Gospel Story Finder

While I served as mission president in Scotland from 1975 to 1978, the Church received considerable opposition and criticism. On one occasion, three ministers made derogatory public statements in a particular city. I wrote an open letter to the local newspaper announcing that we would be holding a public meeting in that city to dispel some of the misunderstandings which were being voiced around. It was a wonderful meeting. We first showed the fine Church film “Meet the Mormons,” and then I spoke to the large group concerning our beliefs and way of life. When we opened the meeting for questions, a number of people who were not members of the Church stood and said kind things about the Church and the Latter-day Saints they knew. Positive results ensued and the work moved forward.

José Humberto González Garza, 69, a member of the Campestre Ward, serves as patriarch in the Monterrey México Roma Stake and has seen patriarchal blessings change lives. He remembers an older woman who was promised she would be able to serve in the temple. She thought it could not happen because of her age and the distance to a temple. But a temple was later built nearby, and she found joy in serving.

“I feel so satisfied doing my duty,” Brother González says. Because he is partially blind, he uses a cane to help him get around. He also uses a hearing aid. And at times he feels he can’t do as much as he used to. But, he says, “when my children ask me, ‘Are you giving blessings, Dad?’ I tell them, ‘No, I’m receiving blessings.’”

After my experiences over the past few years, I think I understand what Paul might have felt. Like Paul, I now have a “thorn” that slows me, and like him I have prayed countless times for it to be taken away.
As I lay on the operating table, the surgeon’s voice broke through the fog of anesthesia, firm yet gentle: “Stacy, move your left arm. Now your left leg.” He repeated the request, but as my mind desperately sent signals to my body, nothing happened. My left side remained unresponsive, lifeless. In that moment, the fear that had loomed over me—of being paralyzed after brain surgery—became my reality. I remember thinking, “This is it; the risk I dreaded has come true.”
As I fully awakened, I told the surgeon I was trying to move, just as I had for the past 49 years. But my body, once so familiar, was now foreign and terrifying, refusing to obey.
Weeks in hospital rehabilitation turned into months, and months into years of grueling physical therapy. I needed help with nearly every movement. The sadness I felt during those years was overwhelming, far greater than anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t just the physical weight of my new reality that crushed my spirit—it was the emotional toll. It was like I had been walking down a clear, well-worn path for nearly 50 years, only to find it suddenly overgrown with thick roots and towering trees. The way forward was obscured, and navigating it seemed impossible. Each day brought a new battle with sadness, fear, and anger as I fought to regain even a fraction of the physical ability I had once taken for granted.
Eighteen months after the surgery, my husband and I were invited to speak at a religious conference. The topic? “What accessing the grace of Jesus Christ daily looks like.” As we prepared, we immersed ourselves in studying Christ’s grace and how it operates in our lives. Grace, as defined in the Bible Dictionary, is “divine means of help or strength, given through the bounteous mercy and love of Jesus Christ.”
One week before the conference, I went on a bike ride with a friend. I rode my recumbent trike, which gives me the freedom to move, while she pedaled beside me on her bicycle. We talked as we rode, and as usual I cried. Sadness had become my constant companion, something the medical world might label as situational depression. I opened up to my friend about how lost I felt, about the overwhelming sadness that shadowed my days.
She asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since: “Stacy, what exactly are you sad about? What do you feel like you’ve lost?” I didn’t have an answer. I knew I was sad about my loss of movement, fearful that I would never regain my strength or the ability to do the things I once could. But the source of my sadness remained elusive.
A few days before the conference, the answer I had been searching for came to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I woke up in the middle of the night, a time when my anxious thoughts usually kept me company. But that night, a phrase echoed in my mind: “Graceful—full of grace.” As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s a good point. Being graceful means being full of His grace. I’ll include that in my presentation.”
When I woke again in the morning, the same phrase was there, clear and insistent: “Graceful—full of grace.” I realized then that this message wasn’t just for the people at the conference—it was for me. That was the source of my sadness. That was what I had lost: my physical gracefulness.
As a young girl, I had been a ballerina, dancing through much of my adolescence and into college. I had never thought of myself as graceful, but years of training had ingrained in me a certain physical poise—a way of standing, moving, and balancing. Even after I stopped dancing, that grace remained. And now, in the quiet of those early morning hours, the Lord was redefining the word for me. I no longer needed the physical grace I once had. I had His grace to lean on in my moments of weakness. His grace was sufficient to help me smile, to shift my focus from my limitations to His strength.
Heaven’s message to me was clear: “You no longer need to rely on the physical grace you’ve learned. My strength is made perfect in your weakness.”
Graceful.
It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained. It’s not about my grace anymore—it’s about Christ’s grace, filling my heart and mind.
Graceful. It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained.
At the conference, I found myself in a room packed with people, needing to cross to the other side. There was no clear aisle, no easy path to navigate. As I stood up, I whispered to myself, “Graceful.” His grace, not mine. That simple word gave me the courage to move, to weave through the crowd without fear.
The more I let go of my old grace and embraced His, the easier life became. I found the strength to do what I could never do alone. His grace allowed me to see myself as a beloved daughter of God, to give my all, knowing He would fill in the gaps where I couldn’t. His grace brought gratitude even for my weaknesses.
I still wrestle with frustration and fear every day. My “thorn” hasn’t been removed. But now when those dark thoughts creep in, I have a powerful tool: the Savior’s grace. I repeat the word graceful to myself and move forward with Him. I don’t know when or how physical healing will come, but I trust that He knows, and that’s enough.
Like Paul, I am grateful for my infirmity because it has opened my eyes to see Him more clearly in my life. I place my trust in Him, and in return He gives me peace and joy and the assurance that He will deliver me.
The author lives in Utah.

On a personal note, I think in my own life of what a challenge my wife and I had when we were first married and went for nearly five years without having children, even though we fasted, prayed, and had numerous priesthood blessings concerning that challenge. We suffered much. However, in time, after adopting our first son, seven others came naturally, and we now stand as the parents of those eight children, plus 21 grandchildren.

Does the Lord fulfill His promises? He does. Be patient. Wait upon the Lord. He does love us.

As a young man, I developed the idea that if I took care of the Lord’s business, he would take care of me. I’m not sure where I learned such an unsubstantiated idea, but it appealed to me, so I followed it faithfully for a number of years. It provided the comfortable insulation I wanted to shield me from the necessity of being cautious and careful. It allowed me to make excuses for minor business mishaps, problems at home, and even major catastrophes. “Surely the Lord is testing me,” I remarked when a business venture failed. “Satan is really after us,” I observed when contention threatened my family.

Because I felt the Lord would always take care of me, I felt no need to “study it out in [my] mind” (D&C 9:8) before asking God. I felt a quick little prayer would do. I often said, “Father, I’ve done my best to serve you, now I ask that you bless me in this endeavor.” I felt that if I magnified my Church calling, God wouldn’t let me lose my family—that if I put God first, I’d never want financially. I did not understand that by following such a procedure, I was yielding to the spirit of the temptation given to the Savior by Satan: “If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee: and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.” (Matt. 4:6.)

Finally, as more “tests” came my way, complete with frustration and disappointment, I began to examine my careless attitude. I began to study the scriptures and to prayerfully examine my responsibility for my affairs. The evidence overwhelmingly suggested that God wants us to work out our own plans and actions, always seeking his confirmation that our course is right. A relationship with God is not an alternative to personal effort. It is, rather, a guide along the stairway of growth and understanding, a stairway which we must climb through our own personal exertion. As I adopted this new approach, I ordered and took responsibility for my life.

I subscribe to the Ensign, but I read the New Era regularly before I pass it on to my granddaughter, Shelly Mitchell-Baker. I am 76 years of age, but I enjoy this magazine, partly because it is refreshing to know that there is such a paper for youth to read in a world where there is so much to tempt youth to take the wrong road in life. Shelly is not a member of the Church, but she tells me that she reads the New Era from cover to cover.
Unfortunately, I learned about the Church too late in life to influence my children and grandchildren. One of my sons came under the influence of the missionaries six or seven years ago and joined the Church. He sent me a book called “Spencer W. Kimball.” I had never even heard that name, but I read the book and learned a lot about the Church and the wonderful man our prophet is. It was his example which induced my wife and me to allow the missionaries to talk to us. My son baptized me at 74 years of age! My wife and I are full of regrets that we learned so late in life what the Church stands for. I will continue to try to persuade Shelly to let the missionaries talk to her.
Robert A. BowenPrestbury, Pietermaritzburg, South Africa

A second principle is illustrated by two faithful Saints, each deeply desirous of finding an eternal companion. Both prayerfully took faith-filled steps.

Yuri, a Russian Latter-day Saint, sacrificed and saved to take a long trip to the temple. On the train he noticed a beautiful woman with a bright countenance, and he felt that he should share the gospel with her. Not knowing what else to do, he began reading from his Book of Mormon, hoping that she might notice.

Yuri didn’t realize that the woman, Mariya, was already a Latter-day Saint. Not knowing that Yuri too was a member, and following a prompting she had to share the gospel with him, Mariya began reading in her Book of Mormon as well, hoping that he might notice.

Well, when they simultaneously looked up, Yuri and Mariya were astonished to see the Book of Mormon in each other’s hands—and yes, after falling in love, they were sealed in the temple. Today, Yuri and Mariya Kutepov of Voronezh, Russia, as eternal companions, contribute significantly to the growth of the Church in Russia.

Early the next morning we had one of the loveliest experiences of our lives, as we visited the Church School of Western Samoa. As we entered the gymnasium, the largest building on the campus, we saw seventeen hundred children sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor, crowded in as tightly as little sardines in a can. They ranged from small four- and five-year-old kindergarten children in the front to teenaged high-school youngsters in the back of the hall. What a beautiful, thrilling sight they were as they sang “I Am a Child of God”! They were all dressed in their school uniforms in colors of blue and gold. With their beautiful dark hair and big brown eyes, they presented a picture of youth and beauty that was breathtaking. The tears came to our eyes quickly and without shame. At the close of my remarks, I announced to the students that in honor of the occasion I was declaring a holiday for the rest of the day. Judging by the sound of the applause, I think I may have become an instant hero—at least for that day. After the brief meeting, we left the hall with the haunting strains of the Samoan farewell song, “Tofa My Faleni,” ringing in our ears and warming our hearts.

During the time on the plains, young Joseph learned many lessons of faith from his mother. Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found that their best team of oxen was missing. The young boy and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Fatigued and discouraged, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast, and she would bring back the cattle. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s protests that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning, Mary Fielding Smith continued walking to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned to her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen tied to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently put them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.
President Smith later said that this experience was “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.

Illustrations by Adrian Ropp
I was almost 12 years old when the Twin Falls Idaho Temple was dedicated. I was so excited when my older sister asked me for the first time if I wanted to start going to the temple regularly with her and her friend.
I was happy when my younger brother Tanner turned 12 three years later because I could finally invite him to attend the temple with me.
Each morning that we went, we would help each other get up and go, and when we were tired Tanner would make jokes to help us wake up. After going to the temple, we would take some time to talk about how we’d felt in the temple and what we’d thought about.
Going to the temple with Tanner became the spiritual highlight of my week. Through our regular temple visits we became better friends, which strengthened me more than I would have imagined when some trials came my way. Our two older sisters had left for college and our ward had just been split, leaving Tanner and me as some of the only active youth in our ward.
Tanner and I spent hours calling and inviting less-active youth to church and Mutual. It often felt like a hopeless effort because no one ever came no matter how many girls I tried to befriend.
Our parents tried to help. They would bear testimony to us when we were discouraged, and they let us talk out our frustration when we came home upset. But even so, we didn’t suddenly have more friends at church, and wanting to go when I’d be the only young woman there was getting harder and harder. Our temple visits started becoming less frequent because of our busy school schedules.
I spent a lot of time reading my scriptures and pleading with the Lord to help me be strong. I was lonely and tired—tired of being alone, tired of my efforts not making a difference, tired of struggling spiritually and emotionally.
During this time, I worked as a lifeguard at the city pool. I liked being there a lot more than I liked being at church because my co-workers were my friends and were always excited to see me. One day I decided that I wouldn’t go back to Mutual since work was more fun and more helpful for me financially.
I didn’t think it was a big deal until I noticed myself lowering my standards. I didn’t say anything about my friends’ swearing, and one day I was shocked to hear myself accidentally swear when I never had before. I even watched an inappropriate movie one night at a party with my lifeguarding friends. I felt terrible and wondered what I was doing.
Meanwhile my parents had told me how much more lonely Tanner had become since I stopped attending Mutual. Every week he would ask me, “Hey, are you going to come to Mutual tonight?” When he would get home from Mutual, he would go straight to his room and read his scriptures for a long time. He wasn’t talking as much anymore, and when I asked if he was OK, he just said, “No,” and walked away.
One night he came home crying because he had felt so alone.
That’s when I decided that I needed to go back. It didn’t matter how hard being alone was for me; Tanner needed me.
Tanner had been taking a family history course at church, and I decided that I wanted to take it with him. We wanted to start going to the temple more regularly again, and now we would be able to find names ourselves.
We enjoyed taking the class together on Sundays. After church, we’d search for names together. The coolest thing about taking our own names to the temple was that we had found them together, and even better, we were able to support each other at church and even enjoy church because we were doing the Lord’s work.
Tanner’s diligence in attending church and Mutual was a powerful example to me. I had a testimony of the gospel, but he helped me gain a testimony of attending church meetings and activities.
Together we were able to comfort one another and use our testimonies of the temple to help each other be strong in the Church. Youth attendance at church and Mutual never really got better, but Tanner and I became stronger and more able to bear our burdens as we helped each other press forward.
I’m so glad that I invited him to come to the temple with me. While I’m sure it helped him, I know it rescued me.

“I’ll race you to the church!” Mórmon said, pointing to the church steeple poking out above the palm trees. Then he ran as fast as he could to stay ahead of his younger brother, Morian.
The boys and their parents had already walked about a mile from their home, but Mórmon and Morian were still racing hard when they reached the metal gate outside their ward meetinghouse. They stopped to catch their breath.
Before they could decide who won, a boy called out to them, “Want to play futebol?”
Mórmon loved futebol, but he and his family were going to clean the ward building so it would be ready for church the next day.
Mórmon shook his head. “Not now—maybe later!” he called back.
Soon Mórmon and Morian were working hard. Mórmon moved chairs and swept floors with his dad while Morian mopped floors with his mom.
Later the boys were washing mirrors in the bathroom together. “I didn’t think I’d like cleaning the church, but it’s fun,” Morian said. “What about you, Mórmon? Is that why you came instead of playing futebol?”
Mórmon thought about his dad. He was the bishop of their ward, but he still took time to help clean the meetinghouse.
“I’m here because I want to be like Dad,” Mórmon said.
Then he thought about the missionaries in his ward. They were busy knocking on doors and sharing the Book of Mormon with others. They would invite people to come to church at the building the boys were cleaning.
“I’m here because someday I want to serve a mission too,” Mórmon thought. “I can help the missionaries by getting the church ready.”
Mórmon thought about tomorrow, when he and his brother would get up at 6:00 a.m., walk to church in their white shirts and ties, and prepare the chairs and songbooks in the Primary room.
“I’m here because I want to serve in a Church calling,” he thought.
Mórmon thought about how he would soon be a deacon. He would pass the sacrament and do many other things to serve.
“I’m here because next year I will receive the priesthood, and I want to do everything I can now to get ready.”
Mórmon had already done something to prepare for the priesthood: he had earned his Faith in God Award. He was already learning to live the gospel and serve others.
Finally he looked at his brother’s reflection in the mirror and smiled.
“I’m here because I love the Lord,” he said, “and because serving now will help me get ready to serve later.”

Please don’t go, Papa, Maria pleaded silently as she watched her father walk out the schoolroom door. She slid as far down in her desk seat as she could, hoping that no one would see the tears filling her large, brown eyes.
“Maria, will you please come to the front of the room?” asked Mrs. Wilson, the third grade teacher.
When Maria heard her name, she looked up, but she couldn’t understand anything else that was said. When she didn’t get up, Mrs. Wilson motioned to her with her hand.
Have I done something wrong? she wondered as she slowly stood up, but the teacher was smiling.
When Maria got to the front of the room, Mrs. Wilson put her arm around Maria’s shoulder. “Class, I want you to meet a new third grader. This is Maria Nevarez. She and her family have moved here from Mexico so that her father can work in the hospital. Maria speaks very little English, so we will all have to be her friends and help her feel comfortable and happy in our class. Can everyone do that?”
All heads nodded.
What are they saying about me? Maria wondered as she walked back to her seat. Oh, I wish I were back in my schoolroom in Mexico with Señora (Mrs.) Ramas and all my friends!
That evening when Maria’s father came home from the hospital, he sat Maria on his lap and asked her in their native language, “Mariacita, how was your first day at your new school?”
Tears welled up in Maria’s dark eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “It is so good to talk to you and Mama in Spanish. I was afraid today, Papa. I do not like school here. I want to go back to Mexico where I can understand what is being said and be with my friends.”
Maria’s father hugged her and gently brushed her long, black hair out of her eyes. “Maria, remember when we talked as a family about what it would be like to move to the United States? We knew that it would not be easy for any of us, but we also knew that it would be a great opportunity for me to learn new ways to help make sick people well. When we return to Mexico, I will be better prepared to help our people.”
“I know, Papa,” said Maria. “I don’t mean to complain. I just didn’t know that I would feel so afraid.”
“I feel afraid sometimes, too,” Papa said.
Surprised, Maria looked up into her father’s eyes. “I didn’t think papas ever felt afraid.”
“Yes, we do. Today I felt afraid when the other doctors at the hospital were explaining some very technical procedures and I did not understand all their words.”
Maria asked, “What did you do?”
“I talked to my special friend,” Papa said.
“I didn’t know you had a friend here, Papa.”
“He was my special friend in Mexico, too,” her father replied.
Maria was puzzled.
Papa smiled and said, “My special friend, Maria, is Padre Celestial (Heavenly Father).”
“You knelt at the hospital and prayed to Heavenly Father?”
“We cannot always kneel when we need Heavenly Father’s help, but He hears prayers offered from our hearts too.”
“How did Heavenly Father help you today?” Maria asked.
“He sent peace to my heart so that there was no room left for fear. Then I could concentrate on what was being said instead of my fear. That helped me to understand what the doctors were saying.”
That night when Maria was tucked snuggly into bed, she thought about what Papa had said. She had never thought of Heavenly Father as a friend before, but thinking about it made her feel warm and happy inside.
The next day Mrs. Wilson had the students go, two at a time, to the chalkboard and write answers to columns of multiplication problems. Maria saw that they were to answer as many as they could in just one minute.
Maria knew that soon it would be her turn, and her stomach began to feel queasy. She closed her eyes and prayed from her heart, “Dear Padre Celestial, please help me to not be afraid.”
“Brien and Maria,” called Mrs. Wilson.
Maria stood up, took a deep breath, and walked to the chalkboard.
Her hand flew as she wrote the answers.
“When Mrs. Wilson stopped her and Brien, Maria had almost completed both columns, more than anyone else.
“Wow!” said the class. “Maria is good.”
Maria could not hide her pleased smile. I wasn’t even afraid, she thought as she walked back to her seat.
After lunch Mrs. Wilson came to Maria’s desk. She smiled and asked slowly and clearly, “Maria, will you sit by Brien and help her with her math?” She pointed to Brien and then to the papers she held in her hand.
Maria understood. “Sí (yes),” she said. “I will help Brien.”
For a time Maria and Brien just looked at each other, not knowing quite what to do; then they both giggled quietly. After that, everything was easy.
“What’s this?” asked Maria’s father that evening when he saw the big smile on her face. “Something is different today.”
“I liked school today. I didn’t feel so afraid. And Papa, I made a friend! Her name is Brien, and she invited me to her house after school to play.”
“How did you talk to her?”
“Oh, we didn’t talk very much. We just laughed and played.”
“Why was today different from yesterday, Mariacita?” Papa asked, bending down and looking into her eyes.
Maria gave her father a big hug. “Because today I remembered my Special Friend. I prayed to Him in my heart that school would go better, and He answered my prayer.”

When I was about 10, I made my first attempt to read the Book of Mormon. The first part was easy-flowing New Testament language. Then I came to the writings of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah. I could not understand them; I found them difficult to read. I laid the book aside.
I made other attempts to read the Book of Mormon. I did not read it all until I was on a troop ship with other bomber crew members, headed for the war in the Pacific. I determined that I would read the Book of Mormon and find out for myself whether it is true or not. Carefully I read and reread the book. I tested the promise that it contained. That was a life-changing event. After that, I never set the book aside.

My son Phillip recently returned from serving a mission in Cape Town, South Africa. But before he was due home, I had a dream about his homecoming, like a revelation, that helped me better understand the wonderful ways of the Lord.
I dreamt that we had gone to pick up my son at Heathrow airport. He hadn’t slept all the way home, so when we saw him, he was so tired that his eyes were bloodshot, and he was so cold. We bought a big quilt and pillows and snuggled him up in the back of the car. He soon fell fast asleep with his head on a pillow against a window.
In my dream, we drove to the London England Temple where we had booked to stay a couple of nights so that we could attend together before setting off home to Cornwall. As we parked, my son was still sound asleep in the back of the car, so we unloaded the car and started taking our things into the accommodation centre. But as I stood at the driver’s door, a lady dressed in a white temple dress approached the car and going straight up to the window where she could see my son sleeping, she gasped and said, “It’s Elder Lawer!” She then started beckoning to others approaching from the temple to come and see. She kept saying excitedly, “It’s Elder Lawer!”
More and more people were coming over to see Elder Lawer. They seemed delighted to see him. They were all dressed in white temple dresses, but I noticed that they had hairstyles from different eras. As I studied them, I could suddenly ‘see’ that they were from the other side of the veil. Because Elder Lawer had taught people the gospel of Jesus Christ on this side of the veil, it had also benefited them! They had their temple ordinance work carried out by those whom Elder Lawer had taught, and so for them, Elder Lawer was their missionary too.
This dream touched me so much that I haven‘t been able to stop thinking about it; the joy these people had because Elder Lawer had served on the Lord’s mission. The ways of the Lord are marvellous indeed.

It was late on a Saturday night, and everyone in my family was tired after a long weekend. To make things worse, my dad was once again out of the country for his job. I was about to go to bed when I realized that my mom was cleaning! As she worked, she began to sing a song by the Beach Boys: “Help me, Rhonda; help, help me, Rhonda.” A bit puzzled, I asked my mom why she was singing that song. She explained that since no one else would help her clean our house, maybe Rhonda would.
I suddenly realized that I was being completely unfair to my tired and overworked mother. I dropped what I was doing and said, “Mom, what can I do?” She replied, “Well, if you could rinse and put the dishes in the dishwasher, I would really appreciate it.”
When I finished the dishes, I did a few other small jobs. By the time everything was done, it was about 11:00 p.m. My mom was sitting on the couch for a minute to get some energy back, so I walked over to her and asked if there was anything else I could do.
She shook her head. Then with a tired but grateful smile she said, “Thank you … Rhonda,” and gave me a hug. Though I had helped lift my mom’s burden that night, I knew that I had given her just an hour of my time, compared to the thousands she willingly gives to my family. It was one hour I wouldn’t have wanted to spend any other way.

A similar desire existed in the hearts of those moving to Puerto Francisco de Orellana. In early January 2009, Marco Villavicencio—now the branch president—and his wife, Claudia Ramirez, were considering a job opportunity that would require relocating to Puerto Francisco de Orellana from their home in Machala, on the other side of Ecuador.
“My first question,” says President Villavicencio, “was ‘Is the Church there?’ My wife and I talked it over with our family, and we prayed to know if we should move. As soon as the offer came, we learned that the Church was being established in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. We moved here in February 2009, and the branch was formed the following September.”

As a result of Dad’s study, three different groups of scientists have visited us to study dust devils, hoping to learn more about tornadoes. One of the groups was trying to find special sounds coming from them that could be used to develop a warning system for tornadoes. The other two groups had a laser beam that could be pointed at a dust devil. The part of the beam that was reflected off the dust devil back to their equipment told them how fast the winds in the dust devil were moving.
One time I was just about to put my finger in the place where the invisible laser beam came out, and one of the scientists shouted and told me that it could burn right through my hand. To prove it, he came over and put a tablet of paper where I was going to put my finger; and all of a sudden there was a brown and smoky hole right through the tablet!

Sometimes our prayers are an urgent plea for help. I remember one such prayer I offered when my then three-year-old son was missing. He had been playing with the other children in our yard. I had taken my eyes off of him only momentarily to check on the baby. But suddenly he was gone.

Immediately I offered a desperate prayer for help. The thought came into my mind that he was at the swimming pool of an apartment complex about three blocks away.

Now he had never been to that pool. He had never even been to the apartments. The pool was enclosed in a building and was kept locked at all times. He didn’t even know that it was there. But the feeling was strong.

Running, I called to my 10-year-old son, who was on his bike, to go to the swimming pool as quickly as he could. When he got there he found his little brother and another little boy of the same age who had known about the pool just beginning to wade into the shallow end of the pool. They had all their clothes and shoes on—and even though the door had been open, there was no one else in the area.

Some prayers are intense, and we need answers right now! Thankfully not all prayers are like that. If we go before the Lord in prayer on a consistent basis, He will be there when we urgently need Him.

Some years ago in the Church News section there appeared a most interesting article about a young man who made his decision to trust in the ways of the Lord. The article reads:

“President Spencer W. Kimball is a constant inspiration to the Church. This is not only so through what he says, but likewise by what he does. When addressing the Stockholm Area Conference he revealed the secret of this success. Said he:

“‘As I was out alone, milking the cows, or putting up the hay, I had time to think. I mulled it over in my mind and made this decision: “I, Spencer Kimball, will never taste any form of liquor. I, Spencer Kimball, will never touch tobacco. I will never drink coffee, nor will I ever touch tea—not because I can explain why I shouldn’t, except that the Lord said not to.” He said those things were an abomination. There are many other things that are, too, that are not in the Word of Wisdom. But I made up my mind.

“‘That’s the point I am trying to make. I made up my mind then, as a little boy; “I will never touch those things.” And so, having made up my mind, it was easy to follow it, and I did not yield. There were many temptations that came along, but I did not even analyze it; I did not stop and measure it and say, “Well, shall I or shall I not?” I always said to myself: “But I made up my mind I would not. Therefore, I do not.”

President Kimball continues, “‘I want to just say that I will soon go into another year and that I have never tasted tea, nor coffee, nor tobacco, nor liquor of any kind, nor drugs. Now that may sound very presumptuous and boasting to you, but I am only trying to make this point: that if every boy and girl—as he or she begins to grow a little more mature and becomes a little more independent of his friends and his family and all—if every boy and girl would make up his or her mind, “I will not yield,” then no matter what the temptation is: “I made up my mind. That’s settled.”’” (Church News, 4 Oct. 1975; see also Conference Report, Denmark, Finland, Norway, and Sweden Area Conference, Aug. 1974, pp. 86–87.)

I was raised in a family of 11, including my mom and dad. We were well disciplined and religious, but we often fell short of praying as a family.
When I was seven years old, my aunt took me into her home. There I was taught the gospel because she and her husband were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One night I was invited to pray with them before we went to bed. At first, I was a bit offended because prayer was not part of my life, but I found it easy to pray with them. After the prayer, my uncle taught me how to pray and helped me to understand the importance of praying. He explained that prayer is communication with God and that a relationship with God is impossible without prayer. He taught me that God knows our needs, but we need to ask first.
Talking to my uncle really gave me the desire to learn how to pray. The first time I prayed, I learned that I am a child of God and that He cares about me and wants me to talk to Him always. After that, I knew that when I am looking for God, I must keep calling on Him, even if I am not sure how He will answer.
I know that when we pray to God, He will make Himself known to us. If He answered me, He can likewise answer you.