Gospel Story Finder

This summer four teenage nieces and I shared a tense Sunday evening when we set out walking from a downtown hotel in a city we were visiting to a nearby chapel where I was to speak. I had made that walk many times, but that evening we suddenly found ourselves engulfed by an enormous mob of drunken parade-goers. It was no place for four teenage girls, or their aunt, I might add. But with the streets closed to traffic, we had no choice but to keep walking. Over the din, I shouted to the girls, “Stay right with me.” As we maneuvered through the crush of humanity, the only thing on my mind was my nieces’ safety.
Thankfully, we finally made it to the chapel. But for one unnerving hour, I better understood how mothers who forgo their own safety to protect a child must feel. My siblings had entrusted me with their daughters, whom I love, and I would have done anything to lead them to safety. Likewise, our Father has entrusted us as women with His children, and He has asked us to love them and help lead them safely past the dangers of mortality back home.

This story about the Aaronic Priesthood begins with a young woman, 16-year-old Lauren DellAquila of the Cary Second Ward, Apex North Carolina Stake. Lauren hadn’t come to Church for years. She had never been baptized and confirmed, “but I just knew in my heart that the Church was true.”
She also knew David Christison, 16, and Andrew Hill, 15, who attend the same school, are Latter-day Saints. “I’m in marching band with David and had a couple of classes with Andrew last year,” she says. And she knew they stood by their beliefs. “It meant a lot to see their example, because most teens at our school don’t have values like they do,” Lauren explains.
Then one day after band, some other classmates were making unkind comments about the Church. Lauren told them if they really wanted to know the truth, they shouldn’t repeat rumors; they should find out for themselves. Afterward, David thanked her and asked how she knew so much about the Church. “She said that when she was really young she went to Church, but then her parents divorced and she stopped coming,” David says. “So I invited her to come again.”
“People had tried to get me to come back before, but for one reason or another it had never happened,” Lauren explains. “But when I told David and Andrew that I did want to try again, they were excited. I started coming to meetings, and they introduced me to the bishop, the missionaries, and the young women in the ward. They helped me feel at home.”
Soon Lauren was baptized and confirmed, and today she’s a happy, confident Laurel who recently gave a sacrament meeting talk about the importance of the priesthood. “If the gospel had not been restored,” she says, “I wouldn’t have seen two young men honoring their priesthood. And I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I have had to make covenants and to draw close to the Savior.”
It’s a similar story for Hope Riner, an 8-year-old in the same ward. She benefited from the good example of her 17-year-old half-brother, Andrew Roberts. He joined the Church a little over a year ago and was recently ordained a priest, which meant he could baptize her. “I felt great about it, because we have a strong bond already,” Hope says. “I was glad my brother could use the priesthood to help me.”
“It was an incredible experience,” Andrew says. “I know I need to be an example to my sister, not only as a brother, but also as an example of the kind of young man she should have as friends and the kind of man she will marry one day. By my example, I’m preparing her to understand how the priesthood can bless her life.”
Both Lauren and Hope know that the young men in their ward—as well as in the Cary Third Branch (Spanish speaking), which is dependent on their ward—take the priesthood seriously. “They don’t just talk about it,” Lauren says. “They live it.”
Maxwell Guerra, 13, is another example. He’s a member of the branch but serves as the deacons quorum president of the ward. On any given Sunday, he’s meeting with the presidency and the quorum adviser to keep track of the quorum members, plan activities, and make sure all the deacons needed will be there to pass the sacrament. After church on a recent fast Sunday, he helped another deacon collect fast offerings and then visited Alma Parraga, who is about to turn 12 and will soon be joining the quorum.
Andrew Hill, mentioned earlier, is president of the teachers quorum, and he loves the fellowship he finds there. “It’s more than just getting along with each other,” he stresses. “We strengthen each other and learn from each other.” Any assignment, he has found, is easier with teamwork, and that includes home teaching. “One of the great things we do in the Church is to look after each other,” he says. “It’s a powerful thing when an Aaronic Priesthood holder and a Melchizedek Priesthood holder become a team, with a responsibility to watch over families and individuals.”
The teachers also spend time preparing the sacrament, and Andrew says that has special significance for him. “Priests bless the sacrament,” he says, “and deacons pass the sacrament. But teachers set a tone of reverence by having everything ready before the meetings begin.” Being involved with something so sacred is a great privilege for the Aaronic Priesthood, Andrew says.
Of course, the bishop of the ward is the president of the Aaronic Priesthood. In the Cary Second Ward, Matthew Watkins is the first assistant to Bishop Charles N. Anderson. Matthew says he feels one of the most important things the priests do is to study the gospel together. He is grateful when the bishop helps the priests to understand gospel principles. “The priests help teach each other, too,” he says. “Each Sunday I feel like I understand more and more.” In particular, he remembers a lesson about fasting. “It helped me see how important it is to get close to the Spirit.” He also enjoys providing music for priesthood meeting. “Music is another way of getting close to the Spirit,” he explains.
Another priest, Erick Wells, 18, recently ordained his younger brother, Michael, 12, to the office of deacon. “I wanted Erick to ordain me,” Michael says, “because he’s one of the greatest examples in my life. He never does anything wrong that I’ve noticed, so everything he does, I know I can do too.”
Erick smiles at the tribute. “I really enjoyed being able to use my priesthood to confer it on Michael,” he says. “I feel a great responsibility to be an example not only to my family but to other people as well so that I can share in the gospel with all of them.”
Erick says the goal of all young men in the Church should be “to obtain both the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthoods, make covenants in the temple, be missionaries, prepare for a lifetime of service, and live faithfully with their families so that they can be together with Heavenly Father again.” Matthew agrees. “The Aaronic Priesthood lifts us to a higher sense of what we need to be doing,” he says.
And that’s what’s happening in the Cary Second Ward. Ask these young men who is using the priesthood to make a difference right now, and they can truthfully answer, “We are!” Ask them who is using the priesthood to prepare for the future, and the answer is the same.
How has the priesthood made a difference in your life? E-mail your experience to us at newera@ldschurch.org.

We need to make our homes a place of refuge from the storm, which is increasing in intensity all about us. Even if the smallest openings are left unattended, negative influences can penetrate the very walls of our homes. Let me cite an example.
Several years ago, I was having dinner with my daughter and her family. The scene is all too common in most homes with small children. My daughter was trying to encourage her young, three-year-old son to eat a balanced meal. He had eaten all the food on his plate that he liked. A small serving of green beans remained, which he was not fond of. In desperation, the mother picked up a fork and tried to encourage him to eat his beans. He tolerated it just about as long as he could. Then he exclaimed, “Look, Mom, don’t foul up a good friendship!”
Those were the exact words he heard on a television commercial a few days earlier. Oh, what impact advertising, television programs, the Internet, and the other media are having on our family units!

A Brother Cooper, noticing William’s skill with cattle, hired him to train his teams to work together in a yoke and then drive them to Utah. In return William and Elizabeth were promised free transportation. A few days later, however, their employer announced that he did not intend to go to Zion but wanted them to help him farm nearby. When William refused, he and Elizabeth were ordered out of the wagon and left without food or water.
Fortunately for the stranded couple, Elders Lyman and Charles C. Rich rode in from the west and found them that evening. They arranged for Elizabeth to ride to Utah with a family named Wardell for 40 dollars. Elder Lyman, however, asked William to return to Florence to help with the D. F. Kimball freight train. The fiancé agreed to this separation reluctantly:
“I think this was the greatest trial I ever underwent—to leave my betrothed and go back. However, I submitted and kissed my girl good-bye and gave her a half sovereign, all the money I had in the world, and jumped in the buckboard and we went, I with a sorrowful heart and a mind full of reflections as to the outcome of it all. Brother Rich found I was in tears and told me to cheer up and have faith and all would be well.”
His first night in camp provided the other men with a good laugh then and for years after. William, preparing for bed, reached in his bag for what he thought were closely woven cotton sailor overalls and instead he held up “some sort of ladies’ underwear trimmed and adorned with lace.” His comrades laughed loudly. He had taken his sweetheart’s bag by mistake instead of his own! But perhaps the seaman was more fortunate than the others: while the freight company members slept on hard ground for three months, William rested comfortably in his sea hammock slung between two wagon wheels. On rainy nights he simply covered himself and hammock with canvas.

The Cantos’ fifth child, Pedrito, was born in a clinic in Quevedo, high in the Andes Mountains near the equator. The boy seemed normal at first, but after two days his bowels had not yet purged their prenatal waste and he was screaming with pain.
His alarmed parents dared not wait even until morning to seek the advice of a specialist, for sudden death had already claimed two of their other children. At three months, Nancy Julema, their third child, had died of an unknown illness. Two years later, their fourth child, one-year-old Juan Carlos, had died of bronchial pneumonia in the arms of his mother on the way to medical help in Guayaquil, Ecuador. The heartbroken mother had gotten off the bus at the next town, but no bus or taxi driver would give her passage back home with the dead child. Finally, in desperation, she had pretended that the child was asleep and hitchhiked a ride part way on a gas truck and then on to Quevedo in a private car.
So, fearing the worst, Pedro Cantos wrapped his newborn son in a blanket, kissed his wife good-bye, and left by taxi for Guayaquil, 175 miles away. As the miles widened between them, the hearts of the parents were as one as they prayed for the life of this child.
When father and son finally arrived at the hospital, the doctors quickly diagnosed the problem as a congenital bowel obstruction, and they immediately made a surgical opening into the colon for drainage.
After three days Pedrito was out of immediate danger. His father returned home to Quevedo, borrowed some money to help pay for the treatment in Guayaquil, and sent his wife back to the hospital to be with their sick baby.
Nancy Cantos and her baby son remained in Guayaquil a month—a sorrowful month for the family. They were given little hope for Pedrito’s recovery, and they didn’t know how or where they could get more money for his care.
Although Pedrito finally grew well enough to come home, he remained ill and feverish. He cried out in pain, unable to sleep or eat. Only forced feedings kept him alive.
At three months, he suffered a severe heart attack. The Cantos then learned that their baby had a serious congenital heart defect. With open-heart surgery he might recover; without surgery he could not possibly live beyond age ten.
And he would always be ill.
Open-heart surgery! But that would cost thousands of dollars. It was impossible!
The saddened parents returned home with their baby. They faced a constant struggle to keep him alive. One day he would seem a bit better; the next day he would be worse again. They had to take him to Guayaquil every two or three weeks for medication and treatment—a financial hardship on their limited income.
In the meantime, they prayed constantly. And their answer came in a dream.
One night when Pedrito was almost ten months old, Nancy dreamed that she saw through her kitchen window—instead of the usual array of crowded buildings—a beautiful, spacious lawn extending as far as she could see. In the distance a man was digging in the earth. She approached him and asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m planting herbs to cure the illnesses of man,” he replied.
Then Nancy saw an unusual tree nearby. “What is the purpose of that tree?” she asked.
“The tree holds the cure for Pedrito’s illness,” replied the stranger.
“Tell me,” she asked eagerly, “how can I give the tree’s medicine to my child?”
Before the stranger could answer, Nancy saw a man in the distance, standing at the window of a house, looking at her. Immediately he and another man, both dressed in white, left the house and approached her.
Frightened, Nancy ran trembling into her own house and bolted the door. They came to her barred window, looked in at her, and asked, “Why are you afraid?”
“Because—because I’m here alone with my sick child.”
“But do you not know that bolted doors and barred windows cannot keep us out?” they asked kindly. “We were sent by God to help you because of your faith and your diligence in studying the Bible and seeking the word of God.”
Instantly they were inside the house, and Nancy woke up.
The dream remained vivid in Nancy’s thoughts, yet she told no one.
A week later, two missionaries knocked on the Cantos’s door. That evening they gave Nancy, Pedro, and their two older sons, Cesar and Fernando, the first discussion.
Before they left, the elders gave the family a Book of Mormon, after first marking for them the passages they had been discussing about Christ’s visit to America. They also felt inspired to underline the passages relating to Lehi’s dream about the tree of life—something they had never done before.
Later, as Nancy Cantos read the account of Lehi’s dream, she became excited. It was so similar to her own! She knew in her heart that this was the answer to their prayers.
Eagerly she read the passages to her husband and told him about her dream. He, too, believed this was their answer. “If we obey God’s commandments and hold to the iron rod, our baby will be healed,” he told his wife.
The Cantos could hardly wait for the next discussion.
One night when the elders came to the Cantos home, Pedrito was unusually ill. The elders felt prompted to discuss the principle of priesthood administrations. The family eagerly sought a blessing for Pedrito, who was so thin you could see the bones under his skin. Up until then, he had been unable to tolerate any food except milk. He could neither walk nor talk, and he rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time.
The elders administered to the child and left the house with a strong feeling that he would recover.
From that time on, Pedrito began to improve. The Cantos family were baptized, and the welfare services missionaries helped Sister Cantos get Pedrito started on solid foods. He began to gain weight, and for the first time in his life, he slept through the night. He also learned to walk and talk. The frequent, costly trips to Guayaquil were no longer necessary.
Then, suddenly, Pedrito became ill again. His temperature was dangerously high, and his parents took him back to Guayaquil. The doctors told them that he would have to remain in the hospital at least five days. They also told the Cantos that if Pedrito were to live, he would have to undergo open-heart surgery right away.
But to everyone’s surprise, Pedrito was well enough to leave the hospital the next day.
Back in Quevedo, the welfare services missionaries helped the Cantos apply for help with the cost of the surgery. The doctors told the Cantos that they would have to go to the United States or Brazil for the surgery. But a member of the Church, who had recently had a family member operated on for a similar problem, told them about another doctor—Dr. Oswald Bonilla, a heart specialist in nearby Quito.
Although his calendar was full for several months, Dr. Bonilla agreed to see Pedrito in two weeks. But complications kept Dr. Bonilla from seeing Pedrito immediately. Sister Cantos had been taking a tailoring class so that she could earn money to help pay some of their medical bills. As the day for the appointment with Dr. Bonilla approached, she learned that her final examination was scheduled for the same day.
Dr. Bonilla graciously postponed the appointment for another two weeks. This time, a bus strike kept them from meeting with him. Finally, after six weeks, they stood before Dr. Bonilla.
Electrocardiograms, x-rays, and many other tests revealed that Pedrito was too weak to endure surgery. “It will take at least eight or nine months to build him up sufficiently,” Dr. Bonilla told the worried parents. The doctor ordered another series of tests.
Three days later, just before Pedrito was taken in for the new tests, two young men in white shirts and dark suits told Dr. Bonilla, “We would like to give the child a blessing.”
“You have five minutes,” the doctor said, and he left the room.
Later that afternoon he whistled in amazement. The test results showed such a remarkable improvement in Pedrito that Dr. Bonilla decided to schedule the surgery immediately.
“It was worse than we thought,” Dr. Bonilla told the parents and the elders and sisters who had waited with them during the five anguish-filled hours of the surgery. “You keep praying, though, and Pedrito will live.”
Pedrito did live. He recovered rapidly. Soon he was running and playing like any other little boy. And Pedrito’s struggle for life has wrought other miracles. Dr. Bonilla and his assistant, Dr. Lopez, were touched by this display of faith and by the miracle they saw when the elders administered to Pedrito. They decided not to charge for the surgery.
Many of Sister Cantos’s family have accepted the gospel, and members of Brother Cantos’s family are anxiously waiting for the missionaries to come to a remote area where they live so that they, too, can be taught the gospel.

Jason remembered how his foot had tingled when it went to sleep that night as he stood motionless by the kitchen door, listening. The big folks were in the living room, discussing Grandpa! Mom had sent him off to watch TV, but when he went to get a drink, he couldn’t help overhearing them. Then he just stayed there.
There was no mistaking Aunt Madge’s high-pitched, nervous voice. She always seemed to talk too fast. She and Uncle Bill had flown in from Texas the day before Grandma’s funeral. Jason could hear Aunt Madge say that there was no way that Grandpa could live alone now that Grandma wasn’t there to take care of him. And that it was impossible for him to live at their house.
Aunt Edith said that she was sorry, but she didn’t have room for him in her little apartment. Aunt Sherma and Uncle Dick traveled a lot; besides, Aunt Sherma said, they just didn’t have an extra bedroom either.
Jason’s mom had spoken up quickly. “We can move the TV into the living room and give Grandpa the TV room. We’d be happy to have him live here with us.”
Jason was delighted!
Grandpa moved in with them at the first of the year. It had been hard for him to leave his home. The movers brought his bed and dresser, a lounge chair, and some boxes of his personal things, but that was all.
He and Jason soon became good buddies. Grandpa was a great storyteller, and Jason loved to listen to his stories. Grandpa talked a lot about his boyhood, the time he’d spent overseas during the war, the early days of his law practice, and the years that he sat behind a big podium as a judge in a black robe. But he was old and frail now, and it was hard for Jason to picture him as a little boy, a soldier, a lawyer, or a judge.
Grandpa helped fill the empty spot in Jason’s heart. Jason had never known his own father—he’d been only two at the time of the car accident. “Did Daddy look like me when he was six?” he asked Grandpa one day.
“You’re a dead-ringer for my Joe when he was your age,” Grandpa told him. “Your dad’s hair was darker than yours, but he had your same nose and that same cleft in his chin.” Grandpa smiled and started talking about all four of his children—Madge and Edith and Sherma and Joe.
Later Jason pushed Grandpa’s wheelchair out onto the front porch to try to escape the hot, humid house. The cool, fresh breezes from the sycamores brought a refreshing change. Jason threw his leg across the brick-bordered porch, pulled a leaf from the lilac tree, folded it, and put it to his lips. As he blew softly, out came a low, clear whistle.
Grandpa stopped, then said, “If you’d like to see the seashell, I still have it. Would you go get the brown shoe box in the back corner of my bottom dresser drawer, please?”
Jason returned a few moments later with the shoe box. Grandpa opened it and took out a small white and coral seashell, beautifully formed and with black and gray striations. “I want you to have this, Jason,” he said, placing it in Jason’s hands. “If you listen to it often, it will help you remember another Voice that is always there to guide you and help you make right decisions.”
Jason placed the seashell next to his ear and listened for a moment. “Thank you, Grandpa, for telling me about Dad,” he said softly. “And thank you for sharing your treasure with me. It will always remind me of the Holy Ghost, Dad, and you.”

After days of working long hours in the hot sun, I became exhausted. Eventually, I got sick.
I called the full-time missionaries, and we scheduled a time to meet at the branch site. When I arrived the following day, nobody was there. As I waited outside, I prayed, “Heavenly Father, I know You can heal me, if that is Thy will. Please help me.”
The missionaries soon arrived with the branch president. When these three priesthood holders laid their hands on my head, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost run from the top of my head to my toes. Immediately I was healed.
In a small town far from my home country, I sought help from priesthood holders. The Lord blessed me through His priesthood and my faith. In my travels since then, I have asked for many blessings from priesthood holders worldwide. I am grateful to know that priesthood power held by worthy priesthood holders is the same in every land.

And as they set up the basic organization of the conference, again the central committee went to the scriptures, in the spirit of service, for their guidelines. They read the counsel given to Moses:

“Provide out of all people able men, such as fear God, men of truth … to be rulers of tens:

“And … every great matter they shall bring unto thee, but every small matter they shall judge: so shall it be easier for thyself, and they shall bear the burden with thee.” (Ex. 18:21–22.)

Under the guidance and the approval of the district and mission presidencies, the central committee decided to divide the 300 youth who would be attending the Naramata conference into companies of ten, with captains of ten to be elected from among the companies. And then they wrote out a list of instructions for these captains:

“You are now a ‘Captain of Ten’ upon whom an important stewardship has been bestowed. Be a friend to all those in your charge, remembering that to lead is also to serve.

“Study carefully the following suggestions, which, if followed in the right spirit, will ensure that this conference will be a profound personal success—for you and those youth in your charge.
Make a friend of everyone in your group.
Assist others in maintaining conference rules.
Assist others in maintaining Church standards.
Be sure your group is awakened on time.
Do not retire until every youth in your group has been accounted for.
Be sure every member of your group is aware of, and understands, conference plans.
Cooperate with and assist your adult chaperons.
Accept assignments from the conference committee when asked.
Hold morning and evening prayers with your group.
Bear your testimony whenever appropriate.
“At all times,” the instructions reemphasized, “watch out for the girl or boy who needs friendship, some of whom can be seen eating silently alone in the cafeteria or standing shyly on the darkened sidelines of the dance floor.”

But the problem was quickly solved. The young people gladly doubled up where possible and rolled out their bedrolls on the floor where not, and once gear was stowed and friendly introductions made, companies of ten were formed and captains elected.

Throughout the day thoughtful, caring service was offered in large ways and small. In meetings when those on the stand didn’t have a hymnbook, someone from the audience would jump up and give his copy to the person without. If there were not enough chairs in a workshop, a dozen self-motivated volunteers would rush to find more. If a youth was walking between meetings loaded down with suitcases, chairs, or other paraphernalia, others would quietly walk up behind him and ask if they could help carry the burden. Captains of ten conscientiously watched over their companies, and none went friendless or uncomforted, not even those not officially attending the conference.

All my life I had been taught that the Church was true. When I decided to gain a testimony of my own, I thought I needed to approach things from a different angle than my teachers and friends did. So I asked: What if the gospel is not true? What if my well-meaning friends and parents have been misled? What if the Book of Mormon is a work of fiction? What if there is no living prophet today and families aren’t forever?
As such questions filled my mind, darkness clouded my thoughts. I felt as if doors were closing inside me, and for an entire day I wandered around in a depressed stupor of thought, thinking and acting unkindly toward others.
The next morning I realized I was getting nowhere. Then I remembered a seminary lesson I’d had on prayer. I knew that in Doctrine and Covenants 9:7–9 [D&C 9:7–9] there were some guidelines on getting answers. As I read these verses, I could see that I had asked the wrong questions. When I studied my questions out in my mind and in my heart, I sincerely believed the things I had been taught were true. So I prayed again, this time asking if my beliefs were right: Was I really a child of God? Was there a celestial kingdom? Was the priesthood the power of God?
Light replaced darkness. The Spirit confirmed that my belief was not in vain. I felt as if doors were being flung open, and I could see things more clearly.
I gained a desire to serve and to share my testimony. The Lord had heard and answered my sincere prayer. Now I know for myself that what I had believed all along was really true.

My family had a similar experience. My two faithful brothers, wonderful sister, and I were raised by exemplary parents. We were taught the gospel in our home, we successfully made it to adulthood, and all four of us were sealed in the temple to our spouses. However, in 1994 our sister, Susan, became disenchanted with the Church and some of its teachings. She was persuaded by those who mocked and criticized the early leaders of the Church. She allowed her faith in living prophets and apostles to diminish. Over time, her doubts overcame her faith, and she chose to leave the Church. Susan has given me permission to share her story with the hope that it might help others.
My brothers and I and our widowed mother were devastated. We couldn’t imagine what possibly could have led her to abandon her faith. My sister’s choices seemed to be breaking our mother’s heart.
My brothers and I had served as bishops and quorum presidents, and we had experienced the joy of success with ward and quorum members as we left the ninety and nine and went after the one. However, with our sister, our persistent efforts to rescue her and to invite her back only pushed her further and further away.
As we sought heavenly guidance as to how we might properly respond to her, it became evident that we had to follow the example of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. Susan had made her choice, and we had to figuratively let her go—but not without her knowing and feeling our sincere love for her. And so, with renewed love and kindness, we watched and we waited.
My mother never stopped loving and caring for Susan. Every time my mother attended the temple, she placed Susan’s name on the prayer roll and never lost hope. My older brother and his wife, who lived closest to Susan in California, invited her to all family events. They prepared dinner in their home each year on Susan’s birthday. They made sure they were always in touch with her and that she knew of their genuine love for her.
My younger brother and his wife reached out to Susan’s children in Utah and cared for them and loved them. They made sure that her children were always invited to family gatherings, and when it came time for Susan’s granddaughter to be baptized, my brother was there to perform the ordinance. Susan also had loving home teachers and visiting teachers who never gave up.
As our children went on missions and were married, Susan was invited to and attended these family celebrations. We tried diligently to create family events so that Susan and her children could be with us and they would know that we loved them and that they were part of our family. As Susan received an advanced degree at a California university, we were all there to support her at her graduation. Although we could not embrace all of her choices, we could certainly embrace her. We loved, we watched, and we waited.
In 2006, after 12 years had passed since Susan left the Church, our daughter Katy moved with her husband to California so he could attend law school. They were in the same city as Susan. This young couple looked to their aunt Susan for help and support, and they loved her. Susan helped care for our two-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, and Susan found herself helping Lucy with her nightly prayers. Katy called me one day and asked if I thought Susan would ever come back to the Church. I assured her that I felt she would and that we needed to continue to be patient. As another three years passed, with continued love, we watched and we waited.
Six years ago this weekend, my wife, Marcia, and I were sitting on the front row of this Conference Center. I was to be sustained as a new General Authority that day. Marcia, who is always in touch with the Spirit, had written a note to me that read, “I think it is time for Susan to come back.” My daughter Katy suggested that I leave and call Susan to invite her to watch general conference that day.

Prompted by these two great women, I walked to the foyer and called my sister. I got her voice mail and simply invited her to watch that session of general conference. She got the message. To our delight, she felt impressed to watch all the sessions of conference. She heard from prophets and apostles she had loved in earlier years. She found new names she had not heard before, such as President Uchtdorf and Elders Bednar, Cook, Christofferson, and Andersen. During this and other unique heaven-sent experiences, my sister—like the prodigal son—came to herself (see Luke 15:17). The words of prophets and apostles and the love of her family moved her to turn and begin the walk back home. After 15 years our daughter and sister who was lost had been found. The watch and the wait were over.
Susan describes this experience just as Lehi described it in the Book of Mormon. She let go of the iron rod and found herself in a mist of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23). She states that she did not know she was lost until her faith was reawakened by the Light of Christ, which brightly magnified the stark contrast between what she was experiencing in the world and what the Lord and her family were offering.
A miracle has occurred over the past six years. Susan has a renewed testimony of the Book of Mormon. She has received her temple recommend. She has served as an ordinance worker in the temple, and she currently teaches the Gospel Doctrine class in her ward. The windows of heaven have opened to her children and her grandchildren, and although there have been difficult consequences, it feels as if she never left.

During those difficult years, while living in Oakley, Idaho, Marion’s father and uncle pooled their families’ resources. One month they had just 80 dollars to pay for the needs of 17 people in the two families. Would the Lord understand if they didn’t pay tithing right now? They answered the question by sending young Marion on a cold winter day to deliver the tithing to the bishop. After that, he said, it would never be that hard again to pay tithing.

When I was about 18, I took a sewing class. One day three girls a few feet away from me started using offensive language. I didn’t know if I should ignore them to avoid a conflict or if I should stand up for my standards and ask them to stop. Eventually, I said as nicely as possible, “Excuse me, but could you please watch your language?”
The biggest of the girls glared at me and said, “We’ll talk however we want.”
I said, “But do you really have to swear? It really offends me.”
She said, “Then just don’t listen.”
I was starting to get upset and said, “It’s hard not to listen when you’re talking so loudly.”
She said, “Get over it.”
I gave up. I was frustrated with the girls, but even more frustrated with myself. I couldn’t believe I’d let my tone get confrontational. The girls were still swearing, and now we were all angry.
After I’d calmed down, I saw that the girls were having trouble with their sewing machine. I knew what was wrong because I’d had the same problem earlier. So I showed them how to fix it. I saw the expression change on the biggest girl’s face. “Hey,” she said, “we’re sorry.” I couldn’t believe it—she was apologizing. “I’m sorry too,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry like that.”
I went back to my sewing machine and didn’t hear another swear word. That experience taught me that our words might not change others’ attitudes, but kindness and service often can.
Katie Pike, Utah, USA

Growing up in the Church, I’d always just assumed that God existed and loved me. It wasn’t until high school that I felt the need to discover for myself if everything I’d been taught was true.
I went to a Church-sponsored youth camp one summer where faithful peers spoke of receiving answers to their prayers by feeling the Holy Ghost. I thought the Holy Ghost had never communicated with me because I’d never felt “my heart burn within my chest” as many of the other youth had described. At the camp, one of the counselors said that “if you ask God if He loves you, then He will answer.” Excited at the prospect of definite revelation, I knelt that night and asked God if He loves me. I felt nothing. I was angry. I begged for an answer. I’d never felt so very alone. I knew that God loves me—why wouldn’t He let me feel it?
I spent the next year coming to terms with this experience. Over time, I realized that the Holy Ghost had spoken to me, just not in the way I’d expected. It was not through intense feelings but through a calm and pure knowledge of truth in my heart and mind. By the time I went back to camp the following summer, I’d realized I didn’t need an intense confirming feeling to know that God loves me, because the Spirit spoke to me a different way.
And then the strangest thing happened: I got that feeling. One night while writing in my journal, I heard a voice in my head say, “I love you.” It was a soft whisper, and I knew it was of divine origin. I knelt and tearfully thanked God and felt surrounded by His love. It often seems too bold to say, but I felt like I was wrapped in the arms of God that night.
Though I felt a lot of emotions during this experience, I also learned that the Holy Ghost speaks to people in different ways. To this day, the Spirit gives me a pure knowledge of the truth. I know that God lives and loves us more than we can comprehend. He may not give us everything we want, but when we’re ready, worthy, and faithful, He will answer our earnest and fervent prayers in the way and time He knows is best.

When he recalls the rigorous years he spent at Harvard Business School, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says of his graduate program, “I was stretched to my capacity.”
About this time Elder Hales received a call to be elders quorum president. He was concerned about the added pressure such a call would create on his schedule. “It was one of the few times in my life I didn’t say yes on the spot,” he explains. “I went home to my wife and said, ‘I will probably fail in school if I accept this calling.’”
Sister Hales responded, “Bob, I would rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard.” She then put her arms around him and added, “Together we will do both of them.”
They knelt in prayer and then went to work. The ensuing months were difficult, but they managed to “do both of them.”

We live in an environment where there is much of litigation and conflict, of suing and countersuing. Even here the powers of healing may be invoked. As a young man I worked with Elder Stephen L. Richards, then of the Council of the Twelve. When he came into the First Presidency of the Church, he asked me to assist him with a very delicate and sensitive matter. It was fraught with most grave and serious consequences. After listening to him discuss it, I said, “President Richards, you don’t want me; you want a lawyer.” He said, “I am a lawyer. I don’t want to litigate this. I want to compose it.”
We directed our efforts to that end, and wonderful results followed. Money was saved, much of it. Embarrassment was avoided. The work was moved forward without fanfare or headlines. Wounds were closed. The healing powers of the Master, the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, were invoked in a delicate and difficult situation to compose what otherwise could have become a catastrophe.

There were difficult and challenging days also, like the one when I returned from a distant trip to find my faithful and ever courageous wife directing our sons with boxing gloves on their hands sparring with each other. One son had challenged the high school bully, who had been teasing and trying to make fun of younger classmates. The coach had set an hour and a day for the fight. Preparations were on—training, diet, and prayer were all a part of making ready. Our prayers were answered. The outcome brought increased respect and strong friendship, even with the bully.

A few weeks later I started to struggle with school, friends, family, and even my faith. I was reading my scriptures one night, and as I was about to stop, I felt the urge to keep reading. I followed the prompting and read several scriptures that mentioned prayer. I then recalled my patriarchal blessing and how it said that I need to pray often and have a close relationship with my Heavenly Father and the Holy Ghost. I had not been the best at saying my prayers. I realized that I was missing out on one of the blessings I would have been getting.

When we refer to the Holy Ghost as the still, small voice, it is not an understatement. He truly speaks in still and small ways. We must pay close attention to make sure we don’t miss what the Lord is trying to tell us or advise us to do. I know that we will be blessed if we always listen to the still, small voice.

The caravan had left Winter Quarters in mid-June, about two months after the advance company’s departure.1 Though only in her twenties, Jane was used to long overland journeys. After being denied passage on a canal boat in 1843, likely because of the color of their skin, she and a small group of black Latter-day Saints had walked almost eight hundred miles from western New York to Nauvoo. Later, Jane and Isaac had walked across the muddy prairies of Iowa with the Camp of Israel. For most of that time, Jane had been pregnant with her son Silas, who was born along the trail.2

My mother was a great delegator. Each Saturday morning as my brothers and sisters and I were growing up, we received housecleaning assignments from her. Her instructions to us had been learned from her mother: “Be certain you clean thoroughly in the corners and along the mopboards. If you are going to miss anything, let it be in the center of the room.”

She knew very well if we cleaned the corners, she would never have a problem with what was left in the center of the room. That which is visible to the eye would never be left unclean.

Over the years, my mother’s counsel has had enormous application to me in many different ways. It is especially applicable to the task of spiritual housecleaning. The aspects of our lives that are on public display usually take care of themselves because we want to leave the best impression possible. But it is in the hidden corners of our lives, where there are things that only we know about, that we must be particularly thorough to ensure that we are clean.

The heat was sweltering, and it was raining heavily. Still, the missionaries continued down the road, a mix of perspiration and rain rolling off their backs and faces. To their left and right were the humble houses of the people of Hong Kong.
As they walked, Elder Tavita Sagapolu seemed a giant. Standing 1.8 meters tall and weighing over 120 kilos, the former college football star, who was now a full-time missionary, towered over most of the people in this city. And now he discovered that he towered over their homes, too. The buildings came up only to his chin.
After approaching one of the houses, Tavita’s more experienced companion, who had been on his mission several months, turned to the young Samoan man and offered to let him knock on the door. This would be the first door Tavita would knock on since arriving in Hong Kong, and it would be an experience that he would remember throughout his life.
Tavita shook with nervousness as he prepared to knock. “My mouth went dry and refused to open,” he recalls. Nonetheless, he mustered the courage to approach the door, a door so small he had to kneel down to knock.
“As I was kneeling there, I forgot how strong I was. I didn’t even have to knock—my hand was shaking so much that all I had to do was put my arm up to the door.” Before Tavita knew what was happening, the door fell in under the weight of his arm. Panic swept through him as he tried to put the door back on its hinges before anyone came.
Suddenly, an elderly woman appeared at the door. When she opened it, it fell on her. She came out screaming. “I grabbed my companion and put him in front of me. I said to the woman, ‘Here, talk to him!’ The memory of that little old woman’s face after the door fell down will always be with me.” Now, when he recalls the episode, Tavita chuckles.