Gospel Story Finder

President Nelson shared this insight: “Consider the Lord’s response to Joseph Smith when he pleaded for relief in Liberty Jail. The Lord taught the Prophet that his inhumane treatment would give him experience and be for his good. ‘If thou endure it well,’ the Lord promised, ‘God shall exalt thee on high.’ The Lord was teaching Joseph to think celestial and to envision an eternal reward rather than focus on the excruciating difficulties of the day.”

Joseph’s change in perspective brought deepening sanctification, as reflected in this letter to a friend: “After having been inclosed in the walls of a prison for five months it seems to me that my heart will always be more tender after this than ever it was before. … I think I never could have felt as I do now if I had not suffered the wrongs that I have suffered.”

From her playhouse inside the willow thicket Hannah heard her mother call, “Where are you, dear? I need you.”
After putting her clothespin dolls in their secret hiding place, Hannah went into the house.
“I’m glad you came so quickly, Hannah,” Mother said with a smile. “I must hurry over to Sister Hansen’s house. Would you please bring some potatoes from the root cellar so I can start supper when I come back.”
“Oh, Mother!” Hannah’s skin prickled with dread. “The cellar’s full of spiders, and today I saw a toad hop out. I don’t want to go down there.”
“Sometimes we all must do things we don’t want to do. Take your little brother with you if you like,” Mother said, putting her hand on Sammy’s shoulder.
“I’ll go with you,” Sammy said good-naturedly. And standing tall and brave, he added, “I’m not afraid of anything!”
But after their mother started down the lane, her long skirt swinging and her flowered sunbonnet bright, Sammy said, “I don’t like that old root cellar much either.”
“I’ll tell Mother if you don’t come,” scolded Hannah.
Her brother poked his hands into his overall pockets defiantly and wouldn’t budge. Hannah glared at him a moment and then, trying to look brave, marched toward the slanting plank door placed at ground level behind the house. She lifted the door, then closed it quickly. Just to look at the uneven steps cut into the damp earth made Hannah shudder.
Spiders and dimness were bad enough, but yesterday she’d heard Father say to Mr. Hansen, “When we finish that irrigation ditch to my property line, I must take time to finish my root cellar. Those temporary supports propping up that dirt roof might not hold.”
If I had only remembered to tell Mother what Father said, thought Hannah, she wouldn’t want me and Sammy to go into the cellar. She turned to walk away. Then Hannah remembered how sad and weak Mother looked since the new baby died and how hard Father had to work. Hannah knew she must do her share, but she decided her brother would have to go with her whether he wanted to or not.
Hannah turned to Sammy, who had followed her. “You go down first,” she ordered.
“Not me!” his freckled face was stubborn.
“You’re just a fraidycat!”
Sammy cried, “I am not! Dumb old toads and spiders don’t scare me.” With that, he stooped and threw open the cellar door, and his sister barely managed to stop it from banging shut again.
Hannah started down the steps behind her brother, walking backward so she could prop the door open. Then Sammy’s voice, echoing in the small enclosure, mocked, “Hannah’s a fraidycat!”
Angry, she swung around, lost her hold on the door, and it banged shut, knocking her down the steps.
Hannah rose to her knees, terrified by the darkness. If toads and spiders were near, she couldn’t even see them.
“Hannah, what happened?” cried Sammy. But she didn’t answer because she was startled at the heaviness of wet earth falling on her head and shoulders.
The roof is caving in! she thought. The door banging shut must have knocked the boards loose that Father had used as props.
Nearby she heard her little brother call, “Oh, Hannah, help! I’m all covered with dirt!”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Sammy,” Hannah promised as she groped in the dark, trying to find the door to shove it open. But her searching hands clutched at only wet dirt. The entrance was blocked. She and Sammy were trapped in the root cellar.
The darkness around them was like nothing Hannah had ever imagined. Blue-dark of night with silver starlight was nothing like this brown-dark with its loamy dankness, a blackness filled with shifting dirt particles.
Sammy was crying with loud, choking sobs. I mustn’t cry, Hannah thought, even though I’m scared too. We don’t have enough air, and my chest is beginning to hurt.
She reached for her brother. When her hand touched his shoulder she struggled closer so that she could hug him.
“Don’t cry, Sammy,” she comforted. “We must try to breathe carefully so we don’t use up all the air in here.”
He gulped, “What can we do, Hannah?”
“We can pray,” she told him, and then closing her eyes Hannah began, “Heavenly Father, please help me and Sammy. We’re almost buried in this cellar and nobody’s home. Please help us get out.”
Talking hurt her throat so she said, “Amen,” silently. The air in the cellar was nearly gone.
Hannah was no longer worried about toads and spiders as she reached around the area where she and Sammy crouched. Her fingers touched a rough object. Running her hand across its surface she knew she had found a board Father had used to support the roof.
“Help me, Sammy,” she gasped. “Let’s try to poke a hole through over our heads.”
Her brother’s hands met hers. Together they grasped the splintery board, pushing it upright until Hannah felt it strike solid dirt.
“All right, Sammy. Let’s push, but be careful. We mustn’t knock any more dirt loose.”
Silent, gasping, they carefully prodded the unseen roof over their heads again and again.
Just as Sammy whispered, “I’m too tired, Hannah,” the board pushed free. They had broken through!
Sammy’s hands dropped, but Hannah, trembling, worked the board back and forth until she saw a blue circle of light. They had air, but would it be enough? There was still a tightness in her chest and Sammy, sobbing again, sounded feeble.
Hannah took a breath, then held it. “What’s that noise?” she whispered.
A steady thud, thump, thud vibrated the dirt around them. Someone is outside, but Mother wouldn’t have come back from the Hansens so soon, Hannah decided.
Suddenly an opening that let in more light and air appeared near the door and a man’s voice called, “Anybody there?”
“Yes! We’re in here.”
“You OK?”
Hannah couldn’t answer, but the man said, “Hang on. I’ll have you out in a minute.”
When a pair of hands appeared, Hannah somehow managed to push Sammy toward the opening where he could be pulled out. Then she felt strong fingers around her wrists, and she was tugged through the small opening made in the damp earth.
Hannah blinked in the bright, clean air as Brother Card looked down at her, a smile on his bearded face.
She stumbled to her feet beside Sammy just as Father’s horse clattered up. Jumping down, he ran to Sammy and Hannah and hugged them close. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
“We are now, Father,” Hannah answered, “but we nearly smothered. The roof of the cellar caved in.”
“It’s all my fault,” Father said, rubbing his forehead. “I should have fixed that roof long ago.”
Brother Card comforted, “Now, don’t blame yourself, Joseph. Every settler in town has had more work to do than he has had time for.”
“Hannah saved us, Father,” Sammy said. “We poked a hole through the roof with a board.”
“That’s what I saw when I came by, which was a mighty strange thing for me to do,” Brother Card explained. “I haven’t cut across your property in the two years we’ve been neighbors, Joseph. Wasn’t going to this afternoon either. But for some reason my feet turned this way. First thing you know I saw that board sticking through the ground, waving like a signal. Guess the Lord guided me here.”
Sammy and Hannah smiled at each other. “Brother Card, we know He did,” Hannah said quietly.

One day while attending a stake fireside, I had the impression that I needed to serve in the temple. I was surprised because the idea had never crossed my mind before, but I talked with my bishop about it, and he was supportive and glad that I wanted to serve.
A few months later, I became an ordinance worker at the Manti Utah Temple. Though I was excited for the opportunity, I was a little concerned that it would be a burden on my time. It was the beginning of my sophomore year of college, and I always tried to keep myself busy with school. I consistently took 18 credits every semester and had taken on leadership roles with the student newspaper and the college literary journal.
As it turns out, I was wrong. Serving wasn’t a burden at all, but a blessing I’ll cherish throughout my life.

Everyone in Paul’s family has jobs to do on Thanksgiving Day. But when Paul’s sisters go to wake him up so that he can get started on his chores, Paul isn’t in his bed. Where’s Paul? To find out, start in the bedroom and follow each clue in order, then fill in the blanks of the last stanza with the first and last letters of each clue stanza and the first letter of the last stanza.
1 Annie and Chris went to wake Paul,
But he wasn’t in bed or out in the hall
Or in the closet with his yellow hedgehogs,
And his work clothes were gone, as well as his frogs.
2 “Look out the window and see if he’s there;
Search in each corner, under each chair.”
Then Annie told Chris, as she went out the door,
“If he’s not brushing his teeth, we’ll have to look more.”
3 Every inch of the bathroom was searched wall to wall,
But no trace of Paul could be found there at all.
“To the garden,” Chris said, we’ll quietly creep.
If he’s there, we will scare him. Now don’t make a peep.”
4 By the garden wall some flowers were missing—
In their place were Paul’s frogs, croaking and glistening!
Paul had picked flowers, his first chore done early.
His tracks led to the kitchen; they showed up quite clearly.
5 The vase in the kitchen held roses, one mum,
To place on the table when dinner would come.
Paul had left Mother without saying good-bye,
Taking some dishes from the cupboards up high.
6 Each dish was in place on the dining room table.
The napkins were folded—the best Paul was able.
Annie thought hard, then said, knitting her brow,
“Paul might be watching the TV by now.”
7 In his chair by the TV, Dad was quietly snoring,
The home team was losing; the game was quite boring.
“Who would watch this?” Annie asked with a grin,
“Perhaps Paul is playing a game in the den.”
8 Down in the den a warm fire had been built,
And on a card table puzzle pieces lay spilt.
The edge was all done, showing part of a zoo.
“He’s been here and gone. Now what shall we do?
9 “Will we ever find Paul?” Chris impatiently asked.
“Since his chores are all done, we could eat dinner at last.”
“Oh, I see him now,” Annie whispered real low.
“See him? He’s there—____________________________ _______________
Answer:

A Relief Society sister in Ghana visits a woman who thirsts for truth but cannot read. To give her sister the opportunity to drink deeply of gospel truths, the visiting teacher tries to be with her as often as possible. She reads the scriptures to her sister and explains their meaning, in her native tongue.
Through their daily acts of service, these women partake of and pass on to others the water springing up into eternal life.

I had always planned on serving a mission when I turned 20, the age of missionaries at the time. After playing two seasons of football at Utah State University, I had a difficult decision to make. I knew that, at that time, very few returned missionaries played football after their missions. I had put a lot of effort into football, and I loved the game. I decided to delay my mission a few months so I could play one more season and then serve a mission. By the end of that season, I had won the starting quarterback position for the next year.
My coach was surprised and disappointed that after all my hard work in football, I was going to leave. He encouraged me to stay and play my final season. He couldn’t understand why I would walk away from this opportunity. I listened to his comments and his logic, but I told him that I could not wait another year to go on my mission. If I did, I feared I would miss my opportunity to serve a mission. After all my hard work in football, I said good-bye to the team and left for Great Britain to serve the Lord.
I never regretted that decision. I learned so many things on my mission. To witness people embracing the gospel was an incredible experience, which shaped the rest of my life in many important ways. My mission helped make me into the person I am today and had far greater impact on me than football ever could have.

“My two younger brothers and I all had chores to do on the farm. My family raised cattle, milk cows, horses, chickens, and pigs, plus the grain and alfalfa to feed them. We children gathered eggs and helped with the feeding of the calves and the cows in the dairy herd. Each spring Dad would give us a calf to train and groom for the Franklin County Fair in the fall.
“I learned a lot about the willfulness of those animals. It seemed that every time I got my calf cleaned up, it would lie down and get dirty again, and I had to start over. Teaching an animal to lead on a rope halter took patience and consistency.
“One year I had a calf all ready for the fair to be held the next day. We put it in a stanchion in the barn and laid down fresh straw to keep the calf clean. In the morning we found that the calf had hanged itself in the stanchion. I learned a significant lesson: In spite of some failures and heartbreaks, I could rise above them. I have a happier memory of another year when I won second place overall for show and form for an animal that I had groomed.”

As the soft, gray drizzle grew into a steady downpour, Mackinzee Waters pushed a damp wisp of hair from her eyes and quickly finished filling the bucket with wild blackberries. She pulled her shawl tighter about her and glanced up at the steely sky. Huge black clouds were unfurling, and thunder boomed like Civil War cannons. The weather seemed much like her life—harsh and indifferent, even though her family was trying hard to live by God’s commandments. Sure, she sometimes argued with her older brother, Chase, or did her chores begrudgingly, but were those offenses worthy of all the misfortune that had befallen her family?
Lightning seared through the dark day, its crooked fingers of white clawing the heavy air. It had been lightning that burned down their prairie home just two years before.
Mackinzee and her family had been in church at the time. Why would God let such a thing happen while we were worshiping? she wondered now as she hurried back toward the sod house built in the face of the small hillock by a stand of cottonwoods. Was he punishing us for something, or had he somehow completely forgotten us?
She paused by a small grave under a scraggly willow and gazed at the little headstone:
Eric Waters
Born December 15, 1867
Died May 22, 1869
Her baby brother had passed away the year before, stung to death by a swarm of bees. Why? Why did God let it happen?
Distracted by the sound of someone’s knuckle tapping at a window, she glanced at the sod house. Papa was beckoning through the rain-smeared glass. He was lying in bed as he had been since being mauled three months ago by a grizzly that had wandered down from the timber. Doc Gunnerson had said that it would be another three months before Papa’s leg would be mended enough for him to go back to the fields. It had been a real struggle for Mama and fourteen-year-old Chase and herself to manage without him.
Mama met her at the door. “You’d best get out of those wet clothes, honey, before you catch your death.”
Mackinzee set the pot of berries down hard on the table. “Why should I expect anything different, Mama, after everything else that’s happened to us?” She turned abruptly and disappeared into a small adjoining room, the door closing behind her with a bang.
Chase looked up from a boot he was polishing with soot from the bottom of a stove lid, shook his head, and chuckled to himself. “She sounds more growly than a hungry bear.”
“She has been awful moody lately,” Papa admitted.
On Monday, Chase dragged the big black washtub into the yard and fetched water from a nearby stream. Mama heated water in a kettle on the stove, and Mackinzee carried it out and poured it into the tub until there was enough to do the laundry.
The washing took most of the day. Finally mother and daughter hung out the wet clothes on a rope stretched between two trees. As they did, Mama paused and glanced over at Mackinzee. A gentle breeze tugged at the young girl’s auburn hair that glowed in the sunlight like rusty gold. She was a pretty girl. “As pretty as a spring fawn,” Papa often commented, “with a gold-dust shine that could dazzle the hardest of hearts.”
But today that simple loveliness was overshadowed by lines of deep despair. This wasn’t the first time Mama had observed her daughter’s unhappiness. But whenever she had asked about it, Mackinzee always smiled and shrugged it off.
“What are you staring at, Mama?” Mackinzee asked, at the same moment realizing she had just given her mother an opportunity to enter her most guarded thoughts. Mackinzee was attempting a quick evasive smile when her mother stroked her cheek.
The gentle gesture broke the barrier that held back a sea of pent-up hurt and anger, and she broke into sobs.
Mama quickly pulled her close. “What’s the matter, honey,” she soothed. “What’s been tearing at you so?”
Papa pulled back a curtain by his bed and squinted out through the weather-streaked glass. “Do you know where your sister and your mama are, Chase? I saw them hanging out clothes about an hour ago. Now they’ve disappeared.”
Chase splashed water on his face and neck and rubbed them vigorously to get off as much sweat and field dirt as he could, then turned to his father. “When I came in from the field just now, I saw them sitting on the big log by the creek. They looked to be deep in talk.”
Papa gazed back out the window and nodded. “Good,” he said quietly. “Good.”
Out in the field, Mama put her comforting arm around Mackinzee. “I don’t expect there’s anything sadder than a body keeping a world of heartache to herself, honey, unless it’s thinking that she must.”
Mackinzee rubbed at a hot tear that oozed from a swollen eye. “I didn’t want to add to your or Papa’s worries by—”
Mama placed a gentle finger across her daughter’s lips. “Do you think your papa and I haven’t been concerned over not knowing what’s been troubling you? It’s a lot easier to puzzle out a problem once you have all the pieces before you on the table, right?” At Mackinzee’s slow, tentative nod, Mama continued, “And now let’s try to do that, shall we?”
Mackinzee agreed, but her first question almost caught in her throat. “Why does God allow bad things to happen to us? Is he punishing us?”
“Sometimes he allows misfortune to befall someone because of wrong choices. For every one of our actions, there is a consequence.”
Mackinzee’s eyes dropped. “Sometimes I haven’t done my chores with a good heart, Mama. And Chase and I get in arguments. Maybe Heavenly Father—”
Mama squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Shame on you for being normal,” she chuckled. “Besides,” she added, “I don’t believe that even bad experiences are wasted. Most can be for our profit and learning. It’s all in the way we accept them. And in how we deal with them.”
“Then you don’t think God has forgotten us?”
“If he counts every sparrow that falls, like the scriptures teach us, it’s a sure fact that he keeps track of the rest of us.” Mama’s eyes misted. “It’s in me to know that he keeps company with the afflicted,” she added with a granite conviction.
“Then why … ?”
Mama regarded her daughter with a look that was so profoundly reverent and alive with testimony that it made Mackinzee pause. “How do you suppose one would get to the top of that mountain over there?”
Mackinzee gazed off at the purple form that rose and fell at the bottom of the sky. “By climbing it, of course.”
“Yes. And always remember that heaven is up too. By climbing the mountains of adversity in our lives, we can develop our spiritual muscles. Doctrine and Covenants 136:31 [D&C 136:31] says that the Lord’s people ‘must be tried in all things, that they may be prepared to receive the glory that [he has] for them.’”
As Mackinzee thought about this, Mama reached down and picked up a shiny river rock. “We must learn to let the waves that beat upon our shores wash away the weaker parts and leave in its wake a stronger man or woman.” She stood and went over to a wild rose plant and plucked a blossom with its stem. “If rain can make the flowers grow, then why not the rest of us?” She ran a finger lightly across a large barb on the stem. “This thorn flower can teach us a valuable lesson, honey,” she counseled gently. “A rose without a thorn is only half a rose.”
A slow smile rippled across Mackinzee’s face. She would learn to be happy, even when it rained.
Mama pinched off the thorn with her thumbnail, then put the rose in Mackinzee’s hair. The girl stood and took her mother’s hand, and they started toward home.

I also remember the day I discovered death. I was 16 and had a brand-new 20-gauge shotgun. I had gone pheasant hunting that morning and, like every hunt since I had been given the gun, had failed to hit anything. It was late afternoon, and I was skirting a hill north of my home when I saw a bird standing about 18 meters in front of me. I raised the shotgun and fired. A cloud of dust and feathers signaled a direct hit.
I ran to the spot and there found, flapping painfully on the ground, a wounded meadowlark. It stopped moving as I reached down to pick it up. Instantly, the excitement drained from the day, and in the pit of my stomach grew a sickness I’ve since learned to call disgust. I had killed, not for food or for any other useful reason, but simply for the pleasure of killing. I was ashamed. The meadowlark was gone—and with it a small part of my youth.

This Church began in the very early days of its history to provide for the erection of a temple (see Doctrine and Covenants 36:8; 42:36; 133:2). On the first day of June 1833, in a revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Lord directed the immediate building of a holy house in which He promised to endow His chosen servants with power and authority (see Doctrine and Covenants 95). The people responded to the call with willingness and devotion. In spite of dire poverty and in the face of unrelenting persecution, the work was carried to completion, and in March 1836 the first temple of modern times was dedicated at Kirtland, Ohio (see Doctrine and Covenants 109). The dedicatory services were marked by divine manifestations comparable to those attending the offering of the first temple of olden times, and on later occasions heavenly beings appeared within the sacred precincts with revelations of the divine will to man. In that place the Lord Jesus was again seen and heard (see Doctrine and Covenants 110:1–10).

Within two years from the time of its dedication, the Kirtland Temple was abandoned by the people who built it; they were forced to flee because of persecution, and with their departure the sacred temple became an ordinary house.

Fifty-five years ago, I knew a young man, Robert Williams, who held the office of priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. When he spoke, Robert stuttered and stammered, void of control. He was self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and everybody else; this impediment was devastating to him. Rarely did he accept an assignment; never would he look another person in the eye; always would he gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the responsibility to baptize another.
I sat next to Robert in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I knew he needed all the help he could get. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I asked him how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost uncontrollably that he felt terrible.
We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. The clerk then said, “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.”
Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He spoke the words, “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
And he baptized her. Not once did he stutter! Not once did he falter! A modern miracle had been witnessed. Robert then performed the baptismal ordinance for two or three other children in the same fashion.
In the dressing room, I hurried to congratulate Robert. I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.
I testify to you that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.
Just over two years ago it was my privilege to speak at the funeral services for Robert Williams and to pay tribute to this faithful priesthood holder who tried his best throughout his life to honor his priesthood.

Growing up, I loved watching how Grandmother’s hens would gather their chickens under their wings during storms to keep them safe and protected. This image became more important to me after reading about it in the Book of Mormon (see 3 Nephi 10:4–6). As a young adult, my bishop and his wife, who traveled a lot for their business, told me that they shared a Book of Mormon with someone on every trip they took.

As I reviewed my qualifications, my mind turned to the teachings early in my life in Primary when I was between 3 and 12 years of age. The Primary had a profound influence on my life and fortified the teachings of noble parents. Before I could move into the Aaronic Priesthood, join the Boy Scouts, or enter into senior Sunday School, I had to graduate from Primary. Two requirements were to memorize the names of the current Twelve Apostles and the thirteen Articles of Faith. I had to stand beside my bishop in a sacrament meeting and answer a question directed from him to certify my completion of Primary graduation requirements. I knew the bishop would usually ask prospective Primary graduates to repeat one of the Articles of Faith. The bishop was my father, and you can rest assured he didn’t let me off easy! Of course, he asked me to repeat the thirteenth article of faith, the longest, before he presented me with my Primary graduation certificate.

My husband, Gary, a marriage and family therapist, shares valuable insights about parent-child communication. “Asking simple questions and then listening is a great way to get children thinking,” he often tells parents. I’ve watched him do it in our home, and I’m gaining some skill in putting it into practice myself.

For example, our son came home from school one day and seemed discouraged. I said, “What’s up? You seem sad.” He replied, “Jim [not his real name] is such a jerk.” And I said, “Oh, how’s that?” I was surprised at what followed. “He’s been inviting his girlfriend over to his house every day after school since his mom started working.” Resisting the temptation to begin a magnificent sermon on morality, I said, “Hmmmmm.” And he said, “It’s so stupid. He’s just asking for trouble.” That was definitely similar to what I would have said, only more concise. I asked, “What do you mean?” Then a flood of information poured forth regarding all the dangers of being alone in a house with a girlfriend. But it didn’t stop there. He discussed all sides of the issue, including the terrible effects of venereal disease and abortion. All I did was listen and agree. I’m convinced he would have heard very little of the sermon had it been preached by me.

At school my friend asked me to hold his comic book. I opened it and looked at the pictures. I saw violent pictures that made me feel uncomfortable, so I closed the book and gave it back to my friend. It made me feel good to not look at the pictures. I know that I listened to the Holy Ghost.

The story is told of a man who simply would not work. He wanted to be taken care of in every need. To his way of thinking, the Church or the government, or both, owed him a living because he had paid his taxes and his tithing. He had nothing to eat but refused to work to care for himself. Out of desperation and disgust, those who had tried to help him decided that since he would not lift a finger to sustain himself, they might as well just take him to the cemetery and let him pass on. On the way to the cemetery, one man said, “We can’t do this. I have some corn I will give him.”
So they explained this to the man, and he asked, “Have the husks been removed?”
They responded, “No.”
“Well, then,” he said, “drive on.”

Passing the Flame
On 7 March, the First Presidency and members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles stood in front of the Church Administration Building to pass the Paralympic flame. Standing on the steps, the First Presidency welcomed the flame from torchbearer Carrie Snoddy of Park City, Utah. She handed her torch to President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, who handed it to President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, who then passed it to President Gordon B. Hinckley.
President Hinckley raised the torch for spectators to see. “Welcome, welcome, to the Paralympics, to these great athletes who have excelled!” he said. “Go forward! Win the race! Claim the pennant! Be happy, be happy. We’re all with you. We’re all rooting for you. We want you to succeed, and we hope that this will be a great and marvelous and wonderful occasion for everyone who participates. Let everyone be a winner. Hurray!”
President Hinckley than passed the torch to Margaret Stocks of the Brigham City Second Ward, Brigham City Utah Box Elder Stake, who carried it on its way.

My second example emphasizes the importance of persevering through the trial of our faith. A few years ago a family traveled to Europe from the United States. Shortly after arriving at their destination, a 13-year-old son became quite ill. The mother and father initially thought his upset stomach was caused by fatigue from the long flight, and the family routinely continued on its journey.

As the day continued, the son’s condition became worse. Dehydration was increasing. The father gave his son a priesthood blessing, but no improvement was immediately evident.

Several hours passed by, and the mother knelt by her son’s side, pleading in prayer to Heavenly Father for the boy’s well-being. They were far from home in an unfamiliar country and did not know how to obtain medical assistance.

The mother asked her son if he would like to pray with her. She knew that merely waiting for the anticipated blessing would not be enough; they needed to continue to act. Explaining that the blessing he had received was still in effect, she suggested again petitioning in prayer, as did the ancient Apostles, “Lord, Increase our faith” (Luke 17:5). The prayer included a profession of trust in priesthood power and a commitment to persevere in doing whatever might be required for the blessing to be honored—if that blessing at that time was in accordance with God’s will. Shortly after they offered this simple prayer, the son’s condition improved.

The faithful action of the mother and her son helped to invite the promised priesthood power and in part satisfied the requirement that we “dispute not because [we] see not, for [we] receive no witness until after the trial of [our] faith” (Ether 12:6). Just as the prison holding Alma and Amulek did not tumble to the earth “until after their faith,” and just as Ammon and his missionary brethren did not witness mighty miracles in their ministries “until after their faith” (see Ether 12:12–15), so the healing of this 13-year-old boy did not occur until after their faith and was accomplished “according to their faith in their prayers” (D&C 10:47).

Tears of frustration filled my eyes, so I couldn’t make sense of the words I had been reading.
“And it came to pass that I beheld others pressing forward,” read the verses I was studying for seminary. “And they came forth and caught hold of the end of the rod of iron; and they did press forward through the mist of darkness, clinging to the rod of iron, even until they did come forth and partake of the fruit of the tree” (1 Ne. 8:24).
I was 14 and struggling. I didn’t have many friends. Those I had were beginning to experiment with alcohol, tobacco, pornography, and immoral behavior. The pressure to participate was growing daily. I was struggling to stand up for my beliefs. I was struggling to find friends. I could understand why temptation was called “mists of darkness” (1 Ne. 12:17). I felt blind to the light of the Spirit.
I was trying to do what was right, doing my best to follow “the path which led to the tree” (1 Ne. 8:22). But I could relate to those people “who had commenced in the path” but were lost because of the “mist of darkness.” I felt like I had “wandered off and [was] lost” too (1 Ne. 8:23).
I rarely cried. But that night in my room, as I read those verses, I couldn’t keep the tears from spilling out. I really felt lost, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted a solid metal handrail right there by my bed that I could grab on to and follow back to heaven.
My seminary teacher had said the rod of iron symbolizes the word of God in the scriptures and given through the prophets today. But I couldn’t hold on to a symbol. I shut my scriptures and poured my heart into prayer: “Father, where is my iron rod?”
The question stuck in my head for days. Then one night, like Lehi, I “dreamed a dream” (1 Ne. 8:2).
In my dream I was on my stomach on the seminary classroom floor. Something behind me held my legs so tightly that I couldn’t get free, and it was slowly pulling me backwards. Terror smashed me so I could hardly breathe. I was too scared to look back, but I knew I was being dragged into a darkness that would mean more than death. It meant spiritual destruction.
I looked around desperately for anything I could grab on to. It was then that I saw in front of me the Book of Mormon resting on a chair. Somehow I knew that if I could just make it to the book, I would be safe.
I woke up halfway between safety and destruction. I knew I had to go one way or the other.
Suddenly, I was more interested in the Book of Mormon. But while the dream was my wake-up call to read the Book of Mormon, it was the actual reading that changed my life. The Lord blessed me for being obedient. I found spiritual strength in the face of temptations. I found confidence to break ties with my old friends and reassurance that I was better off by myself until my prayers to find better friends were answered.
Most important, I could feel the Spirit when I read the Book of Mormon. I could feel the love of God. It felt so good I never wanted to put the book down. I had found my iron rod.
Soon after, tears again blurred the words I was reading. But this time they were tears of joy as I read Nephi’s promise to his brothers.
“And they said unto me: What meaneth the rod of iron which our father saw, that led to the tree?
“And I said unto them that it was the word of God; and whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction” (1 Ne. 15:23–34).

I once met a young sailor who was a member of the crew of an atomic submarine based in Scotland. He was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the crew. The submarine would go on extended cruises encompassing many weeks. As this young Church member was assigned to his station on his first cruise, he found that other crewmen had plastered the walls in his area with suggestive pictures of scantily clad women. This offended him. He took all the pictures down and destroyed them. He was conscious of the probable reaction of the other men but, nevertheless, had the courage to do what he thought he should. Not one picture was put up again. As a matter of fact, on that first cruise, he began to teach a Sunday School class attended by two or three of the other men. He learned an important lesson—generally speaking, others will show respect for one who has the courage of his or her convictions and isn’t afraid to do what he feels is right.