Gospel Story Finder

As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.

I had been a member of the Church for about a year when a missionary challenged me to subscribe to A Liahona (Portuguese). I had never read a magazine like A Liahona in my life. While reading the first issue of my subscription, I received a testimony that the things written in it were true. I was able to see what the gospel of Jesus Christ does in the lives of people. Now as I read the magazine I try to find counsel to apply to my own life.
Jeferson Carlos Nogueira da Silva,Aracati Branch, Mossoró Brazil District

On a Sunday morning in March 2003, I awoke and got ready and went to church with my family, just as I would on any other Sunday. We sat together in sacrament meeting, Sister Crawford expecting our fourth child. I remember looking at my little family and wondering what their lives would be like without me. I was comforted knowing that Cheryl is a strong, righteous, resilient mother.
After sacrament meeting, I went home and took a nap. I needed to be well rested for work that evening. Normally I loved my job, but I was not looking forward to work on this day. A few hours later, I was at the controls of a stealth bomber loaded with 32,000 pounds of guided weapons, headed to war.
We departed from our base in Missouri, the heartland of America. Our destination: Baghdad, Iraq. We had been briefed on the dangers of flying into Iraqi defenses. They were equipped with anti-aircraft radar, missiles, and artillery. Baghdad is a long flight from Missouri. I had a lot of time to think about things on the way there.
I thought about my family. I carried this photo of us in my breast pocket as a reminder of why I served in the military. In case I got shot down, my plan was to show the Iraqis this photo so they would know I was a normal person, just like them. What was I thinking? I'm not sure this particular photo was a good choice to show that we are "normal," but I love it.
I thought about my patriarchal blessing, which contained these words:
"In this life it sometimes becomes necessary to serve in the armed forces. Should this calling come to you, accept it and serve with gladness and strength... The Lord will protect you from danger and harm if you are willing to accept His inspiration and guidance in your life, so keep the commandments."
I hoped that I had lived worthy to claim that promise.
Baghdad's air defenses weren't the only challenges we had to face during our mission. In order to reach our target, we had to refuel in midair.
This activity requires great skill and more than a little nerve as you maneuver a massive aircraft to within a few feet of another massive aircraft and connect to a refueling boom while flying at hundreds of miles per hour, thousands of feet in the air. During daylight it is difficult enough. On this night, if I recall correctly, it was dark, we were in the clouds, and we faced turbulence. We had no choice but to persevere if we were to accomplish our mission. That in-flight refueling was only one of five we would need to complete before our mission was accomplished.
At last we reached Iraq. We slipped through enemy air defenses apparently undetected and released our weapons on time, on target.
After leaving Baghdad, we still had a harrowing journey ahead of us—the return home was about as long as the flight there, only now we would feel the effects of our long flight even more. There was a danger that while one pilot rested, the pilot flying would fall asleep due to exhaustion. We droned on through the night and into the next day. Nearly 36 hours after we departed, we arrived safely home, exhausted and relieved.

By now we had formed quite a congregation—his mother, Grandfather Allred (who spontaneously offered perhaps the simplest, most fervent and beautiful prayer I have ever heard), various medical personnel, several of our own children, and our neighbors the Memmotts—true Good Samaritans. We sat there together in the main waiting room, conversing quietly, and young Mike Memmott, one of John’s best friends, was blinking back tears. That fall in the road three days earlier had momentarily knocked John unconscious and left his head bleeding rather profusely. Bending over him in great anxiety, Mike had called John’s name, then actually picked him up and carried him into our home.

Then everything changed.
The whole world transformed overnight.
I’d reached the lowest point in my life. Nothing but a profound spiritual experience could change me. I knew deep down that I was meant to be doing more in life. And I’d finally become so desperate that I was open to the truth that perhaps God did live. I didn’t know anything about Him, but I started seeking His guidance. I searched desperately for a sign of His hand in my life. Then, suddenly, He answered, and I was catapulted into a world I’d never known.
My world came together in such an orchestrated fashion and guided me to exactly where I needed to be. Strangers, family, friends—everyone and everything—seemed to be sending me messages of love, concern, and support all at once. I started to notice a sensation in my chest: a wonderful burning feeling. And along with that feeling, I was witnessing a love that was completely new to me.
The love of God.
I really didn’t know what the feeling was or where it had come from at first. I just knew it didn’t come from me and that it was better than anything I had felt. It wasn’t until later while talking with my family that I really understood that I was experiencing a connection with Heavenly Father through the power of the Holy Ghost.
My reality suddenly changed from a dull gray to full color. And it was difficult to adjust. I knew God was real. But what did this mean? For at least a month, I would break down sobbing throughout each day. The new beauty of life I was seeing was forcing me to face the unbelievably ugly way I’d lived for years. I’d been so engulfed by hatred, and now I was witnessing the deepest love I’d ever seen. A love that struck me to my core. Life had become more beautiful than I’d ever imagined it could be. I knew God was calling me. He wanted me to seek a better life. And I was finally ready to answer Him.

My family has been reminded of this recently in a very poignant way. I have 17 nieces and nephews, who are a pure delight. We have hiked and biked and fasted and prayed together. And recently we have cried together. A few weeks ago we suffered a crushing loss when an accident took the lives of two of my sister’s children—Amanda, who was 11, and Tanner, who was 15. Because we have lived together in love, we have truly wept for the loss of them that died (see D&C 42:45).

Our friends in our hometown wept with us, most of them nonmembers, and we knew their hearts might never be more open to truth than on the day two caskets rested in our little Kansas chapel. So we dedicated the funeral entirely to testifying of Christ and the restored gospel. Afterwards many told us how moved they were by what they heard and by what they felt. Some have even asked to learn more. Now, we don’t know if anyone affected by our children’s deaths will join the Church. But this we do know—that standing up for what we believe and teaching the gospel to friends who had never before been willing to listen helped soothe our pain and bring us joy as a family.

Seminary also serves as a great preparation for the missionary work you will do—as a member missionary today and also if you serve as a full-time missionary in the future. Franco Huamán Curinuqui of Peru knows that his scripture study in seminary has been helping him prepare for his mission.

He says this preparation is worth getting up for seminary at 4:00 a.m., riding canoes when months of flooding hit the area, and then wading through mud to get to class. He says, “I want to finish seminary and start institute classes in order to be prepared for a mission. I am going to keep growing in the Church.” Seminary is important to him because he learns about the scriptures and memorizes important verses, which will help him be a better missionary.

Tina’s brown eyes flashed as she rechecked her duffle bag, making certain she had everything she would need on the vacation.
“Is everyone ready?” Dad asked. “It’s time to go.”
Soon the car was crammed with luggage and camping gear. Tina saw a suitcase next to the cooler chest. Surrounded by beach towels and sleeping bags, the suitcase looked out of place. Suitcases were for dressy clothes, and dressy clothes were for special days like Sunday. This vacation would take ten days, Dad had said, so they wouldn’t be home for Church meetings.
As Tina thought about being away from home on Sunday, she remembered what Sister Gustafson, her Primary teacher, had told the class about Sunday being a day of worship and rest. Sister Gustafson was going to ask each child how he had spent his Sundays for an entire month, and she would pay special honor to those who had kept the Sabbath days holy. Tina worried that she would probably be the only one in the class who would miss any Primary and sacrament meetings. How can Sunday be a holy day when we’re camping at the lake? Tina wondered. She turned to wave good-bye to the friend who would take care of her little kitten while she was gone.
As they drove past the church and the school and out of town, the family sang, “Give, Said the Little Stream,” “The Golden Plates,” and Tina’s favorite, “Book of Mormon Stories.” Because Josh liked “Smiles,” and because he was the youngest in the family, they sang it again and again. Mom said she liked that song, too, because it made her happy.
As soon as they arrived at their lakeside camp, everyone went swimming. After supper was over and all the marshmallows had been toasted and eaten, Tina and Josh got ready for bed and climbed into their sleeping bags. Mom and Dad listened to their prayers and kissed them good night.
All week long the children played in the sand and swam in the lake. They fished. They climbed hills. And they fed potato chips to bushy-tailed squirrels.
On Saturday evening Tina helped Mom fix a picnic lunch for the next day. Then her mother asked everyone to help carry enough water to shampoo their hair and bathe. As Tina carried her small bucket of water from the lake, she laughed and sang,
“Saturday is a special day,
It’s the day we get ready for Sunday.
We clean our tent,
And we gather the wood
So we won’t have to work until Monday.
We brush our clothes,
And we shine our shoes,
And we call it our clean-up-our-camp day.
Then we tote the water
To shampoo our hair,
So we can be ready for Sunday.”*
Tina liked feeling clean, and she was glad that the picnic lunch was already made, because that meant no cooking the next day.
Because the next day was Sunday, Tina remembered her teacher’s words, “Sunday is a day of worship and rest.” Well, she could rest, and she wouldn’t play, but how could they have a regular worship service when their family was camping?
That night, as Tina sat watching the campfire, Mom brought the suitcase from the car and opened it. Dad took a piece of wrinkled paper out of it, smoothed it with his hand, and with a twinkle in his eye announced, “Tomorrow we’re going on a treasure hunt. This map shows where we can find something to help us to be happy for the rest of our lives.”
Then Mom took four books from the suitcase. Keeping one for herself, she gave one to Tina, one to Josh, and one to Dad. Tina opened her book. It was full of blank pages. Josh’s book was the same. Someone had written in Mom’s book, and in Dad’s, too, but most of their pages were also blank. What kind of books are these? Tina wondered.
Josh was given a turn to take something from the suitcase. He found some postcards and stamps. Then it was Tina’s turn. She looked in and found her favorite Sunday dress! And there was Mom’s green dress and Dad’s suit and tie. Josh’s best outfit was there too. Then Dad said, “We’ll wear our best clothes on our treasure hunt tomorrow.”
The next morning the family got up early and dressed in their Sunday clothes. When they got into the car, Tina helped read the treasure map, directing Dad to cross a bridge and then to take Ryre’s Road west for eighteen miles to where a large red star had been penciled in on the map. That must be where the treasure is! Tina decided.
Dad drove for eighteen miles and stopped right in front of a meetinghouse.
“That’s it—the treasure is where we learn about the gospel!” Tina declared excitedly.
It was wonderful going to church in that little town. People they didn’t even know smiled at Tina and her family.
After the meetings, the family returned to camp. Taking the picnic basket, the blank notebooks, and the postcards, they walked to a small wooded area. After lunch, mother read from her little book, which she called a journal. She showed Tina and Josh how they, too, could keep a journal of the things they did.
Tina and Josh wrote in their special books. Tina also wrote some postcards to send to her friends. The message she liked best was the one she sent to her Primary teacher. It said:
“Dear Sister Gustafson,
Please tell all the class that I kept the Lord’s Sabbath-day commandment. Sunday was a day of rest and worship for our family on our vacation. It was the best day of my vacation.
Love, Tina.”

We’re Sam and Anastasia, and we try to SHINE OUR LIGHT by sharing with others!
Where we live, in Florida, USA, we see lots of people who are homeless. We wondered how we could help them. Jesus fed people who were hungry, and everyone needs to eat! So we decided to make emergency snack kits.
Our friend Joa helped us shop for supplies at the dollar store.
We put granola bars, bread sticks with cheese, and other yummy snacks in our kits. Sam even tried one!
Sharing our kits made us smile. Some people said, “Thank you!” and “Awesome!”
Our mom put the project online, and the young single adult branch found out about it. They made 100 more snack kits for our local homeless shelter. The shelter used them to invite people to sign up for a program to help them get homes. That made us really happy!

President Boyd K. Packer has counseled us to have a hymn memorized so that when an inappropriate thought comes into our minds, we can replace it with a hymn. In applying this instruction, a friend of mine explained: “One day I left my office for lunch. After I had walked for about two blocks, I noticed that I had been humming ‘my song’: ‘I Am a Child of God.’ As I chained my thoughts back several hundred yards, I realized that as I had crossed the street from my office, a young woman, inappropriately clothed, had crossed in front of me. Immediately, subconsciously, the words and music of ‘I Am a Child of God’ began to roll through my mind—to displace inappropriate thoughts.” That day my friend learned a great lesson about his ability to control his thoughts.

“I had been given the assignment to give a family home evening lesson, and as I was thumbing through the manual looking for a lesson, I noticed that there was one special lesson for husbands and wives only. I decided that next Monday would be a special family night for Mom and Dad. My sister and I fixed them a candlelight dinner, and then we quietly went downstairs for our own family night while leaving the manual with Mom and Dad with a bookmark in the appropriate spot.”

Some of you may think that in today’s world the future doesn’t hold much to strive toward. I can remember as a young 13-year-old boy coming home from priesthood meeting on Sunday, December 7, 1941, to learn from my parents that Japan had just bombed Pearl Harbor. This propelled the United States into a world war that had already been raging in Europe for two years. It seemed like life as we knew it was going to come to an end. There was much uncertainty as many young men were swept up into military service. However, now, just as then, amidst all of the conflicts, struggles, and evil influences in the world, there is still much good.

When Elder Gerrit W. Gong was a young man, he really wanted to play school basketball. “I practiced and practiced,” he said. “One day the coach pointed to our 6-foot-4-inch (1.93 m) all-state center and our 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) all-star forward and said to me, ‘I can put you on the team, but you’ll likely never play.’ I remember how kindly he then encouraged, ‘Why not try out for soccer? You’d be good.’ My family cheered when I scored my first goal.”1
Elder Gong learned that remembering the assistance of others helps us acknowledge the Savior’s hand in our lives and helps us remember that we are never alone.

Danielle Menlove, a Beehive from Sandy, Utah, has running in her blood. Her parents, both runners, noticed something special when she beat her mother in a race at seven years old. Now she holds four USA national track and cross country titles and numerous records.
Danielle started winning big races when she was just 10 years old. She now holds the USA Track & Field—Utah youth records for the 11–12 age group in the 800m, 1500m, and the 3000m. In the 13–14 age group, Danielle holds the records in the 1500m and 3000m.
Danielle has learned that track involves enduring to the end. And she learned it the hard way. At the USATF National Junior Olympic Track & Field Championships in 2005, she accidentally stopped a lap short. She says, “I was in first place, and I had a 100m lead, but I stopped and started walking off the track.” When an official told her she had a lap to go, Danielle scrambled to rejoin the race. She still took second.
Recalling the event, Danielle says it helped her learn to finish strong. “It was a good thing to happen because I made the mistake once, and I’ll never make it again.”

Let me give one concluding example—one that is perhaps less dramatic but likely more representative of the often unnoticed ways in which learning and lifting occurs on this campus.

As many of you know, law school can be very competitive. At most law schools, including BYU’s, students are literally ranked in order by their grades, and employers often make the initial hiring decisions based primarily on that ranking. It is an environment rife with competition—looking at the other person, trying to better them. To add to the tension, in most law-school classes the seemingly all-important grade is determined solely on the basis of the final examination. As you might imagine, the stress levels at the law school are quite high during finals.

On one occasion I led a student discussion on pride and competition. In that setting, a first-year student, who had recently been through the soul-trying experience of the first set of law-school finals, related the following experience, which I share with his permission:

When I came to BYU Law School, I immediately developed a big, fat crush on my entire 1L class: they were the nicest, smartest, most interesting ­people that I had ever been around. . . . [Even though] I realized right away that I was outgunned, outsmarted, and outpaced in every class . . . , I didn’t resent the successes of my peers; they were . . . my friends, and I liked them. . . .

As classes ended, [however,] and our 1L class threw all its weight, collectively and individually . . . , toward finals, I was anxious. The anxiety grew and turned black. I studied hard and long, but I felt more insecure the more I studied.

The student went on to say that he began to stay away from his classmates because each interaction with them increasingly convinced him that they knew more than he did and that he was, therefore, destined to fail.

He then related:

I was praying early one morning about finals, asking for help to do my best [or even to just pass the class], and I began describing the bleak feelings I harbored, and I asked for help. After a few minutes, I [suddenly] found myself [praying] not [just] for myself but for my classmates, and not just for those few that I knew . . . struggled [with the material,] as I did, but for the gifted and the talented as well. I prayed that they would do their best, that they would have peace and clarity. As I prayed for them . . . , I felt a surge of love for the classmates I had admired and had liked so much in the beginning.

He then began to reengage with his fellow students, not just to learn from them but with the thought that he might actually have something he could offer to them. At that point his stress level dropped dramatically, his learning increased considerably, and his view of law school and life was transformed. He was a learner and a lifter whose lifting amplified his learning. Who knew that finals, especially law-school finals, could be a spiritual experience? They can—and should be—at BYU.

A few years after I had finished college, I found myself sitting in family home evening with other young single adults in my ward. We had been invited to the home of a counselor in our stake presidency, and his wife was giving the lesson.
We were reading the account of Nephi and his brothers going to get the brass plates from Laban (see 1 Nephi 3–5). Our teacher talked about the courage and persistence Nephi exhibited. Then she looked up at our small group. Her gaze was penetrating.
“Nephi and his brothers had been given a difficult task,” she pointed out. “It took several tries, none of which was easy. But it was worth persistent effort. As a result of having the scriptures, Nephi would prevent his family from ‘dwindl[ing] and perish[ing] in unbelief’ (1 Nephi 4:13).
“There will be ‘plates’ in your own lives,” she continued. “Maybe you will have to demonstrate persistence in obtaining your education. Perhaps you will be called on to exhibit courage when you’re dating. Whatever the sacrifices, the roadblocks, the setbacks, the heartbreaks—whatever it takes to preserve your future family and keep them from dwindling in unbelief—go back and get the plates.”
It was a nice parallel, I thought. I filed it away in my memory for later recollection. At that moment I didn’t feel that my life had many roadblocks. I had finished school, I was enjoying my job, and I had been dating a great guy—a longtime friend with whom things had turned more serious—for about four months. I couldn’t have been happier with how things were going.
Several months later my relationship with Jake (name has been changed) had progressed a great deal. But Jake’s parents had divorced years earlier, and their separation still affected him deeply. He was afraid that if we got married, things would end for us as they had for his parents.
I told him I was willing to give him time—lots if he needed it—to sort things out in his mind and his heart. We talked about making decisions based on faith instead of fear. We discussed the role of agency and the fact that he didn’t need to assume that his parents’ path would automatically be his fate too. And we talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s ability to heal our hearts.
Our conversations seemed to help relieve his anxiety some, and our relationship continued as usual. So when he called me one Saturday afternoon to break up, it more than surprised me. He told me that he couldn’t see himself being married to me—or to anyone. He just didn’t believe in marriage anymore.
For the next hour we rehearsed what we had already discussed, but I couldn’t persuade him. He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and he hung up the phone. I sat silently on my bed, tears running down my face, absolutely stunned.
A while later my roommate knocked on the bedroom door. “Are you coming to stake conference?” she asked. I didn’t feel much like going anywhere or doing anything, but I put on a dress and got in her car.
When we arrived the first person I saw was the woman who had given that family home evening lesson months earlier. Neither of us said anything, but our eyes met, and in my mind, I heard a voice call my name and say, “Go back and get the plates.”
Somehow I knew all that the prompting implied. It wasn’t just about an ancient prophet returning to get a sacred record. It was also about me. It meant that even though Jake didn’t believe in marriage, I still could. I could hope for it and pray for it and work for it—not in a wishful, wistful way but in a believing, active, prepare-myself-daily-because-this-is-God’s-plan-for-His-children kind of way. It didn’t mean that I had to go back to Jake and be with him until I “wore him down” on the idea of marriage, and it also didn’t mean I had to start dating someone new right away. It was OK for me to have a time to grieve and heal.
But during that time I could avoid wallowing in self-pity. I could resist the temptation to be snide about Jake—or men in general. I could seek friends who believed in marriage and looked forward to it. And I could, like Nephi, trust in a loving Heavenly Father who gives no commandment—whether it’s obtaining ancient scriptural records or marrying and creating families—without preparing a way for us to accomplish it.
I’m still in the “accomplishing”—not the “accomplished”—stage. I’m not yet married, but I feel grateful for the good dating experiences I’ve had—experiences made richer by an improved understanding of the role persistence plays in righteous goals.
I also feel comforted by and confident in knowing what Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught about Nephi’s pattern of perseverance. He said:
“After two unsuccessful attempts, Nephi remained confident. He crept into the city toward the house of Laban without all the answers. He observed, ‘I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do,’ significantly adding, ‘Nevertheless I went forth.’ (1 Ne. 4:6–7; italics added.)
“Nephi was willing to try time and again, using his best efforts. He expressed faith that he would be helped. He refused to be discouraged. But because he acted, had confidence in the Lord, was obedient, and properly used his agency, he received guidance. He was inspired step after step to success, and in his mother’s words was ‘given … power [to] accomplish the thing which the Lord hath commanded.’ (1 Ne. 5:8; italics added.)”1
This principle of persistence is not limited to the dating realm, of course. It also applies to those who are chronically ill and aren’t sure they can cheerfully face another pain-filled day; to a couple who are striving to work through challenges in their marriage; to parents who pray for years for a child who has gone astray; to a teenager who faces antagonism at school because of her beliefs; to missionaries who have worked for days without teaching a lesson. In some way all of us have been commanded to go back and get the plates.
And like Nephi, we can. With courage, persistence, and faith, we can accomplish all things that the Lord has commanded us.

“Almost finished,” Manuel whispered. He glanced down at the box under his arm. Nearly all the candy was sold. Now his box held an envelope filled with money.
As the sun beat down on Manuel’s head, he thought of home and his mother and grandmother waiting there. He smiled to think of how happy they were lately. Manuel felt the same happiness, and he knew why—they were all going to be baptized next Sunday.
“Get out of the way!” someone suddenly yelled from behind Manuel. Four boys on bikes raced by as Manuel jumped into the gutter.
Manuel had seen those boys earlier, riding on the opposite sidewalk. A thought had crossed his mind: stay away from those boys. But as they pedaled away, Manuel had relaxed and forgotten about them. Now the feeling returned even stronger. Still, he wanted to finish selling the candy, so he kept going.
Manuel had just sold the last of the candy when the boys returned. One of them grabbed his shoulder as he rode by. The box slipped from under Manuel’s arm, and another boy whizzed past and grabbed it. “No!” Manuel cried. He watched sadly as they carried off his box of hard-earned money.
That evening, Manuel heard a knock at his bedroom door. “Manuel! Please come out!” His mother sounded worried.
“I told you, Mamá, I don’t feel well.”
“But the missionaries are here to see us.”
Manuel got to his feet, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders.
“Hola, Manuel,” Sister Santos said as Manuel joined his family in the living room.
Usually Manuel listened carefully to the missionaries. But tonight he was thinking about the boys and the box of money. He wished he had run away the first time he had seen them. But how was he supposed to know what to do? Would he ever feel safe walking down the street again? He frowned and started listening to the lesson.
“The Holy Ghost is a messenger from Heavenly Father,” Sister Santos said. “He can guide and inspire our thoughts. He can help us make good choices and warn us of danger.”
Manuel looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, have you ever had a strong thought come into your head?” Sister Santos asked. “Maybe it was a prompting to do something. Maybe it just seemed like a great idea.”
Manuel’s eyes widened as he remembered the strong feelings he’d had earlier about getting away from the boys on bikes. “I think it happened today,” he said slowly.
The missionaries looked at him with interest. So did Manuel’s mother and grandmother. He told them about the boys and the stolen box.
“Oh, Manuel, I’m so sorry,” his mother whispered. “That’s why you’ve been so upset this evening. Later I want you to tell me more about those boys. Maybe we can get your money back.”
“I’m sorry too,” Sister Santos said. “But I think you are right. That was probably the Holy Ghost you felt inside.” She paused. “You will receive the gift of the Holy Ghost after your baptism when you are confirmed. That means you will be able to have and feel those messages a lot more often. As you stay worthy, the Holy Ghost can be your constant companion. How do you feel about that?”
A relieved smile crossed Manuel’s face. “Much better!” he said. “I was starting to think I would always be afraid to walk outside. But if the Holy Ghost will warn me again, like He did today, I’ll be fine.” He grinned at his mother. “Because the next time the Holy Ghost speaks to me, I’m going to listen!”

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

“I was born and grew up in the community of Tooele, Utah, where my father ran a newspaper. As a youth, I worked at the newspaper office and also helped take care of the family cows. My brother, Joel, and I had the responsibility of not only taking care of our cows but, during the summer, also gathering our neighbor’s cows and taking them to the fields on the edge of town to graze on the grass. This is how I made my first money. Later, my brother and I worked on a twenty-acre farm that the family owned on the edge of town. We were teenagers, and my father wanted to keep us busy.
“One day a neighbor came to Father carrying a list of things we were doing wrong on the farm. After the neighbor finished reading the list aloud, Father sat back in his chair, looked at him, and said, ‘Well, Jim, you don’t understand. I’m raising boys, not cows.’”

Thirty years ago I was a faculty member at the BYU—Hawaii campus, known at that time as the Church College of Hawaii. I was called to serve as a regional sports director. The members in the islands love their sports programs and were always anxious to host Young Women regional tournaments. The tournaments were traditionally held on the islands with the greatest population.

Each year the sports director from the small island of Molokai volunteered to host the Young Women regional volleyball tournament. Molokai was not only one of the smallest islands in both LDS and non-LDS population, but the island lacked gymnasium and housing space for the tournament. Nevertheless, I was impressed to investigate the possibility of holding the Young Women regional volleyball tournament on the island of Molokai. The tournament would be held in the month of March, a traditionally rainy month. This would not have been a concern on Oahu or the big island of Hawaii because everything would be housed inside. But on this small island, the area where meals would be served would be totally out-of-doors. The area where more than 100 young women would be housed would also be partially out-of-doors. The sites where the matches would be held were several miles apart, and the young women would be transported from their eating, sleeping, and tournament sites in large, open, green pineapple trucks.

I arrived on the island in early November to look at the sites and to determine if indeed they would be able to host such a large tournament. The small group of Saints were so excited to have someone believe as they did that they could host the tournament. They had in place all the necessary requirements. I still had a concern about the rain. If it rained, the tournament could not be held. I expressed my concern to the Molokai Church leaders, and their response was, “Sister Durrant, don’t worry. Our Father in Heaven loves us, and we love Him.” How do you question that answer?

When I returned to Oahu, my counselors were still questioning my decision to hold the tournament on Molokai. In December the rain started in the South Pacific, and it ended up being a year with history-making rain and hurricane-type weather throughout all the islands. Still, the Saints in Molokai insisted they would be able to host the tournament. The rain continued. I again visited the island in the middle of February, three weeks before the tournament. I was doubting my decision. How could this tournament happen? The weather forecast was rain through April. The members once again reassured me that they were loved.

I arrived on Thursday at the Molokai airport nine hours before the young women would arrive and the first round of the tournament would begin. Three hours after my arrival the rain stopped. The tournament was a success, and the Molokai Saints’ dream came true—they had the opportunity to host a tournament. The tournament ended with a huge Hawaiian luau, a beautiful experience for all who attended. The young women and their leaders all bore their testimonies of their love for God, and they knew God loved them.

I was with the last group to leave the island. On our way to the airport, the rain started again. The Young Women president turned to me and said, “We told you that our Father in Heaven loved us.” The rain continued until the first of April. The Saints on the island of Molokai were loved and loved unconditionally.