Gospel Story Finder

It is said that “to care for those who once cared for us is one of the highest honors”.
The primary of New Delhi Ward IV visited an Old age home situated in a lush green landscaped farmhouse where more than a dozen of senior citizens are experiencing their second innings. The children were excited to meet these wonderful people whom they did as they entered the premises and saw most of them sitting outside on a cold winter morning and teaching a few under privileged children. What a beautiful sight it was to see these old yet firm individuals serving notwithstanding their infirmities.
To begin with the Primary sang Christmas carols and distributed cards and warm clothes to all and took out time to talk to these senior citizens. The interaction with them seemed to be lengthy as they had so much to talk about. Hearing them was a privilege and serving them was an opportunity to imitate the Savior’s example. The words of Isaiah rehearsed in my mind which say:
“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees.
“Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you”. (Isaiah 35:3–4)
All of us will have to pass through a stage in our lives where we will be weak and would need strength. This experience helped us to share the love of Christ and helped us in turn to reflect on our lives to be more like Him who once walked on this earth and experienced all the pain and suffering that we go through. The Savior knows how to succor those in need and this visit was an added privilege for these young children to deposit a memorable experience in their mortal account to cherish for the rest of their lives.

Mar. 4, 1854 I saw a man on a sled coming into the road that I was on. He hollered to me to hurry and ride with him. I asked him if he wasn’t a L.D. Saint. He said he was (he was the man I was going to see) and his name was Solomon Mack [Joseph Smith’s cousin on his mother’s side]. I showed him my papers. He said he received me as an Angel. I rode with him to his home in Gilsum. I was well treated by the whole family.

Quietly the ten-year-old girl tiptoed toward the big oak tree. Her bare feet stepped lightly on freshly fallen leaves. A twig snapped. The girl stopped a moment, hoping the boy on the other side of the tree had not heard. There was no sound.
The girl moved closer. Soon she stood beside the boy and, without warning, grabbed the slate shingle he held in his lap.
“Hey, what—”
Before the boy could say another word, Sarah Lincoln waved the shingle high in the air. “Look at this, everyone,” she teased. “This is my worthy brother and his shingle for writing. You ask what my worthy brother is worth? Why, look at his shingle. He has written his name again and again. Surely he must fancy he is worth a giant treasure.”
Eight-year-old Abe jumped up and grabbed his shingle board. “You are always teasing!” he scolded. “You might do well to practice your own writing.”
Sarah laughed. “If I did, I’d write something better than my name—or yours. Vanity brings pain, dear brother.”
Still smiling, she ran off into the Kentucky woods. Abe sat down again, looking at his name on the shingle board.
“That Sarah,” he said to himself. “She’ll always be a tease.”
Sarah Lincoln was born on February 10, 1807. Two years and two days later, on February 12, 1809, her brother Abraham was born.
There was always much to do around the Lincoln cabin at Knob Creek. Thomas Lincoln was a farmer and carpenter. His wife Nancy Hanks Lincoln took care of the duties of the home and raising the children. As a young girl, Sarah soon learned to cook, clean, and sew. She helped gather berries in the woods and washed the family’s clothing.
At the Knob Creek School, Sarah was an eager pupil. As in most schools of that time, pupils spoke their lessons aloud while the schoolmaster carefully listened to them. Often Sarah shared her pride in young Abe. “He’s the brightest pupil in the class,” she told her parents. “I’m sure the schoolmaster thinks so too.”
Sarah was ten when her father moved the family west to Indiana. Once again the Lincoln cabin was near a creek. It offered a place to fish and swim, and the nearby woods were a perfect spot for hide-and-seek and other games.
When their mother became ill, Sarah took over most of the home chores and provided loving comfort and care for her mother until she died. She was buried on an Indiana hillside near their cabin where Sarah, Abe, and their father knelt quietly in prayer.
It was no easy task keeping a clean cabin for a grown man and a boy of ten. Although Sarah did her best, it was too much for a twelve-year-old girl.
Thomas Lincoln went to Kentucky once more, and when he returned he brought a new wife. Sarah Bush Johnston Lincoln was a widow with three children. Quickly she accepted Sarah and Abe as her own. Again there was laughter in the Lincoln cabin.
One night after supper, seventeen-year-old Sarah stood up at the table. “Aaron Grigsby has asked me to become his wife,” she said softly.
The announcement was happily received. Aaron Grigsby was a hard-working farmer known for his good character. The marriage took place in the Pigeon Creek Church that Sarah’s father had helped build.
A year later Sarah was expecting a baby. “So I shall be Uncle Abraham,” her younger brother boasted. “What a fine sound that title has!”
Then tragedy struck. Sarah and her baby both died during childbirth. Stunned by the loss, Abe could not bring himself to talk about his sister for a long time.
After he became president, Abraham Lincoln was asked about his childhood. “What happy memories do you have of your early years?” asked one newspaper reporter.
President Lincoln sat back in his chair. “We had little money in our home,” he answered, “but there was much joy and love. My kind and loving sister Sarah and I shared many wonderful adventures. Her years upon this earth were few. Yet my happiest memories are of the little time we had together. She was truly a loving sister and a very special friend.”

Recently, BYU-Idaho graduate Lila Jolley was asked to speak at her convocation ceremony as she received her bachelor's degree. She said,
"I remember my very first science class here on campus... I went in thinking I had a testimony of our Savior. I came out with the knowledge that He created all things, that God is our creator... Every semester, as I took more and more advanced science classes, I was taught how the world worked, and my faith was strengthened. From physics, genetics, animal behavior, biochemistry, animal reproduction, nutrition, and organic chemistry, I began to realize that God is the ultimate scientist." [1]
Lila received one of the great blessings of attending this university and experienced, in fact, one of its great purposes: our earthly studies can, and should, strengthen our spiritual knowledge and bring us closer to God. Brigham Young, in giving direction to Karl G. Maeser at the time of his assignment to lead Brigham Young Academy, said, "I want you to remember that you ought not to teach even the alphabet or the multiplication tables without the spirit of God." [2] Lila gained her realizations because the Spirit of God was with her as she learned.
Her comments reminded me of my own experience at BYU. I remember concluding, after finishing a biochemistry course in graduate school, that I would likely not remember very many details of the class going forward in my life, but that course gave me a greater appreciation for God's creative genius. I had been given a small peek into the microscopic universe and came away more convinced there was indeed a divine Creator. I had received another witness, in the words of Alma, that "all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator." [3]
Similarly, God spoke to Joseph Smith about the witnesses found in the physical world and, referring to planets and stars, said, "Behold, all these are kingdoms, and any man who hath seen any or the least of these hath seen God moving in his majesty and power." [4]

Our family has been lucky enough to have the opportunity to care for a piece of farm land. When we first took a look at this place, I thought to myself, “There is no way we can do this, it’s too big, too much work.” It seemed like a long road ahead and I was super hesitant to commit to it. I mean it’s not like I don’t got stuff to do. However, this has always been something that we’ve wanted to do as parents (I would say family but I don’t think my kids would say that this is something they wanted to do). We talked about it and made a commitment. When we first started it was just our family. We began pulling weeds and clearing the area the best we could. It was hard, back breaking work and it seemed even though we were making progress that it would take a significant time to get to a point that we could start to plant something. Our friend who asked us to help care for the land told us he’d be by soon to help, and we were like, “no worries we got it, when you have time, no rush.” We don’t like to burden others. Maybe it’s a pride thing. We would go a few times a week to work on clearing the area. Our kids were a great help. It helped to speed up the process. One day my husband told me that our friends would come to help the next time we went up. I felt bad that they would spend their free time working in the hot sun pulling weeds and moving dirt. The day came and not only did our friends come, they brought machines that would help to clear the land quicker. As we watched the machines work my kids and I laughed at how easily the machines cleared the area. An area that took us days to clean was cleared in minutes. We wondered what the heck we were thinking by cleaning it by hand and why hadn’t we done this from the start. We were so grateful for the effort and time that was given to help. The task to care for that piece of land seemed more achievable after that. I’m so grateful for the help we received, it has made our time working at the farm more enjoyable.

I don’t like to depend on others, mostly because I don’t want to burden them. I know they are busy too!! Asking for help is not something I am good at. I rather tell my husband do it!! It has taken me some time to learn how to ask for and accept the help of others.

Recently I was called by a close friend who told me his father had passed away. I expressed my sympathy and asked when the funeral would be. When he told me I looked at my calendar and said, “I would love to be at the funeral to honor your great father and to express my love and sympathy to your mom. I am getting ready to leave town, and I am swamped that day.” He said, “Well, we talked about that and figured that your schedule would be too busy to ask you to speak, but Dad had suggested if you were available you might do it.” It is interesting how suddenly everything on my calendar could be adjusted. I said, “You tell your mom I will be there.” After the funeral I received a letter. I will only share a paragraph.
“The last few months my husband knew his time was short here on this earth. One day when we were talking about funeral arrangements, I asked him who he would like to have speak at his service. He said, ‘I surely would like to have Brother Featherstone, but I know that as busy as he is that isn’t possible.’ Then he went on to mention some other good men. When I learned of your coming to speak, I shed many tears of joy. I just couldn’t believe with all your many duties and responsibilities that you would come.”
Then I realized what this service on my part meant to her. She closed with, “I wonder how the Lord can be so good to me.”
Now you and I both understand it was not having Vaughn Featherstone speak but rather a dying husband’s wish granted that filled her with this great love for the Lord.

My understanding of those words deepened soon after our family departed Newbury Park, California, to serve in the Utah Ogden Mission in 2015. I received an invitation to tour Hill Air Force Base near Layton, Utah. I had never been on a military base, nor had I met a military chaplain or the men and women who work to provide safety and protection for their country.
Chaplain Harp, like thousands of other volunteer and professional chaplains who serve in our prisons, hospitals, and military installations around the world, inspired and uplifted me. Our last stop on the base was the sanctuary. I asked the chaplain if he administered services for all people who desired to ponder, pray, meditate, and worship. He went to the front wall of the chapel, and he pulled a cross from behind the curtains. He said he used the cross for Protestant and Catholic services. I asked what he used for our Jewish brothers and sisters, and he went to the other side of the front wall, and he pulled out a Star of David.
I then asked, “What do you do for Latter-day Saint services?” He pushed those symbols away and pointed to the large wooden altar in the middle of the sanctuary. He said that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints prepare and bless the bread and water on the altar. I asked if the large, seemingly fixed altar was removed before the services of our Jewish, Muslim, Catholic, or Protestant brothers and sisters. He said that the altar stays in place, for several of those faiths also utilize the altar in some way.
Abraham built an altar, bound Isaac, and was ready to sacrifice his only son, but his hand was stayed, and he declared, like the Lord has declared, “Here am I”! How many times has the Great I Am or one of His prophets volunteered, “Here am I”?
During His Sermon on the Mount, the Savior invited us to reconcile with our brothers and sisters before we approach the altar. Paul taught that we are “sanctified” at the altar through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The prophet Lehi “left his house … and his precious things. … [Then] he built an altar …? and made an offering … , and gave thanks unto the Lord.”
The Bible and the Book of Mormon teach us to worship the Son of God at altars. Why?
Our first parents, Adam and Eve, built and worshipped at altars. After they were cast out of the Garden of Eden and had worshipped for “many days,” an angel visited and asked a poignant question that could be asked of each of us: “Why dost thou offer sacrifices unto the Lord?”
Adam answered, “I know not.”
The angel’s response to Adam’s humble admission is stunning: “This … is a similitude of the sacrifice of the Only Begotten of the Father. … Wherefore, thou shalt do all that thou doest in the name of the Son, and thou shalt repent and call upon God in the name of the Son forevermore.”
The sacrament table and temple altars symbolize the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and His infinite Atonement.
As we make and honor our covenants, receiving the ordinances of the sacrament at church and the endowment and sealing at the temple, we bind ourselves to the Savior, gaining greater access to His mercy, protection, sanctification, healing, and rest.
As a 15-year-old young man, I asked my dad if I could skip sacrament meeting—just one Sunday in January for a special American football game. He said I was old enough to make that choice for myself and asked me to consider one piece of counsel. He said, “If you choose to miss the sacrament once, it’s much easier to choose to miss it again.”
If the Savior is the great connector, then the adversary is the separator. He, Satan, tempts us to separate ourselves from our consecrated places of worship and from the protection of Jesus Christ. When we worship the Savior, we receive “power to go against the natural worldly flow.” When we spend time in communion with Him, we have a promise to be “delivered from Satan.” “Then, as we keep our covenants, He endows us with His … strengthening power.” Oh, how I cherish the experience of communing with the Savior through covenants made at holy altars.
Building an understanding of the Savior’s eternal Atonement line upon line, precept upon precept, provides a spiritual inoculation against the wiles of the adversary. Young Elder Jaggi in Mexico, Zuster Jaggi in Belgium, and other missionaries throughout the world are much more likely to see their friends claim the blessings of baptism and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost if their friends attend sacrament meeting within the first week of contact.
A young adult in Tonga or Samoa is much more likely to be sealed in the house of the Lord if they have prepared for and received their endowment soon after graduating from school. In the endowment, members are invited to live, obey, and keep five laws which imbue their lives with power and protection. As we make covenants with the Lord, a reciprocal relationship forms. We demonstrate our loyalty and love to Him. Our strength and power grow with each promise made and kept.
When we humbly and symbolically kneel at the altars of the Lord, it is an opportunity for reflection, “checked as to the pride of [our] hearts, … [humbling ourselves] before God.” Before I went out with my friends as a youth, my mother would often say, “Remember who you are, and check in when you get home.” Some nights I missed my check-in because I arrived home too late. I regret missing those important visits with Mom.
Today I look forward to check-in connections with Heavenly Father. In my daily pattern of personal worship, I kneel in prayer, next to my bed or gathered with family, and I envision myself kneeling at the altars, reflecting on and examining my life. I think about the sacrament, even whole pieces of bread, broken and torn for us, each a symbol of our Savior’s broken body. I’m reminded of President Dallin H. Oaks’s teaching that “each piece of bread is unique, just as the individuals who partake of it are unique.” When I kneel in prayer, I think on how I can give God my will.
Elder David A. Bednar taught that “the ordinance of the sacrament is a holy and repeated invitation to repent sincerely and to be renewed spiritually. The act of partaking of the sacrament, in and of itself, does not remit sins. But as we prepare conscientiously and participate in this holy ordinance with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, then the promise is that we may always have the Spirit of the Lord to be with us. And by the sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost as our constant companion, we can always retain a remission of our sins.”
When Amy and I look closely at our life experiences, we celebrate the gift of Jesus Christ’s perfect love and sacrifice. We also see how hell’s fury has been loosed. How can we overcome stares of judgment, anxiety, depression, cancer, diabetes, online bullying, stolen identity, lost pregnancies, the loss of a child, a brother, and a father? Because Jesus took of the bitter cup of trembling, the cup of fury—for me, for my family, for all of us!
Gethsemane, by Adam Abram, courtesy of altusfineart.com © 2025
The “bitter cup” He drank in the Garden of Gethsemane and His suffering, “intensified” on the cross at Calvary, allow us to lay the hard, the insolent, the violent, the furious, and the trembling upon the altars of the Lord and be “sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost,” always.
Sister Patricia Holland said, “My deepest prayer for you and for myself today is that we will give over completely, lay ourselves at the altar of God’s promises and peace no matter where we are and no matter what we have done.”
When we come to the altar, we aren’t earning a reward; we are learning about the Gift Giver. In that learning and covenant binding comes healing. Nephi said, “He hath filled me with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.” And our loving Savior invited, “Will ye not now return unto me, and repent of your sins, and be converted, that I may heal you?”
When our two oldest daughters, Mackenzie and Emma, were little, one of their favorite stories was The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. We all fell in love with the lion, Aslan. One of our most memorable nights reading the book was when the great lion gave his life for Edmund. Memorable because parents and daughters shed tears as the lion’s life was taken on the Stone Table by the Witch. Memorable because hope persisted, despite the tragedy, until the spectacular happened. Squeals of joy resounded in that little bedroom when Aslan was resurrected and said, “If [the Witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice], … she would [know] that [if] a willing victim who had committed no treachery [died] in a traitor’s stead, the [Stone] Table would crack and Death itself would [begin to unwind].”
Jesus Christ heals all wounds. Jesus Christ makes it possible to live again.
In his October 2022 general conference talk, President Russell M. Nelson described a tour group coming through a temple open house. A young boy was there. President Nelson taught:
“When the tour group entered an endowment room, the boy pointed to the altar, where people kneel to make covenants with God, and said, ‘Oh, that’s nice. Here is a place for people to rest on their temple journey.’
“... He likely had no idea about the direct connection between making a covenant with God in the temple and the Savior’s stunning promise:
“‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest?.
“‘Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; … and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“‘For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light’ [Matthew 11:28–30; emphasis added].”
“The Son of Man has no place to lay his head,” yet He invited His disciples, you and me, to the sacrament table to rest with Him there. When “humble souls at altars kneel,” peace abounds. Our Savior’s arms are outstretched; His table is spread. Come worship the Son of God at His holy altars. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Where I live, we have no cinemas, no bowling alleys. The only thing a lot of teenagers think there is to do around here, it seems, is party and drink alcohol. Peer pressure can also be overwhelming. What makes it worse is that there are only a few active members of the Church at my school.
One afternoon at work I talked with a male friend of mine. The conversation eventually turned to drinking. “I don’t drink, ever. Not a drop,” I said. He gave me a strange look, and then, in a low voice, said, “I wish I could do that. I could never stick with decisions like that.” He started picking on me for my standards, but I knew that deep down he fully respected me.
A few months later, the same friend had a birthday party, and I went, not knowing what would be going on there. My friend walked around with a $50 note in his hands, which I jokingly snatched from his hand, thanking him. He sat down next to me. “Okay,” he said. “You can keep the money, but only if you sip some alcohol.” I politely refused and gave him the money. He was shocked that somebody would pass up a $50 note. Then, he told me how strong and brave I was. The person sitting on the other side of him said good things about me. It was cool—one of the best feelings I have ever had.
I learned that people respect our standards and expect us to stay true to them. If we’re not true to our standards, we don’t earn respect from them or ourselves. People notice everything we do.

Sister Richardson continued: “Some time ago the film Mormons, Fact and Fantasy was being shown in one of the rooms at the public library in Nottingham. My husband was going there straight from work, and I decided that I ought to be there, too, so I got on the bus and went there with our three children.
“About a half hour before the film was due for a showing, someone’s voice called out, ‘Could we have volunteers to go out into the street and invite people in and hand out leaflets?’ I thought, ‘Yes, that’s what I should be doing. That’s what I had to come for.’ Then something inside of me said, ‘You don’t really want to, though, do you? You’re afraid of talking to all those strangers.’ I thought, ‘That’s right, I am!’
“So I just stood there with a battle going on within me, and then I looked down. Three upturned faces were looking into mine. They belonged to the three little people who are very important to me. I thought, ‘What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t show our children my faith by my works?’ We have spent a lot of time teaching our children the gospel, and I knew that I could ruin much of that teaching if I didn’t practice what I preached. I knew what I had to do.
“We took some leaflets. Our eldest little girl put on a sandwich board advertising the film, and we went down into the street below. I didn’t know if any of the people we invited actually came to see the film, but I was happy that we were doing our part, and that I had the opportunity of showing our little ones that sharing the gospel is not just something we talk about occasionally in family home evening.”

Sometimes heavenly connections can be made in places that may not seem to be either spiritual or sacred. The following portion of my father's history will illustrate this concept.

My father graduated from high school in the midst of WWII. He wanted to enlist in the navy, but he needed to have a hernia operation first. While he was in the hospital recovering from the surgery, someone left a pamphlet about BYU on his bedside table.

My father recorded: "It said, 'Come to BYU, a friendly school.' I had no idea what I was getting into--but was intrigued by 'a friendly school.' I told my mother that I wanted to go to BYU in Provo, Utah--and she asked what BYU was. I told her it was a Mormon University, and I can still see her face when she looked aghast and said, 'What! You want to go to BYU with those Mormons out there?'"

His mother was a staunch Methodist, and he had been raised in that faith. Nonetheless, he attended BYU for one quarter and then enlisted in the navy. 50 years later, at my father's high school reunion, my parents learned that Jeane Berthelson, a high school classmate and friend, was also a nurse's aide at the hospital who listened to the Spirit and left the pamphlet in his room.

During the war, my father was assigned to serve on LSM (Landing Ship Medium) #389 when they landed in Guam. He was a quartermaster second class. Their ship sailed from the east coast of the US through the Panama Canal, picked up munitions and tanks in California, and headed out to the Pacific to deliver them to the Marines. In my father's words:

I remember when we pulled into the harbor...on Guam. It was a Sunday morning.
I looked down the beach and there were some huge quonset huts there. They used them as quarters for service men. I saw six sailors going into a quonset hut. They were in their dress whites. I thought: Gosh, in their dress whites? They should be in their standard uniforms. So, I asked the captain: "What do you think those guys are doing?" He said: "They are going to church." I said: "Well, who are they?" He said: "They are a small group of Mormons running their own church; they don't have a chaplain." I found that interesting, so I said: "Captain, could I have a leave to go ashore and join those six guys?" I shaved and decided to go over to the beach and see what was going on. There were six elders having their own little church meeting, so I joined them and I felt at home. That was the second time I had rubbed shoulders with the Mormons other than [at] BYU.

We all corresponded for years...I think things were planned very carefully that I would end up in the Mormon Church...That's my story...just at the right [place] in the right moment.

Elder Ronald A. Rasband spoke about coincidence versus "divine design" in his recent general conference address. He quoted Elder Neal A. Maxwell, who explained, "Coincidence is not an appropriate word to describe the workings of an omniscient God. He does not do things by 'coincidence' but...by 'divine design.'"[16]

Elder Rasband continues: "Our lives are like a chessboard, and the Lord moves us from one place to another--if we are responsive to spiritual promptings. Looking back, we can see His hand in our lives."'[17]

I don't believe it was by coincidence that a pamphlet was left in my father's hospital room. I don't believe it was by coincidence that he arrived on Guam on a Sunday morning and saw six sailors dressed in whites on the beach. I also don't believe it was by coincidence that, following WWII, my father met my mother at BYU in a history class because they were seated alphabetically (my mother's maiden name is Hale, and my father's last name is Hansen). God was in the details; heavenly connections were made in the most unexpected places.

“We make Christmas in our home,” says Krista. “Mom has spices cooking on the stove the day before Christmas, so it smells like Christmas. It’s peaceful and quiet, with Christmas music playing in the background. This year we didn’t give a lot of presents. Each of us gave one present to every other person in our family. There weren’t a lot of gifts, but we tried to give something that the other person really wanted.
“This year, instead of attacking our presents, we were handing out presents to each other and watching everyone open theirs. It’s more fun to get excited for what someone else receives than for what you get,” she said. “I remember times when I was younger, coming back to school after Christmas and all my friends telling me what they got. I would feel bad because I didn’t get such and such a thing. Here you don’t have to worry about that.”

A lot of young men find ways to pay for their missions. But Patric Balck has found what he calls “an ideal place to work.”
Patric, 18, a newly ordained elder in the Handen Ward, is a groundskeeper and apprentice gardener at the Stockholm Temple. For four years now, he has spent his working hours mowing lawns, trimming trees and bushes, and tending flowers, all under the direction of the head groundskeeper.
“It’s more than just a job,” Patric says. “It gives me an opportunity to talk to nonmember friends and tourists. I’ve given out copies of the Book of Mormon. I try to make people who visit the grounds feel at home. And, of course, I try to make sure the grounds look good.”
Patric says the temple is a wonderful place to work, “because of the calm feeling that is always here.” He says he notices a new interest in religion among young people in Sweden, and that he’s eager to serve a mission and find out if that same interest is growing elsewhere.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Patric has received his call and is currently serving in the Idaho Boise Mission.

I have been blessed as I have tried to combine study and faith in my own learning. After my second year of teaching law, I felt pressure to make significant progress in my scholarship. My life conditions were not ideal for contemplative thinking. Our second child had been born in May, and sleep was at a premium. I remember that one day I was driving in Kentucky, where we lived, and speaking to my mom on the phone about the research topic I was pursuing. I expressed to her that I felt that the idea for the project had come by inspiration.

Joseph Smith taught:
A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas . . . ; and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation, until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.76

Consistent with this description of revelation, I had felt that the idea for my project had come to me, not been generated by me. As I worked to write, I discovered there was more to the idea than I had originally thought. As I ran into roadblocks in my thinking, I prayed and felt direction in how I could develop my analysis. I am not here to claim that the ultimate article was “true,” but the article was significant, influenced my thinking, and led to additional scholarly opportunities for me. I have had similar experiences as I have looked to combine study and faith through seeking the inspiration of the Holy Ghost.

Some years ago, a client seeking my professional advice described to me the nature of his business, which involved selling secondhand furniture and household goods in partnership with his father. They acquired their stock by attending auctions and market sales and by clearing unwanted items from homes. They were always careful to ensure that they could realize more money in reselling than they had expended in the purchase.
On one occasion, the son had contracted to clear the contents of a home following the death of an elderly occupant. Hanging in one of the rooms was a painting. Pausing to examine it, he considered the possibility that one day he would discover an antique or painting of far greater value than the previous owner had realized. But concluding that this painting was not in that category, he removed it from where it was displayed, carried it to his vehicle, and put it among the other items.
Later, as he and his father were unloading the vehicle, the father picked up the artwork, examined it carefully, and said, “I wish I knew more about paintings and how to tell if they are valuable.” The son responded that he was sure this one would not be classified as such. Nevertheless, the father felt it would be worth having the painting checked by a friend who managed an art gallery.
Several days later, the father’s friend informed him that the painting probably had a value of at least £12,000 (almost U.S. $29,000 in the early 1970s). Excited by the news, the father and son set out for the art gallery to collect the painting. This time they took a blanket in which they carefully wrapped the work of art. The son held it securely in his arms as they returned to the shop. The painting sold at auction for £12,500.
In telling this story, my client concluded by saying, “I can’t imagine why anyone would be prepared to pay so much for such an ordinary painting.”

I was excited to go to youth conference, but then I found out there were lots of rules—for example, no cell phones and no going outside alone. It seemed like adults were constantly keeping an eye on us. But I had a great time, made a lot of friends, worked on a service project, and learned about the gospel.
During a testimony meeting on the last day of youth conference, one of the leaders talked about how much he loves us, the youth in the stake.
If you love us, why do we have so many restrictions here? I thought. At that same moment, like he could read my mind, he answered my question.
Leaders put rules in place, he said, not to annoy us but for our safety. The moment he said that, I was touched by the Spirit. I understood that Heavenly Father gives us commandments for the same reason. They are not to annoy us; they are to help us return safely to Him (see Doctrine and Covenants 82:2–9).
The Holy Ghost touched me and helped me to know that this is true.
Serge P., Île-de-France, France

A few years back I had a very bright former student who was struggling with her testimony. She somehow felt that she had never received an overwhelming answer to her prayers about the Church. As I talked with her, trying to help her, she said something that has struck me over and over since then with its simplicity and truth. She said something like, “Yes, there are many logical reasons to think that the Church is good, but eventually everyone who believes it is true does it on faith; he or she has to choose to believe.”

What she said is true; sooner or later everyone has to choose to believe or not. We have to choose to recognize the sweetness of the Spirit that comes when we think about the Church being true. We have to acknowledge, when we pray and ask the Lord if the Church and the Book of Mormon are true, that the thought that we already know that they are comes from the Being who knows our thoughts. We have to admit that, indeed, we do know they are true.

But the decision to believe does not have to be done without plenty of evidence either. After my former student said what she did, I examined my life to see why I believed. I found numberless occasions of real joy and happiness associated with following the teachings of the Church. I realized that, even if I had not had a great confirmation of peace from the Spirit about the truthfulness of the Church, I would still choose to believe and follow simply because it makes me happy. I also recognized that I had never met anyone who had derived real happiness and peace out of wrong choices. I had known several who had tried, many of whom had claimed to be happy. Several of them had later confessed in tears—as they dealt with the consequences of their choices—that they had lied in their claims, that they had been fooled by the father of lies himself. I know that the decision to believe in the Church and the gospel is a small thing out of which great things proceed and that the choice or choices not to believe bring sorrow.

Let me share with you some examples of taking responsibility.
Many of us have a special hero. His name is Chuck Anderson. Brother Anderson died fourteen months ago. He had an extremely rare disease, epidermalosis belosa. When he was young, whenever his skin was touched, it would hemorrhage. After a time the injury would scab over. Cotton would partially protect his hands, feet, and other areas of his body, but not well enough to avoid the pain and scabbing. His skin became a form of inflexible tissue. He could not touch his scalp, so combing his hair was very difficult. He lived to be twenty-six years old, but never during those 312 months did he have a day free of pain, scabs, and bandages, or a day that he could run and play as others.
But he decided to be positive and as productive as he could be. He had a wonderful sense of humor. His example of courage and being as self-sustaining as possible blessed everyone who knew him. Of course, his wonderful parents, friends, Church leaders, and teachers did all they could, but Chucky Anderson determined he would be as self-reliant as possible.
He desperately wanted to serve a mission but could not in the typical sense. So what did he do? He served a mission by helping all who knew him to know that he was a Mormon boy and loved the Lord. He made the decision to forget himself and do all he could do to be courageous and helpful and to build others.
Another example: Just last spring a group of high school students sat in a seminary class looking at their watches, hoping the class would soon end. They were not paying attention to what was going on. They were laughing and teasing and passing notes.
President Benson’s face appeared on the video they should have been watching. He was talking about the Book of Mormon. The noise continued. Suddenly, a young woman stood up, stepped to the front of the class, pushed the pause button, and said in a frightened voice, “He is our prophet. He talks with Heavenly Father. He is telling us about the Book of Mormon, and we should listen.”
Suddenly, every eye was focused on the front of the room as that lovely young lady turned the television set back on and quietly returned to her seat.
As I spoke with the seminary teacher a week or two later, he said, “In all the years that I have taught, I have never seen a class more reverent, more focused upon the things that matter, as the day when that young lady went to the front of the class and said, ‘You listen to our prophet.’” She did it on her own. She did not wait for another.
Several months ago, after boarding an airplane scheduled to fly to Phoenix, Arizona, the passengers found themselves retained on the ground because of foggy weather. While we were waiting, the door of the airplane opened several times and others joined us, even though it was half an hour or more after the plane should have departed.
A young teenager took the vacant seat beside me. After a short time, he looked toward me and said, “Hey, mister, are you a Mormon?”
I said “Yes” and inquired why he asked.
He reported, “I joined the Church several months ago, but I don’t know whether I believe it anymore.”
We talked about the gospel. I bore my testimony. We discussed many things relating to the Church and to life. Meanwhile, the plane had left Salt Lake and was winging its way south.
This fine young man who wanted to have his testimony reaffirmed and strengthened was willing to do something about it. Cody and I are pen pals now. When I think of him, I recall a wonderful young man, searching for truth, needing a little reassurance, and seeking it on his own. He took responsibility.
In every ward and branch throughout the world are those who ask, “Is it true?” or inquire, “How can I change my life for the better?” We must assist, but the task is theirs alone to walk the path that will strengthen testimonies and straighten lives.
I would like to talk to you about how this takes place. What are the steps? What must I do to have my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ strengthened and my life modified for the better?
First, you must want to change with all your heart. You must take responsibility upon yourself to do whatever is necessary to be different.
Second, do as our prophet has directed and read the scriptures. Concentrate upon the words of the Master as reflected through the writings of Nephi, Moses, Paul, Luke, Joseph Smith, and other prophets. Often, when the days are dark and times are difficult, turning to the scriptures will provide a strength and confirmation that generally can come in no other way. To have a testimony and personality become stronger, one must go it alone.
Third, live the commandments. We generally struggle with a weakening testimony and with a diminished knowledge of the truthfulness of Heavenly Father’s plan when we do not live the way He has asked us to live. Another cannot repent for us. This is a task we must do alone.
Of course, everyone makes mistakes. But let me tell you about a lovely young lady who visited in my office. She was discouraged, almost depressed. She enjoyed her profession of teaching yet felt that her life was not going anywhere. To complicate the problem she was feeling, her testimony had waned, and she was lacking the spark that all who had known her acknowledged was part of her vibrant personality.
“I am going to ask you a question,” I said, “but I do not want details. Are you living the commandments?”
She whispered, “No.”
We talked about her going to her bishop. We also talked about testimony and about how when one lives the commandments, that individual is endowed with blessings of the Spirit that can come in no other way.
She left, seemingly as discouraged as she had entered my office. But in a while, perhaps a month later, my telephone rang. She reported that all was well.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I went to my bishop. I am living the commandments now, and, yes, I know the gospel is true. I did it on my own,” she reported.
“No one else could have done it for you,” I replied.
Think of the days, weeks, even months and years wasted by people waiting for someone else to assume responsibility for their needs. It simply cannot be. God, in his heaven, will not do for us what we can and should do for ourselves.
Fourth, we all have the task to help others when they really need burdens lifted. This is the heart of Christian service. But remember, doing for others tasks they should be doing on their own leads to their detriment and atrophy.
These four steps will help us develop a oneness with the Savior. Do we fully realize that Jesus is to be the center of our lives? Only the Savior can be our Savior, and that relationship is always personal. We go to him alone. He accepts us that way only.
There is no other way.
Our Church magazines, lesson manuals, and videotapes will never supply everything that a person needs to solve a problem, prepare a lesson, or find a new direction in life. These resources will remain helpful, but all of them together will never be as complete or as powerful as the scriptures. And incidentally, let us not rely too heavily upon what others tell us the Lord is saying in the standard works. Let us find out by going directly to those sacred pages ourselves.
We love our church buildings where we worship on Sunday, play volleyball on Wednesday, and meet on other days as our assignments dictate. They are well designed and almost always beautifully maintained, but they do not substitute for our homes and never will. Even where chapels are not or cannot be found, places always will be available where good people can meet together, partake of the sacrament, and worship our Heavenly Father.
Evidence shows that less is often more and often better. Homemade lesson enrichment materials, parent-and-child-designed family home evening discussions and activities, and examples that conform to the scriptures, to the words of the Brethren, and to one’s unique culture are often more beneficial than materials we might purchase.
Do not outlaw common sense or forget the inspiration that you can receive to provide examples for your family worship, Gospel Doctrine lesson, or other Church assignments.
How often a child will say, “No, let me do it,” when a well-meaning adult provides a little too much assistance.
Remember when you made a whistle out of a willow branch, and it sounded better than a store-bought one?
How much is lost when we limit ourselves to a rented video, a television program, or some other form of packaged entertainment. We can miss the growth and enjoyment that come from playing catch with a child, walking with a neighbor, making a simple drawing, singing with a friend, or seeking pure truth from a well-worn copy of the Book of Mormon.
What is happening to us? Why do we rely upon others for our opinions, our directions, our activities, and even our vocabulary?
It is time to say, “Whoa, stop. I want to take personal responsibility for my actions.” Now is the time to stop blaming others, the government, the Church, or our circumstances for what might disturb us.
It is time to take responsibility for ourselves.
To these things I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior, amen.

Third, while you must exercise your agency and bear the responsibility for your decisions, you need not face temptation alone. Just two weeks ago at a stake conference, Elder Charles “Tiny” Grant, one of our fine regional representatives, shared an experience with us. He said that some years ago while he was the football coach at Ricks College, he met a man named Hal Barton, who was famous for his love of fishing. He was warned, however, that “although Hal knows where to find the big fish, he often goes into strong waters to find them.”

Their first opportunity to go fishing together was in February as the ice was breaking up. As they walked together up the river, Hal pointed to an island about fifty yards away and said, “Coach, that is where we will find the big ones.” The day was cold, and now they had to cross a dangerous part of the river. The coach soon discovered that the rocks were round and slick, and the water was only inches from the top of his waders. Since he is six feet five inches tall, that meant it was deep. He was about to tell Hal that he was afraid he couldn’t cross the water, but realized that the football coach could not admit that he was afraid.

Just then Hal said, “Coach, this is how we are going to cross the water. You take a step and get a firm footing while I hold your hand and arm steady. Then I will take a step while you stand firmly and furnish the support. We will work our way through this roiling, swift water over these slippery rocks.” With this mutual support, they crossed the river safely and caught the big ones.

It was twenty-eight years ago that two young women brought the greatest and most precious influence into my family’s life.
We were living in a beautiful little town in Texas. Life was calm. I was very active in my church, an officer in the choir, Sunday School teacher, active in our Christian service organization. I loved my fellow church members and my neighbors dearly. We had bought a little home, and we had four lovely children, the oldest ten and the youngest just a few months old.
From my kitchen window I could look through to the end of the block and across the street and watch the construction of a building of some kind. I didn’t know what it was, but something drew me to it, and each day as I did the dishes I’d look out the window and note the progress. Our neighbors were curious, too, and when we found out it was a Mormon church, we were so upset. I didn’t know the Mormons even existed in this part of the country.
Several months passed. The little church on the corner was completed. It was small, but tastefully done in pinkish stone. I never saw anybody with long skirts or funny hats go in and out, though I expected to. I was rather disappointed that the members looked just like us.
One day there was a knock on the door. There stood two young ladies, neatly dressed. I cordially invited them into my home, and, like any good Texan, immediately asked if they’d like a cup of coffee. They politely declined, and we soon entered into a discussion about God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. They told me some things I’d never heard before. They said God had a body—a real body of flesh and bone—and looked much like one of us. Imagine! God, whom I loved so dearly, looking like a person. It almost seemed sacrilegious. I remember saying good-bye to them at the door, thinking, “You’re wonderful young ladies, but you certainly have some funny ideas. Your church has certainly led you astray. But you really believe it with all your hearts.”
About the same time the next week, another knock came on the door. It was the same two ladies. I invited them in, offered them coffee again, and they graciously declined again. Another discussion. Another parting at the door. This time they told me about a present-day prophet! Out loud I said, “It must give you a very good feeling to believe you have a prophet to lead you.” They assured me that it did. My inner thoughts said, “How does this church get them to believe something so strongly?”
Another meeting. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee with us?” Again a polite “No, thank you.” To my amazement my husband came into the room and sat in on the discussion with us.
We had more meetings each week. They told my husband and me all kinds of things—Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, the stone cut out of a mountain without hands, Jeremiah’s prophecies, the two “sticks” that would become one. I had read all these things before. I loved the Bible—it was very dear to me. Even as a child I loved it. I read a chapter each night before I went to bed, so some of the things the young women talked about were familiar. But now they started falling into place in logical order. How exciting it was!
By now our children had joined with us in the discussions, and the two sisters who had originally knocked on our door had been replaced by another pair of lady missionaries. I would put the baby in his playpen, and then we’d start bombarding the missionaries with question after question. We found that the two sticks mentioned in prophecy were the Bible and the Book of Mormon. “Do we get to see the Book of Mormon? When? When can I read it? Next discussion?” This was going to be a long week—I could hardly wait.
The week was long. I kept thinking about the Book of Mormon and could hardly wait to get my hands on it. The day finally arrived, and I hoped in my heart they wouldn’t forget the Book of Mormon. I even thought they might finally have a cup of coffee with us.
As we discussed the Book of Mormon, they told me of a wonderful promise contained in it. Yes, we’d give it a try. We’d pray about it.
It took only a few pages of the Book of Mormon to convince me that it was true. It’s true! This is the word of God! And so, each morning at 6:00 I would take my cup of coffee out on the back steps of the house in the cool morning air and read until the children woke up. How forceful were the words! Who could ever deny, after reading this book, that it was the word of God? It is the word of God! What a feeling of excitement, of discovery, of awe, of warmth, of wonder.
We still had at least three more discussions left when we were interrupted. Our four-year-old daughter, Nancy, came down with what appeared to be polio. I was still teaching a class in my church—dreading now to go—but instead of teaching my Sunday School class that morning, I was feverishly getting Nancy ready for a spinal tap at the local hospital. Our suspicions were confirmed; she had polio. We took Nancy to the Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I packed my Book of Mormon, knowing there would be many hours of waiting ahead of me. Somehow I knew that she would be all right.
In two weeks she was released from the hospital, and I had read a great deal of my new book.
Once more the missionary discussions began. At the next meeting I finally learned why it was that the missionaries kept refusing when I asked them if they would like a cup of coffee. When they told me they abstained from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco, my heart sank. I thought to myself, “Now they’re going to tell me they don’t dance, go to movies, cut their hair, and any number of things.” But I was ready to give up whatever they asked. I already knew the gospel was true.
Now we were near the end of the discussions, and the plan of salvation was being presented. I’ll never be able to describe the joy I felt when I was told that I had dwelt with God before—that he knew me and taught me before I was born. You mean he actually knows me? Me? Just think! God knows me! Me! I was overjoyed. I wept. This was the most beautiful thing I had ever hear—that I had dwelt with God before, and that he knew me personally. Now I could easily think of him as a kind Father, a God of flesh and bone.
When the elders were introduced to us, I was very excited. The sister missionaries had told us about the priesthood, and I was in awe of the elders when they came. I felt the greatest respect for someone who held the priesthood of God. It was such a new thing for me. The children loved them instantly.
Yes, we were baptized. We had knelt in prayer and for the first time, self-consciously and timidly, and prayed together vocally. In simplicity and humility we asked our Heavenly Father if these things were true, and, in answer, received the warm, sweet assurances that only the Holy Ghost can bring.
In the many years since our baptism as a family, there have been many joys—yes, and many sorrows too, especially the death of my husband. Yet we have known the security of the priesthood in our home, the comfort of home teachers. We have laughed, sung, cried; we’ve been down to the depths of despair, and up to the heights of spirituality. We have experienced the sweetness of a temple marriage, the meaning of eternal friendships, the strength of the iron rod when all seemed utterly hopeless. We have helped make peanut butter in welfare projects in Texas, and helped to weed beet fields and canned peas in Provo, where we now live with our new husband and father.
Above all, we are truly grateful to be members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for the missionaries who made it possible. And now we have sent our own David out as a missionary, with the hope that he will find other receptive souls and bring to them the joy and happiness that the missionaries brought to us.

I remember how the shrill scream of a siren excited me whenever an ambulance went rushing by. Oh, how I wanted to be at the wheel of that machine, rushing to the aid of sick and injured people. As I grew older, my dream became a reality. I took first-aid classes, human science classes, and finally, an emergency medical technician training course that would make my dream come true.
I was just out of high school when I got my first job as an ambulance attendant for a private ambulance company. I had many opportunities open up for me at such a young age, and I progressed rapidly in my knowledge of emergency treatments. I learned many things about life that most people never learn until later. I was also exposed to many trials and temptations that I’d never come across before.
I worked in a non-Mormon atmosphere. It was the type of atmosphere that my church leaders always had warned me about, but at the time, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about it. My work began conflicting with my church attendance. I started asking myself questions and often wondered about my future. I could see myself progressing into higher fields of medicine, and it seemed that nothing stood in my way. Then, on my nineteenth birthday, I made my way to California and applied to a hospital paramedic program. I was accepted, and could enter in the fall semester. I knew then that was exactly what I wanted to do.
Suddenly all thoughts of going on a mission left my mind. It was as if the decision not to go had already been made. Oh, sure, I always told my friends and family that I would go. I even told my employer I was planning on a mission. But all of that seemed unimportant now. All I could see was personal satisfaction, and I didn’t care what kind of spiritual development I’d miss. The voice of the prophet still echoed in my mind, “Every young man is to fulfill a mission.” But the thought always came back, “In two years’ time, look how far you could be as a paramedic.”
I didn’t know what to do! I knew deep down in my heart that a mission was the right thing, but I was blinded by worldly greed. The decision to go or not to go was constantly on my mind. I thought about it from the time I got up until the time I went to bed at night. Because we worked 24-hour shifts, I had lots of time to think.
One night right after I had gone to bed, I was awakened by the ring of the telephone. The highway patrol was calling for an ambulance to respond to a car-truck accident on the freeway, and soon I was at the scene of a two-car accident. A small car had run into the back of a large truck loaded with wooden fence posts. The badly mangled car had two occupants—a young couple that had recently been married. The husband, who was driving, had been killed instantly. His wife was critically injured. We worked desperately to save the slowly fading life of that beautiful nineteen-year-old woman. I thought to myself, How could something so terrible happen to this fine couple and totally destroy their future plans and happiness?
We rushed her to the hospital, where a team of highly trained doctors and nurses were waiting. Soon a helicopter arrived to transport her to a hospital in Salt Lake City, where she could receive special treatment for a severe head injury.
After I calmed down from the shock of such a terrible accident, I remembered talking to the highway patrolman who would be responsible for notifying the next of kin. I’ll never forget the solemn look on his face, and the glaze of tears in his eyes as he drove away. I thought to myself, What a horrible assignment! What if they were my parents being notified? Then another thought came to my mind: What will be the look on my face when I give an accounting to the Savior of the time I spent here in mortality?
The night air was chilled with a late frost. As I gazed up into the night, I noticed how clear and calm the sky looked. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and I found myself pleading with the Lord for that young woman’s life. At that moment, when my heart actually seemed to swell painfully with love and compassion, I finally began to understand. Doctors and nurses and paramedics were wonderful, but they could only treat the body. They couldn’t heal the deeper wounds, the ones that would keep us from going home to our Father. Only one Physician could do that, and I was denying myself the chance to be his helper. I made a decision. I would do all I could to further the work of the Master Healer. I would serve a mission!
The days came and went. Finally, one month later, I learned my prayers had been answered. The young woman was released from the hospital, completely recovered. How I thanked our Eternal Father for that answer. But now came the biggest step of all, my mission.
As I prayed and prepared myself, the Spirit confirmed the fact that I was to serve my Heavenly Father in the mission field. I’ll never forget that calm, sweet feeling that came as the words fell from the lips of our stake patriarch, when he pronounced that blessing upon me. And I’ll never forget that same feeling as I opened the letter from a prophet of God, calling me to serve in the Pennsylvania Harrisburg Mission. Even as I served in Pennsylvania, as a representative of Jesus Christ, I had that special calm feeling, knowing that I had made the right choice.
Before I left for the mission field, I thought there was no feeling in the world like knowing someone was walking again because of your help, but I was wrong. There is no greater feeling in the world than knowing you helped someone in their search for true joy and happiness found in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I know this church is true with all my heart! I know that God lives, that he hears and answers prayers. I know that Jesus is the Christ, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is his church on the earth. My mission sealed those facts in my heart in a way no ambulance run ever could.