Gospel Story Finder

May I share a personal experience that helped me learn many of these principles. Nearly nineteen years ago, our fifth son Benjamin was born. The day he was born, my parents left to begin serving a mission in Oakland, California. They left somewhat reluctantly because they had been called to serve as a mission office couple. Of all the possible assignments for missionary couples, they were not the least bit interested in working in a mission office. But they decided to accept the call and serve.

My professional career was exciting and promising. I was working for a growing, dynamic company. I had an important calling in our ward. Life was challenging and exciting. I was on top of my little world. Three months later, the world changed abruptly.

My wife had been increasingly concerned about Benjamin's eyes. She sensed that something wasn't right. On Thanksgiving Day, we became alarmed to discover Benjamin did not appear to have sight in one eye. We immediately consulted a close friend and retinal specialist in our ward. He confirmed our concerns and three days later diagnosed Benjamin's condition as retinal blastoma, a rare form of cancer of the eye. The news was devastating.

Over the next ten days, a team of people helped us canvas the entire world to identify and locate the most preeminent medical experts on this rare condition. We found two, one of which was located in San Francisco, California. It became clear why my parents had been called to serve a mission in nearby Oakland. They would be close by to help in the difficult months ahead. My Heavenly Father knew that long before I did.

A week later, Benjamin was to have the first of many surgical treatments. Prior to the operation we met with the surgeon. I explained to him that we believed in the power of prayer. I told him about priesthood blessings and that Benjamin has been blessed that he would be healed. With complete confidence, I told the doctor we believed that when he got into the operation he would find that Benjamin's eye would be healed and not need to be removed. Our entire family and many ward members were fasting and praying for our son, and we had great faith.

His reply stunned me. Leaning forward, he defiantly responded: "Mr. Pearson, I am a surgeon and an expert on your son's condition. I do not operate on faith or prayers or any of your other religious practices. When I get into the operating room, I am going to confirm that your son needs to have his eye removed. And when I do, we are either going to immediately move forward and take it out or we are not going in at all. But there isn't going to be any more prayers or any more waiting around for miracles. Do you understand me?"

An hour later, he returned to the nursing station and confirmed that Benjamin's eye had been destroyed by the tumor cells and that his other eye also had several serious tumors that needed immediate treatment. This was the worst possible scenario. We were devastated. I was speechless. He returned to the operating room, and we returned to my anxious parents in the waiting area. Completely overcome with grief and disbelief, I walked out of the hospital into the dark damp San Francisco morning and began to walk and weep bitterly.

I had done everything I had been taught to do. We had prayed and received a strong impression to select this doctor. We had fasted and prayed and felt certain that our infant son would be healed through faith and through the power of the priesthood. The outcome could not have been worse. There had been no blessing, and clearly the Lord had not intervened. Our faith it seems had been no more than vain hope. My faith was shattered. I began to question everything I had ever believed. As I walked, I felt betrayed and angry. I was overcome with pain.

I am not proud of the conversation I had with Heavenly Father as I walked and wept that morning. After a time, I got a hold of myself emotionally. I remember the words of a children's Primary song coming into my mind. "Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child's prayer?" Because you clearly haven't been listening to mine or maybe you just don't really care about me and my son ("A Child's Prayer," Children's Songbook, #12.).

In that moment, a tender mercy came. In my mind and heart, I felt these words: "Kevin, he is my son too." The clarity of the prompting was unmistakable. I realized in that moment that I had not understood the purpose of prayer at all. I had assumed that, just because I had a righteous cause, I could use the priesthood and fasting and prayer to change the will of God.

For the first time in my life, I fully realized that I was not in charge. I knew that I needed to submit to Heavenly Father's will. I couldn't have what I wanted when and how I wanted it just because I was keeping the commandments. The purpose of prayer was not to tell Heavenly Father what to do, rather to find out what He would have me do and learn. I needed to align my will with His.

That moment has made a deep and profound impact on my life. We would face another six years of serious challenges as we battled our little son's condition to save his other eye and his life. But I now knew that Heavenly Father was aware and in charge. And no matter how things ultimately worked out, He had heard and answered my prayer. Of that there was no longer any doubt.

My young brothers and sisters, I leave you with my witness that God is our loving Heavenly Father. I have come to know through this experience and countless others since that He does in fact "hear and answer every child's prayer." I have learned that there is great power in personal prayer. I have learned to accept answers that are contrary to what I want, trusting that Heavenly Father knows what I need. I have learned that my children are His children and He loves them more than I possibly can. Through prayer, I have received forgiveness and comfort, direction and revelation.

The temple is a place of revelation. Many years ago I was walking into the temple, and in my mind I heard the words, Learn public speaking. I thought to myself, When will I ever have need for public speaking? Over several months’ period of time I tried very inadequately to conjure up some enthusiasm to obey the prompting I had received. I even checked out a tape from the local library by a public speaker who admitted that his goal was to someday speak in the Mormon Tabernacle. I thought at the time, I’ll never be speaking in the Tabernacle!
Elder John A. Widtsoe has said, “At the most unexpected moments, in or out of the temple will come to [us], as a revelation, the solution of the problems that vex [our lives]. … It is a place where revelations may be expected” (“Temple Worship,” Utah Genealogical and Historical Magazine, Apr. 1921, 63–64).

Several months ago I spoke at a Relief Society conference at which more than 300 women were in attendance. The Young Women had also been invited to this event, and I noticed a number of teenage girls in the audience. Early in my talk I heard the sound of whispering at my extreme left. Looking in that direction, I saw three attractive young women talking quietly to one another.
Immediately I felt a little resentful. I am used to audiences giving me their full attention, and I am not very tolerant of people working against what a speaker is trying to do. However, I have spoken to enough young groups to know the gigantic challenge it is to hold their attention, to keep their eyes riveted on the speaker, their hands out of their purses or away from combing each other’s hair, to keep them from trying on each other’s shoes or from poking each other and giggling.
Yet I believe strongly that audiences, even young ones, have an obligation to give complete courtesy to a speaker, to listen without causing distraction. My usual course of action, when a person in the audience continues to cause a disturbance, is to stop speaking, look at the offender and smile until I am noticed and the disturber is sheepishly brought back into line. Then I continue speaking. This generally works.
I glanced occasionally at the three girls on the front row as they continued to whisper to one another, but they did not notice my glances. My resentment built. Where were their mothers, anyway? Why did they come if they didn’t want to hear what I had to say? Why do the leaders force young people to go to things they don’t want to go to and aren’t prepared to appreciate? How dare they talk through my incredibly marvelous and moving presentation when everybody else in the hall was clearly spellbound?
I was reading “The Steward,” my favorite poem to read aloud, and the quiet buzz continued. Several times I looked at them and they looked back and then went on with their quiet conversation, the three of them leaning together. At the end of the poem I closed the book and looked directly at them. I smiled. They smiled back. And giggled. I smiled at them until they stopped giggling and looked at me without a sound. I then continued my talk.
Their conversation was not totally halted, however. It was quieter, but every once in a while I noticed them leaning toward one another and whispering. I gave up and finished out the talk, wishing that whoever had made them come had just let them be and wishing that young people these days placed a higher value on courtesy.
After the talk, as we were having refreshments in the cultural hall, a woman came up to me and shook my hand. “Sister Pearson,” she said, “I hope those girls didn’t disturb you too much. Let me tell you about them. They’ve only been in the country a week. They came from Lebanon, and they just missed the massacre [September 16–17, 1982] by eight hours. They probably would have been killed, but somehow they were taken out of the country and arrived here. Our ward has sort of adopted them. We wanted to have them come tonight in spite of the fact that they don’t speak English very well. They were sitting there trying to help one another figure out what you were saying.”
A tremor ran through my consciousness, shattering a perception and letting me see behind judgment into reality. I no longer wanted to take the girls and shake them by the shoulders. I wanted to take them in my arms and tell them how glad I was that they had come. Suddenly I knew their secret, and it changed everything.

In 2002 I learned an important lesson about problems. While in Asunción, Paraguay, I met with the city’s stake presidents. At that time, Paraguay faced a terrible financial crisis, and many Church members were suffering and unable to make ends meet. I had not been to South America since my mission and had never been to Paraguay. I had been serving in that Area Presidency for only a few weeks. Apprehensive about my inability to give guidance to those stake presidents, I asked them to tell me only what was going well in their stakes. The first stake president told me about things that were going well. The next mentioned things that were going well and a few problems. By the time we got to the last stake president, he mentioned only a series of vexing challenges. As the stake presidents explained the magnitude of the situation, I grew increasingly concerned, nearly desperate, about what to say.
Just as the last stake president was finishing his comments, a thought came into my mind: “Elder Clayton, ask them this question: ‘Presidents, of the members in your stakes who pay a full tithing, pay a generous fast offering, magnify their callings in the Church, actually visit their families as home teachers or visiting teachers every month, hold family home evening, study the scriptures, and hold family prayer each day, how many have problems they cannot address on their own without the Church having to step in and solve their problems for them?’”
Responsive to the impression I had received, I asked the stake presidents that question.
They looked at me in surprised silence and then said, “Pues, ninguno,” meaning, “Well, no one.” They then told me that none of the members who did all of those things had problems they were incapable of resolving on their own. Why? Because they lived in the finest homes. Their faithful living provided them the strength, vision, and heavenly help they needed in the economic turmoil that surrounded them.

Just the other night we had the opportunity to attend a baptismal service in the ward meetinghouse where Rachel, a great-granddaughter, was baptized. A few nights before that, Richard, a great-grandson, had been baptized. I had the opportunity to look at them and talk to them and squeeze them and see that sparkle in their eye and of the light of the gospel that seemed to fill their heart and soul. They were so excited about the idea of being baptized to become official members of the Church. Their families had taught them true gospel principles. I remember when I said, “Richard,” as we shook hands, “give me a real missionary handshake.” And with that little eight-year-old hand he almost squeezed my fingers off. As he did it, I said, “Richard, you’ll be a great missionary, just as little Rachel will be a great member of the Church in her right.”
On that same occasion we had an opportunity to stand in the circle and to have young Peter Jr. receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to hear his father give him the blessings of the priesthood. And those of us who were older had the chance to stand in the circle and to sense the meaning of the occasion and to feel of it and to know that all present were part of our family.

It wasn’t until I had children of my own that my mother shared with me her conversion story. She grew up shortly after the Great Depression. When she was young, her parents could not provide food for their children, and they were sent to live with friends and relatives.
My mother, then Dorothy Smith, was sent to live with a family in Pennsylvania. But she didn’t have any shoes. Eventually her parents sent her a pair of shoes, but they were too big. The father of the family told her to sit on the dock of the nearby river and soak her shoes so they would shrink. The name of that river was the Susquehanna River, the same one in which Joseph Smith was baptized.
She did as she was told, but the river was rain swollen and swift. No sooner had she put her feet in the water than the powerful current ripped the new shoes off of her feet and they were gone, sinking out of sight into the muddy water. To her and the family, it was a tragedy. She again had no shoes.
Years later when she was a young mother living in southern California, Dorothy and some neighbor ladies were taking missionary lessons. While walking home one of the ladies said, “How do we know if any of this stuff is true? How do we know if Joseph Smith really saw God or even if there was a Susquehanna River?”
My mother piped up at that moment and said, “I know that there is a Susquehanna River, because I lost my shoes in the Susquehanna River.” The moment she said those words, the Spirit bore witness to her that all the rest of what the missionaries had said was also true.
My family was later baptized when I was about eight. After my mother passed away, it slowly occurred to me what the impact was of her losing her shoes in the Susquehanna River. All of her other family members eventually joined the Church. Many of my relatives and I went on missions and baptized many people, which in turn led to others going on missions and baptizing even more people. Many of my relatives and I have served as ward mission leaders multiple times in our respective wards. All in all, I estimate that about 2,000 people have been led to the gospel of Jesus Christ because my mother lost her shoes in the Susquehanna River. It is a marvel to me that a series of tragedies such as the Great Depression, which led to a family being separated and then my mother losing her only pair of shoes, would lead to such a marvelous blessing in the lives of so many.

On June 2, 2002, my little granddaughter, Susan Melina, who was only seven months old, became ill, and her parents took her to the hospital. The doctors diagnosed her with a kidney infection. She also developed a serious bacterial infection that spread throughout her system, causing damage to her heart, liver, spleen, kidneys, lungs, and nervous and digestive systems. She was so ill she was admitted to intensive care.
The doctors advised her parents to prepare themselves because she could die at any time. She remained in intensive care for 26 days, during which time she was given antibiotics and many transfusions. Meanwhile, we, her family, fasted often and asked God for a miracle, for a complete healing—if it was His will. Two priesthood brethren anointed and blessed her.
When Susan Melina had been in the hospital for two weeks, her mother became ill also and had emergency surgery for appendicitis. This was a difficult trial for the whole family.
Twenty days after Susan Melina entered the hospital, she was no better. But because of the generosity of a person we didn’t even know, her parents were able to move her to a private hospital where she would receive better care.
One Saturday at noon I received a telephone call from my daughter, Susan Carolina. I was in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple, where I work in a custodial position. My daughter told me that her baby’s condition had worsened and that the infection had now lodged in one of the ventricles of her heart. According to the doctors, it was hard to do anything to help her because she was completely malnourished. She was so ill that it was dangerous to hold her because it could cause internal bleeding. When I learned about the situation, I immediately began to pray to my Heavenly Father. Once again I fasted.
The next day, Sunday, my daughter called and told me that the bacteria had completely disappeared. The doctors were releasing Susan Melina on Monday because she was out of danger.
As we rejoiced in this great miracle, we realized that not every prayer of faith is answered so quickly in the way we desire. But I am infinitely grateful to Heavenly Father. I have no doubt that He lives and hears our prayers.

“It is related of Tamerlane (1336–1405) the honored warrior, the terror of whose arms spread through all the eastern nations, and who was victorious at almost every step, that he once learned from an insect a lesson of perseverance, which had a striking effect upon his future character and success.

“When closely pursued by his enemies—as a contemporary tells the story—he took refuge in some old ruins, where left to his solitary musings, he espied an ant tugging and striving to carry a single grain of corn. His unavailing efforts were repeated sixty-nine times, and at each time as soon as he reached a certain point of projection, he fell back with his burden, unable to surmount it; but the seventieth time he carried away the grain of corn, in triumph, and left the wondering hero reanimated and exulting in the hope of future victory.”

While I was in church one Sunday morning in 2013, I turned off my phone because I didn’t want it to interrupt sacrament meeting. When the meeting ended, I turned my phone back on and saw that my wife, Tanya, had called me. I tried to call her back, but she didn’t answer.
During that meeting, the van she was riding in on the way to an annual family gathering rolled somewhere on the New York Thruway. My daughter and two of my grandchildren were severely injured, and Tanya was instantly killed. After 44 years of marriage, my wife was suddenly gone.

A few years later at a devotional held following a visit to Adam-ondi-Ahman, the supervisor of service missionaries in the area asked me to share the story of my conversion. I did so and then thanked the couples attending the devotional for preparing their children to serve missions and for figuratively sending them to my door.
As I shook hands and prepared to leave, the supervisor spoke up. “Before we dismiss this meeting,” he said, “I have a personal confession to make.” I don’t remember his exact words, but in essence he said:
“As you know, I served my country as a U.S. Marine while I was a young man. While serving, I killed many Japanese soldiers. I thought I had served my country faithfully, but for many years, whenever I saw Orientals, particularly Japanese people, I experienced great depression. Sometimes I could not even function. I visited with Church authorities and discussed my feelings with professional counselors.
“Today, when I faced Elder and Sister Kikuchi and their son, a flash of memory returned. But then I listened to Elder Kikuchi share his testimony and conversion story, his love for the Lord and the gospel, and his love for each of us. He said he had hated Americans and American soldiers but that the gospel had changed his life through the Lord’s healing power. When I heard this, I also seemed to hear a voice from the Lord saying, ‘It is finished. It is OK.’”
He put his hands outward, raised them, and said, with tears in his eyes, “All of my guilt has been taken away. My burden is lifted!”
He came to me and hugged me. Then our wives approached, and we all hugged each other and wept.

I’m grateful for the example of a father who, as a busy executive of a great supermarket chain, still found the time to demonstrate by his concern that groceries were less important than his boy.

Like many young men, I once had a paper route; and I had to get up early in the morning to deliver them. One morning I woke up and looked outdoors to see one of those torrential Arkansas downpours. I thought we were in for another flood! As I prepared to go out in that rain, my father came into the room dressed in his business suit. “Get in the car, Paul,” he said. “I’ll drive you around your route this morning.” This meant that he would have to go without his own breakfast.

On that morning, in addition to the heavy rain, the papers came late. By the time we had them delivered, it was considerably past the hour that my father had to be to work. And on this particular morning he had scheduled a very important board meeting.

He arrived at the meeting late, walked into the board room, and announced, “I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen, but I had to deliver my papers this morning.”

Do you think that there was ever any doubt in my mind as to my father’s greatest concern? Interestingly, I don’t recall too many lessons my parents verbally taught, but their example is still a part of me till this day.

In 1985 President Gordon B. Hinckley, then second counselor in the First Presidency, shared a devotional message on this campus entitled “The Widow’s Mite.” Let me summarize some of his thoughts from that talk.

President Hinckley began:
Some time back a small, bent, elderly woman came to my office. For the purpose of this talk I shall call her Mary Olsen, although that is not her name and she would not wish her identity disclosed. She said she had just come over from the temple. She took from her purse her checkbook. She said that she had been a widow for many years, that life had not been easy for her. She had a great love for the Lord and his Church. She had faithfully paid her tithing all her life. She felt she would not live much longer. Now, she said, she felt she ought to be doing more to help than she had done. In a hand shaky with age, she wrote a check for $5,000. She handed it to me. I noted the address where she lived. It was in a poor neighborhood. I confess that as I looked at that check tears came into my eyes. I have held many larger checks than that in my hands. But as I held the check of this widow woman, I was almost overcome by her faith and the seriousness of the trust that was mine in the expenditure of her consecrated contribution.
. . . She gives her offering to the Lord, and she is then released from responsibility. The responsibility then becomes mine—and yours!
What might she expect of you [at this institution, which is supported by tithing funds]?

Thomas W. Sederberg, an emeritus faculty member in computer science, is a friend and an exceptional example of a scholar who understands gospel methodology. Before I share a story about his experience using gospel methodology, I want to share some of what I know about Tom Sederberg’s scholarship. Tom was given a lifetime achievement award from the computer graphics organization SIGGRAPH in 2006. In 2013, Tom received the Pierre Bézier Award for his contributions to solid modeling. He is one of the most highly cited researchers in his field of computer graphics and in 2014 was designated as one of the 108 most highly cited computer scientists in the world. To put it simply, Tom is a brilliant scientist. In his BYU forum “Computer Graphics and Mentoring,” Tom described how he arrived at a major advance in computer graphics called the T-spline. His story is a perfect illustration of today’s topic. [A video was shown of the telling of this story.]

One evening in the fall of 2003, I drove to campus for a research meeting with a graduate student from Kyrgyzstan named Almaz and a visiting professor from China whose American name is Jimmy. We had been working for several years on a vexing research problem, and I despaired of grappling with the problem yet again because all our past efforts had failed. I was mentally exhausted, and further work on the problem seemed futile. The thought struck me, “Have ye inquired of the Lord?”

When I got to my office, I asked Jimmy and Almaz if they would mind if I began our research meeting with a prayer. They agreed, and I asked Heavenly Father to grant us a clear understanding. We went to work for several hours and found some fresh ideas. When we concluded, I felt exuberant and remarked that we had made noticeable progress.

Almaz immediately reminded me, “Of course, Tom, it was because of the prayer.”

We thus agreed to begin each subsequent research meeting with prayer. Almaz and Jimmy even took turns, even though prayer was not part of their backgrounds. We continued work for several more weeks, and although we felt encouraged, we also felt like the solution was still very far away. A major breakthrough was needed.

Then one day in early December, Jimmy and I were again wrestling with the problem when suddenly the complete solution seemed to flash into my mind. I exclaimed in astonishment, “Jimmy, could it be that the answer is far more simple and elegant than we ever dreamed possible?”

I explained the new idea to Jimmy, and he got excited also. But when we analyzed it, we found a flaw. The mathematics didn’t quite work. I was confused and crestfallen, and we abandoned the idea.

A month later I heard a talk by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in which he spoke about personal revelation. He quoted Joseph Smith’s statement “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas.”

As soon as I heard that familiar quote, I thought of the experience I had had with Jimmy a month earlier. The phrase “pure intelligence flowing into you” seemed to exactly describe what I had felt.

On Monday morning I went directly to Jimmy’s office. I told him about Elder Maxwell’s talk and suggested that we revisit the idea. Within minutes we saw that with a very minor adjustment the solution did indeed work. It was breathtakingly beautiful to us and a huge boost to our research. The light-handed nature of the help we received is evident in the fact that we spent the next seven years trying to understand the ramifications of that minor adjustment and are only now succeeding.

“My father sustained a ruptured pancreas in a freak car accident when I was about ten. For some time there was a question as to whether he would live or not. When the doctors gathered our family together to explain the situation, Mother said, ‘He’s had a blessing, and he’s going to be all right.’ I remember that as a very strengthening spiritual experience because we all knew that Mom was right. In eight to ten weeks Dad was completely healed. During Dad’s hospitalization I remember that I went to the hospital several times, and Dad told me to set a good example for the rest of the family.

“I can remember well my dad talking about his mission in the Eastern States and his father serving a mission to Sweden and my great-grandfather joining the Church and doing missionary work in Sweden. I knew that if a mission was right for my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather, it must be right for me.

“My message to you children of the Church is this: Strive to be obedient to gospel teachings and the counsel and example of your parents, your bishop, and your leaders. It is most important that you attend your church meetings, keep the Sabbath holy, pay your tithing, prepare for a mission, and do whatever your parents ask you in righteousness to do. Choosing to do the right things will bring you closer to your Heavenly Father and make you feel good about yourself.”

Charles received another mission call in 1862. This time he was to take his family and help settle St. George, where he planted cotton, corn, peaches, and sorghum. St. George was a difficult place in which to live because it was very hot and dry. The pioneers tried many times to dam the Virgin River so that they could irrigate their farms, but each time a spring flood washed out the dam. At times Charles had to go back to Salt Lake City to work as a watchmaker for a while to earn enough money to feed his family. Finally, after ten years of his family’s living in a one-room house, he was able to build a larger home in St. George.

Robert Muhile joined the Church while working and studying in Cairo, Egypt. After being ordained an elder, he returned to his home village in Tanzania, Africa, so he could share the gospel with his family. Unfortunately, he was more than 960 kilometers (a three-day bus ride) from the nearest branch of the Church, in Dar es Salaam. He was completely isolated from other Church members. After six months without partaking of the sacrament, he sought permission from his mission president to administer the sacrament to himself each Sunday. His request was granted.
Each Sunday Robert invited his family to join him for worship service, but they chose to attend their own church. So he held his own service—alone. He said: “I prepared water and bread and more water to clean my hands, and a small towel. I sang a song to myself out loud. I had my hymn book. After that, I offered an opening prayer. Because I was alone I didn’t have any business to do, so I sang the sacrament hymn and prepared the sacrament. Then I knelt and blessed and took it. After the sacrament, I covered it, as we respect it always. I offered myself a talk—my testimony. Then I sang as in Sunday School and then read from Gospel Principles. I finished with a prayer. I then attended priesthood [meeting]. After singing a hymn, I’d have a prayer, then read from the priesthood manual the lesson I had chosen for that day. After that, I finished by singing and then offered the closing prayer” (quoted in E. Dale LeBaron, “Gospel Pioneers in Africa,” Tambuli, May 1994, 42–44).

by Cass Montgomery
“Come join the fun at Cousin Camp,” said the letter that six of my cousins, ages 6–10, received in the mail. I’d invited them to spend a week at my house where I’d prepared camp-like activities.
We all slept outside in tents, and every morning when we woke someone would give an inspirational thought. Every day we did crafts like painting wooden hearts and making pop-up cards. We also had classes on manners, baby-sitting, first aid, etc. At all the classes I gave out cards and handouts. My cousins liked that. And of course, at every good camp you swim, so we had a good, long swim every day. At night we closed with “family night.”
I had a really fun time doing “Cousin Camp” for my little cousins, and I think they liked it too. We can hardly wait for next year.
Cass is a Mia Maid in the Redlands Third Ward, Redlands California stake.

Not long ago, I listened to a man and woman who spoke in my home ward. This man had served in many capacities in the Church, including that of bishop. Their most recent assignment was to fellowship a single mother and her children. He stated that it was the most joyful of all his Church experiences.
This young woman was full of questions. She was filled with fear and anxiety. She did not wish to make a mistake, to say anything that was out of line that might embarrass her or cause others to laugh. Patiently this man and his wife brought the family to church, sat with them, put a shield around them, as it were, against anything that might happen to embarrass them. They spent one evening a week with them at their home, teaching them further concerning the gospel and answering their many questions.
They led that little family along as a shepherd leads his sheep. Eventually, circumstances dictated that they move to another city. “But,” he stated, “we still correspond with that woman. We feel a great appreciation for her. She is now firmly grounded in the Church, and we have no fear concerning her. What a joy it has been to work with her.”

A few months ago I went to Edmonton for work. The weather conditions were bad, and I struggled to get there. I didn’t know the city and got lost. I needed to find a gas station that sold diesel.
I started to worry. I was on a time budget and needed to get home quickly. I started to call friends who were familiar with the area. I talked to a close friend who was able to direct me. I then called my mom who comforted me and helped me feel safe again. I ended my conversation so I could continue driving.
I drove for a while and started to think I had somehow missed my exit. Worry again came to my mind. I began to scan my surroundings to find any clue about where I was or if I was on the right track. As I rounded a corner, the Edmonton Alberta Temple came into view. It was beautiful and white, with a spire that soared into the air. I could see the golden statue of the angel Moroni. The Spirit flooded my heart, and all fear was swept away. The Spirit seemed to confirm to me that I was going in the right direction.
In my life, I know that sometimes I get scared or worried that I am not going the right way, that maybe I am not even on the right road. But the temple is my beacon, and it helps me to know when I am pointed in the right direction.
When we feel lost, we can look to the Lord and He will show the way. He will be there. He will come in a way that will best serve us.
May we all walk the path with eyes wide open so that we may see the hand of the Lord guiding and watching over our steps.

When I was 11, my family had to leave East Germany. We moved to Frankfurt, West Germany. Until my father could find a job like he had before, he and my mother operated a laundry to make a living, and I was the laundry delivery boy. I saw some shiny red bicycles, and I wished I could have one to make my deliveries. But I needed a heavy-duty bicycle to pull the cart with the laundry on it. I rode around pulling that heavy laundry cart before school and after school. It was hard to see the other children play, especially during the winter months. But everybody in our family had to work hard, and I knew I was an important part of the family business. I felt needed and valued.