Gospel Story Finder

Not long ago a young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.

“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied: ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

It must be difficult living in a place where one of life’s greatest temptations is going to the beach on Sunday. “Sunday always has the perfect beach weather,” says Tami Ting Mei Lim of Honolulu, Hawaii, “but I want to be in church.”
Tami loves her home state and takes advantage of every opportunity to spread the gospel across it. She once spent two hours driving through the busy streets of Honolulu telling her captive driving instructor about the gospel. “I was surprised about the interest he took in hearing about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Tami also takes advantage of opportunities to keep her state beautiful. She’s constantly involved in community cleanup projects. Her experience in church and school leadership positions helps her with this. All this, and an avid interest in violin and piano music? No wonder it’s tempting to think of relaxing at the beach.

Sophie had a problem.
Mother’s Day was coming, and she wanted to give Mom a gift. Mom was going to have a baby, and she had to stay in bed so the baby could grow stronger. Sophie thought staying in bed sounded like the most boring thing in the world! So she wanted to give Mom something special to cheer her up. But she didn’t have any money to buy a present.
After school Sophie went to Mom’s room. She climbed up on the bed and got comfy.
“Tell me about your day,” Mom said.
Sophie started telling Mom about a silly poem she wrote about parrots in polka-dot pants parading around the park. Then she thought of her problem. Her voice trailed off, and her eyebrows scrunched up.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t have any money to buy you a present for Mother’s Day!” Sophie blurted out.
Mom smiled and patted Sophie’s hand. “Oh, honey. The best presents come from the heart,” she said. “Besides, you and Dad and the new baby are all the presents I need.”
Sophie sighed. Mom was always saying stuff like that. But Sophie still wanted to get her a present.
That night Sophie knelt by her bed.
“Heavenly Father, please help me think of a present I can give Mom for Mother’s Day,” she prayed.
In the morning, Sophie hadn’t even opened her eyes yet when an idea popped into her brain! She hopped out of bed and ran to tell Dad what she wanted to do.
“That’s a great idea,” he said. “Mom will love it.”
Since it was Saturday and she didn’t have school, Sophie got to work on her idea right away. She got out paper, markers, and scissors. She got out glitter glue and stickers. She used a ruler to draw a rectangle. Then she carefully cut around the edges.
In her best handwriting, Sophie wrote, “This coupon is good for a hug and a kiss.”
Sophie made another coupon for setting the table. She made one for picking up baby toys. She made one for washing windows. With each coupon, Sophie thought about how much she loved Mom. Soon she had a colorful stack. She wrapped them in gold paper and tied a ribbon around the bundle.
On Mother’s Day morning, Sophie handed the shiny package to Mom.
Mom smiled as she opened the crinkly paper. Her smile got even bigger when she saw what was inside.
“Thank you, Sophie! This is the best present ever,” she said, pulling Sophie into a hug.
Sophie felt warm and happy inside. Mom was right. The best presents did come from the heart.

As a youth I loved to play basketball. One of my biggest disappointments was when I didn’t make the school team. I stopped growing early, and I probably just was not good enough, anyway. Seeing other boys my age go on to become really outstanding basketball players was difficult—not because they achieved in the sport, but because I hadn’t.
However, that helped nudge me in the direction of the world of words, which, in the long term, has been a blessing to me. At the time, it seemed a poor substitute for basketball, but as I look back on my life, the nudging in that direction meant that I was to have many opportunities I could not otherwise have had.
When I served in the army during World War II, I was asked to write letters of comfort to the wives and parents of those who had been killed. I was also asked to write letters recognizing men for their bravery in battle. So I became more involved in the world of words.
Later, that led quite naturally to the mission field. In those days there was no churchwide plan for the missionaries to follow, and I came up with one that my mission used. So our talents can develop in a meaningful way even though we can’t see it at the time. While I would rather, in my youth, have played basketball, it would end up being more important for me to develop a talent with words. We need to trust in God in the midst of our disappointments. Experiences that seem hard when we are in the middle of them may well be part of God’s tutoring and training.

“I had wanted to tell others about the Book of Mormon since the day I found it when I was eight years old,” she says. “Now I felt I had to become a missionary.”
But she was only seventeen. Every year thereafter on her birthday, she asked her bishop if she was old enough yet to be called on a mission, but each year he told her she must wait until she was twenty-one. In the meantime, she taught Primary and Sunday School and continued to grow in her knowledge of the gospel.
Then—on the very day she turned twenty-one—her call came.
Sister Marilu Ramirez was prepared. A bright student, she was teaching elementary school even before finishing her university degree, and she carefully saved her earnings. By the time she received her call, she had saved up enough money to pay for her entire mission. At that point she gave up her job, with no assurance of finding one when she returned.
Her family was sure she was insane. The child who had wasted time and money on religious books was now throwing away a good job, all her savings, and eighteen months of her life. But once again, no amount of pressure made any difference.
Now on her mission, she prays for her family and writes them weekly.
On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”
Sister Ramirez is currently teaching the gospel to non-members who come to the Mexico City Temple visitors’ center. In the evenings, she and her companion go out into the surrounding neighborhoods to teach families the gospel in their homes.
Like that eight-year-old child, the twenty-one year old missionary is still consumed with thoughts about God. And her cup, filled drop by drop when she read the pages of the Book of Mormon as a child, is now overflowing.

Dad was the bishop of our ward for most of my youth. One night when I was ten or eleven years old, he took me with him to visit some ward members. (He often took one of his children along with him so that he could spend more time with us.) As we visited a young lady that night, a big black car drove up in front of her house. In the car was David O. McKay, the President of the Church. I remember thinking that he was very impressive looking. In the course of the short visit, he and Dad gave a blessing to the young girl.
After the blessing, President McKay went out on the front porch and talked to me. He commented on how nice it was that I could be with my dad. He talked about the times he had been with his father. On one of those occasions, he said, they had come to Salt Lake City to general conference. He was just a young boy at the time. He was introduced to John Taylor, who was then President of the Church.
During their conversation, President Taylor showed him the scars on his arms from wounds he had suffered in Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph Smith on the day of the martyrdom. All his life President McKay had recalled talking firsthand with someone who had been in the presence of the Prophet Joseph. He said that since I was in his presence and he had been in the presence of someone who had known the Prophet, I, too, had a connection to Joseph Smith.
I thought about that experience when we discussed the sixth article of faith in Primary: “We believe in the same organization that existed in the Primitive Church, namely, apostles, prophets, pastors, teachers, evangelists, and so forth.” I’ve always related to that article of faith in a special way.
President McKay was the prophet of my boyhood. I can remember how sad I felt when he passed away. It was a personal loss for me. Even though I was nearly thirty years old, I still remembered vividly the first time I met a prophet.

When I became a priest in the Windsor Ward, London Ontario Stake, our Young Men’s president, Brother Sandor, encouraged us to pass the sacrament and perform baptisms as a way to exercise our priesthood. In one Sunday lesson, he also taught us about giving blessings. He said, “You must be bold enough to say what the Spirit prompts you to say, but be humble enough not to make up your own words!”
Not long after that lesson, a young convert in our ward was sustained as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, and Brother Sandor asked me to be the “voice” in the ordination. I was scared. I had never laid my hands on anybody’s head before, and I felt so inadequate. But then the Spirit reassured me that it would be fine for me to do it, and I was reminded of what my Young Men’s president had taught us.
The young man to be ordained sat down in the chair, and I stood directly behind him. When we were all ready Brother Sandor guided me through the ordinance prayer and I repeated every word he said. After we had finished the ordination and said, “… and we wish to pronounce a blessing on your head at this time …” Brother Sandor looked at me and indicated that I was on my own.
At that point, the priesthood entirely changed its meaning for me. It was no longer just a title, but the actual authority to act in God’s name, and I was giving that authority to someone else. I paused and waited for the Spirit to whisper to me what I was to say. It is difficult for me to describe the feelings I had that day during the blessing, but I can say that I now have a stronger testimony that the power of the priesthood is real.

At our next stake high council meeting, a brother told us he had two sons eligible to serve missions. One had a desire to serve the Lord, the other did not. This son, Sione, had been living in the States, had a girlfriend, and said he had not received an answer to his prayers as to whether he should serve a mission.
In the same spirit as Alma, and with tears in his eyes, this father asked if we would pray for Sione to receive an answer from the Lord.
Like everyone, I continued to pray, and to fast for this young man.
I awoke early one Saturday morning and lay pondering when I had a most amazing and humbling experience. A vision of Sione came to my mind. I was instructed to visit with him the next day, after my daily duties were completed. The vision unfolded and I was given specific questions to ask Sione. And I heard what his answers would be, and how I was to respond to him. The message was clear and specific.
That evening, I opened my fast and prayed everything in the vision would remain clear so I could complete the assignment I had been given.
I attended a ward conference the following day, conducted some interviews then headed to my car. As I drove from the chapel, the Spirit reminded me of my assignment. In a strange but spiritual way, I saw again the vision I had received the day before.
Arriving at the family’s home, I knocked on the door and was told their dad was overseas, but that Mum was home. When Mum came to the door, I asked if I could meet with her and Sione. He was busy cooking dinner. Mum invited me in and the three of us sat in the lounge and talked.
I asked Sione to offer a prayer and immediately the vision unfolded as clearly as it had the previous day.
I asked Sione what he thought about serving a mission? Word for word, he answered as I saw in the vision. He explained he wasn’t sure if he should serve a mission; that he had pondered and prayed but didn’t think he’d received an answer. I enquired if he had a patriarchal blessing. He said, “yes”. I asked, “What does your patriarchal blessing say?” He replied, “I will serve a mission”.
Exactly as I had been instructed, I inquired, “How does the Lord answer prayers?” Sione struggled, but then shared his thoughts. Strengthened by the Spirit and in an emotional and humble attitude, I said, “I have been instructed by the Lord, Jesus Christ, through revelation, to come and visit with you today. I testify to you that prayers are answered by feelings, impressions, reading the scriptures and many other ways. Today I am here on behalf of the Saviour, Jesus Christ, in answer to your prayer and to remove all confusion and doubt. Sione, the Saviour invites you to serve a mission. He has a work for you to do and it is a work that only Elder Hala can do as there is someone special waiting for you to invite into the waters of baptism”. This is where the vision ended.
I asked how he felt. He bowed his head and cried, “My prayer has been answered and I want to serve a mission”.
Brother Hala will soon complete his medical and dental checks then submit his mission application. Modern miracles really do happen when we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.

It is important for us to remember, however, that sometimes the Lord’s desires differ from ours. As his agents in the performance of priesthood duties, it is mandatory that we be receptive to his inspiration. A missionary I knew had a sobering experience giving a blessing. He was working on a renovation project at a branch chapel in New Zealand. The branch president, who was doing some repairs on the roof, lost his footing and fell to the pavement below. Immediately the missionary ran to his side and pronounced a powerful blessing, promising him life and complete restoration to health. A few minutes later, the branch president died.

Greatly disillusioned, the missionary went to his apartment and wrote three letters: one to his mission president, one to his bishop, and one to the president of the Church. The letters outlined his disenchantment with the priesthood and his intention to abandon his missionary service. Then he went to bed.

After worrying, struggling, and praying intermittently throughout the night, he gradually came to understand that the Lord’s will had been done—and that he needed to seek the inspiration and guidance of the Lord earnestly before undertaking any administration.

A most touching letter was received recently from a mother expressing her appreciation for her bishop and for a social services worker who had provided assistance in her family. May I quote from that letter:
“The summer will be remembered as ‘the best thing that has happened to Roseanne and David to date’!
“As you know, life has presented both children with special problems, and my heart has ached as I have seen David withdraw from social situations, and Roseanne offend and lose friends in her effort to make them.
“There are those who can help with their physical problems—therapy for a boy and medication to help calm a hyperactive daughter—but where could I turn to find someone to understand and help with the resulting emotional problems?
“When my bishop suggested LDS day camp I thought, ‘Good! This will be a good summer for them and will solve my baby-sitting problem, since it is necessary for me to work.’ Those two benefits would have made me feel the money invested was worthwhile—but they were just the beginning. Before the summer was over, I saw my son insist on taking the lead in a difficult hike up the canyon. In the past he had been content to follow behind. I saw him ‘rappel’ down the side of a building with the use of a rope, and the look of self-pride as he exchanged smiles with his counselor cannot be bought. By the end of the summer Roseanne had learned to put her frustrations into words and will most often try to reason with me in reaching a solution. This is a new experience for us.
“Raising a hyperactive child is a lonely position to be in, because even though friends try to understand, they cannot and usually react as though the child has problems because she is spoiled. It has been great therapy for me to meet weekly with people who do understand.”

Each of us remembers with affection the teachers of our youth. I think it amusing that my elementary school music teacher was a Miss Sharp. She had the capacity to infuse within her pupils a love for music and taught us to identify musical instruments and their sounds. I well recall the influence of a Miss Ruth Crow who taught the subject of health. Though these were Depression times, she ensured that each sixth-grade student had a dental health chart. She personally checked each pupil for dental health and made certain that through public or private resources, no child went without proper dental care. As Miss Burkhaus, who taught geography, rolled down the maps of the world and, with her pointer, marked the capital cities of nations and the distinctive features of each country, language, and culture, little did I anticipate or dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

I was thrilled when we lived in Hawaii—our son brought home an associate of his, one that he had met at work, and invited him to share a family home evening with us. I have to admit that he did not look all that clean, and I wondered why our son was associating with him; but it was no long at all, after some friendshipping and fellowshipping activities, that this young man cleaned himself up and was baptized into the Church. What a thrill it was for me, a few months ago when I visited the California Arcadia Mission, to see this young man sitting with the missionaries. He is there serving a full-time mission.

Kelly and her mom walked up to the church building and looked around. It was beautiful, with palm trees swaying outside. The sign on the building said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”—in three different languages: Malay, Chinese, and English!
Kelly didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. And she had never been to church before. Her mom’s friend, Liza, went to church here. She had invited Kelly and her mom to come with her.
As they went inside, people smiled and said hello. Everyone was so nice. Kelly and Mom followed Liza upstairs to a big room. Liza said it was called a chapel.
Kelly sat down next to Mom and Liza in a row of chairs, and soon church started. She listened to the music. She liked how it made her feel, even though she didn’t know the words.
At the end of the meeting, a woman got up to say a prayer. Kelly looked around as everyone else folded their arms and closed their eyes. She still felt something really good inside. What was it? It felt different than anything she had felt before!
As they left the church later, Kelly told Mom about the feeling she’d had during the prayer.
“Well,” Mom said, “I didn’t feel anything special.”
But Kelly kept thinking about how she’d felt at church. She had liked the prayer. And she had liked hearing about Jesus.
“Can the missionaries teach me?” Kelly asked Mom. “I want to learn more.”
“If that’s what you want to do, that’s fine,” Mom said.
The missionaries taught Kelly how to pray and how to read the scriptures. They taught her about Jesus and how He loves us. Kelly liked what she was learning.
One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge.
“Will you try to pray during the week?” asked Elder Parker.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she had practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She knew she wanted to keep praying every day.

Because of their service in Tonga, Rebecca, David, and Nattalie had many opportunities to share the gospel. Even before the Downeys left Colorado, people became interested in their journey and, then, the Church. “Our neighbors asked for a Book of Mormon and started to read it. Friends started to take the missionary discussions and asked if they could keep writing their questions about the Church to us by e-mail,” says David.

Rebecca and Nattalie say their own testimonies grew from the experience, as well. Rebecca adds that serving in Tonga helped her realize what was truly of worth. “I have become more humble. The people there were a great example to me. I realize that people are more important than things.” To illustrate, she recounts her family taking some of their used clothing to a family devastated by a typhoon. In gratitude, the Tongan family gave the Downeys a bowl of peanuts that they had salvaged from what was left of their crop after the storm. “That represented about a month’s worth of income for them,” notes Rebecca. “We gave them our leftovers, and they gave us everything they had.”

Now back home in Colorado, the teens are readjusting to a land-locked existence and missing their friends in Tonga. But thanks to their year abroad, they think they might know what it takes to move a mountain: faith, love, and an unquenchable desire to serve. That, and a whole lot of toothbrushes.

“I couldn’t get the money,” Jun-Jun told his father, out of breath from running.
Father, holding Jun-Jun’s crying baby brother, looked worried. Suddenly, Jun-Jun was scared. The baby had been crying for two days with a terrible sickness in his tiny body. Mother had also been sick for many days, hardly able to breathe as she lay on the bamboo floor of their small hut in the Philippines. Jun-Jun had gone to a friend’s house to try to borrow money for medicine. But their friends had no money either. The boy felt helpless. He was only 10 years old—what could he do?
Just then, he heard someone at the door. “Tao po!” a voice called. “Someone is here!”
Father opened the door. “Magandang gabi!” the sister missionaries said. “Good evening!”
The sisters’ smiles quickly vanished when they saw the worried look on Father’s face and heard the baby crying. “What’s wrong?” Sister Clawson asked as she stepped inside their home.
Father explained that he hadn’t been able to go to work because he was taking care of everyone, and now they had no money for medicine.
Jun-Jun was relieved to see the sister missionaries. They had been visiting his family for many months, teaching them about Jesus. He and Father had been reading the Book of Mormon together, and he always felt happy when they did. Maybe the sisters could help!
“Can you give us money for medicine?” Jun-Jun asked the sisters.
“We can’t give you money,” Sister Clawson said, “but there is something even greater than money or medicine. Do you remember what we taught you about the priesthood?”
Jun-Jun nodded his head. He remembered. The priesthood was power from God.
“Men who hold the priesthood can give blessings to heal those who are sick,” Sister Clawson explained to Jun-Jun’s father. “Do you want us to ask priesthood holders to come and give your wife and baby a blessing?”
Father nodded. “Oo,” he said. “Yes.” Tears welled up in his tired eyes.
Sister Elizan looked at Jun-Jun and asked, “Do you have faith that your mother and baby brother can be healed by the power of the priesthood?”
Jun-Jun felt a warm, peaceful feeling in his heart—the same feeling he had when he read the Book of Mormon. But he wasn’t sure if that was faith. “I think so,” he said.
“Good,” Sister Elizan said. The sister missionaries left and returned later with two men dressed in white shirts and ties.
Jun-Jun’s baby brother was still crying and gasping for breath. The men took the baby in their arms. One of them poured a little oil onto the baby’s head and said a short prayer. Then the other one spoke in the name of Jesus Christ by the power of the priesthood. It sounded like a special prayer. He was talking to Heavenly Father and asking Him to bless the baby. During the blessing, the baby stopped crying for the first time in two days. After the blessing, he coughed up white phlegm.
“That’s why he couldn’t breathe!” Father exclaimed. He held his baby close, listening with relief to his normal breathing.
Jun-Jun saw a new look come into Father’s face. He looked strong again. Now Jun-Jun knew what it meant to have faith. He could see it on Father’s face. He could feel it in his own heart. He knew that Heavenly Father knew their family, and that He had blessed them through the priesthood. Jun-Jun felt so happy he started to cry.
“Now I know what faith is,” Jun-Jun said with a smile. “I have faith.”

In family home evenings or in Sunday School, we would practice lines that would help us stand up to peer pressure. I couldn’t wait to use these lines. For example, I imagined hanging out with my friends. Someone would pull out some alcohol and pass it around. The beer can would be handed to me, and all eyes would be looking in my direction. The pressure would mount. I would stand up and say, “No! I am a Mormon, and I don’t drink!” All the kids would be in awe. No amount of their persuasion would convince me. Soon the party would disperse, and someone special in the crowd would tell me I had impressed him so much with my firm stance that he wanted to learn more about my church. Angels would sing praises, and I would be filled with light.

About 20 years ago I was assigned to go to Montevideo, Uruguay, to tour the mission and dedicate the first chapel built in that city. During the previous year President David O. McKay had broken ground for that chapel, hoping that he could return and dedicate it. Other duties prevented his doing so, and hence I was sent.
After our dedicatory service an Italian sister came up to shake hands. Before doing so she held out her right hand and asked me to look at it. I did but saw nothing unusual about it. Then she called my attention to a scar in the palm of her hand and explained:
“When President McKay was here to break ground for our chapel,” she said, “I had a cancer in the palm of my hand. The doctors could not help me, and the cancer was spreading. I felt impressed by the Holy Spirit that if I could just touch President McKay’s hand, my cancer would be healed.
“Many people went forward to greet the president, and because there were so many, I became discouraged. But my prompting continued. I felt it was the Holy Spirit urging me on. I did meet the president. My right hand was heavily bandaged, so I had to shake hands with my left hand.
“When I returned home I took the bandage off and to my great delight saw that the cancer was already drying up. I now show you this right hand, all healed, and I want you to tell President McKay about it.”

Reaching the city in September 1855, Barnard found work in Apostle John Taylor’s office, helping publish an LDS newspaper, the Mormon. He received board and room but no pay. Within weeks he saw his English suit become threadbare and too small for his growing teenage body. He needed money. “What shall I do?” he asked Elder Taylor. The Apostle thanked him for his labors, wished him well, and then gave him a special blessing. “You will find work and make more money than you ever have earned before,” he promised the boy, and then added: “In life you will always succeed financially.”
The promise proved true but slow. Barnard’s first job was low-paying, menial, and smelly. How his mother would have pained to see Barnard, his landlady’s laundry basket in hand, walk to the fish market, fill the basket, and then peddle fish throughout the city. But it was a living. Slowly, day by day, his fish turned into American coins that added up.
Just when Barnard calculated he had enough money, 60 dollars, to buy a cart and horse to expand his business, a local Mormon leader called him aside. “The Lord wants you to be a missionary,” Barnard was informed. Loyally the teenager gave up his fish business to be a fisher of men. “Priest White,” as locals called the 15-year-old, filled a good mission during the six months his fish money lasted.

I remember vividly an experience I had as a small boy. One day while playing with my friends, I accidentally broke a window in a store near our home. As the glass shattered and the security alarm blared, a paralyzing fear filled my heart and mind. I realized immediately I was doomed to spend the remainder of my life in prison. My parents eventually coaxed me out from a hiding place under my bed and helped me to make amends with the store owner. Fortunately, my jail sentence was commuted.
The fear I felt that day was overwhelming and real. You undoubtedly have experienced much greater feelings of dread after learning about a personal health challenge, discovering a family member in difficulty or danger, or observing disturbing world events. In such instances, the distressing emotion of fear arises because of impending danger, uncertainty, or pain and through experiences that are unexpected, sometimes sudden, and likely to produce a negative outcome.

When my daughter Sabrina was four years old, she had terrible growing pains in her legs. I, too, was troubled by growing pains as a young girl. It was very late one evening, way past Sabrina’s bedtime. I was exhausted because she would not stop crying. When the pain medicine did not work, I told her that we needed to pray and ask Heavenly Father to help take away her pain. We knelt down together, and I offered a simple prayer that her pain would subside and that she would be able to sleep. I put Sabrina in bed next to me and rubbed her legs until we both fell asleep.

In the morning, I was awakened by squeals of delight from Sabrina. She said, “Mom, my legs don’t hurt anymore!”

But what she did next melted my heart. She immediately looked up to heaven and said, “Thank you, Father!”