Gospel Story Finder

Early in my life, I began to notice a feeling of emptiness. It felt like something was missing. I found momentary escape in things like rock climbing and music. And as a teenager, I found relief using mind-altering substances. My troubles didn’t seem to exist while under their influence. As with many other things, my use of these substances began slowly as they worked their way deeper and deeper into my life. I spent countless nights free of inhibitions, traveling all over the world and searching for relief.
In an inebriated flash, 15 years went by, and my addictions completely took over my life. I felt empty inside, stripped of any passion. I couldn’t physically get enough substances into my body at one time to satisfy my cravings, and that momentary relief found within the numbness was long gone.
One day I remember thinking, “How long have I lived like this?” I sought happiness in relationships, fame, achievements, and substances that could give me a bigger rush.
There was a night where I drunkenly sneaked my way to the top of a skyscraper and rappelled downward to paint graffiti on the side of the building. Grandiose and desperate acts like this were completely normal to me in seeking fulfillment. And every time I felt on top of the world, deeper despair would inevitably follow. I was digging myself further and further down. Eventually I completely checked out on life. I no longer cared what happened to me.

Twelve-year-old Monica Saili loves swimming. She is one of the top young swimmers in New Zealand. She may be part fish.
Well, the fish part probably isn’t true. But the only other explanation for why she’s so good is because she trains so hard.
She’s at the pool for two hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning at 5:00 a.m. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday she runs track or cross-country after school.
Her least favorite swimming drill is having to do the butterfly stroke with just one arm, keeping her chin up, and alternating arms every 100 meters. “Your shoulders really burn,” she says.
But she’s learned that when the going gets hard, giving up doesn’t make life easier. Doing the hard work is what makes her stronger.
All that hard work has helped. She started winning medals at age 10. At 11 she was in the country’s top 10 for her age group in the butterfly stroke. At 12 she was selected for a development swimming camp with the national team and was picked to swim in the Oceania Games in Samoa against swimmers from other countries.
She says, “My dad always said, ‘Success comes with hard work. It doesn’t just land in your lap.’”
Monica learned that is true for swimming, and she found out it’s also true in life when her father died unexpectedly a few months after her 11th birthday.
“I was very close to my dad,” Monica says. “He started me in swimming. He took me to all my practices and competitions. When he died, I felt like I had no one to talk to.”
Losing her father was hard. But Monica doesn’t give up during difficult practices, so when her dad died, she wasn’t going to give up on her faith in Heavenly Father either.
“My dad was my example,” she says. “He taught me how to live the gospel.”
Since his death Monica has started studying the scriptures before bed, “trying to make it a habit,” she says. She stands up for her beliefs at school. “I get a lot of questions about the Church,” she says. And she serves as the ward music director.
“I am blessed for being a member,” Monica says. “I am comforted when I get too stressed.”
Monica still misses her father. But with the support of her mother and family, she keeps going.
Her life is full of piano and violin lessons, student council meetings, swimming, Personal Progress, and leading the music during sacrament meeting.
She doesn’t know yet how far her swimming will take her or how long she’ll stick with it. But as far as the gospel is concerned, she is determined to stick with that to the end.
“Sometimes life is hard,” Monica says. “But doing hard things can make us stronger. You just have to keep swimming.”

If there are those who doubt President Clark’s tribute to our Founding Fathers, then hear the words of President Wilford Woodruff:
Those men who laid the foundation of this American government and signed the Declaration of Independence were the best spirits the God of Heaven could find on the face of the earth. They were choice spirits . . . inspired of the Lord.
Everyone of those men that signed the Declaration of Independence, with George Washington, . . . called upon me, as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, in the Temple at St. George two consecutive nights and demanded at my hand that I should go forth and attend to the ordinances of the house of God for them. . . .
Would those spirits have called upon me, as an Elder in Israel, to perform that work if they had not been noble spirits before God? They would not. . . . Said they: “. . . We laid the foundation of the government you now enjoy, and we never apostatized from it, but we remained true to it and were faithful to God.” [Conference Reports, April 1898, pp. 89–90; Journal of Discourses, 19:229]

You could start in your room today. Is there an unfinished paper somewhere in the stacks? Perhaps it’s typed and ready to turn in. Why bother more with it? I learned why during a religion class I taught once at Ricks College. I was teaching from Doctrine and Covenants 25:8 [D&C 25:8]. That tells Emma Smith she should give her time to “writing, and to learning much.” About three rows back in the class sat a blond girl whose brow wrinkled as I urged diligence in developing writing skills. She raised her hand and said, “That doesn’t seem reasonable to me. All I’ll ever write are letters to my children.” That brought laughter. I felt a little chagrined to have applied that scripture to her. Just looking at her I could imagine a quiver full of children around her and even see the letters she’d write, in purple ink, with handwriting slanting backwards, with neat, round loops. Maybe writing powerfully wouldn’t matter to her.
And then a young man stood up near the back. He’d said little during the term. He was older than the other students and shy. He told in a quiet voice of being a soldier in Viet Nam. In what he thought would be a lull, he’d left his rifle and walked across his fortified compound to mail call. Just as he got a letter in his hand he heard a bugle blow, and shouts and mortar and rifle fire came in ahead of the swarming enemy. He fought his way back to his rifle, using his hands as weapons. With the men who survived, he drove the enemy out. The wounded were evacuated. And then he sat down among the living, and some of the dead, and he opened the letter.
It was from his mother. She wrote that she’d had a spiritual experience that assured her he would live to come home, if he were righteous. “That letter was scripture to me,” the boy said quietly. “I kept it.” And he sat down.

That plan is making a difference for Humberto Canarte of Portoviejo, Manabi province, Ecuador. Humberto and his wife support five children and two grandchildren on one hectare of good farmland near the Pacific Coast. For the Canarte family, farming is survival. In past years, their living has been meager.
Two years ago, Humberto Canarte was planting just corn and peanuts. Today he is also harvesting soybeans and vegetables. He still plows by hand and clears weeds with a machete. But he now plants hybrid corn, and he plants it in rows closer together. As a result, he now harvests as much as 5,500 kilograms of corn per hectare, more than double what he used to harvest. Two years ago, it took as long as a year for Humberto’s chickens to reach market size. Now, by feeding them a better balanced diet, he can raise chickens in eight weeks using only one-tenth of the feed he previously used.
Today the Canarte family is better nourished. Not only do they eat more chicken and eggs, but they can also afford to buy rice with the money they are making on their corn. Now, too, their diet includes more vegetables from a small garden they cultivate. In fact, the Canarte family harvest has increased threefold over past years.
What has made such a startling difference? The Benson Institute calls it small-scale agriculture. Two years ago, institute personnel farmed two plots in Portoviejo, training farmers and the local agriculture department in techniques that make small-plot farming more productive. Last year, Humberto and six other farmers who have learned those techniques tripled their yields.
Two BYU graduate students are training Humberto Canarte and the other six families in Portoviejo how to farm more productively. Malaquias Flores is a master’s degree candidate from Chihuahua, Mexico. He and Neils Tidwell, an animal science major from Idaho, with their wives and children, live in Portoviejo. “We feel good being able to help them have a better way of life,” they say. They feel confident that the seven families are fully capable of carrying on the program after Benson Institute personnel leave Portoviejo.

About one year ago my wife, Alessandra, got a text message on her phone from a sister in our home ward in Brazil. It had been more than two years since they had last met. This sister wrote: “On one of the worst days of my life, I don’t know how I got to church. When I did, you saw me. You held my arm and told me to sit by you. I talked to you. You listened and counseled me.”
This seemed to be a simple conversation at the time. But it turned out to be an opportunity for my wife to be an instrument in the hands of the Lord. She ministered to that dear sister who was going through a challenging time. Alessandra didn’t really think about it. She simply felt prompted to listen and to offer comfort, and she acted on the prompting. Now, more than two years later, she received this text message from that sister, expressing her gratitude.

Let me illustrate the theme of borders with a true tale from one of my study abroad programs as a director. We were in Venice, Italy, having taken a very small ferryboat from our bus terminal to a dock across the Grand Canal. The appointed time to leave was approaching, and all but a handful of my BYU students were aboard. The Italian boat captain revved his engine, signaling departure. His English was poor and my Italian was worse, but somehow we communicated that he wanted the boat to leave and I wanted the boat to stay for the missing students. His next load of passengers was waiting on the other side. To emphasize my negotiating position, I placed one foot on the dock with the other foot on the boat—not too smart. To emphasize his rather superior negotiating position, the captain slowly began pulling away from the dock, with me about to fall into the water.

I will tell you what happened later, but, for now, that experience illustrates how impossible it is to have one foot on the Lord’s side and one on the adversary’s side—and the gap is getting wider and wider. What is at stake for you is more than a refreshing dip in the Grand Canal of Venice and a soggy wallet. What is at stake is your very soul.

Therefore, do not ever let your passport to the Lord’s country and kingdom lapse. If you do, you will find yourself outside its borders, or at least trying to straddle them. Which means I need to finish my story about the Venice boat dock. The distance between my one foot on the dock and my other foot on the boat slowly became wider and wider. It was clear that the boat captain was not going to hold the boat for my students, and I was not going to leave without them. While my dear wife and students on the boat were screaming as my legs continued to spread and my blood pressure went up, I thought to myself that this was like something out of a Marx Brothers or Charlie Chaplin movie (or now it would be a great YouTube video), with everyone watching me plop into the drink. But no, breaking the stalemate came the sounds of my rescue thundering down the alleyway, and the remaining students scrambled over the dock and jumped a few ever-widening feet onto the boat. The boat captain and I are not exactly on each other’s Christmas card lists, but I did get all the students on board and he made it back to pick up more passengers.

My brothers and sisters, I am sure each of you has been touched by the stories of the Church’s great relief efforts to members stricken by floods or earthquakes. Our hearts go out to these people in need. There are, however, other needs—social-emotional needs—that can be just as devastating as any natural disaster. And these needs cannot be met with truckloads of food or clothing. I would like to illustrate several of them in my talk to you today.
Let me begin by reading a letter which relates the tragic story of a young man who became entangled in a way of life which led him to violate the most sacred of God’s commandments:
“I know not why I write this letter. Perhaps I grasp at last straws before it’s over or whatever. I seek help, without hope of receiving it. Not because I doubt that the Church is true, but because of my sins. Let me say here, I love my parents and do what I am able to help them, but my strength is going, and what flicker of spiritual life there is left in me spends itself on writing this letter.
“At a very young age,” this young man continues, “I became convinced that my father didn’t love me. It stemmed from an encounter when one evening I went to kiss him good night and he brushed me away. I’m sure he doesn’t remember, and it had no significance to him, but I was devastated: my entire sense of security and my world crumbled into ashes as I stood there.
“Not knowing what else to do, I ran from this new stranger in a panic to my mother and whispered tones to her of my calamity, which she denied, but did not convince me. That night I watched my father as I stood in the shadows of my darkened bedroom. I swore to myself that I would close the door until he sought to open it. I would ignore him until he sought after me.
“He didn’t notice. If he did, he never asked me what was wrong. Well, needless to say, through the next years I went through the motions and rebelled to get his attention, which I got in the form of anger. At any rate, I developed into a homosexual, a vitiating disease, and was soon entrenched in my prison. I didn’t know myself. And I have felt for more years than I can remember that the Lord didn’t love me either. From age seventeen to about twenty-three I began using drugs. …”
Well, you can imagine where his life went from there. This young man closes his letter with these words: “Thank you for your time. Can you help me? Is there reason for me to help myself? Can you convince me? Can you spare the time? I’ve not much left.”
Yes, young man, there is help available to you.
We know that the Lord does love this young man, as he loves all of us. This individual has since been referred through the priesthood to an LDS Social Services agency. Hand in hand, his priesthood leader and his LDS Social Services caseworker will help this brother learn what he didn’t learn at his father’s knee—that the Lord loves him and that the gospel’s plan of repentance and forgiveness is available to all.
In this next situation, Janet, as I will call her, was involved in serious transgression. After discovering that she was expecting a child out of wedlock, her bishop referred her to LDS Social Services. Instead of being condemned by staff personnel as she had feared, she found love and understanding—the love and understanding that she needed to help her repent. With the help of her bishop and the agency, she began to seek the Lord’s forgiveness. She was introduced to foster parents who lovingly accepted her into their home. She attended church regularly and studied the gospel. An unwed parents group sponsored by the Church helped her to realize the magnitude of her transgression and to resolve to start a new life. She began to more fully understand herself and her relationship to her Father in heaven.
“I went through an awful lot,” she recalled. “But I felt like such a load was lifted by being able to share the burden with those who understood. I’m so grateful for all the help I received from my Heavenly Father.”
In the final story, Verinda, a vibrant young Apache girl, was accepted into the Indian Student Placement Service. She later gave this testimony:
“When I first participated in this program eight years ago, I got off the bus with only the clothes on my back and a few small possessions in a shoebox. I came from a humble home. My people are humble. But you have opened your hearts unto me. For that I am thankful. Now I can go home with a brand new suitcase of clothes. But that is not my wealth. I am wealthy because that which is inside of me is as precious as all of the wealth in this world. I have a testimony of the gospel. I know that Jesus is the Christ and that God lives and answers prayers. I now have a goal—something I can strive for.”
Brothers and sisters, these three stories are in sharp contrast to the world around us. Today, we suffer not only from physical pollution, but from mental pollution as well. Perversions of our basic values are offered as the “new morality.” Cheating and violence are often accepted as a means of achieving individual and group desires. Working mothers and weekend fathers abdicate their parental responsibilities. Husbands and wives separate at the smallest argument. Natural affection is waning. I remember as a bishop an incident of a couple who lost custody of their two young children—one in diapers, the other too young for school. Each day the mother and father went to work and left their children locked in the house to fend for themselves. When questioned by the judge, the mother was quite surprised. She said that they had always left sufficient food for the children to last until suppertime! Can you imagine such an attitude?

Randy Nako knows what it means to hit the spot. Randy has hit enough bull’s-eyes to pile up a list of awards. As captain of his varsity rifle team, he’s earned the American Legion Marksmanship Medal, National Rifle Association Junior Sectional Championship, and Expert Badge.
Randy, a member of the Honolulu Hawaii West Stake, has served as deacons and teachers quorum president and assistant to the president of his priests quorum in his ward. He’s an excellent student and has been named to Who’s Who Among American High School Students.
“Along with this honor comes a chance that I could receive one of many scholarships,” Randy told Church members in a stake conference address. “If I am selected to receive any scholarship, I will have to check to see if there is any chance that I can use part of the scholarship before I go on my mission and use the rest of it after I return from my mission. If it can’t possibly be arranged, I will turn down the scholarship, because I know that if I serve the Lord first, he will bless me and help me prepare a way so that I can continue my education.”

Young men in the teachers quorum of the Draper Fifth Ward, Draper Utah Stake, felt a need to be unified. The younger members of the quorum did not feel close to the older members. In a few days of vacation from school, the group decided to explore a nearby part of their state together. Through shared experience they hoped to find new friendships.
The group drove a few hours south into a strangely bleak and beautiful area of Canyonlands National Park. With red sandstone cliffs, twisted pinnacles of rock, and flat-topped mesas, the land was as dramatic as they had hoped for.
The late nights spent talking around the campfire and the days filled with exploring the Anasazi Indian ruins and swimming in the nearby rivers served as a common ground around which new friendships could grow. Through the fun of being together, the group found new unity.

By Oudom Piseth, Cambodia
In order to achieve my goals, I always tell myself that working hard is very important, but another way to excel is by working smart. After my mission in England, I returned to Cambodia and looked at the job market. I looked at things like the length of training to get each job and the cost of training.
I found that the training program to be a clothing merchandiser is short but challenging, and not many people were doing it. I saw it was a good opportunity and decided to take it. I have now finished the program and am working as a merchandiser for a clothing company.
Finding the right career can be very hard, but I have the Savior to help me and lift me up.

Before he became a member of the Church, Peter had spent most of his adult life chasing financial success. By all outward appearances, he seemed to have found it. After all, he had owned and run several businesses.
When a local Church leader in West Midlands, England, asked Peter to join a personal finances group offered through the Church’s self-reliance initiative, he doubted that the course could teach him anything. Once Peter started attending the group, however, he quickly realized how much he still had to learn.
“The course is not just about finances; that is only half of the story,” he says. “The most important thing for me was learning to have faith in Heavenly Father—how He provides us all temporal blessings and opens the door to true self-reliance if we follow His spiritual guidance.”
As a member of a personal finances group, Peter learned practical skills such as tracking family spending, creating and living on a budget, reducing debt, and saving for the future. Using these skills, along with exercising faith in Jesus Christ and working hard, Peter and his wife repaid a large debt.
“I am feeling significantly lighter and freer without the fear associated with debt and financial disorganization,” he says. “I am feeling the abundant blessings of Heavenly Father in a way I have never felt before. I have learned how to petition Him and listen to His answers when I need help with my temporal affairs.”

My mom never accepted the gospel in her earthly journey, even though I had prayed for her and felt she would accept it someday. She was a strong woman who sacrificed throughout her life to support our family after the Korean War. On the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death, my wife and I went to the Los Angeles California Temple to perform her baptism and confirmation. The strong Spirit in the room confirmed to me that my mom gladly accepted the gospel and the ordinances.

I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.

I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”

Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.

I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

At that time, my mother was getting older and had difficulty caring for Custodia. She decided to go to a care center. Custodia went to a facility that cares for people with disabilities. That’s when we started to pick her up and have her stay with us every weekend. We did this for about four years.
Just before my mother died, my husband and I visited her. She held our hands and told us she trusted us to take care of Custodia. We told her we would. For the last 15 years, my sister has lived with us and we have cared for her.
Of course it was hard in the beginning. I had to leave my job to take care of my sister. But it has been a blessing. When Ulisses and I were first married, we discovered we couldn’t have children. Custodia is like a child sent from God for us to take care of. In many ways, she helps fill the void we feel being childless. She’s loving and caring. She loves to laugh and loves going to church. She is a joy.

I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject that was new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year-we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.—
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year-my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

Illustration by Bradley H. Clark
For a couple of years, I visit taught a neighbor and friend named Sister Morgan. She was a few decades my senior, so I learned as much from her and her life as she did from my visiting teaching messages.
While I was her visiting teacher, Sister Morgan was diagnosed with cancer. I marveled at how bravely she endured her medical treatments and how she almost always had a smile on her face.
During one of my visits, she mentioned that the following day was her wedding anniversary. Our conversation soon led to other things, and our visit ended.
The next afternoon I felt prompted to take what I was cooking for dinner to Sister Morgan and her husband for their anniversary. At first I ignored the prompting because I was cooking an ordinary weekday meal. Surely such simple food would not do justice to such a special occasion.
But the prompting would not leave me. I called my husband at work, hoping he would agree that the idea was a bad one. Instead, he encouraged me to call Sister Morgan and tell her I was bringing over dinner.
Embarrassment over my simple meal and what I thought was presumptive behavior on my part kept me from calling my friend, but I could not shake the feeling that I should share my dinner. So I put the food on a serving dish and nervously walked across the street.
As I entered their yard, I found Brother and Sister Morgan getting into their car. I announced that I had brought dinner for their anniversary and that I hoped they didn’t mind.
A smile spread over Sister Morgan’s face. She explained that they had resigned themselves to celebrating their anniversary at a local fast-food restaurant because her cancer treatments left her too tired to cook or go anywhere else. She looked relieved to be able to stay home for dinner.
A sense of relief and happiness washed over me as they accepted my simple meal.
Not more than two months later, just as Sister Morgan had completed her cancer treatments, her dear husband passed away from a sudden illness. Their anniversary just weeks before was their last.
I learned a great deal that summer about following the Spirit’s still, small voice in serving others. The service we are asked—or prompted—to give may be uncomfortable, inconvenient, or simple in our eyes, but it may be just what is needed. This experience gave me courage to serve in any capacity the Lord needs me, and it increased my faith to do “the errand of angels” (“As Sisters in Zion,” Hymns, no. 309).

I was at my friend’s house, and we were riding our bikes. My friend’s neighbors were riding their bikes too. We all decided to play cops and robbers. We played and played for about an hour. It was fun! Finally we were tired, so we put down our bikes and sat in the grass. I was so excited. I had made some new friends!
Then a kid picked up his cell phone. He scrolled through it. Then he said, “Hey, guys, look at this!” He showed us a funny video. It was really funny! And then he showed us another video. All of a sudden, I felt a bad feeling. They watched the video over and over. I felt worse every time. Again and again. Worse and worse. I was scared. If I left, my friend might not be my friend anymore. But if I kept watching, I wouldn’t be having faith.
Finally, I whispered to my friend, “I need to go home.”
He said, “Why?”
“I don’t like these videos.”
“OK, bye,” he said.
As I rode my bike back home, I felt the bad feeling slip away. An amazing feeling replaced it. I got the gift of the Holy Ghost a few years ago, and I felt it that day.
I had followed the Holy Ghost.

When our daughter Adrian was four years old, we were working in the backyard. I had asked her to do something three or four times without result. I lost my patience, raised my voice, and sternly repeated my instructions to her. With her head down, she sadly started in the direction of the house. Suddenly, she stopped, ran back, hugged my leg tightly, and said, “Even though you are being mean to me, I still love you.”
I suddenly understood with great clarity what the Savior meant when he said,
“Verily I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”1

In a previous general conference, Elder Benjamín De Hoyos spoke of such an event. He said:
“Some years ago while serving in the office of public affairs of the Church in Mexico, [a companion and I] were invited to participate in a radio talk show. … [One of the program directors] asked [us], ‘Why does the Church have such a long name? …’
“My companion and I smiled at such a magnificent question and then proceeded to explain that the name of the Church was not chosen by man. It was given by the Savior. … The program director immediately and respectfully responded, ‘We will thus repeat it with great pleasure.’”13