Gospel Story Finder

While I dreamed of the spotlight and the stage, I could just hear the faint echo of my mother’s proud voice, encouraging me with praises. For as long as I can remember, I have always had a tremendous desire to be a great singer. I didn’t realize it at the time, but inside me was an even greater desire to be close to my mother.
Our relationship needed something, something that some of my friends and their mothers had. It seemed to me that my mother was so caught up in the problems of everyday living that she never had time for me. Sure she did things for me. She cleaned my room, washed my clothes, and cooked my meals like all mothers do. But I needed more and less—less arguments and more love.
I thought my mother always had to be right. When we argued, I would just give up, knowing that would be the only way to settle the conflict. Then later, realizing that she was right, I would apologize. I didn’t feel comfortable unless I did. When I apologized, my mother would turn her head, and from the side view, I could see the movement of her jaw as she gritted her teeth. She would then say, “okay,” with a tone of voice that seemed to say, “I told you so. Just listen to me next time.” I would then storm off, but feeling better that the argument was settled.
One afternoon while sitting on the lawn in front of the Performing Arts Building at Ricks College, waiting for my ride, my neighbor happened to tap me on the shoulder. Connie was a really good friend of my mom’s. I was always jealous of their relationship. I remember overhearing them laughing and talking on the phone. I wished that I could talk to my mom the way Connie did.
Connie sat down beside me. The first thing she said to me was, “I’ll bet I know what you’re doing here.”
“What?” I asked.
“Voice lessons, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Your mother talks a lot about you and your singing. She is really proud of you.”
I was so surprised when she said that. I never knew my mother felt that way. It made me realize that she had been keeping her feelings inside.
That night, as I was climbing the stairs to go to bed, I peeked over the wooden railing to find my mother sitting on the couch. Right then I wanted to tell her that I loved her. It was so hard to even think about saying it. After searching my mind for the words to express myself to her, I just blurted it out, “Mom, I love you!”
It was silent, as quiet as it would be after someone had screamed. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling by the expression on her face. Her big brown eyes filled with tears, the first time I had ever seen my mother’s emotions. With her arms outstretched, she said, “I love you, too.”
Seeing her cry made me want to cry. I ran to her, throwing my arms around her. I never wanted to let go. I couldn’t squeeze hard enough. My heart was full to overflowing as my eyes filled with tears of gratitude. As the tears quietly rolled down my cheeks, I thought of the privilege that was mine to have her as my mother.
I will never forget that. I still remember that night in detail. We talked for two solid hours. It felt so good to let all of my feelings out.
The next day I was to sing at our family reunion. I knew that my mother was going to be there. I wanted to make her proud. After dinner, they announced that I was to sing. I remember being so nervous and turning my head to find my mother looking at me, giving me that certain look of encouragement that I needed.
As I was singing, my throat tightened, and I felt as if my vocal chords had just tied in a knot. It was so hard to sing. I looked at my mom, and I’ll never forget her smile and the nod she gave me. I remember thinking that was better than any command performance I had ever dreamed about. After singing, I sat down beside her and she reached under the table and held my hand.
I’ve learned so much from my mother about being a parent and a friend. Because we took the time to communicate and bridge that gap in our relationship, my mother is my best friend. I’m ready for anything, knowing that my mother is always going to be there for me.
A note from Dianne Francis, Suzanne’s mother: Suzanne wrote this to help other young people see they miss out if they don’t have a close relationship with their mom and dad. Talking helped us realize we were best friends, that we loved each other and enjoyed being together. This knowledge is particularly meaningful to me now, since Suzanne was killed in an automobile accident a few weeks after she wrote this.

Several respondents felt society’s emphasis on personal appearance could lead to a form of idolatry. While a clean and healthy body is important, some people go to extraordinary lengths to emulate the beautiful men and women who smile from advertisements in magazines, in newspapers, and on television. Our society too often equates personal happiness with its definition of personal beauty. Trying unsuccessfully to emulate these unrealistic images, many people are constantly discontented. One of my students shared the following story:
“I had just moved away from my high school, where I was involved in everything. At my new school, I felt I was nobody. I knew no one, and no one knew me. I desperately wanted to be included.
“As I observed the popular crowd, I noticed that the girls who received attention were skinny and beautiful. Furthermore, slender girls graced the covers of magazines, billboards, and television screens. I looked at my body and realized it was not like theirs. I decided that the only way to gain back the popularity I had lost when I moved was to be skinny. So I began to diet.
“I was trying to lose only a few kilograms, but then I read a magazine article discussing qualities the men in the article looked for in women. The best-looking guy said, ‘A girl can never be too skinny.’ I concluded that in order for the guy I was interested in to pursue me, I had to be skinnier. I was still not associating with the popular crowd and did not know many people. Obviously, I was not thin enough.
“I continued to diet and exercise but still did not achieve the acceptance I wanted. Finally, after five months of starvation and depression, I was hospitalized, weighing only 40 kilograms.
“I was deceived. Being skinny does not bring happiness. Now I realize that happiness accompanies spiritual growth and comes from within. When one’s only focus is worldly popularity, it is difficult to progress spiritually. I have found that true happiness is obtained only through striving to please the Lord.”

On Sunday, 26 November 1990, I was on the bus, on my way home from our Asian branch in Lynnfield, Massachusetts. I sat by an eleven-year-old girl and her six-year-old brother. I had seen them at our branch, but I didn’t know their names. I did know they were not members of the Church yet.
In her hands, the girl was holding a children’s book of Bible stories. She was flipping through the pages, looking at the wonderful pictures. “Look!” she said with surprise, pointing to a picture of Jesus kneeling by a rock, praying, with a look of deep pain on his face.
Turning to me, she asked, “Why does Jesus look like that?”
“Because he is suffering for the sins of the people. He is full of pain.”
Again she asked, “Why?”
So I said, “Here, do you want me to read to you?”
I started from where Jesus was kneeling and praying. And as I read, I explained the stories to them. I knew the children were understanding the stories, because when they saw Jesus nailed to the cross, they were sorry for him. And when they saw he was resurrected, they were happy.
I explained the entire story to them from the book and in my own words. And when I asked them questions, they both kept raising their hands as fast as they could.
Finally, the little girl looked up at me and asked, “Is it true?”
I looked down at her and said, “Yes, yes, it’s true.”
As I nodded my head, I knew myself that it was solid truth. I realized right then and there that I did have a strong testimony of Christ. I bore my testimony of the things that I knew in my heart were true. I know the Spirit was with me. I felt it. I felt the sensation of it—the warmth, the peace, the love.
From then on, I wanted to tell the whole world about Jesus Christ. I wanted everyone to feel that happiness, too.

Tired of being the only one with your high standards in your peer group? Try doing what the youth on the island of Yap did—they created their own peer group.
Yap is about 532 miles southeast of Guam, has an area of 39.1 square miles, and has a total population of nearly 9,350. The Church is growing rapidly there, and the LDS youth have a reputation for not smoking, drinking, taking drugs, or chewing the betelnut, a druglike substance that stains the teeth and harms the body. The LDS youth are also noted for breaking down the island’s rigid caste system. Everyone at church is treated as a child of God, regardless of family status.
Recently, the youth worked with their leaders and the missionaries to organize a one-day mission activity. They participated in everything from interviews to an MTC experience to proselyting, while dressing like missionaries and following mission rules. As a result, 49 copies of the Book of Mormon were placed on their island. Already some of the people they contacted have been baptized.

While most of their southern California peers were getting suntans at the beach, the youth of the Glendora California Stake spent their spring break getting rough hands, aching muscles, and sore feet from serving at a center for the homeless in the heart of Los Angeles.
And they wouldn’t trade the experience for any other. “Serving at the center was the greatest thing we could have ever done for a youth conference,” said Heath Hamilton, seventeen.
At first, some of the youth were skeptical. Chris Walker, a priest, said, “Lots of people thought that it couldn’t be a youth conference without going on an outing to the mountains or some place like that. Those who went to the center discovered that this is what the gospel is all about—helping someone else, not yourself. It really impressed upon me the statement in Mosiah 2:17 where it says ‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.’”
Jeremy Baird, a teacher, said, “I thought this youth conference wasn’t going to be very good, but it was a great learning experience. At the center for the homeless, I talked to a man who had been successful in business, but now had no home and had lost his family as a result of drugs. It taught me that what I had thought about all the people who are homeless is not true.”
Some people were a little concerned about going to the center, which is located in a less desirable part of the city. Caroline James, a Mia Maid, said, “When we first got to the center, we were scared to get out of the car. After we were there, though, it was a good experience talking to the people about the Church.”
Two three-hour shifts of twelve young people each went to the Los Angeles center for the homeless daily, where they served a noon meal and an evening meal to nearly six hundred homeless people. They also sorted clothes and helped prepare for the Easter meals.
In addition, the youth filled more than 150 Easter baskets with toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and other personal hygiene items. Collection boxes had been placed in each ward building and in several community locations to receive the donated items. Some candy and cuddly toy animals were included for the children, and the baskets were distributed Sunday afternoon.
On Sunday, the youth committee and leaders traveled the twenty-five miles from their homes to downtown Los Angeles, in two shifts, so no one would have to miss any Church meetings. Tables were set up next to the center, where breakfast was served in the early morning and a traditional Easter dinner was served in the afternoon. Nearly 2,500 meals were served on each shift.
When most of the serving was complete, the youth were invited to sing. “As I Have Loved You” and “I Am a Child of God” brought tears to everyone involved.
“All the homeless there at the center were reaching out for something in addition to the food we were serving. I know it is the gospel they need,” said Harleigh Williams, seventeen.
After serving the Sunday meal, many of the youth sat around talking to the homeless. Jeff Fuller discussed Bible principles with one man. “This was definitely one of the best experiences of my life,” he said. “They are all children of God. They gave me great advice on staying away from things by telling me how they got there.”
Of course, the youth conference did include the traditional activities like breakfast prepared by the bishops, workshops, games, and a dance. But at the fireside ending the conference, the main topic of the testimonies was the service project and how it had affected the young people’s lives.
“I know that you who had a negative attitude going down there definitely changed your attitude about the needy. It was by far the most rewarding youth conference I have ever participated in,” said Lisa Summerhays, seventeen, youth co-chair of the conference.
Justin Beck, the other youth co-chair said, “I know the people at the center have problems, but we still need to appreciate them because Heavenly Father loves each of them.”
Becky Patterson, seventeen, agreed. “One thing I have learned this week is that everybody is equally important. It doesn’t matter who or where you are; Heavenly Father loves you.”
“The most important thing,” said Sister Arnetus Raymond, second counselor in the stake Young Women presidency, “is that we learned that to develop love and unity, we have to serve. Service is the key. Our youth learned firsthand the meaning of serving ‘one of the least of these.’”

I was 19 years old when my older sister, Jan, was baptized. I was absorbed in my own thoughts as I sat uncomfortably on a folding chair waiting for the baptism to begin. My sister introduced me to the missionaries who had taught her the gospel, and they attempted conversation. But since I was naturally shy and had a lot on my mind that day, I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
Despite my resistance to conversation with the missionaries, when the opening hymn was sung, a warm feeling began to stir inside me. I paused to think about the prayers I had offered as a young child, prayers to Heavenly Father to help me find the true church.
After the opening prayer, a man spoke quietly, but with conviction, about Jesus Christ. Tears flowed down my face, and even though I was embarrassed, I felt warm and comfortable inside.
Jan looked radiant when she came out of the water. I was happy for her, so why was I crying?
When the meeting was over, one of the missionaries asked me, “What do you know about the Mormon Church?”
“Not much,” I said.
The other missionary asked, “Would you like to know more?”
Up until the beginning of the baptism, I hadn’t had any real desire to know more about the church my sister was joining. But now that feeling of peace and calm prompted me to answer the missionary’s question, “Yes, I would.”
Arrangements were made for me to hear the first discussion, and just a few weeks later, I felt those same warm feelings as I was baptized. Now, as long as I am worthy, I have that same peaceful feeling with me at all times—the feeling that comes from the Holy Ghost.

Our ward needed a new deacons quorum president. My counselors and I knelt in our bishopric meeting, as we always do, to seek the Lord’s approval on this and other callings.
Feeling a confirmation of the Spirit, I set up an interview with Víctor Leonardo Jiménez Gonzáles, a young man who had recently turned 12 and was already serving as the deacons quorum secretary.
During the interview, I asked Víctor about his current calling and how he was feeling.
“I’m worried, Bishop,” he answered. “I’m really concerned.”
“Why are you concerned?”
“Well, I want all the deacons to be at church. So today on my way over here, I went to Nicholas and Anthony’s house and woke them up, and then I went over to Jimmy and Luis’s to get them to come. I really get worried, Bishop,” Víctor said.
I was amazed by what he was saying and that a 12-year-old deacons quorum secretary could be so concerned about the other members of his quorum.
“I’m here to serve,” he went on, “and I want to do it right, but I’m one of the lowest leaders.”
“What do you mean ‘one of the lowest leaders’?” I asked.
“Because I’m the secretary. I’m not the president or a counselor. I’m a secretary, and that makes me one of the lowest leaders. But the deacons should be here and they’re not, so I have to go get them because this is where they’re supposed to be. I don’t know why they don’t come. But I have to go get them, Bishop!”
My tears could no longer be restrained, and they spilled from my eyes. Choked with emotion, I said, “You have made me remember why I was called as the bishop. It’s to be concerned about others, to visit and serve them as King Benjamin did. We need to be in the service of others, and then we will be in the service of God. You are not the lowest leader. Everyone who serves plays a role important to our Heavenly Father and His Church.”
To this, he said, “That’s what I learned from my dad. And now when I see you crying, I remember this one time when he talked to me—he was crying and he told me, ‘When you have a responsibility, you have to do it right.’ ”
The tears refreshed my soul, and the young man’s words refreshed my memory. I remembered the great worth of our Heavenly Father’s children when I saw the worth this young man placed on each of the members of his quorum.
I extended a calling as president of the deacons quorum to Víctor. In response he said, “Now I’m really going to work hard. I’m not going to disappoint you, Bishop.”
Even now, some time later, the tears return as I remember this unforgettable interview. I know the divine potential this young man has. He has the future firmly in sight, and his vision of what is important is clear.

I looked up as my Primary teacher asked me to read a scripture.
I read, “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed … nothing shall be impossible unto you” (Matthew 17:20).
Our teacher held out her hand and showed us a tiny mustard seed. I started feeling excited. I definitely had that much faith. So nothing would be impossible? What a great way to live!
The next day I went to school with big plans. Things were going to be different from here on out. No more working hard for good grades. Not with faith on my side!
My math teacher walked to the blackboard. “Take out your notebooks. We have a lot to review for the test tomorrow.”
I wanted to laugh out loud. Why should I bother paying attention? I had faith! I relaxed at my desk and ignored the lesson. Who knew school could be this easy?
That night after dinner I helped Dad carry dishes to the sink. “Have any homework tonight?” he asked.
“Nope.” I almost told him more, but I decided to keep it a surprise for now. He’d be so proud of me once he learned how much faith I had.
“Wow, lucky you.”
I smiled. Oh yeah. I was feeling plenty lucky, all right.
The next morning Tia ran over as I got off the school bus.
“Hi!” she said. “Sorry I couldn’t come over last night. It took me forever to study for the test.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. I didn’t study at all.”
“What?” Nathan said. He’d just joined us. “You didn’t?”
“Nope. I don’t have to study to get an A. I have faith! Just wait and see.”
My friends were impressed.
When I got my test score later that afternoon, though, all my bragging stopped. I got an F! I couldn’t believe it. An F, as in fail. What about all my faith? What had gone wrong? I knew my faith was bigger than that shrimpy seed. I hid my grade from my friends.
Later that night I sat at the kitchen table, still confused. Dad sat down next to me. “Something wrong?”
I took a deep breath and told Dad the whole story. When I finished, he nodded slowly and said something I’d never forget: “Faith without works is dead.”
Then Dad taught me how faith really works. I learned that it’s not enough just to believe in something. I have to act too. That means I still have to do my part.
I went to bed that night with my pathetic math test on the floor next to me. I looked down at the big, fat, red F on top of the page. Dad was right. Expecting to do well without doing any work is like trying to grow a mustard plant without even planting the seed in the ground.
After that day, whenever there was a test, I still had faith. But this time I had faith that Heavenly Father could help me work hard and study and do my very best.
With this kind of faith, nothing really is impossible!

May I close with a story of inconvenience, now well known to you. Two weeks ago Air Florida’s Flight 90 to Tampa, a Boeing 737 with 74 passengers aboard, began rolling down the runway at Washington’s National Airport. Nothing seemed very different about this; hundreds of planes leave that airport every day. But you all know what happened next. The plane slammed into the 14th Street Bridge, smashed five cars and a truck, and then skidded into the ice-clogged river. To quote one source:

For a moment, there was silence, and then pandemonium. Commuters watched helplessly as the plane quickly sank. . . A few passengers bobbed to the surface; some clung numbly to pieces of debris while others screamed desperately for help. Scattered across the ice were pieces of green upholstery, twisted chunks of metal, luggage, a tennis racquet, a child’s shoe. . . .

Within minutes, sirens began to wail as fire trucks, ambulances and police cars rushed to the scene. A U.S. Park Police helicopter hovered overhead to pluck survivors out of the water. Six were clinging to the plane’s tail. Dangling a life preserving ring to them, the chopper began ferrying them to shore. One woman had injured her right arm, so [the] pilot . . . lowered the copter until its skids touched the water; his partner [then leaned out and] scooped her up in his arms. Then [a young woman] grabbed the preserver, but as she was being helped out of the . . . river by [a] fellow passenger . . . she lost her grip. . . . A clerk for the Congressional Budget Office who was watching from the shore, plunged into the water and dragged her to land. But the most notable act of heroism was performed by [another] of the passengers, a balding man in his early 50s. Each time the ring was lowered, he grabbed it and passed it along to a comrade; when the helicopter finally returned to pick him up, he had disappeared beneath the ice. [James Kelly, “We’re Not Going to Make It,” Time, 25 January 1982, pp. 16–17]

I quote from an essay entitled simply “The Man in the Water”:

His selflessness [is] one reason the story held national attention; his anonymity another. The fact that he [has gone] unidentified invests him with a universal character. For a while he was Every man, and thus proof (as if one needed it) that no man is ordinary.

Still, he could never have imagined such a capacity in himself. Only minutes before his character was tested, he was sitting in the ordinary plane among the ordinary passengers, dutifully listening to the stewardess telling him to fasten his seat belt and saying something about the “no smoking sign.” So our man relaxed with the others, some of whom would owe their lives to him. Perhaps he started to read, or to doze, or to regret some harsh remark made in the office that morning. Then suddenly he knew that the trip would not be ordinary. Like every other person on that flight, he was desperate to live, which makes his final act so stunning.

For at some moment in the water he must have realized that he would not live if he continued to hand over the rope and ring to others. He had to know it, no matter how gradual the effect of the cold. In his judgment he had no choice. When the helicopter took off with what was to be the last survivor, he watched everything in [his] world move away from him, and he deliberately let it [go]. . . .

The odd thing is that we do not . . . really believe that the man in the water lost his fight. . . . He could not, [like Nature], make ice storms, or freeze the water until it froze the blood. But he could hand life over to a stranger, and that is a power of nature too. The man in the water pitted himself against an implacable, impersonal enemy; he fought it with charity; and he [won]. [Roger Rosenblatt, Time, 25 January 1982, p. 86]

In this world we are all, you and I, the man or the woman in the water. We often, like this man and Hamlet, must “take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them” (Act 3, scene 1, ll. 59–60). And sometimes the cost is very high. It was for Christ, it was for Joseph Smith, and it was for this lone man who counted the cost there in the Potomac—and paid it.

One morning several years ago I was driving with my family to Disney World in Florida. Our four young daughters were excited as we approached the turnoff to that famous park. The laughter and happy chatter stopped suddenly, however, as our rented station wagon sputtered and chugged to an unexpected stop on the exit ramp. Many cars sped by us in the rush-hour traffic as I tried to get the car running again. Finally, realizing there was nothing more we could do, we got out of the stalled car and huddled together off the road for a word of prayer.
As we looked up from our prayer, we saw a smiling, handsome man and his son maneuver their bright red sports car through the lanes of traffic and pull off the road beside us. For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon these men cared for our needs in many kind and helpful ways. They took us to the park. They helped me locate a tow truck; they drove me to the rental agency to get a replacement vehicle. They bought refreshments for my family and waited with them until I returned several hours later.
We felt that these men were truly an answer to our prayer, and we told them so as we thanked them. The father responded, “Every morning I tell the good Lord that if there is anyone in need of help today, please guide me to them.”

Like many LDS teenagers in Africa, I was one of a handful of Church members in my high school. I became accustomed to sharing my beliefs with my friends, and I was known for having a certain set of standards. Fortunately for me, I don’t remember ever being ostracized for being different. If anything, I was respected and admired. My friends looked to me as a sort of anchor during an often difficult and confusing period of their lives.
One day during the final year of high school, I joined a group of friends to watch a movie. As we bought our tickets, the movie poster did not give an indication of the movie rating. Somewhat naively, I decided to buy a ticket anyway in the hope that the movie would be aboveboard.
Two minutes into the movie, I realised my hopes were in vain. The opening scene was shockingly vulgar. As I covered my eyes with my hands, I realised there was only one thing to do: leave. I was near the end of a long line of people, some of whom I was keen to make a favorable impression on. There was no way to make an inconspicuous exit. But there was also no way I could sit through that movie and be true to myself.
With a racing heart I leant over to a friend and whispered, “I’ll see you outside.”
Grabbing my popcorn, I picked my way in the inky darkness past the long row of friends. Back in the light of the ticket office, I wondered how to spend the next few hours as I awaited the others. To my surprise, I soon heard steps behind me.
One of my friends appeared, smiling. “I didn’t like that movie either,” she said. Thirty seconds later, we heard a second pair of footsteps, and then a third. After a few minutes, a large group of us had formed.
I looked around me, incredulous. When I had decided to leave, there was no way I could have predicted that more than half of my group of friends were secretly hoping for a way to get out too.
Marianne Williamson said, “As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.”

Throughout my life I have had ample need for pruning. For example, a few years ago I expected to receive a company promotion. I felt I had the experience, skills, and longevity required, and I hoped the choice was obvious.

At that time there was a new top manager in our company who had different priorities and goals than I did. Among other things, he expected all senior managers to work weekends in addition to weekdays. I was a stake president then and knew that to best serve the members of my stake, I needed to spend a certain amount of time fulfilling my Church responsibilities.

When the hoped-for promotion never occurred, I had to struggle to keep myself from feeling bitter. What a disappointment! I determined just to keep going, to try to do things as well as I could, and to maintain a positive demeanor. Yet my sense of self-worth had been challenged. My abilities had been called into question. Other Church leaders I knew seemed to capably manage both demanding Church callings and time-consuming employment.

In a weak moment, I even wondered whether I had made the right choice to devote so much time to the Church. Then I decided I needed to focus on what was truly important. I began to look not only at my capabilities but also at my limitations. I could see that the time I was spending in Church service was necessary and that I probably wouldn’t have been able to manage both the employment position I had sought and my Church calling.

I think the Lord was telling me I had to choose and would have to keep choosing. To have chosen to devote extra time to my employment so I could get the promotion would have disengaged me from the Lord’s work. As I look back, I can see what a blessing it was for me to devote so much of my time to the Church. The ensuing years were some of the most rewarding of my life. I felt closer to the Lord. My testimony was strengthened. My relationship with fellow Saints in the area was a great blessing, and I am sure I became more fruitful than I would have been otherwise.

One Sunday after returning home from church, I fell asleep for most of the afternoon.
It was dark when I woke up. I started my weekly planning with a prayer to ask how I could best serve the Lord. I felt impressed to go home teaching. It was already 8:00 p.m., so I told myself that I would go the following Tuesday, but the impression to go that night became stronger.
I was reminded of the counsel I heard Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give at the missionary training center in Lima, Peru, while I was a teacher there: “Follow the first impression.” I immediately called my home teaching companion, but he did not answer. I decided to go anyway.
I left the house and noticed a young priest in my ward walking down the street. I approached him and asked if he would accompany me. He agreed. At the first home, the brother opened the door. I told him I felt I needed to see him. He smiled and told us he was having an operation the next day and would appreciate a blessing. I gave him a blessing, and we left for our next visit.
It was 8:40 p.m. when we arrived at the next family’s house. They were surprised to see us because it was so late. We entered their home and noticed that the father was sick. I offered to give him a blessing.
As we returned home, I shared Moroni 7:13 with my young companion: “Every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God.”
I told him that what had just happened was no accident because I had received a prompting. He said he believed it because before I approached him, he had prayed to know how to recognize the Spirit.
I don’t know if the impression to go home teaching was more for my families or for this young priest, but I am grateful I listened. I know great blessings come as we follow the first impression of the Spirit.

Strengthening Our Interactions
Now, having sought to be more teachable and more able to embrace the qualities and comprehend the challenges, I want to suggest three aspects of our interaction in which being teachable seems to be a very needed goal.
First, that we might better know the experience of being a woman or a man in our congregation. What is it like for someone who is different from us? If we are women, what can we know of the experiences of men as fathers, husbands, siblings, and brothers in the gospel? If we are men, what can we know of the experiences of women?
If we too quickly assume we know what the experience of someone else is or should be, then we are less prepared to learn from speaking together “concerning the welfare of [our] souls.” I can imagine that Elder Maxwell’s description of the quality of conversation in the city of Enoch is instructive to us as both men and women: “You should observe . . . how . . . they listen to each other instead of seeking to display their own learning. They are more willing to be impressed than they are eager to impress.”13
I think that description is important no matter if we are eager to impress others with our conservative or liberal values. We have much to learn from one another in living the gospel, and we can best do that by staying in relationship to each other. I know in my own life it is easier to talk about somebody than with them—but my learning is different when we are speaking together. I have learned to listen without fearing that others will think my listening means agreement. And I have learned that being too anxious to tell others where our differences exist hasn’t helped me understand them.
I welcome the opportunities to share the similarities and differences of our experience as sisters in living the gospel. I am interested in how men around us support our sisterhood and our learning. I want to know how they experience women supporting their friendships as men as well as sustaining the priesthood they hold.
Second, that being teachable can strengthen our interactions as well as improve the quality of our service to one another in our congregation and communities. Having heard that where much is given, much is expected,14 I have sometimes allowed my own need to serve to determine what I did rather than paying close attention to the needs of others. Seeking to meet the needs of others is more of a challenge than doing what is convenient for me to be “helpful.”
Paying attention to others is a powerful factor in how well we serve. Tim Gallwey wrote about the necessity of paying attention to service. Interestingly enough, he was talking about tennis. He was suggesting that to improve our serve, we had to learn to love the tennis ball.
“What!” I remember saying. “Love a tennis ball?”
But he meant pay attention to it, see how it bounces, see where the seams are when it comes at you—concentrate. When we love, we concentrate our attention.15
By truly paying attention to others around me and concentrating on them, I can place myself in their service and I am taught what is needed. I saw a very pragmatic example of this a few semesters ago when a study-group member who obviously had better computer skills than the others didn’t take the attitude “I learned it, so can they” or “I’ll do it since you’ll never learn this anyway.” Instead he watched, he made himself available, he answered questions, and he encouraged. He didn’t exaggerate. In his daily interactions with his study group, he was taught how he could best teach them—and he did.

President Wilford Woodruff recounted the difficulties of early missionary work:
“In my early missions, when preaching in the Southern States—Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky—I have waded swamps and rivers and have walked seventy miles or more without eating. In those days we counted it a blessing to go into a place where there was a Latter-day Saint. I went once 150 miles to see one; and when I got there he had apostatized, and tried to kill me. Then, after travelling seventy-two miles without food, I sat down to eat my meal with a Missouri mobocrat, and he damning and cursing me all the time. … In those days we might travel hundreds and hundreds of miles and you could not find a Latter-day Saint.”

Brother Law has lived in our community for thirty-six years. For the past thirteen years, after his wife passed away, he has lived alone. He is a kind gentleman and a good neighbor, but just as his large garden and row of wild yellow rose bushes shield his house, there has been an unseen barrier between him and his neighbors.
The hand of fellowship, and an offer to include him in Church activities, has often been extended, but he has always politely but firmly refused.
The neighborhood children have always loved him, but a few months ago a special friendship grew between him and nine-year-old Jessica, who lives across the street.
Worried about his being lonesome, she often went to pay a visit. One day she noticed a Book of Mormon on his shelf. It was one left years ago by the missionaries. Jessica picked it up and announced that she was going to read to him some of her favorite scriptures.
Amused at first, Brother Law listened only to be nice to Jessica. Then the spirit of that great book began to warm his heart. He started looking forward to her reading it to him.
In the past when missionaries had come to his door, he had politely told them that he was not interested. But one day after Jessica had begun reading to him, the missionaries came again and he listened to them!
Jessica’s friend, Kristen, invited him to go to church with her family. As Sunday approached, however, he told her that he had nothing to wear and that he didn’t feel very well.
The following Sunday, Jessica invited him to join her family at church. When he again tried the excuse of nothing to wear, Jessica told him, “You can wear one of Daddy’s shirts.”
Brother Law chuckled—Jessica’s father’s shirts were several sizes larger than his.
Not one to give up, Jessica told her mom the problem, and the next week he was presented with an early Christmas present, a new white shirt. By this time he was running out of excuses, but he tried once more by telling Jessica he had no pants. She simply replied, “Oh, you can wear most any pants—just make sure they don’t have paint on them.”
He didn’t have a tie, either, but one of Dad’s was promptly produced, and they headed for the chapel. After seventy-one years of not going to church, Brother Law was very nervous. Once he was in the chapel, though, he felt warm and comfortable.
The next hurdle came when the missionaries approached him about baptism. He had decided the Church was a family church and so it was really no place for him.
The following Sunday one of the Relief Society sisters gave a talk at ward conference on how we are all brothers and sisters in the gospel. As she talked, the Spirit touched his heart and he realized that he really could be a part of the ward “family.” Besides, he recalled, all the children in the neighborhood were already calling him Grandpa or Brother Law.
This story has a wonderful ending, or should I say beginning. Today when you look at Brother Law, he literally glows with the Spirit. On April 10, 1994, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

South Wales Police were called to a home very close to the Bridgend Ward chapel, following a tragic and devastating incident resulting in the loss of a precious two-year-old boy.

The family and community were in shock, and the incident resonated beyond the immediate vicinity, as the details of it came to light. This sensitivity arose from another local domestic homicide, which had occurred a week earlier, when the life of a young five-year-old boy was lost.

One of the police officers called upon to assist in the investigation was Constable Jon Shorland, the elders quorum president for the ward, who was working an evening shift. That very day President Shorland had been engaged with the incident in a Church capacity. A request had been posted on social media by a local resident enquiring if the chapel could be opened for members of the public to attend, lay flowers, and grieve. Never had such a request been made before.

President Shorland immediately requested permission from the stake president, Jason Spragg, and set to work coordinating the ward’s response to the local need. Shortly afterwards, the opening of the building and the attendance of full-time missionaries and ward council members was organised, and the opportunity for anyone to attend was advertised on social media.

Several members of the community, along with Church members, subsequently attended to lay flowers and to pay their respects. Messages were written on decorative hearts provided by the stake Relief Society president, Carolyn Davies, who had been given them only a week before as a donation from the Welsh Millennium Centre.

Said the Bridgend full-time missionaries: “As missionaries, we speak a lot about baptism, how it’s a commandment, how we can be forgiven of our sins, and become a member of Christ’s Church. However, during our time acting as servants to the community, offering consolation and refuge for those experiencing horrible loss, we recall the covenant we make at baptism, in addition to every other: ‘To mourn with those that mourn; … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ (Mosiah 18:9). It was sobering to act as representatives of Christ at the chapel, offering hopeful words to those who came there with heavy hearts. The gospel is a joyous thing; because of Christ, there is peace and comfort to be found even in the hardest times.”

I recently had a moment of Golden Section. It came several weeks ago when Stacy and I toured Japan with the BYU-Hawai‘i Concert Choir. After two weeks, we finished our trip in Kyoto. That afternoon we went to the Kinkakuji Temple, which I had not heard of before. As we entered the path and pressed forward with the throngs of tourists, a stunning tableau opened before our eyes, which took my breath away. I was not prepared as we turned the corner. There was a golden temple, floating on the water, as it were. My first thought was to think of the many mansions in heaven, wondering if one of them might look like this, quite frankly, hoping that one could be reserved for me, surrounded in the tranquil perfection of nature. I then remembered the scripture, which talks of the celestial kingdom "having the appearance of [streets] paved with gold."

In the following years, fellowshipping helped Gary return to Church activity. Jennifer would invite ward members or the missionaries over for dinner, knowing that would give them a chance to talk with Gary. He is grateful to those members and missionaries for being a good influence on him.
Dale Price, for example, home taught Jennifer’s mother and got to know Gary and Jennifer that way. When Brother Price visited with Brother Tucker, they didn’t talk about the gospel at first. They talked about a common interest: hunting. The Prices also sat with the Tuckers at ward activities, brought them food from their food storage when Brother Tucker was out of work, and gave them honey produced by their own honeybees. Honey is the Tuckers’ favorite topping on toast. That little gift, as Brother Price describes it, was “to sweeten the relationship.”

Beep! Beep! Beep! Trevan woke up and turned off his alarm clock. Eight days until my baptism, he thought. That meant his interview with the bishop would be soon. But what if I’m not ready?
That night the missionaries came over for dinner. Taco night was Trevan’s favorite, but it was always more fun with the missionaries. They could even play a game of scripture charades after dinner—as long as Trevan and his sister listened to the lesson first.
“Tonight we have a message about baptism,” Sister Carlisle said.
Trevan jumped in his seat. “I’m getting baptized next week!”
“That’s great!” Sister Carlisle gave him a high five. “Are you excited?”
“I guess so, but I’m kind of worried about talking to the bishop,” Trevan said. “What if I don’t know the answers?”
“It’s OK to be nervous,” Sister Kemp said. “But I bet you know more than you think. Why do you think it’s important to be baptized?”
Trevan wasn’t sure. “To be obedient?”
“Right!” said Sister Kemp. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Baptism is so important that Jesus was baptized, even though He never sinned. When we’re baptized, we make covenants, or promises, with Heavenly Father.”
“Do you know what promises you’ll be making?” asked Sister Carlisle.
“I think so!” said Trevan. “We learned this at home evening last week, right Mom?”
Mom nodded. “We can remember our covenants by remembering the word ‘take.’ Can you remember what the letters stand for?”
Trevan looked at his sister Cassidy for help. “T stands for taking His name upon us,” she said. “A, always remembering Him.”
“I know the next one!” said Trevan. “K is for keeping the commandments.”
“You got it,” said Mom. “And E is for enduring to the end.”
“That means following Jesus my whole life. And repenting when I make mistakes,” Trevan said.
“Awesome!” said Sister Carlisle. “And when we keep those promises, do you know what Heavenly Father promises to give us in return?”
“Uh, blessings?” Trevan asked.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Heavenly Father promises to forgive us when we repent. He also promises that the Holy Ghost will guide us.”
Trevan nodded. It was starting to make more sense.
Sister Carlisle pulled out a notebook. “If you’re nervous about the questions the bishop will ask you, we can go over them together.” She turned a few pages and read the first question. “Do you have faith in and a testimony of the Savior Jesus Christ?”
“Yeah,” said Trevan. He relaxed as Sister Carlisle read the other questions. “Those are easy,” he said when she finished.
“They are,” Sister Carlisle said. “But it’s still important for the bishop to ask them. He wants to make sure you feel ready to make covenants with Heavenly Father.”
At the end of the lesson, Sister Kemp shared her testimony. “I know Heavenly Father loves us because He hears and answers our prayers.”
“I know that too!” said Trevan. “This morning I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me know if I’m ready to be baptized.”
“And how do you feel now?” Sister Kemp asked.
“I don’t feel so worried anymore,” Trevan said. “I feel ready!”