Gospel Story Finder

I would like to share with you two of the best ways I have learned in my life to build confidence in yourself and overcome your fears. (1) I remember Dave Bennion. He and I used to double date in college. We had some wonderful outings to the beach where we would make homemade ice cream or to eat at Fisherman's Wharf . Once after a double date, Dave pulled me aside and said-not in any way boasting, "When I come home from a date it is a wonderful feeling to look myself in the mirror and know that I have kept the standards of morality. It is a great feeling inside to know there has been no problem in crossing the line-that I am clearly on solid ground. It feels good just to look myself in the mirror and know that there are no problems with morality and chastity."
Remember Doctrine and Covenants 121:45 "Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly -- then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God". This is a principle with a promise.
Thank heavens for the Dave Bennions of the world.

Lidia trudged up the long farm lane, not even turning to wave to her friends still on the school bus. Her mind was too heavy with her problem: What can I possibly find between now and tomorrow morning to take to the class auction? As if a new language, a new school, and new friends were not difficulties enough, now she would have to go empty-handed to the auction.
Her problem was instantly forgotten, however, when she opened the cottage door and saw a letter on the floor. Mr. Williams, the owner of the farm where her parents both worked, must have pushed it under the door. It bore an official-looking return address, and it had a Red Cross emblem in the upper left-hand corner. She knew that she would have to be patient until her parents came home for supper; then she would read it to them. Without the advantage of school, which Lidia had in this new country, her parents’ knowledge of English was still scanty.
If only the letter contained some good news about her uncle! Lidia propped the envelope up against the only ornament on the bureau, a little blue glass pony. As her fingers touched the figurine, she prayed fervently that it would soon be reunited with its mate, the one that used to sit by its side in their house in Poland. When they had sadly made plans to leave their beleaguered country and go to America, not knowing when—or even if—they might meet again, the two Jelinek brothers had each taken one of the glass ponies, praying that they would be together again one day.
Mr. Williams, who admired the pony one day and was told the story, had written to the Red Cross, asking for information. Surely this letter would tell them that Uncle Jan was now in this country too!
Lidia snapped out of her reverie and got out pots for the vegetables that her mother had prepared earlier. As she set the table, she looked on all the cupboard shelves. There was nothing that she could take to the auction sale tomorrow! Not a trinket, not a spare dish, nothing. There were only the bare necessities that the Williamses had kindly provided for them. The auction, with its proceeds going to the Junior Red Cross, was an annual affair in the country school, but it was a new experience for Lidia. She dreaded being the only one in her class not to add some object to the collection on Miss Pearson’s desk.
The door suddenly opened, and Lidia rushed with the letter to greet her parents. And while they waited apprehensively, she stumbled through the unfamiliar phrases as she read the letter to them. Then, as she came to the closing sentence, she slowly read these discouraging words: “We are sorry that we have found no trace of your brother. However, be assured that we will keep trying …”
“I’ll wash,” Father said quietly, “then we’ll eat supper.”
After the usual prayer of thanks for food and shelter, Father told of a sick cow that was now getting well; Mother had helped Mrs. Williams clean the attic of the rambling old farmhouse.
“And how was school, Lidia,” Father asked.
The girl kept her eyes on her plate as she answered, “Fine, Father. Fine.”
“But you are very quiet,” Father pursued. “You have trouble at school?”
“No, no trouble.”
“So?”
“Well, there’s an auction at school tomorrow, and I should take something.”
“What is an auction?” Mother asked.
“Oh, everybody takes something, then the teacher asks for bids, and the one who bids the highest buys the book or whatever. The money goes to the Red Cross.”
“That is good,” Father said, nodding. “The Red Cross helped us many times. Here, take this.” Fishing in his pocket, he drew out a crumpled dollar bill.
“No thanks, Father,” Lidia said, pushing it away. “I have money of my own from weeding. But we are supposed to take something that can be sold.”
Father’s eyes looked around the room. “There is so little here.”
Lidia’s face crumpled. “I know,” she blurted. “There’s nothing I can take—nothing in this place!” She hung her head to hide her smarting eyes and wished that she had kept her words in check.
The girl waited for a rebuke; instead, her father got up slowly and went over to the bureau. He stood a minute, then he came back with the glass pony in his hand. “Take this,” he said quietly.
Lidia’s eyes widened. “The pony?”
Father nodded.
Lidia fingered the smooth blue glass and touched the dark eyes. Nobody spoke. She was touched by her father’s offer, and she sensed that her smiling, nodding parents were thinking back to happier days when there were two little ponies standing together on the top of a piano.
In the morning, the glass ornament sparkled on Miss Pearson’s sunny desk, and it brought the highest bid of one dollar. Nancy Crane, its new owner, wrapped it carefully in tissues and put it in her lunch pail.
At supper that night, Lidia described the sale and told her parents that Nancy said that she would take good care of the pony.
“It’s good,” Father said, smiling, “that the pony helps the Red Cross in a very small way.”
While Lidia was wiping the dishes after supper, a knock on the door startled them. Looking past her father at the open door, Lidia saw her schoolmate Nancy. With her was a tall man.
“Hi, Lidia,” the girl called. “This is my father, and we’ve come to see you about the glass pony.”
As they sat around the table, Nancy’s father took the glass pony out of his pocket, set it on the table, and began explaining: “I couldn’t believe it when Nancy brought this home. Your Lidia had told her that it was but one of a pair and that you left the other in Poland.”
“Yah,” Mr. Jelinek replied, “with my brother.”
“Well, folks,” the other man paused dramatically. “I’ve seen the mate to this pony.”
Lidia saw Father’s hands clench tightly, and Mother’s hand cover her mouth. “You are sure of this?” Father whispered.
“As sure as my name’s Walt Crane. I saw it only a few months ago.”
“How, Mr. Crane?” Lidia asked. “I mean, who had it?”
“A young fellow came asking for work. I didn’t need any extra help, but I knew that my cousin in Grand Falls did, so I drove him there. I saw the mate to this pony when I helped him settle in.”
“This place, is it far?” Lidia asked.
“About a hundred miles. Listen, folks, come home with me, and I’ll phone my cousin. As best as I can recollect, that young man did look like you, Mr. Jelinek. He must be your brother.”
The Jelineks were almost too happy to talk as Mrs. Crane and Nancy took them back home—Uncle Jan would be with them again tomorrow!
Lidia gave Nancy another grateful hug, then said thoughtfully, “It’s really funny. Just yesterday a letter from the Red Cross said that they had not found Uncle Jan yet but that they’d keep trying. And it was actually through the Red Cross auction today that we have found him!”
Nancy had happy tears in her own eyes. “My grandma always says, ‘God often works in mysterious ways.’ And I guess that it must be true. I’m just glad that I could help Him this time.” She slipped the glass pony into Lidia’s pocket. “Keep it, Lidia. Soon they’ll be a pair again.”

Sister Gayle Clegg of the Primary general presidency and her husband lived for a number of years in Brazil. Recently she had a Primary assignment in Japan. As she came into the chapel on Sunday, she noticed among the Japanese Saints a Brazilian family. “They just looked Brazilian,” she said. She only had a minute to greet them and found the mother and children very enthusiastic but noticed that the father was rather quiet. “I’ll have a chance to talk with them after the meeting,” she thought as she was quickly ushered to the stand. She delivered her message in English, which was translated into Japanese, and then she felt impressed to bear her testimony in Portuguese as well. She hesitated as there were no translators for Portuguese, and 98 percent of the people would not understand what she said.

After the meeting the Brazilian father came up to her and said, “Sister, the customs are so different here, and I have been lonely. It is difficult to come to church and not understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off just reading my scriptures at home. I told my wife, ‘I’ll give it one more chance,’ and I came today for what I thought would be the last time. When you bore your testimony in Portuguese, the Spirit touched my heart, and I knew that this was where I belonged. God knows I am here, and He will help me.” And he joined the others in putting away the chairs.

Was it a coincidence that the only Portuguese-speaking member of the Primary presidency was sent to Japan instead of to Portugal? Or was it because the Lord knew someone there needed what only she could give—and she had the courage to follow a prompting of the Spirit? One of the great blessings of having a calling in the Church is that the Lord, through His Spirit, will inspire us to help those we are called to serve.

As mission president, I attended a mission Relief Society conference. Our mission Relief Society president, a relatively recent convert, announced something of a course correction. Some local societies had strayed, and she invited them to conform more closely to the direction set by the general presidency of the Relief Society.
One sister in the congregation stood and defiantly told her that they were not willing to follow her counsel, saying they were an exception. A bit flustered, she turned to me for help. I didn’t know what to do. I was not interested in facing a fierce woman. So I motioned for her to proceed. Then came the revelation!
This lovely Relief Society president, small and somewhat handicapped physically, said with gentle firmness: “Dear sister, we’d like not to take care of the exception first. We will take care of the rule first, and then we will see to the exceptions.” The course correction was accepted.

This story happened in the USA.
Bradley dumped another cup of sand into his bucket. He was going to need lots!
His school’s science fair was soon. Bradley was making a model that showed how tsunamis worked. He learned that a tsunami is a big wave of water caused by an earthquake in the ocean. He wanted his project to be perfect. Maybe he would win a prize!
When his bucket was full, Bradley gathered some sticks. Then he found a plastic bin and some small toy houses in the basement.
Bradley poured the sand into the bin to make the land. He carefully placed the houses and trees. Next came the exciting part—the water! Once he poured it in, he could push a piece of cardboard through the water to create the wave.
But then he made a big mistake. He poured in too much water! The houses were flooded—and he hadn’t even made the wave yet. The wet sand made a goopy, muddy mess.
Bradley called to his mom in the kitchen. “What should I do now? I put too much water in.”
“That’s OK. You can just start over,” said Mom. “Let’s do it together and measure a little at a time.”
“OK.” Bradley hung his head and went outside to get more sand.
This time they carefully measured the right amount of water and poured it in. Bradley moved the cardboard and watched the waves crash against the sand. It worked!
Next Bradley and Mom worked on his poster. He started writing some fun facts about tsunamis. But the words didn’t fit on the page.
“I don’t want to write it all over again!” Bradley said. His head began to ache.
“We don’t have to rewrite all of it,” said Mom. “We can just reword it so it will fit on the page.”
Bradley groaned. His poster did not look at all like he wanted it to. “I don’t want to do that. It will look bad if the words don’t fit perfectly.”
“Learning can be hard.” Mom gave him a hug. “Sometimes we make mistakes. But the important thing is that we don’t give up. Heavenly Father wants us to keep trying. So let’s take a break and finish in the morning.”
The next morning, they finished his poster. It wasn’t perfect, but Bradley felt a little better about it.
Finally the day of the science fair came. Mom dropped Bradley off at school. “Remember,” she said, “you worked hard on your project and learned a lot. And that’s what matters.”
Bradley carried his project to the big gym. It was full of projects and posters. All the fourth-graders were sitting down and waiting for their turn to show their project.
Soon it was Bradley’s turn. His heart beat fast as he walked to the front. What if everything went wrong?
Bradley pushed the cardboard through the water and showed the judges how the waves crashed against the land.
“What causes those big waves in the ocean?” one of the judges asked.
“The big waves are caused by . . .” Bradley’s mind went blank. “I can’t remember. But I can tell you some fun facts about tsunamis.” He read them the facts on his poster.
After school Bradley climbed into the car with his project.
“How did it go?” Mom asked.
“Not exactly the way I wanted.” Bradley smiled. “But I did my best and kept trying.”

Well, I’m the eighth child in a family of nine, and I wonder if I gave my older brothers and sisters such a hard time. Oh, I’m sure that I did things like spill food on their clothes as they were heading out the door for a date, but it seemed that no matter how badly I embarrassed them, they still treated me kindly. I admired them a lot.
I especially looked up to my older sister Lynette. I started second grade when she entered college. We both had a love for music. She was majoring in music composition and spent many hours at the piano. When she practiced, I often sat on the couch next to the piano and listened to her play. I watched as her fingers glided over the keys and wondered if I would ever be able to play like that. I liked to think that by keeping her company, I was helping her out in some way.
One day as I listened to her practice, I noticed she was playing something new. “Hey, Lynette! That sounds like wind chimes!” I said.
She explained to me that she was composing a piece for her class. She then decided to name the song “Wind Chimes.” She even let me help her with it. She showed me which two notes to play on the organ pedals while she played the rest of the song on the piano. I tried in vain to keep the right rhythm, and she just smiled and said, “Try to keep it even, Rebecca.”
By then I was feeling pretty special. I couldn’t believe that she was letting me, a second grader, help her with her college homework.
A few days later Lynette told me that her composition had been graded. She said that “we” got an A! I was on cloud nine. I was happy for her, and at the same time I felt like a princess because she had let me be a part of it.
Now I’m a freshman in college and going through the struggles of being a music major myself. I even have some of the same teachers that she had. There are times when I have difficult questions, and I know just who to go to for help. Although Lynette is now married and lives miles away, I call her and she patiently explains the theory of music to me. For those few moments, it feels like we are once again a team. Nothing makes me happier than to be able to phone her again a few days later and say, “Hey, Lynette! We got another A!”
As the years come and go, I’ll always remember the time my big sister shared with me. She took the time to make me feel special—to let me know she cared. It’s a great lesson I learned about sisterhood.

During our first holidays together as a married couple in 1973, my husband received a $40 Christmas bonus. Though we didn’t have much money for gifts, we decided to spend the bonus on a family who had recently lost their husband and father. We had so much fun shopping for presents and then leaving them on the family’s doorstep that we made the secret project a family tradition.
Over the years we were blessed with four children. As soon as each child grew tall enough, he or she would take a turn at Christmastime wearing a special coat that we used only once a year. Adult-sized, dark in color, and hooded, the coat made a perfect disguise for sneaking up to someone’s doorstep in the dark to leave gifts.
Every autumn we would vote on who our secret family would be that Christmas and on what gifts we would give them. The children would decide who would have the honor of wearing the Christmas coat and delivering the presents that year. On abundant years, we would give homemade quilts or clothing along with toys, books, and goodies; on leaner years, we would give stockings filled with smaller items.
When Christmas Eve finally arrived, the lucky child would don the coat and put on gloves and large boots to complete the disguise. With everyone in the car, we’d park a short distance from the chosen house, and our little elf would make his or her way to the front porch. The fear of being seen or suspected made it even more exciting!
Back in our cozy home we would sit together with hot cocoa and bread sticks and relive the evening’s adventure. With full tummies and warm hearts, we would read the Christmas story from the Bible and appreciate what the Savior’s life taught us about service.
Christmases were always wonderful, and we never missed a year of our tradition.

I was thinking how wonderful it would be to witness such a powerful response to prayer. Then I realized I already had.

I was working with my father on the family ranch in Robertson, Wyoming, USA. It was my mother’s birthday, and her parents had invited the family to dinner at their place on Hillard Flat, east of Evanston. In order not to disappoint my mother by arriving late, my father decided to take a shortcut through the hills. Unfortunately, April was way too early in the year to attempt that particular shortcut. As we drove into the hills, it became obvious that we were the first to attempt to cross there that spring. There was still a lot of snow.

The first part of the journey went well, but then we started to find larger and larger drifts, and it became harder and harder to get around them. At one point my father, in his pride-and-joy Suburban, decided go around a large drift by climbing up the side of a hill. The truck was unable to negotiate the slippery terrain. We tipped on an angle, with my father’s side of the Suburban completely embedded in the drift. We were completely helpless and unable to continue.

I was only 10 years old at the time, and I found the adventure quite exciting. We finally had to climb out the window to get out. I did not understand the serious nature of our situation. This was long before the age of cell phones. No one knew that we had taken the shortcut. We were around 12 miles from any homes or the highway. The temperature was plummeting, and unbeknownst to me, my father was worried that we would freeze to death.

I still remember kneeling in prayer. My father asked only two things. First, which way we should walk. Second, could my mother please know something was wrong and send help. I don’t know if my father actually said, “Please, don’t let us freeze,” but I’m sure that was on his mind.

The two requests he voiced in prayer were answered almost immediately. My father felt like we should return the way we had come. At the same time (we later learned), my mother was doing the dishes when she felt distinctly that something was wrong. She counseled with my grandfather, Joseph Barker, and they also prayed. After a short time, my grandfather said, “I know where they are. They’re at Horseshoe Bend.”

Horseshoe Bend is exactly where the Suburban was embedded in the snow.

Grandpa Barker organized two rescue parties. One, led by my uncle Brent Barker, would try to go in where we would have come out. They made the attempt but ran into drifts that were impossible to pass. Grandpa and two other uncles, my father’s brothers Max and Richard Brough, came the long way around and entered at the same place where we had started. They soon found one lonely set of tracks entering and nothing returning.

In the meantime, my father kept talking to me as we were walking. He kept asking if I was tired and if I felt like I was falling asleep. I remember thinking those were strange questions. Of course I was cold—very cold and very tired. But where would I sleep? In the snow? (I have since learned that being tired and sleepy may be signs that you’re freezing to death. My dad was worried.)

After hours of walking, we finally saw the headlights of our rescuers’ trucks. When they reached us, my mother leapt out and ran to me. She swept me up and carried me to the warm vehicle. I also remember her shaking her finger at dad—we all know how mama bear reacts when baby bear is in trouble! Let’s just say that my father’s reception was not as warm as mine.

Elder Helio da Rocha Camargo, a former member of the Seventy, once told of a ward clerk who sincerely prayed that he would be able to learn what he needed to know to fulfill his calling. At the time, all statistical and financial records were kept manually, without the help of a computer. That month, it seemed every possible problem occurred for this ward clerk: bank statements did not reconcile, records contained incorrect dates, and so on. These problems brought extra and overwhelming work. That clerk went to Heavenly Father in prayer and said, “Father, I asked Thee to help me learn to be a clerk, and then all sorts of problems happened with the records.” The response came quickly to his mind: “And didn’t I help you?”

When President Russell M. Nelson worked as a surgeon, many young people asked him how long it takes to become a medical doctor. He told them that after four years of undergraduate work, they needed four more years of medical school and then another five years to become a specialist.
“That’s too long for me!” some responded.
Then President Nelson would tell them: “Preparation for your career is not too long if you know what you want to do with your life. How old will you be thirteen years from now if you don’t pursue your education? Just as old, whether or not you become what you want to be!”5

“I knew I needed to help a lot, and I even prayed to know what I should do. I felt an answer came when my grandmother, who was staying with us for a few weeks, told me a story about one of my ancestors who at age 11 had driven a covered wagon by himself across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. His parents had died along the way, and he was left to care for four younger sisters, including a baby, and take them to Zion. This story made me realize that I could be like my great-great-great-grandfather and push forward.
“I decided it would help my family if I made sack lunches for my sisters or do other duties like folding clothing and ironing and other extra chores.
“I gathered my younger sisters and brother every morning before school and carried on our family scripture reading, even though my father had left earlier for work and my mother was too sick to lead us.
“My family … grew closer together because [we] had to help each other. The greatest blessing happened on May 1, 1997, when Hannah Ada Quinn was born” (personal letter in author’s possession).
Thank you for the letter, Katie.
She learned about determination and courage and loyalty to family from her third great-grandfather who lived so long ago, and then she used those qualities as she helped her family who needed her. Many of you are doing similar things to bless and strengthen your families.

I didn’t grow up as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but through some members I met, I learned that when someone lives a clean, pure life, the Light of Christ shines in them. They become powerful examples.
My first contact with the Church was through a friend I made in college. He was a very good member of the Church who had served a mission. I had grown up in a Catholic family, so he often tried to start conversations with me about religion. But I wasn’t really interested. My friend was very clever though, and he tried again to introduce me to the Church—by setting me up on a blind date with a Latter-day Saint girl.
The minute Renée and I went on our first date, I fell in love with her completely. She was so beautiful to me. I could tell there was something special about her. Soon afterward, I was ready to be serious with her and to form a family—but after several dates, she said we shouldn’t date anymore because she liked me “too much” and she wanted to get married in the temple. To make things even worse for me, she soon left on a mission. After that, I decided I did not like the Latter-day Saints.
When she came back from her mission, our common friend invited me to a party where I could see Renée, and we started spending time together again. I had graduated from college and had a very good job, and I once again felt ready to get married. I thought I was quite a catch, so I proposed. She said no.
To keep the relationship going, I accepted the invitation to listen to the missionaries. One time she came to me and, with tears in her eyes, bore testimony of the Book of Mormon and begged me to read it. She wanted me to gain a testimony of the gospel so that she could fulfill her desire to marry in the temple. I loved her and didn’t want to disappoint her, so I said that I would. But even though I agreed to meet the missionaries, I initially met with them only so that I could buy some more time to convince Renée to marry me. I had no intention of joining a new religion.
After a few appointments with the missionaries, I still wasn’t interested. I would sit through their lessons, but I didn’t really pay attention or try to feel the Spirit. My heart was closed, because I wasn’t listening to the missionaries for me; I was listening to them for Renée. Things were going nowhere, and I still couldn’t convince Renée that I would be a good husband to her without being baptized. She stayed strong in her beliefs.
Then there was a change in the missionaries. A new missionary came to teach me, and he had an idea. He had me open the scriptures to Alma 42, and he asked me if I would read the chapter aloud to them, verse by verse. But instead of just reading it word-for-word, he wanted me to read my name into it. I didn’t really want to, but he insisted.
So I started with the first verse. “And now, Joaquin …” As soon as I read those words, the book started to talk to me. As I put my name in, I felt the power of a personal testimony.
The next part of Alma 42 teaches about the Fall of Adam and Eve, and finally comes the plan of redemption. When I came to verse 29 and read, “And now, Joaquin, I desire that ye should let these things trouble you no more,” I started to cry like a baby. I’d never cried like that before. I knew that the Book of Mormon was true—but I couldn’t even finish reading the chapter. When I finally composed myself, I told the missionaries I wanted to get baptized. Renée was so happy. I was baptized, and she finally agreed to marry me. A year later, we were sealed in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.
I am so grateful for Renée’s commitment to live the gospel and marry in the temple. Her faithful dating commitment not only strengthened her relationship to God and the gospel, but invited me to learn about the gospel as well. I know why she was so beautiful to me: because she was so clean, loving, and pure. Because of her faithfulness, I was able to develop a personal testimony of the Book of Mormon and this Church.

I worked on the old car with grandpa that whole week. And as we worked, he would tell the stories I had heard so many times. The years seemed to turn backwards and sweep us away with them.
I was cleaning the carburetor when grandpa said, “Bobby, did I ever tell you what happened when I first got this old car? I’ll never forget the look on your grandma’s face when I took her for her first ride.” He chuckled to himself, then went on. “Bobby, you’ve never seen a woman more scared in all your life. The whole time I was driving she was yelling. ‘Look out for that fence! Look out for the ditch!’ Sometimes I thought she’d yell herself hoarse. I’d swerve all over the place, and she’d scream like a baby pig caught in a fence. I learned my lesson though. The next time I tried to scare her, she gave me one. She reached over and grabbed the wheel! That woman nearly ran me into the barn!”
He laughed out loud as he remembered. Then, eyes twinkling, he was off into another story. This time it was about how he had won the motorcar race at the county fair three years in a row. Then another about how some city slicker had tried to con him out of his car and how he had “showed him a thing or two.”
The week passed quickly, too quickly in fact, and it was soon time for the fair. I picked Margie up early; I was showing a calf, and I had to be there as soon as possible.
I won a blue ribbon and was pretty proud of myself, but when I showed it to Margie, all she did was smile that same smile she had given the kids at the dance the other night. But now I knew what it was that bothered me so much about it. Her smile was one of polite disinterest, as if to say, “You guys are nice and everything, but you’re so different, so uncool.” My stomach lurched inside me and my heart sank down to my toes. The old Margie was gone, gone forever. Somehow, she had gotten lost in the city.
We didn’t talk very much on the way home. She hadn’t had a good time (she’d nearly been kicked by a cow and run over by a Tennessee Walker), and I was depressed by my discovery.
I never saw Margie again after that. I saw her grandfather in town a few days later, and he said that she had gone back to the “big city.”
The days dragged by, even though I was working on the car with grandpa. He saw by my halfhearted enthusiasm that something was wrong and tried to cheer me up with his funniest stories. I listened and slowly began to feel better.
That week we finished the work on the engine. Grandpa was excited and wanted to take her for a trial run before we started on the body. So, I opened the barn doors up all the way and stood back to watch. He got in and gently ran his hand over the seat. The gleam in his eye reminded me of the excitement of a father watching his only child take its first few steps.
He tried to start it up, but the engine just sputtered and fell silent. He tried again, and again it died.
“Third time will be the charm,” grandpa yelled.
But as he tried to start it, a terrible rasping noise came from inside along with billows of black smoke and a deafening crash.
I ran to the car. Grandpa, coughing from the smoke, got out and sat on a bale of hay. I opened the hood and peered down into the remains of the engine, all black with burnt oil and grease. It was hopeless to think of fixing it again, and I knew it would hurt grandpa deeply when I told him.
But as I glanced over at him, I knew he already knew. His face trembled as he buried it in his hands. His back was bent, like a crooked cane, and he looked so old, so lost, so alone.
I went and sat next to him with my arm on his shoulder. Looking up, he mumbled, “I only wanted to bring it back, make it new, make it the way it was when grandma and I went riding in it.”
He sat there shaking, his heart crying out for the days of the past, somehow thinking that they could be brought back, rebuilt like an old car, this old Ford.
Gently I shook his shoulder.
“Grandpa,” I said. “Grandpa. Sometimes things just can’t be brought back or rebuilt. Sometimes we can only call back the memories.”
I sat there a while longer, then left him alone to sift through his days long past. Walking out of the barn, I could hear the cows softly mooing in the pasture and the hens clucking to their little ones. The sun was warm on my face, and suddenly I knew that everything would be all right for the both of us.

In my youth I learned an important lesson about how our actions may limit our freedom. One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.

Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Though we are spiritually stuck, there is always a way back. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of resanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.

One night Sister Linda S. Reeves’s daughter came home feeling upset. Sister Reeves asked what was wrong. Her daughter told her that at a friend’s house, she had accidentally seen bad pictures on television. The pictures made her feel bad inside, and she wished she could get them out of her mind.
Sister Reeves told her daughter that through our Savior’s Atonement she could feel relief and stop hurting. Together they knelt and prayed that Heavenly Father would help her feel better. (See “Protection from Pornography—a Christ-Focused Home” from the Saturday morning session.)

Losing one of my brothers while he was serving faithfully in the Abidjan West Mission was the beginning of gloom and dark clouds for my family. Things began to go badly in all facets of our lives. My maternal family members, who are not members, made lots of allegation against my parents but that never moved my parents, because of their unwavering faith in the Savior. My dad would say “it is the will of the Lord and what the Lord sees fit for His children, He does that for them”. Having a perfect knowledge of the plan of salvation gave us an assurance that surely, we would meet and be happy with my brother again after this test of mortality.
A few months later, I made a decision that raised eyebrows all around me. I decided to serve a full-time mission too. My decision to serve came as a blow to a greater part of my family and my closest friends. Most of them, if not 100 percent of them, counselled me not to, but my desire to serve the Lord and humanity was not thwarted because I knew what foundation I was built upon and my parent’s trust and support kept me going.
Amid the impending situation, I felt so different from everyone else and I remembered the talk by President Monson in which he quotes an old Primary song: “Dare to be a Mormon; Dare to stand alone. Dare to have a purpose firm; Dare to make it known”.1
This ultimately drove me to obtain my patriarchal blessing, and in it I realized the Lord has a greater work for me and that it can be accomplished successfully only if I exercise unyielding faith in Him. That helped me press on to pursue His course.
Currently, I am serving in one of the greatest missions (if not the greatest) and this brings me joy every single day. Whenever I share the restored gospel to God’s children, bear an honest and uplifting testimony, encourage them to have faith, repent, and prepare to make covenants, I feel the same joy that Lehi felt with his family in the Book of Mormon (see 1 Nephi 8:12).
Ever since I began this journey, I strive to develop the faith to reap because having just the faith to thrust in our sickles is not enough. The faith to reap is an unwavering faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ. It’s surely unyielding. Jacob, in the Book of Mormon, also admonished us “that we truly can command in the name of Jesus and the very trees obey us, or the mountains, or the waves of the sea” (Jacob 4:6).
These are miracles that come as we exercise this faith in Jesus Christ. I know for a surety that we do not require perfection to reap but all we need is persistence, genuine intentions, and an unfailing determination.
My parent’s faith in Jesus Christ has been the backbone and driving force for me in being a full-time missionary and it gives me the strength each day to press forward, remain valiant, and return with honor because I know who I am, what I stand for and whose team I play for.

Just a month ago, while celebrating a national holiday, Elder Russell M. Nelson and I found ourselves with our children and grandchildren in a swimming pool filled with warm water and with a breathtaking view of an azure blue sky overhead. Mostly we were keeping a watchful eye on the little ones, much like a mother hen tracks the movement of her chicks. I said to Elder Nelson, “Isn’t it interesting that even though parents are watching their children, we assume the need to give overall supervision of our respective flock of grandchildren.” We had a wonderful time watching children at play and listening to their expressions of delight.
Then I noticed among those in the pool a father holding his severely handicapped son, moving the boy’s shrunken, tiny body back and forth in the pool. Other family members helped, and the lad obviously enjoyed the fun. He, however, was totally dependent. No sound of exuberant joy came forth from his lips, no splash of playful movement emanated from his almost lifeless limbs. Stricken as an infant with severe illness, he was left speechless, brain-damaged, and potentially a burden to loved ones. The boy’s grandfather said to me, “He is my grandson. All in our family love him. We enjoy his company; we respond to his needs. He is a blessing in our lives.”
Soon the crowd began to leave the pool. Laughter and play ceased. A silence shrouded the scene as the afternoon sun began its descent and the chill air reminded me it was time to go. But this tender view of love and devotion remained with me.

One cold winter night many years ago in a little village in Spain an old man named Pedro and his wife, Joanna, sat in front of a cozy fire in their home. They owned enough to be very comfortable, but instead of giving thanks to God for the benefits they enjoyed, they spent much of their time wishing for the good things their neighbors had.

“This wretched little house of ours is only fit to house a donkey!” cried Pedro. “I wish we had a fine house and farm like our neighbor, Diego!”

“His house and farm are good enough for them,” answered Joanna. “But I would like a mansion such as the one of Don Juan de la Rosa.”

“Then there’s that old donkey of ours,” went on Pedro sullenly. “Good for nothing—nothing at all. He cannot carry an empty sack! I wish I had Diego’s strong Andalusian mule!”

“O, aye!” said Joanna. “Diego’s mule is better than our donkey, but I’d like a white horse with trappings of scarlet and gold like the one of Doña Isabella. It seems that some people have only to wish in order to get a thing, but I’ve never had such luck. How wonderful it would be if we had but to speak to have our wishes come true!”

Scarcely were the words out of Joanna’s mouth when there on the hearth before the old couple stood a beautiful little lady. She was only eighteen inches tall and her dress was white and filmy and full of opal tints as though made of smoke. A smoky veil floated down from a crown of sparks on her head. In her hand she had a little golden wand and a single spark glowed on the very tip of it.

“I am Fortunata,” said she. “I have heard your complaints and have come to give you what you desire. You may have three wishes, one for each of you, and the third you shall agree upon between you. I will grant that last wish in person when I return at this time tomorrow.”

Then Fortunata sprang through the flames and disappeared. The old couple were delighted at the thought of having three wishes come true. They began to think of what they most wanted in all the world. Wishes came swarming to them as thick as bees to a hive. There were so many that came crowding to the minds of the old couple that they could not agree offhand on just which three to wish for. So they decided to put off their decision until the next day, and they began talking of different things altogether.

“I dropped in at Diego’s this morning,” said Pedro, “and they were making black puddings. Um! but they smelled good! Diego can buy the best of food. He does not have to put up with the poor food we have to eat!”

“True! True!” said Joanna. “I wish I had one of Diego’s puddings this very minute to roast on the ashes for supper!”

The words were hardly out of Joanna’s mouth when suddenly on the hearth appeared a delicious black pudding! The woman’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but Pedro jumped up in a rage. “You foolish woman!” he cried. “You have used up one of our precious wishes to ask for nothing more than one poor little pudding! It makes me so angry that I wish the silly pudding were stuck fast to your nose!”

Then before the words were hardly out of his mouth the black pudding flew across the room and fastened itself to Joanna’s nose. The old man shrieked in surprise and Joanna screamed with horror. She shook her head as hard as she could but the pudding clung fast to her nose!

“See what you have done, you foolish man!” she wailed. “I made a poor wish but it hurt only myself. Look what you have done to me!”

Then the dog and cat, sniffing the delicious odor of the pudding, came leaping up, springing and pawing to lick the pudding from Joanna’s nose!

“Down! Down!” shrieked Joanna, as she tried to drive the animals away. “For our third wish we must ask that this miserable pudding be taken off my nose!”

“Don’t ask that!” cried Pedro. “What of the new farm I wanted? Think of the palace you wanted.”

“I don’t care about that anymore,” Joanna insisted.

“Let us wish at least for a fortune,” Pedro pleaded. “Then you can have a golden case set with jewels to cover the pudding on your nose!”

“No,” said Joanna. “All I want is to be rid of this awful nose.”

“Then we shall be left just as we were before!” sighed Pedro.

“And that is all I desire,” Joanna said. “I see now we were well enough off as we were!”

No matter what Pedro said, nothing could change Joanna’s mind. And so at last they agreed.

On the following night little Fortunata rose from the flames and asked them to tell her their third wish. They answered both together, “We wish only to be as we were before.”

And immediately their wish was granted.

In early 1991 I was involved in a car accident that left most of my body paralyzed. Since then, I have had a lot of time to compare my life before that incident with my life now. In some ways it is similar. Yet there are numerous differences.
Before my accident I had the attitude that I should try to perfect the four basic aspects of my life. Ranked in order of importance at that time, they were (1) physical ability, (2) mental ability, (3) spirituality, and (4) emotional stability.
Now the order of importance of these four vital cornerstones of my life has changed.
Before the accident, my perspective was that of an 18-year-old athlete who thought he knew everything. Although I grew up in a religious family and felt good about my beliefs, spirituality was not my top priority. Instead, physical strength, speed, and quickness were more important to me than either religion or school. I felt that going to school was a necessity simply to remain eligible for sports.
Although I did fairly well academically, I often found myself practicing for the football team or the baseball team rather than studying for a test or completing a class assignment. I had academic goals and important religious goals, but these came after my athletic aspirations. The experiences I’ve had as a result of the accident have helped me better understand what is really important.
Since 16 February 1991, the day I fell asleep driving my truck, I have had the opportunity to look at life from a completely different viewpoint. I have had a lot of time to think about and adjust my priorities. I still love athletics and believe they have the potential to build character. But they are not the most important thing in my life anymore. I recognize now that my religion, my family, and my friends are the foundation for my happiness, not winning at sports.
My mind is the most precious asset I have, and I realize that it must be exercised even as my legs or my lungs were exercised in athletics. I am grateful for the opportunity I have to attend college and gain knowledge. While I have slowed down physically, I have accelerated spiritually and mentally.
Realizing that obtaining knowledge and increasing spirituality are ongoing processes, I believe that my new priorities are helping me achieve those elusive goals.
Not many people have the chance to live life from two very different points of view. I am grateful I have had this opportunity. It has helped me place my spirituality, mental capacity, emotional stability, and physical ability in order of their importance.

In March 1958, while serving as one of the first missionaries in the West Spanish-American Mission, Elder H. Aldridge Gillespie had an experience that profoundly affected his life. Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1895–1985) had been assigned to formally organize the mission, and the young Elder Gillespie, a newly called second counselor in the mission presidency, was given the opportunity to be his “chauffeur, roommate, and companion” for approximately two weeks.
“Elder Kimball had special spiritual capacities that touched my heart and influenced my opinion of what life should be and how I should live it,” Elder Gillespie recalls. “My concept of what man should be, what families should be, and how people should conduct themselves was greatly amplified in that brief time.”