Gospel Story Finder

Abel Seiko was born on Lifou but was living in Nouméa when the missionaries knocked on his door. He and his future wife, Louise, received the discussions for two months and decided to be baptized. However, they faced two serious obstacles. In Melanesia, the tribe is considered an extension of one’s family, and all major decisions must be approved by a person’s parents and tribal chiefs. Abel and Louise had not received permission to marry.
The second problem was perhaps even more difficult. Protestant missionaries from London had come to Lifou in 1842, and Abel’s tribe had been members of that religion ever since. Changing religions was paramount to rejecting the tribe.
Still, Abel had received a testimony. He knew he needed to join the Lord’s Church, and he knew he needed to be married. He gathered his courage and went to Lifou to ask permission of his parents and tribe.
“I first asked permission from my father to marry. He said, ‘No. That is not the custom. You must wait until your oldest brother is married.’
“I said, ‘I can’t wait, because I know I’m not living the law of God, and I want to join the true Church.’
“My father said, ‘I will not give my permission, but you’re free to do as you want. If you decide to marry, I will not go to the wedding.’”
When Abel met with the tribal elders, he felt he was on trial. They told him not to be married or baptized into another church. Abel’s response was that he had received permission from his parents to do as he wished. And he wished to be married and join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That was when the elders asked for a big piece of wood with which to beat him. Fortunately, the high chief arrived before the beating began. “‘No one will be hurt here,’” Abel recalls him saying. “‘But we don’t want another religion in our tribe. If you want to join another religion, you’re out of the tribe.’”
So Abel returned to Nouméa and was married. He and Louise were baptized in 1977. They had a simple marriage, “not like on Lifou,” he says. “There it is very expensive, and everyone must give the couple whatever the chiefs tell him or her to give. Sometimes people must rent their homes or take out bank loans to come up with the money. We did it the way the Church advises—we had a simple ceremony with friends and family.” Abel’s mother attended the wedding, but true to his word, his father stayed away.

Recently Sister Nelson and I were in Denmark during the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Church in Scandinavia. Between meetings, we took a few hours to search for villages where two of my father’s grandparents were born. They were among the early converts to the Church in Denmark. Father’s paternal grandmother’s family lived in the western part of the country. His paternal grandfather’s family lived in northern Denmark. Thanks to a good driver and a superb map, we found each town on our list and obtained treasured information. During the entire journey, my hands were riveted to that valuable map so essential to achieve our goals.
In contrast, many people travel through life without good guidance, lacking knowledge of a desired destination or how to get there. But if rapt attention is paid to a road map for a day’s journey, isn’t it also wise to pay attention to authoritative guidance on our journey through life? To this end I would like to speak—on why we need guidance, where we obtain it, and how we can achieve it.
The question why focuses on the purpose of life. The ultimate objective in our mortal journey has been revealed by our Creator, who said, “If you keep my commandments and endure to the end you shall have eternal life, which gift is the greatest of all the gifts of God.”
His gift of eternal life is subject to conditions established by Him. Those conditions constitute a plan or, to use my analogy, a spiritual road map. And when trouble comes, guidance is needed most. In our journey in Denmark, we met an unexpected detour that led us astray. In order to get back on course, we stopped the car. We studied the map with great care. Then we made the necessary course correction.
What if you are lost and have no map? Suppose you are alone. You do not know where you are. What can you do? You call for help! You call home! Call the Church! Pray! When connected with your help line, you learn that you need to make a climb here or a turn there to get back on course. Or you may have to go back to the beginning in order to be certain that you can get where you want to go.

Let me share with you some great examples from my experience. Two Christmases ago we received a phone call on Sunday evening. The caller did not identify himself, rather he asked if we would be home. My son said, “Yes,” but before he could tell him it was our family home evening, the caller said, “Fine, then tell your folks to expect a visitor about 9:00 P.M.” Family home evening was held and the caller forgotten. Then refreshments were served, and right in the middle of the activity, the doorbell rang. Our son answered the door and, lo and behold, there was Santa Claus. Now I know this was the real Santa Claus because I looked at his boots. He had real boots on, not vinyl coverings. He came into the living room smiling and laughing. He shook hands with everyone; then he had each of my children sit on his knee, and he visited with them. Then he turned to me and he said, “Bishop, will you come over here?” So I went over and sat on the floor Indian-style in front of him. He said, “Santa Claus wants to do something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope and he said, “I want you to give this to some needy person this year.” Tears came to his eyes as he passed me the envelope. I opened the envelope and there was a fresh, crisp $100 bill. Then Santa said, “I’ll come back next year and give you another one and see what you did with the first one.”

I took the $100 bill and put it in my wallet. Everytime I opened my wallet I was reminded to search for someone to whom I could give it. I went to many cities and countries, always watching and praying that I would give it to the right party. I saw many in need, many who could have used it, but I never felt impressed to give it away.

Then at the area conference in Sweden, I met a good friend of mine, Hakan Palm. I asked him if he knew anyone who needed this money. He told me of a lady whose husband had passed away. She lived way up in the north of Sweden above the Arctic Circle. She worked at a hotel as a cleaning woman to support herself and her two children. The missionaries who labored in that community knew she could never afford to go to the area conference without help, so they wrote home to their fathers. They told of the plight of this faithful Latter-day Saint who lived in such humble circumstances. The father of one of the missionaries wrote back to his son and sent enough money to get this woman and her two children to the area conference. It was an answer to her prayers. Now she could take her two children and the three of them could see the prophet, something she hadn’t even dared to hope would take place in this life.

She and her children traveled to Stockholm in pure faith. She did not have the slightest idea how they would get back home or what they would use for food and lodging while in Stockholm. Hakan Palm said $100 would take care of their meager needs while they attended the area conference and would pay their way back home. I think that a kind and loving Father in heaven knew her needs and put the $100 bill in its trajectory course (as Elder Neal Maxwell would say) to provide this family with the means to see the prophet.

This Christmas story occurred in the middle of the summer some years ago at a naval training center.
The man opposite me in the room had the many stripes on his uniform that signified long and distinguished service; I was an apprentice seaman in boot camp. Nonetheless, Commander Hamilton, as he had greeted me at the door, had been most gracious—he called me “Mr. Hanks,” seated me with cordiality, and we talked as equals.
The commander, senior chaplain at the great training center, had invited me into his office to discuss the possibility of my becoming a chaplain. I was quick to explain that because I had interrupted my university training to serve as a missionary, I had not finished an academic degree and didn’t qualify for the chaplaincy under the navy’s standards. He replied that he felt he might be able to do something about getting a waiver of that requirement, all other things being favorable.
Commander Hamilton was a rangy, strong-looking man for whom I had immediately formed a feeling of respect and admiration. I had learned that he was one of the survivors of the aircraft carrier Yorktown when she was sunk by enemy action in the war and that he had been in the water for many hours before rescue. I was complimented and humbled that such a man would be considering his proposed action after having visited our group of LDS servicemen at the base.
“Before I recommend you to the Chief of Chaplains, Mr. Hanks, do me a favor, please. Talk to me about your experience in your Church, about what you think may help me in my recommendation of you as qualified to represent the Lord in the military chaplaincy.”
I began to explain to him the lifelong experience of a young man in the Church that had helped me prepare for such a significant opportunity. We went back to the beginning—the early participation, the 2 1/2-minute talks, the service as deacon, teacher, priest, elder, seventy; Scouting, seminary, institute, Sunday School teaching, leadership opportunities, missionary service.
As I talked, he who had been so courteous and kind and interested began to fidget, to lose interest, and I realized, as we do when we are seeking to communicate person-to-person, that I was not connecting, that l was losing the battle, and I became more anxious. Earnestly I tried to tell him what there is in the stage-by-stage opportunity in the Church for a young person to develop the quality to be a servant of God.
After a time his demeanor completely changed, and he interrupted me, saying very brusquely, “Say, Hanks, do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
“Yes, sir!” I said, “Everything I believe relates to Jesus Christ. My faith, my life, center in him as my Savior. The Church I belong to is founded on him and follows him as its living head. It is named in his name.”
He said, looking at his watch, “Well, you have been talking for seven minutes, and you haven’t said so.”
I think I have not made that mistake again.

My sweet Frances had a terrible fall a few years ago. She went to the hospital. She lay in a coma for about 18 days. I sat by her side. She never moved a muscle. The children cried, the grandchildren cried, and I wept. Not a movement.

And then one day, she opened her eyes. I set a speed record in getting to her side. I gave her a kiss and a hug, and I said, “You’re back. I love you.” And she said, “I love you, too, Tom, but we’re in serious trouble.” I thought, What do you know about trouble, Frances? She said, “I forgot to mail in our fourth-quarter income tax payment.”

I said to her, “Frances, if you had said that before you extended a kiss to me and told me you love me, I might have left you here.”

Trisha woke up feeling that something was different. She looked out the window and saw that the ground was covered with a thick blanket of new snow. Quickly she dressed and crossed the hall to wake up Janis. Though her sister was four years older, they were close friends. “Hurry up and get dressed,” she urged Janis. “It snowed during the night, and I can’t wait to build a snowman.”
Janis rubbed her eyes. “It’s too early to get up. Anyway, the snow will be there all day.” She started to turn over to go back to sleep.
“No, some of it will melt.” Trisha pulled on her sister’s arm. “Come on. Get up.”
Slowly Janis sat up in bed. She looked at Trisha and tried to frown but smiled instead. “I can tell you’re not going to let me alone,” she said. “And building a snowman is always a lot of fun.”
Trisha tried to skip breakfast, but Mother insisted they have warm food in their stomachs before going outdoors, so Trisha ate her oatmeal as fast as she could. Then she had to wait for Janis to finish. What if most of the snow is melted by the time we get outside? she worried. But when they left the house, there was still a lot of snow on the ground. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked around.
“Where do you want to build the snowman?” Janis asked.
“Right here in the middle of the front yard. I want everyone in the whole neighborhood to see it.”
They began to scoop up armfuls of snow and heap it in the center of the front yard.
A half hour later, when they paused to rest, their snowman was beginning to take shape.
Trisha glanced toward the house next door. She was a little surprised to see her friend Marny standing at her bedroom window watching them.
She waved to Marny, and her friend waved back. Marny looked very unhappy. Ever since she’d become sick a month ago, she’d been cooped up in the house. Trisha knew that Marny wished she could be outside playing in the snow too. Trisha went over to visit her almost every day, but it wasn’t much fun for either of them—not the kind of fun they had when they played outdoors together.
Trisha wasn’t as happy while she and Janis built the rest of their snowman, because she kept thinking of Marny.
“He’s done,” Janis said after a while. “Of course he’ll need some finishing touches. I’ll go get what we need.”
“Wait!” Trisha burst out. “I know Marny would like to help us make this snowman. She can put on the finishing touches.”
Janis looked surprised. “But Marny’s sick. She can’t come out here.”
“No, but she can still help. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Trisha ran to Marny’s house and knocked on the front door. Marny’s mother opened it and smiled at Trisha.
“Marny’s upstairs,” she said. “She was wondering if you were coming over for a visit today.”
Trisha smiled back, then ran up to Marny’s room. When she left Marny’s house ten minutes later, she had all the things she needed to finish the snowman. There were blue buttons for his eyes, a big black button for his nose, a string of cranberries for his mouth, an old felt hat for his head, and a scarf for his neck.
“He looks almost alive,” said Janis.
“I think so, too,” Trisha agreed. She looked over at Marny’s bedroom window. Marny, of course, had been watching everything that they did, but now she wore a happy smile.

For something like seven months, I fell away from activity in the Church.
But then I began to carefully read the Liahona (Spanish) and discovered the counsel of the Brethren to be both powerful and convincing.
Based on my own experience, I invite everyone who is not fully active in the Church to read and study the messages in the magazine and in the scriptures. If they do this with humble hearts, their testimonies will become so strong they will have the desire to return to the Church.
Cristino RodríguezIsla PatrullaUruguay

Kristina sat on the milk stool in front of the fireplace, warming her hands.
“Remember, tonight is the night for our family hour,” Mama Brigham said as she stirred the stew in the big black kettle.
“Do we have to have it?” Kristina asked.
“Kristina Margaret Brigham!” Mama exclaimed. “You know what President Young has told us about having our family hour!”
“But with all of the little kids, it isn’t much fun,” Kristina complained.
Kristina, twelve, was the oldest of six girls, and it seemed to her that Papa always prepared the evening for the younger ones. It’s always the same old thing, Kristina thought as she got the plates out of the pie safe.
After dinner Kristina sat obediently in the big rocker. Lucky Carolyn, she thought, her father doesn’t make them have family hour!
“Tonight,” Papa began, “we’re going to talk about the Indians.”
Kristina sat back in the chair, trying to hide her boredom.
Father continued, “You know President Young has told us to share with the Indians. The missionaries have been teaching them our ways, but to show that we want to be their friends, we should also learn some of their ways. Tonight we’re going to learn some of their sign language.”
Kristina only half listened as Papa showed them the signs and explained what they meant. She wished President Young hadn’t told families to have an hour each week where important things could be discussed and everyone could grow and learn together. Kristina didn’t think Indian language was something she needed to know. The Indians came to Dover only when they were hungry or when there had been trouble. They hadn’t been near for over a year. And there were so many other things she’d like to be doing.
That night as Kristina was getting ready for bed, Mama stopped her. “Kristina,” she said, “remember, tomorrow is the day I want you to take the bread, butter, and cheese to Sister Adams. She is still sick.”
“I remember,” Kristina smiled. “I’m even glad. I wanted to go riding tomorrow anyway. I asked Carolyn to go with me.”
“It’s a long trip. I wish your father could go, but he’s too busy this time of year. Thank you for going.”
The next morning Kristina got up with the sun, as usual. The small room was cold, so she quickly threw on her clothes and ran downstairs to warm herself by the big fireplace.
“Your papa keeps promising a stove,” Mama said, as she stirred the mush in the big kettle. “I hope it comes soon.”
“It will, Mama,” Kristina said, as she kissed her mother on the cheek and started to set the table.
Kristina rode alone for nearly a mile on a narrow dirt path before she reached the Larson cabin, where she stopped for Carolyn.
It was a ten-mile ride through sagebrush-covered hills to the Adams’ cabin. The girls laughed, sang, and played games. Before they knew it, they saw Brother Adams chopping wood in front of his cabin.
They found Sister Adams sitting up in bed. “Well, hello!” she welcomed them. “It’s so good to see you.
“Stay for lunch,” Sister Adams insisted. “You’re the only visitors I’ve had since I took sick, and you must keep me company.”
“Well, only if you let us cook,” Kristina said.
Soon the girls had the fire going, and the sweet smell of beef stew filled the cabin. Brother and Sister Adams were so much fun that Kristina and Carolyn forgot all about the time.
Kristina was surprised to see the sun setting as she threw the dishwater out the door.
“We were enjoying you girls so much that I forgot to pay attention to the time,” Brother Adams said. “It’s so late, maybe I’d better ride back with you.”
“We know the way,” Kristina said. “We’ll be fine.”
Brother Adams glanced at his wife, and she nodded her head. Then he explained, “The people south of here have been having Indian trouble. I think I’d better go with you.”
“We’re going north,” Kristina answered, “and we’ll be just fine.”
Brother Adams still hesitated, but finally he let the girls go alone. They rode as fast as they could while there was still some daylight, but when darkness came, they had to slow down. “I can’t even see the path!” Carolyn admitted.
“I know where we are. Don’t worry,” Kristina said. “See that light way over there. That’s home.”
“Good!” Carolyn answered as she urged her horse into a trot.
The girls rode a little further and then came to a stream. “We didn’t cross a stream this morning,” Carolyn exclaimed.
“We are just going a different way,” Kristina explained. “What else could that light be?”
Soon they were close enough to see that what they had thought was a light of home turned out to be a campfire. No one was near so the girls looked around. Suddenly five Indians jumped from behind some bushes. Carolyn screamed as two of the Indians grabbed her.
Kristina kept outwardly clam, remembering Papa’s words, “They are our friends.” Her throat was dry and her hands and knees were shaking. Then she remembered something Papa had said at family hour. With shaking hands she carefully motioned to them in sign language, “I am your friend.”
The tall Indian said something to the others. The only word Kristina understood was Mormon. They put Carolyn down, and the tall one made the sign that said “friend.” Kristina nodded her head.
“Go!” he said in English. Kristina could not remember anything else from the family hour. Oh, I wish I had listened last night, she thought. All she could think to do was shrug her shoulders and nod her head, but somehow the Indians seemed to know what she meant.
The tall Indian got on his horse and signaled for the girls to follow him.
“Where is he taking us?” Carolyn’s voice shook.
“I don’t know. But they’re our friends,” Kristina said. “Let’s just follow him.”
Finally they reached the top of a hill. At the bottom the girls could see a cluster of cabins. The Indians stopped and pointed.
“Oh, thank you!” Kristina said. She could feel the tears starting down her cheeks as she spurred her horse on. Carolyn’s parents were waiting at the Brigham cabin with Kristina’s family.
“Oh, Kristina,” Mama Brigham cried as she hugged her daughter. “I’m so glad you’re home!”
Quickly the girls told their story. Father Brigham smiled. “We’ve always treated the Indians fairly. They know we wouldn’t burn their village. We’re friends, so they helped you.”
“How did they know we’re Mormons?” Carolyn asked.
“We’ve reached out to them as friends in many ways, one of which is by learning some of their language,” Papa answered. “That’s why we talked about it last night at our family hour.”
“You know,” Brother Larson said, “I haven’t been having my family hour, but we’re going to start it this very night.”

“I encouraged my brothers and sisters to participate in a bike-a-thon for cancer research. We also did it to remember our friend Stan Miller. He died last year of leukemia. We rode around Rossmoor Park, and our sponsors donated money for every mile we rode. Among us we earned $250 for the hospital. When we got done, I felt good. I want to do it every year.”
Kacie SeamonsLong Beach California East Stake

Mr. Henry lived alone in a small house. He hardly ever went anywhere and he didn’t talk to many people because he really didn’t have any friends. He thought people didn’t like him. Every day he tended his garden in back of the house and his apple trees in front. Everyone knew that Mr. Henry grew the most beautiful apples in town.
On warm summer evenings Mr. Henry sat on his porch watching people go by. But most of the time no one stopped to visit the lonely man.
In the winter he sat by the fire and thought about the way his mother used to surprise him with treats on holidays. He remembered how happy he was when someone gave him a nice surprise. But now there was no one to give him anything and Mr. Henry was sad.
On Valentine’s Day, however, an idea came to him. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it, so he hurried out to his storehouse. He gathered up some of his juicy red apples, picking out only the best he could find, and put them into sacks. He chose some of the odd-shaped ones that looked almost like big hearts.
Carefully, he rubbed and polished each apple until they all were bright and shiny. Then after dark he took the sacks and left one on the doorstep of every house on the street. On each sack he wrote this message: Happy Valentine’s Day—A Friend.
When the last sack of apples was delivered, Mr. Henry went home with a good feeling inside. “They’ll never know who did it,” he told himself as he climbed into bed. “But that’s the fun of it!” Soon he drifted off to sleep.
Now, a curious thing happened after that night. When people walked by his house they would stop and say, “Hello, Mr. Henry,” or “Nice day, Mr. Henry.” And one Sunday, Mrs. Corey brought him a piece of chocolate cake.
“I wonder how they knew?” Mr. Henry asked himself. “It’s strange how sharing a few apples can change a person’s life.”
When Valentine’s Day came the next year, Mr. Henry took apples to his neighbors again, and the next year, and the next. In fact, he took apples to his friends every year.
Now each fall the children come and help him pick his apples. It is fun for them to pretend they don’t know who leaves apples in sacks at their homes on Valentine’s Day. And Mr. Henry is happy too. Everyone in the whole neighborhood has somehow become his friend.

“Dylan! Time to get up!” Mom said. “We’re going over to church.”
Dylan opened one eye. “Mom, it’s Saturday,” he said sleepily. “We don’t go to church until tomorrow.”
Mom laughed. “Don’t you remember? We’re going to help clean the chapel today.”
Dylan groaned. After a long week at school, he looked forward to sleeping in and doing fun activities on Saturday.
“This is a great way to serve the Lord,” Mom said. “You might actually like cleaning after today.”
“I might have to get up early and clean today,” Dylan thought, “but I don’t have to like it.”
When they got to the church building, Dylan saw some ward members gathered around the custodial closet. They were all adults. “Maybe I’m too young to do most of this stuff,” he thought.
Just then Brother Palmer spotted Dylan and handed him some disposable rags and a bottle of disinfectant cleaner. “You can clean the sinks and empty the trash in the men’s restroom,” he said.
“Can this day get any worse?” Dylan thought.
Dad smiled at Dylan. “Dylan and I will be a team,” Dad said. “We’ll clean the restroom and the windows on the south end.”
Dylan followed Dad into the men’s restroom. “I could be eating a doughnut for breakfast right now,” he thought.
Dad started whistling as he began scrubbing the first sink. Dylan recognized the hymn:
Put your shoulder to the wheel; push along.
Do your duty with a heart full of song.
(Hymns, no. 252)
“Dad sure seems happy,” Dylan thought as he picked up a rag. As they worked, Dylan and Dad talked about a baseball game they planned to go to that night. Dylan began to feel less tired. Soon Dad said, “We’re all done in here! Let’s start on the windows now.”
Out in the hallway, everyone was busy vacuuming and wiping. Staci from Dylan’s Primary class was cleaning a window.
“This is fun!” she said. “It’s not every day you get to help take care of the Lord’s house.”
Dylan paused. “The Lord’s house,” he thought. Outside the sun was shining in a bright blue sky. “Cleaning isn’t so bad if it helps keep the Lord’s house beautiful on the inside, just like His world is on the outside.”
Dylan went to work seeing how clean he could get the windows.
Mom tapped him on the shoulder. “Good work, bud!” she said. “Those windows really shine!”
“I think we’re all done,” Dad said. “Let’s put the supplies back in the closet.”
On the way out, Dylan stopped by a picture of Jesus in the foyer. As he looked at the Savior’s loving face, it felt good to know that in a small way he had helped Him today.
“Would you like a doughnut when we get home?” Mom asked.
“Sure!” Dylan said. “This was a good way to spend Saturday morning after all,” he thought happily.

I returned home from my mission in Arizona, USA, just as the pandemic started spreading across the globe. During the last few weeks of my mission, I had been creating a vision for where I wanted my life to go once I returned home. I made specific plans and goals and was ready to get started! I planned to go to nursing school, to start new hobbies and find new friends, and to seize so many opportunities that come during young adulthood. I felt a sense of peace and assurance that God was guiding me and had great things in store for me after my mission.
That changed soon after I got home.
One by one, my plans were canceled because of COVID-19. I began to question and doubt the decisions and goals I had made. I chose to start looking for a job while waiting for online classes to start instead of moving to another state to begin school like I had originally planned. After a while, I felt I had lost my purpose and was wasting so much time. I was used to always having a jam-packed schedule as a missionary, and so I suddenly felt lonely, bored, and useless.
I wasn’t looking forward to the future. I didn’t want to face this life transition. I wanted to go back in time, to return to past friendships and places that had once made me happy. The vision and plans I had for my life just a few weeks before had disappeared, and I felt like I was paralyzed by darkness, fear, and discouragement. I didn’t feel like myself at all. I had just finished the most amazing experience of serving the Lord for 18 months, but now I felt lower than I ever had in my life.
I wondered why everything was going wrong and where the Lord’s promised blessings were. The reassurances I had felt in the final weeks of my mission seemed to have disappeared.
Then general conference came, and I realized how much I was lacking in one specific area of life—hope.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a talk titled “A Perfect Brightness of Hope” (April 2020 general conference), and it especially stood out to me. I realized that because of my faith in Christ, I could and should hope for better things to come. Because Christ lives and is constantly working in my life, I realized my future will be just as miracle-filled and bountifully blessed as my past has been.
Because the Savior felt and overcame everything I will ever face, I could believe, despite every reason not to believe, that things were going to get better—even if my plans were sometimes skewed.

I had a feeling. I asked my father to say a prayer that a tornado would not hit our house. He said, “Don’t worry—tornados never come to this area.”
I kept asking him, and finally, with my mother, we prayed and asked Heavenly Father to make sure that a tornado would not hit our house.
Two days later, while we were at church, a tornado touched down very close to our house. After church, we drove by my school and saw trees had been torn down. Heavenly Father heard our prayer. I am grateful for prayer.
Caitlin Kingi, age 5Berkeley Heights, New Jersey

My whole life I have read about people receiving answers to their prayers, and felt left out and different. It seemed as if everybody always got their prayers answered but me—until I had an experience that changed the way I feel about prayers being answered.
My seminary teacher had assigned us to write a letter to someone in the class about how important it is to read the Book of Mormon. That evening my sister and I were in our room, and I was trying to think of something to write. My sister was on her bed listening to the radio. She suggested that I could write Doctrine and Covenants 1:37 in my own words. I tried, but I was still having trouble. She asked if I wanted her to turn off the radio and go out of the room so that I could say a prayer. I said yes, so she turned off the radio and went out.
I knelt down and, instead of praying in my mind like I normally do, I said the prayer out loud. I think it is one of the most sincere prayers I have ever given in my life.
I asked Heavenly Father to help me know what to write and to be able to have the Spirit with me while I was writing the letter. When I was through with the prayer, I could feel the Spirit very strongly and decided to follow my sister’s advice and write Doctrine and Covenants 1:37 [D&C 1:37] in my own words. After I finished writing I decided to look for more scriptures. As I was looking, Doctrine and Covenants 6:15 [D&C 6:15] caught my eye:
“Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth.”
I couldn’t believe it! I felt like that scripture was a confirmation of the guidance I had been given by the Spirit to write my letter. Through the scriptures, I had not only received an answer, but I had also been able to recognize it.

One who received and welcomed the gift of peace was Joseph Millett, an early missionary to the Maritime Provinces of Canada, who learned while there and in his later experiences in life of the need to rely on heavenly help. An experience which he recalled in his journal is a beautiful illustration of simple yet profound faith:
“One of my children came in and said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks was out of bread, had none that day.
“I divided our flour in a sack to send up to Brother Hall. Just then Brother Hall came.
“Says I, ‘Brother Hall, are you out of flour?’
“‘Brother Millett, we have none.’
“‘Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you was out.’
“Brother Hall began to cry. He said he had tried others, but could not get any. He went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord, and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett.
“‘Well Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back. If the Lord sent you for it you don’t owe me for it.’
“You can’t tell me how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew there was such a person as Joseph Millett.”
Prayer brought the gift of peace to Newton Hall and to Joseph Millett.

A good example of this kind of misrepresentation took place when the subject of the Latter-day Saint pioneers came up in my daughter Sarah’s school classroom a few years ago. One of her classmates said, “My daddy says Mormons are people who live in Utah and worship idols.” Sarah quickly answered back, “Well, I’m a Mormon, and we don’t worship idols.” But many of her classmates never did believe her, largely because they had already accepted the misrepresentation.

Let me provide another example of disconnecting gradually and physically from things as they really are. Today a person can enter into a virtual world, such as Second Life, and assume a new identity. An individual can create an avatar, or a cyberspace persona, that conforms to his or her own appearance and behavior. Or a person can concoct a counterfeit identity that does not correlate in any way to things as they really are. However closely the assumed new identity approximates the individual, such behavior is the essence of things as they really are not. Earlier I defined the fidelity of a simulation or model. I now emphasize the importance of personal fidelity—the correspondence between an actual person and an assumed, cyberspace identity. Please note the lack of personal fidelity in the following episode as reported in the Wall Street Journal:

Ric Hoogestraat is “a burly [53-year-old] man with a long gray ponytail, thick sideburns and a salt-and-pepper handlebar mustache. … [Ric spends] six hours a night and often 14 hours at a stretch on weekends as Dutch Hoorenbeek, his six-foot-nine, muscular … cyber-self. The character looks like a younger, physically enhanced version of [Ric]. …

“… [He] sits at his computer with the blinds drawn. … While his wife, Sue, watches television in the living room, Mr. Hoogestraat chats online with what appears on the screen to be a tall, slim redhead.

“He’s never met the woman outside of the computer world of Second Life, a well-chronicled digital fantasyland. … He’s never so much as spoken to her on the telephone. But their relationship has taken on curiously real dimensions. They own two dogs, pay a mortgage together and spend hours [in their cyberspace world] shopping at the mall and taking long motorcycle rides. … Their bond is so strong that three months ago, Mr. Hoogestraat asked Janet Spielman, the 38-year-old Canadian woman who controls the redhead, to become his virtual wife.

“The woman he’s legally wed to is not amused. ‘It’s really devastating,’ says Sue Hoogestraat, … who has been married to Mr. Hoogestraat for seven months.”5

In my own immediate neighborhood we have had our share of heart-wrenching tragedies. In October 1998, 19-year-old Zac Newton, who lived only three houses east of us, was killed in a tragic automobile accident.
Less than two years later, in July, 19-year-old Andrea Richards, who lived directly across from the Newtons, was killed in an automobile accident.
One Saturday afternoon in July 2006, Travis Bastian, a 28-year-old returned missionary, and his 15-year-old sister, Desiree, who lived across the street and two houses north of us, were killed in a terrible automobile accident.
One month later, in August 2006, 32-year-old Eric Gold, who grew up in the house next door to us, suffered a premature death. And others in this neighborhood have also suffered heart-wrenching experiences privately endured and known only to themselves and God.
With the loss of five young people, one might assume that this is an unusual number of trials for one small neighborhood. I choose to think the number only seems large because of a close, caring ward, whose members know when there is a pressing need. It is a ward with members who are following the admonition of Alma and the Savior—members who care and love and bear one another’s burdens, members who are willing to mourn with those that mourn, members who are willing to comfort those in need of comfort, members who endure together.
In each of these instances we saw an outpouring of love, service, and compassion that was inspirational to all. Bishops arrived, home and visiting teachers went into action, and Melchizedek and Aaronic Priesthood quorums and Relief Societies organized to take care of both spiritual and temporal needs. Refrigerators were stocked, houses cleaned, lawns mowed, shrubs trimmed, fences painted, blessings given, and soft shoulders were available for crying on. Members were everywhere.
In every one of these instances, the families who lost a loved one expressed increased faith, increased love for the Savior, increased gratitude for the Atonement, and heartfelt thankfulness for an organization that responds to the deepest emotional and spiritual needs of its members. These families now speak about how they got to know the Lord through their adversity. They relate many sweet experiences that grew out of their pain. They testify that blessings can emerge from heartbreak. They give praise to the Lord and would echo the words of Job: “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).

Walls. Fences. Barriers. Unfortunately, many of us seem to build them in one form or another. Afraid of being hurt, we put up iron bars for protection. Afraid of being laughed at, we build a barricade that no one gets inside. Worst of all may be the walls of intolerance, built with bricks of ignorance, cemented with the mortar of fear. Understanding comes only when such walls are torn away. Love and peace come only when, brick by brick, the walls come down.
LDS youth in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake know a lot about walls. In a country torn for centuries by unrest and terrorism, they are in the delicate position of being on neither side of the conflict—both religious and political—between Catholics and Protestants. But they deal with the barriers just the same. Listen to three young women from the Cavehill Ward:
Sharon Goodall recites a common story: “My schoolmates always want to know if I’m Catholic or Protestant. I tell them I’m neither; I’m Mormon. ‘Fine,’ they say. ‘Are you a Catholic Mormon or a Protestant Mormon?’” It almost sounds like a joke, until you have to live it. You try to get along with everybody, but there’s constant pressure to pick a side.”
Debra Boyd explains that a lot of people outside of Northern Ireland have no idea what it’s truly like to live here. “It’s rare that you would see something like a bombing. I’ve lived here all my life and I haven’t seen any at all. Life goes on pretty much as normal, although you have security checks on public buses, and sometimes there’s a tailback (traffic jam) when there’s an incident. But it’s more of an inconvenience than a threat to your life.”
Along with six other Mormons, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they’re all, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they tease you about being a moron, because it sounds the same,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”
Debbie Sloan, who attends the same school, is popular with her classmates. “At an integrated school, the effort is to help us all get along anyway,” she explains. “They know I’m Mormon. My close friends know my dad is a bishop, that we spend lots of time at our church. I just talk about it the way it is, and they accept me for what I am.”
Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and I started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing, and gained my own testimony.”
At the Lisburn Ward, Rachael Edwards, Karen Edwards, and David Schmidt say being fully involved in seminary helps break barriers, too.
“Before I started seminary and I’d explain to my friends what religion I was, they’d have a lot of questions and I couldn’t answer them well,” Rachael says. “Now, having done seminary, I feel more confidence whenever I talk to people about the Church.”
“There are 13 students in our seminary class,” Karen explains. “It’s the largest in Ireland. We have home study; then we meet with our teacher, Sister Susanna Thompson, on Tuesday nights. At school, everyone has what we call R.E. (religious education) classes. The R.E. schoolwork helps me with seminary, and seminary helps us have a different viewpoint, more depth than what we get at school. So they balance each other.”
“There’s a lot of videos and anti-Mormon literature that go around to the other churches,” Karen says. “It’s hard because what they hear has been severely twisted, and they really need to start from the basics.”
“A lot of my friends didn’t think we read the Bible,” Rachael says. “So I was really glad I could show them my seminary scriptures. They think it’s just their churches that have Bible study. They’re surprised to find we Mormons have our own study classes as well.”
“We change people’s views,” David says. “Like our teacher said, ‘So, you’re a Mormon. That means you’re not totally Christian?’ And I said, ‘Well, we are actually.’ We talked about it and got that all cleared up.”
David also tells of inviting friends and family to meetings. “Last year when my family was getting baptized, my mother invited our granny and our aunts all to church, and they came along and said they quite enjoyed it. They thought it interesting that we didn’t have just clergy up there but had everyday people bearing their testimonies. And my friends enjoy our church. They say it isn’t so much like a dungeon sort of place they’re used to, and that it isn’t boring.”
Rachael, Karen, and David tell story after story—the teacher who wanted a floor plan of a Mormon chapel to compare it with other churches; the exams where Mormons had to explain that they do get baptized in a font, which for other churches is a tiny basin holding water for sprinkling; and the reception the New Era gets from friends at school—”Hey, that’s cool! I wish our church had a magazine like that!”
But it’s Karen who sums up the overall experience. “There’s lots of opposition here,” she says. “But if we make them aware of the Church, maybe eventually they’ll understand the Church. And that can only do good.”
Talk to the young Latter-day Saints in Northern Ireland long enough, and you’ll find that what Karen says is what the youth are doing.
Sara Magee of Portadown will talk about standards. “Most of my friends, if someone offered me a cigarette or a drink, they’d say, ‘Nope, Sara, you’re not allowed.’” Karen Weir of Portadown will tell you how having the London Temple re-opened and the Preston Temple under construction has made a lot of people curious about the Church. Simon Noble of the Holywood Road Ward describes a stake play that was a missionary play, too. “It was all about the plan of salvation, and we invited non-LDS friends to come and learn about what we believe,” Simon says.
Debra Boyd, of the Cavehill Ward, will join the conversation again to talk about her bishop, Ronald Sloan, and how he has shown her that a bishop can be a great ally in living a worthy life. And Debra will tell of the joy she felt when her friend Leigh-Ann Kelly (and her family) were baptized. “We were crying our eyes out,” Debra says. “That scripture that talks about bringing one soul into heaven? You know that one? It’s really true.” That would be Doctrine and Covenants 18:15–16. [D&C 18:15–16]
Through the center of Belfast runs a thick scar, a no-man’s-land as ugly as a war zone. Its red bars, brick, barbed wire, and yellow barricades mark the dividing line between two parts of the city. For many, it is a symbol of a hopeless situation, its barriers a monument of mistrust and misunderstanding.
But young Latter-day Saints don’t dwell on such a reminder of despair. They look to a day when the Saviour will come, when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord, whose right it is to reign. In that day, if not before, all walls will tumble down. And when they do, they’ll be replaced by hope, love, peace, and understanding.

Not long ago I had the opportunity to sail on a great ship along the marvelous coast of Alaska, USA. While the captain prepared for the ship’s overnight stay in a remote pristine bay, he carefully evaluated the location and circumstances, such as the sequence of the tides, depth of the waters, and distance from dangerous obstacles. When satisfied, he dropped anchor so that the ship would remain safe and firmly anchored, allowing the passengers an opportunity to marvel at the spectacular beauty of God’s creations.
As I was looking at the coastline, I began to realize that the ship was drifting almost imperceptibly with the slightest amount of wind and underlying current. Nevertheless, the ship stayed firmly and persistently within a fixed circle defined by the length of the anchor line and the strength of the anchor.
The captain had not kept the anchor stored on the ship, ready to be lowered only if a storm should approach. No, he had anchored the vessel as a preventive measure and protected the ship from moving into unsafe waters or slowly drifting aground while passengers and crew felt safe.
As I was contemplating this scene, it occurred to me that if this wasn’t an opportunity for a parable, I had never piloted an airplane.