was rushed to the hospital. His leg was badly mangled. He had to stay in the hospital for several weeks and was in bed for a year after that. But in time he healed completely. The doctor told the family that if it hadn’t been for Dennis’s big run, things probably would have turned out differently. And Dennis knew that if it hadn’t been for what Grandpa had said, he couldn’t have done it. The hug Grandpa gave Dennis when he was well enough made Dennis very glad that he had.

Later, while working back in London, Patrick met some members of the Church.

“They were great examples of our faith,” he recalls. “One of them was from California, and I went and stayed with that family while I worked there.”

That experience gave Patrick a wonderful foundation of understanding the Church. He was touched by the joy the family found in service, but he had many questions about Church doctrine and beliefs. Back in England two years later, however, he met some “impressive missionaries” on the streets of London. After discussing the gospel with them for several months and being told he was not progressing toward baptism, they asked him if he would like a blessing.
“I agreed to have a blessing from a senior missionary I knew,” he recalls. “How I felt during that blessing was a key moment in my conversion. It was an absolutely undeniable sense of light and joy and peace that no words can describe. The words of the blessing proved inspired and definitely prescient.”
That experience, coupled with “a number of other things in my progress toward baptism,” led Patrick to a testimony of the Savior and His restored Church. A couple of months later, on Christmas Eve 1987, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

1 England was a busy place in the early 1800s, but John Taylor liked the hustle and bustle of the country where his family had their farm.
2 John worked many hours on the farm, and he also learned the skill of wood turning.
3 When he was twenty-four years old, John had the opportunity to migrate to Canada to join his family, who had moved there two years before.
4 Before John’s ship left the English Channel, however, there was a horrible storm. Many people on the ship got sick as the storm tossed the ship from side to side.
5 Ships all around John’s were being destroyed by the storm, and the officers and crew of his ship prepared for the worst.
6 But John wasn’t worried. He even walked calmly around the deck at midnight during the raging storm! He knew that he had a work to do in Canada, and he trusted Heavenly Father to protect him so that he could do that work.
7 After John reached Toronto, Canada, he located the Methodist Church, where he became a member and a preacher. In May of 1836, Parley P. Pratt taught him the gospel of Jesus Christ, and John was baptized into the Church.
8 John Taylor continued to trust in the Lord, and he became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It all began on a chilly November morning when I was in eighth grade. My parents called my younger sister and me into their bedroom, requesting that we hold a family meeting. I saw my mother’s face, and instantly a cold, worried feeling filled my heart. My father explained to us that he had had the impression for many months that he should begin looking for a new job. A chilling thought crept into my mind, We’re going to move.
Horrified, I quickly voiced my speculation, hoping to clear the terrible thought from my mind. Instead, I was only met by a new wave of anxiety, as my parents confirmed my judgment. I burst into tears. My parents tried to console me, but I dreaded leaving my home, friends, and ward that I knew so well. I refused to see any good thing about moving. For the next few months before the move, I could never last a week without shedding a tear.
My first Sunday in our new ward was pleasant but did not make much of an impression on me. I knew that the ward would be a strength for me, so I tried to keep a positive outlook on the situation.
Then came my first day at a new school. I did not have my own schedule yet, so I was assigned to shadow another student and follow her schedule until I had my own. I was very shy, and everything was new and confusing. So many of my peers introduced themselves to me, and yet when I went home at the end of the day, I was unable to remember even one. Overwhelmed, I did not look forward to another day of school, but I decided it was tolerable enough and concluded that I would survive the experience.
Things at school progressed very slowly. I made some friends. I did well in my classes, but I was unhappy. I did not want to be there. My only truly happy times were when I went to church. I developed strong friendships with several girls my age very quickly, and those friendships provided strength and hope for me while I struggled to adapt. But still, despite those brief reprieves, I felt unhappy.
Everything changed when I went to young women’s camp. The testimony I gained at camp is one that I have kept and developed. I realized then why I was unhappy. I had let the Spirit leave my life. I had not relied on the Lord for strength. The instant I got home I kneeled down and prayed for strength and courage, for peace and comfort, and for the loving feeling that the Spirit brings to life. Suddenly a warm, comforting feeling filled my heart. I know that my Heavenly Father heard my prayers that day, and every day before that, and every day since.

When I turned 13, I became infatuated with the sound of metal music. The louder the singers and guitars were, the more I loved it. It wasn’t the lyrics I liked; it was the sound that had me hooked.
Soon, I was buying clothes and products so I could mimic my favorite rock star guitarist. It seemed like my only source of happiness came from the most recent CD I bought.
When I was 17, I had the chance to see one of my favorite bands. I fought to get to the front row. Here came the moment I had dreamed of. I stood less than 10 feet away from my guitar hero. These guys played an awesome set, and I had so much fun. When they finished, they packed their instruments and walked offstage.
After that, I thought, “That was so awesome! But now what? I’m not as happy as I was when that band was jamming up on stage. Where will I go or what will I do to get my happiness back?”
A month later, I got the chance to go to Especially for Youth (EFY). The happiness I felt there was stronger than anything I had ever felt before, and it didn’t pack up and walk off the stage.
At EFY I asked the Lord if what I was taught was the happiness I had been searching for. The Spirit bore witness to me, “It’s true.” And I felt an embrace from Heavenly Father saying, “Welcome back, my son.”
Spotlights go dim, applause dies, musicians stop touring, but the love of God and the happiness of the message of the Restoration are eternal!

I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for a magazine that brought two of the best friends together. Twelve years ago I wrote to Feedback about a certain story in the New Era. Consequently I received a letter from a girl in Salt Lake City, and we have been writing ever since. The best news is that in May of 1992, Lori Wall and I met for the first time. I was a bit anxious about meeting her, but when we met it was as if we had known each other all our lives. We have been through a lot together and have grown spiritually stronger. She has seen me through the birth of my child, and I have seen her through her mission and marriage. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, our love stretched. And I have the New Era to thank for a special friend and an eternal sister.
Petra MillsOrange, New South Wales, Australia