Gospel Story Finder

When I was a student here at BYU-Idaho in 2002, I took a summer job working custodial for the girls’ dorms. One of the jobs we were asked to do was clean out hundreds of dresser drawers. Granted, this was not the most glamorous job, but I learned a valuable lesson about the importance of cleaning the corners. You see, I found out that if you clean the corners first, the middle would follow easily and the drawer would be clean. If you skipped the corners, often you would have to go back and clean the drawer again.

“Cleaning,” as my kids would say, “sounds a lot like work!” Well, it is. Cleaning the corners of life by praying, studying scriptures, going to church, loving your neighbor, and pressing forward as Latter-day Saints is gratifying work that can keep us on the path of righteousness. As we attend to our life’s corners, we can all discover that the middle parts of our life are easier to maintain and keep clean.

Theresia Mangels, an elderly widow, lived alone in an apartment in northern Germany. One evening she heard a knock at her door and opened it to find two young men standing there. Remembering that she still had a book their colleagues had left years before, she invited them in, then went to find the book. When she tried to return it, they grinned and refused to take it, telling her the book was actually from another church. They were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they said, and asked if they could give her an important message. She was a bit lonely and, besides, they were such nice young men. She agreed to listen.
They taught her that evening about someone named the Prophet Joseph Smith, but their message confused her. Visions and gold plates and angels—it all seemed so strange. They asked if they could come back another time, and she almost said no. But she decided to give them one more chance.
When they returned, they said they were going to teach her about the purpose of life and God’s plan of salvation. That sounded interesting. And then they started talking about something she had never heard of before: a premortal existence where all of us lived with God. It was as if a light went on in her soul. This doctrine was true. She could feel it. And it explained so many things she had wondered about but her church had never been able to clarify. From then on, everything the missionaries taught made perfect sense, and when they invited her to be baptized, she accepted eagerly.

When I was 20, the missionaries baptized my girlfriend and her family. The missionaries taught me, too. After I read the Book of Mormon, I received a testimony and was baptized. When I was 23, my girlfriend, Walkyria, and I were married. Several years later, we traveled to the Los Angeles California Temple to be sealed together. We couldn’t afford to take our children with us, so they were sealed to us when the first temple in Brazil, the São Paulo temple, opened.

The first meetinghouse built by the Church in Mérida was very significant for members who helped build it—and, as was the policy then, pay for it—recalls Saidy Castillo de Gaona of the Zacil-Ha First Ward, Mérida México Stake. “The members paid our half with our work—pure hard labor,” she says. Young Saidy learned to operate the brick-making machine while she worked on the project. And it was there that she met her future husband, Noé, a labor missionary helping to construct the building.

“When they knocked that building down, it was very emotional for me,” Saidy continues. “But the important thing was that they built something of greater value.” The Mérida México Temple now occupies that site.

As a teenager, Saidy had seen herself in a dream in a temple in Mérida. “I knew there was going to be a temple. I asked the Lord to let me live long enough to see it.”

She and her husband were married more than 35 years ago. They were sealed in the temple in Mexico City shortly after it was dedicated. Through the years they supported the Church faithfully in a wide variety of priesthood and auxiliary callings. When the Mérida temple was dedicated in 2000, the Gaonas were prepared to serve there too; they were the first two temple workers set apart.

He was serving in the temple on the day he died suddenly in late 2002. Saidy says it was only her knowledge of the eternal nature of marriage that allowed her to cope with the loss of her companion. “I think if it hadn’t been for the gospel, I would have wanted to die. The knowledge of the gospel gives me strength to go on. The gospel is everything for me. It was everything for my husband too.”

She turned once more to service in the gospel for help in healing the hurt of her loss. In addition to serving in the temple, she found solace in giving of herself to her five children and grandchildren and also in her Church callings. “I think I’m happiest when I’m working,” she explains.

Where’s José Luis?
That’s what I wanted to know. I’d heard so much about the energetic 18-year-old, and I only had a few minutes to interview him on that hot Sunday in Seville, Spain.
“I think he’s in Sunday School with one of our investigators,” said a tall, North American missionary as he hurried his way through the crowd in the halls of the Nervion meetinghouse.
“He’s always with our investigators,” said the missionary’s shorter companion, trotting to keep up. “That guy is one sharp mission leader. He keeps all the full-time missionaries on the ball. He just goes crazy over missionary work.”
Before I could ask which class José Luis might be in, the missionaries had disappeared into the colorful throng. The church was packed, and everyone seemed excited to be there.
Across the foyer I spotted Marcos Camacho. Marcos is José Luis’s home teaching companion. “Marcos, where’s José Luis?” I called.
“He might be preparing our home teaching lesson,” Marcos told me as he threaded his way through the large group of people between us. “He’s very good about it. We always get our home teaching done, and the people we visit really like him. Oh look—here comes his mother. Maybe she knows where he is. Ask her,” he said as he ran off to teach the Young Men.
His mother? What was she doing here? I’d heard she was against his church activity and had prohibited him from coming to the chapel. Now here was this lady, all smiles, soft curls, and a perky pink dress, coming toward me.
“Hi there,” I said as she approached me. “I’m looking for your son, but I’m really happy to see you. I’d heard you were not excited about your son’s coming to church. It looks like your attitude has changed?”
“Of course,” she told me, kissing me on both cheeks, which is the Spanish custom. “You know, the first time I came to this church, I came to tell them that they couldn’t baptize José Luis. I wasn’t about to let them make a Mormon of him. But once I got here and talked to the people,” she said, waving a hand at all the smiling, laughing people milling about us, “I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad that he come after all.”
“And now you’re coming as well?” I asked. “How did that happen?”
“One night, very late, about one in the morning, my friend came running to me. Her son was very sick. José Luis and I went to help, but he called the elders to come and give a blessing first. I was very impressed that two young boys would get up at that hour to help us. So later, when José Luis introduced me to the missionaries, I was willing to listen to them. I was baptized three months after he was.”
“But it wasn’t quite that easy, Mom,” said José Luis, popping up behind her, seemingly out of nowhere and putting his arm around her shoulder.
So finally I got to meet this legendary guy. He’s taller than his mother, medium height, with thick, straight dark hair and a perpetual smile. You can tell he’s from southern Spain, Andalucia, by his accent and his vocabulary. Even though he’s famous here for being a gospel dynamo, there is absolutely nothing intimidating about him. He’s about as humble as you can get.
“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”
“But the story isn’t finished yet,” I said. “How would you write the rest?”
The foyer had cleared out by this time. Most of the people had gone into their classes. I was alone with José Luis and his mother, who was gazing at her son with admiration.
“I’ll go on a mission for sure, just as soon as I’m 19; then I’ll have to serve in the mili.” Every healthy Spanish male, when he turns 19, serves an obligatory nine months of military service. “After that, I’d like to study to be a teacher.”
“You already are,” I replied, thinking how much his enthusiasm, his faith, his warmth, his friendliness, had already taught me—how much it could teach New Era readers—how much it had taught his mother, the missionaries, and other members of the ward.
“I know that Christ lives and that Heavenly Father always listens to us and loves us,” José Luis said, simply and sincerely. “I want everyone else to know that too. Will you excuse me for just a minute? I’m supposed to be helping a friend with a lesson,” he said, and he was off.
So for all of about five minutes, I could have answered the question, “Where’s José Luis?” But if you asked me right now, I could probably make an educated guess.
“Where’s José Luis?”
He’s out doing what he can to build the kingdom. And that’s a great place to be.

The invitation to teach in Uppsala was a great academic honor, and it was a personal honor as well. During an earlier visit to Sweden, Paul’s commitment to his standards was tested.
“I had given a talk at a fancy dinner hosted by the king and queen,” Brother Cox recalls. He was sitting next to the queen, and someone stood up and offered a toast in her honor. “There were about 600 people in the room. I looked, and raised wineglasses were everywhere. I didn’t know what to do, so I picked up my water glass and raised it. There was a gasp—people were just amazed I would do that.
“After the toast, as I sat down, the queen leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, ‘You are very wise.’ That was eight years ago, and now they’ve invited me back again. I think you gain respect from people if you’re true to what you believe.”

Avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on the plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and his desire to enjoy again its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, with her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

Elder Ballard relates as an example an experience he shared with a returned-missionary grandson who wanted to hang some things on the cinder-block walls of his apartment. Elder Ballard went to his grandson’s apartment to show him how to drill holes and put in anchors.

“I did one and then asked him where he wanted to put the next one. He showed me, and I said, ‘OK, put it there. You saw me do it. Now you do it. Here’s the drill.’ So he did it. And he did the rest of them too. He went slowly because he was nervous. I could have done it twice as fast. But now he knows how. It built his confidence. If he wants to hang something else, he’ll just come borrow the tool. I hope he brings it back!”

One of the most challenging things I’ve ever overcome was my “I don’t care” attitude. If I wasn’t passionate about what I was doing, I was cold and impatient with people.
This all changed one school break when I was asked to care for my 76-year-old grandfather. “Dadi,” as we called him, had suffered a stroke, which left him half-paralyzed. When my family asked me to care for him for two months, I couldn’t even imagine how!
I had to wake up early to prepare his breakfast, his bath, and his medicine. I helped him walk around for his daily exercise. Since he had difficulty moving, I was by his side at all times, including during his bath and his toilet. As an 18-year-old girl, this was the hardest part.
Aside from all this, he was difficult to be with. He is not a member of the Church and has different principles than I do. He was a man full of regrets—always shouting, never smiling, and constantly saying, “I’m dying!” Because of this attitude, it was hard for us to share a good bond.
At first, I did all I could to avoid my tasks, but that didn’t work. So I decided to change my attitude and give my best effort.
After a week of this new attitude, serving Dadi became a joy to me. My patience grew, and I came to understand his affliction. As I served him, I stopped thinking of being with him as a burden but rather as an opportunity to create good times with him.
Dadi changed too. This frowning old man became a smiling, gentle grandpa. He even came to like listening to Especially for Youth songs!
One night I heard him making some noise, so I looked into his room to find out what he was doing. He was praying for the first time. I’m inspired every day by this change.
Now I’m back at college, but I still go twice a month to visit Dadi with my family. We eat with him and sing for him. His health has worsened, so now the most powerful help that I can give is prayers on his behalf.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to watch over Dadi because it helped me see what I’m capable of giving. Love is a very powerful thing—it softened both my heart and Dadi’s. I have learned the meaning of sacrifice and compassion. Truly, charity enlightens every heart!

My wife and I did not have the privilege of attending BYU as students. However, our daughter received her bachelor’s and master’s degrees here—and, by the way, she graduated summa cum laude. I assume that there are enough proud parents here today who can easily recognize one of their own. Let me share with you briefly why the memory of our daughter’s BYU experience is so tender to us.

Only a few months before receiving her degree, our daughter gave birth to twin boys who arrived six weeks early. Talk about student efficiency! When we observed how she and her husband found time to raise these two little babies while at the same time finishing their schooling, we were convinced that there is a special spirit at BYU. In this atmosphere not only does knowledge grow and multiply, so does the population!

My wife and I came all the way from Germany to attend our daughter’s commencement exercises. We sat way up there in the high bleachers with the two little babies in a double stroller, watching the students receive their diplomas. Little did we know that 19 years later we would be here once again, attending another commencement—this time with slightly better seats—representing the First Presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

By the way, our handsome twin grandsons, who were born at Utah Valley Regional Medical Center, are now six feet tall and serving missions for the Lord in Asia. Isn’t it wonderful how life brings change, challenges, and blessings into our lives?

I think one of the most tender moments we know of in Church history, is told by Joseph F. Smith who describes being picked up off the ground, a boy of five years of age, by his father Hyrum. He was held briefly in his father's strong arms, kissed, and then placed gently back on the ground. That little boy watched his father, and his uncle, whom he loved, ride off to Carthage. The next time he saw his father and his uncle, their bodies were lying in state in the mansion house.

He was nine years of age when his mother chose to follow Brigham Young. This marvelous mother, Mary Fielding, a convert of Parly P Pratt, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, came to Kirtland shortly after Hyrum's first wife Jerusa passed away, bearing his sixth child. Hyrum was on a mission when all this occurred. He came back to Kirtland to his motherless children. Shortly after Mary Fielding arrived in Kirtland, the Prophet introduced her to Hyrum. They married, and she cared for his family. They had two additional children, a boy and a girl.

The boy they named Joseph Fielding Smith. This boy, brothers and sisters, was a tie in our church history from Nauvoo clear up to 1918. This boy, at nine years of age, walked across the plains. You have read his story, and so you know of the sacrifices he and his mother made.

At 13 years of age his mother passed away, leaving him an orphan. She was only 52.

Members of the Rochdale Ward, Ashton Stake, supported by sisters of the Ashton 1st Ward, for the last few years have adopted Francis House Children’s Hospice as one of their reach-out community projects.
Prepandemic and during the build-up to Easter, sisters have knitted Easter chicks, into which chocolate cream eggs donated by members have been inserted. The completed Easter chicks were then donated to the hospice for them to sell as part of their ongoing fundraising activities.
Easter 2021 brought new challenges! Would the project be able to continue?
It was decided to go ahead despite the challenges, but with the added invitation to not only supply the chocolate cream eggs and knit the chicks but also to sell the finished goods to family, friends, work colleagues, and others.
The response was overwhelming and the best to date. A total of £1,567 was raised and donated. In response, the hospice sent a letter of thanks, and a certificate. One of the lines from the letter read:
“A heartfelt thank you for taking part in our Easter Chick Appeal and raising an absolutely fantastic £1,567 for Francis House Children’s Hospice through the sale of your own knitted eggs. The support means more than words can say. I’m truly grateful you took the time and energy to support us during this difficult year for our appeal.”
In a time of adversity and with limitations caused by COVID-19, there are still opportunities to serve others within local communities, whose needs are greater than ever before.

“There’s the temple!” Dad said, pointing out the car window.
Rachel leaned forward in her seat. She could see the tall white spire in the distance with the golden angel Moroni on top. It was beautiful!
All her life, Rachel had looked forward to going inside the temple. Now she was just minutes away from going inside for the first time! Mom and Dad had even helped her find family names to be baptized for.
Rachel had heard about how peaceful the temple was. But as their car pulled into the temple parking lot, Rachel started feeling kind of panicky.
I’m going inside God’s house, Rachel thought. What if I’m not ready? What if I’m not worthy? She swallowed hard as Mom parked the car.
“You OK?” Dad asked as they got out.
“I’m a little nervous,” said Rachel.
“It’ll be great,” Mom said. “There will be lots of kind temple workers to help you.”
“And we’ll be there too.” Dad gave Rachel’s arm a gentle squeeze.
That made Rachel feel better. But just a little.
Rachel and her parents walked through the temple doors. A man in a white suit was at a desk. “Welcome to the temple,” he said, smiling. Rachel showed him her recommend. Some nice temple workers gave her a white jumpsuit in her size.
Rachel tried to feel the peace everyone had talked about. But new worries kept popping up in her mind like crazy popcorn kernels. What if the water’s cold? What if I don’t know where to go? What if I do something wrong?
When Rachel went into the locker room to change, she knelt down in the stall and prayed. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please help me feel more calm. Please help me to feel peace.”
Rachel’s worried mind felt a little clearer as she finished her prayer. She stood up, zipped on her white jumpsuit, and walked out to meet her parents by the baptism font. She was feeling better already!
There were some other kids waiting to be baptized, so Rachel sat on one of the soft benches to wait. It helped a lot to watch them and see how it was done.
Then it was Rachel’s turn. She gave a temple worker the cards with her ancestors’ names. She took a deep breath and stepped into the water. It was warm!
Rachel listened as the young man baptizing her said the words to the baptism prayer. As she came up out of the water, she felt like her ancestors were giving her a big hug for doing this for them. She felt like she could almost hear them whisper, “Thank you.”
After Rachel changed into her dry clothes, she was confirmed for the ancestors she was baptized for. When she and her parents walked back out the temple doors into the sunshine, Rachel felt good inside.
“So, what did you think?” Dad asked.
“I loved it,” Rachel said. “I loved it with my whole heart.”
As they drove away, Rachel smiled as she watched the temple disappear in the distance. She really had felt peace inside the Lord’s house. And she could honestly say that she loved to see the temple.

In the Old Testament, a prophet of God asked that same question of a woman whose name we are not told. As the prophet Elisha went about fulfilling his prophetic duties, he often passed through a town called Shunem. Whenever Elisha passed by, this woman constrained him to stop and eat bread. After one of Elisha’s visits, the woman turned to her husband and said:
I perceive that this is an holy man of God, which ­passeth by us continually.
Let us make a little chamber, I pray thee, on the wall; and let us set for him there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick: and it shall be, when he cometh to us, that he shall turn in thither.2
Now, just as this woman had envisioned, the next time Elisha came, he stayed in the room. The account reads: “And it fell on a day, that he came thither, and he turned into the chamber, and lay there.”3
The scriptures do not tell us how the woman felt as the prophet went into the little room that she had prepared just for him. But the scriptures do tell us how Elisha felt. He asked his servant to give the woman a message directly from him. It was, in effect, “What can I do for you?” Or, to be scripturally precise, “Thou hast been careful for us with all this care; what is to be done for thee?”4
Then the servant offered two options for the woman to consider: “Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host?”5 Certainly these suggestions were within the rights of the prophet to make. He had already been of great help to both the king in Israel and the king in Judah. He had helped them obtain victory in war. Certainly the king and the captain would help Elisha in any way they could. So this woman could probably have negotiated anything she desired in response to the question “What is to be done for thee?”
This is the foundation for our question this morning: What would each of you ask for? How would you answer the prophet today?
I personally love the response she gave. She answered, “I dwell among mine own people.”6 Or, as I interpret it, “I have everything I need; I am at home with family.” Or perhaps, “We have plenty and to spare.”
Does her answer surprise you? It did me. Whatever her motivation, her answer caused me to think about what my response would be. Do I know enough about God’s plan? Am I secure enough in what God has given me and in my discipleship to His Son that I could say to the prophet, “I have everything I need”?
How about you? Do you have everything you need?

Some here may be wondering, “Are these all the gifts I need to return to Heavenly Father? In these spiritually perilous times, don’t we face some challenges that are unique to us—challenges that require something more?”
The answer is yes. Which is why you need to hear the rest of the Shunammite woman’s story—the part that is critically important for you and me as Saints living in the latter days.
After the Shunammite woman gave her answer, she went away. But the prophet Elisha could not rest. He still wanted to know what more he could do for her. In response, his servant pointed out that she had no child and that her husband was old. So Elisha called for the woman to come back. Elisha then promised her a son, which she later delivered, just as the prophet had said. And I love how he said the promise to her:
About this season, according to the time of life, thou shalt embrace a son. . . .
And the woman conceived, and bare a son at that season that Elisha had said unto her, according to the time of life.21
But that is not the end of the story. After several years this son would die and then be brought back to life by the prophet Elisha, miraculously giving this woman’s son to her twice.22
But even that is not the end of the story. After several more years, Elisha told this woman to flee into a different land because of a famine that was going to last seven years. She took her husband and son and fled, returning only after the famine had ended.23
The prophet of the Lord knew what the Shunammite woman needed—needs she probably believed could not be addressed and future needs she couldn’t possibly anticipate. But because she answered the call of a prophet and believed in his promises, her needs were met.

Every year since he was three years old, Tommy Tipana had gone into the wilderness with his grandfather, Utak, for a short period of time to learn the old ways of his people. Tommy’s father, however, was a modern Eskimo who lived in a sturdy wooden house and had a snowmobile. He did not approve of the old ways, but he allowed Tommy to learn what he could from Utak.
The year Tommy was ten, Grandfather Utak invited him to go on a trip through Anaktuvuk Pass by dogsled. So, early one morning Tommy waved good-bye to his parents, then snuggled down under a bearskin robe on his grandfather’s sled. Utak cracked the long whip that sent the dogs bounding toward the snowbound tundra, and the journey began.
At the end of the day, Utak and Tommy stopped the team and fed them strips of caribou meat. Afterward Utak tapped on the snow with his ayoutak (long stick used for probing), and they listened for a deep, resounding squeak. “A good spot,” Tommy said, pointing.
His grandfather smiled and nodded. “Yes, the snowdrift is firm and deep here, Grandson. It will make a good igloo. You learn well.”
Together they cut out blocks of snow and stacked them. Then they packed the joints and cracks with loose snow, leaving only a small doorway for them to enter. They built a fire, and all was warm and cozy for the night. Next they cut a hole in the ice and fished for arctic charr. As Tommy and Utak ate their meal, Utak smiled in the light of the fire, for he was pleased with his grandson. “It is good that you learn the ways of our people,” Utak said encouragingly. “Soon there will be few who remember, and the new ways are wrong.”
“Father lives the new ways,” Tommy said, bewildered. “How can they be wrong?”
“Your parents go to the store to buy their food and clothes. They have forgotten how to fish and hunt and tan hides and sew. They have no dogsled, but ride on a snowmobile. All that we need is outside our igloo, Tommy, if we know how to use it.”
Utak slept, and Tommy sat curled in his bearskin, watching the fire. Outside, he could hear the whistling snow as it covered everything with a white blanket. He wondered which way was best—the old way or the new way. Tommy liked them both.
Early in the morning, Tommy and Utak ate and dressed quickly, for the fire was low. Tommy coiled thongs of caribou skin around his boots to make them skid proof. Pulling the hood of his fur coat closely around his face, he crawled out into the blazing whiteness of the new day. The dogs, shaking the snow from their coats, barked and strained at their tethers while Tommy threw them strips of frozen blubber. When they were through eating, Tommy helped them into their traces and waited for Utak. But Utak did not come out of the igloo.
“Grandfather!” Tommy called, kneeling at the doorway. “The dogs are ready.”
“Tommy, come here, Son,” came his grandfather’s faint answer.
Tommy crawled back into the igloo. His grandfather sat leaning against the wall amid their belongings. His hand was massaging his chest.
“Grandfather,” Tommy whispered, “are you ill?”
Utak motioned for Tommy to come closer. “You must leave me here, Tommy. I am a sick old man, and it is the old way to deal with my sickness.”
“I cannot leave you!” Tommy cried. “You are my grandfather.”
“Adjornarmat (that is life),” Grandfather said, shaking his head slowly. “Now do as I say! Leave me here. Take the sled and return to your parents … but do not forget the old ways.”
“I will not leave you, Grandfather,” Tommy replied. “There is much I do not know yet, and you are the only one who can teach me.”
Tommy hurried outside to get a wide strip of baleen (whalebone) from the sled and bring it into the igloo.
“Here, Grandfather, let me help you.” Tommy helped Utak onto the baleen, then pulled his grandfather to the sled. Slowly Utak climbed onto the sled, and Tommy wrapped him in bearskins. Then Tommy packed their few belongings and turned the dogs toward home. His grandfather slept.
The dogs knew Utak was not driving them, and they growled, refusing to pull. Finally, Tommy lifted the heavy whip and commanded them as his grandfather had done so many times before. The whip cracked sharply in the frozen morning air; the lead dog growled one more time, then began to pull. They had a new master now, but he had learned much from their old master.
Back along the frozen tundra the sled raced, mile after mile, without Grandfather to guide it. Nevertheless, the boy remembered all he had learned and drove the sled in a straight line. Late that night, they arrived home.
The next morning Utak awoke in a hospital bed with white sheets. There were curtains at the windows. A nurse was leaning over him.
“Your grandson saved your life, Mr. Tipana,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see him?”
Utak nodded, and Tommy walked into the hospital room, followed by his parents. He bent and hugged his grandfather gently. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he whispered.
“You saved my life and yet you thank me?” Utak was puzzled.
“For the old ways,” Tommy said and smiled. “If I had not known them, I would not have been able to bring you to the new ways that have saved your life.”
Tommy’s father frowned. “Utak! You must give up the old ways—the new ways are better and safer.”
Tommy simply smiled to himself as his father and grandfather argued about the old and new ways. He wondered why they did not understand as he did that both ways were good. Tommy knew he would live somewhere between them, for he had learned to love them both.

As I thought about Cindy’s question, I remembered that Dad had once said that the feeling of warning we get when we’re tempted is from the Holy Ghost as He tries to keep us from doing wrong. I should have had a lot more of that feeling the day I thought I had to have a piece of licorice. I’d helped myself to a dime from Mom’s purse without asking, and I’d hardly felt guilty at all when I handed it to the clerk at the store.
The very next day Mom said, “Little chickie, if you’ll run and post Dad’s letter, I’ll pop a peach cobbler into the oven for lunch.” Katie and Shauna had already gone to Aunt Shirley’s on an errand, so I was the only little chick left.
Then Mom looked in her purse and said, “Oh, oh. I was certain I had just the right change for a stamp, but there’s only a dime left.”
She took everything out of her purse and shook it. “Hmmmm,” she said, “it looks like I’ll have to write a check before I can mail Dad’s letter. We’ll have to forget about the cobbler, because while I’m out I might as well run my other errands.”
“Oh, Mom, you’ve already made me hungry for cobbler. Can’t the letter wait until tomorrow?”
“No. Daddy said we must get it in the mail this morning.”
“What’re we having for lunch?” I asked.
“Tuna sandwiches. Please stay close to the phone. Sister Heaton is going to call me. Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I get back.”
I felt awful as I watched her drive away.
That was last year. As I thought about it now that I was baptized, I knew it was important for me to tell Mom about it. I’d give her one of my birthday dimes, too, to help make things right.

Elder Merrill C. Oaks, formerly of the Seventy, tells of an experience he had while serving as a bishop. A young woman in his ward was praying to know if she should marry the young man she was dating, but she didn’t feel she had received an answer.

Elder Oaks urged her to continue praying, but he also counseled her to decide for herself. “I told her she was expecting the Lord to make the decision for her,” he said, “but He won’t do that. Even a decision as important as marriage requires us to exercise our own agency. …

“I told her she must exercise her own agency by studying it out in her mind, making a tentative decision, and then asking the Lord for a confirmation of her decision.”

She eventually got her answer, explaining, “I just began to feel [more and more positive], and I knew that my prayers were being answered” (“How to Get an Answer,” New Era, Aug. 2001, 47).

In Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, President Bokolo shares how he and his family joined the Church in France. One day, as he was reading his patriarchal blessing, the Spirit inspired Brother Bokolo to return with his family to the DR Congo. Brother Bokolo knew they would face many challenges if they returned. And their church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was not yet established in Kinshasa.

Yet, in faith, as have many others, the Bokolos followed the Lord’s Spirit. In Kinshasa, they ministered to and blessed those around them, overcame challenges, received spiritual and temporal blessings. Today, they rejoice in having a house of the Lord in their country.

I experienced such spiritual gifts when I served as a missionary in Italy. After a few weeks of language practice in the missionary training center, I worried that I did not have the gift of tongues, but I learned to bear my testimony in Italian and understand what others were saying, and most importantly, I learned to love. At other times, I have experienced the gift of tongues through spiritual promptings to open my mouth and say things that I wasn’t necessarily planning to say. I have also been blessed and uplifted by the inspired words of other women.

I once had an experience that taught me a great lesson about the way a highly developed tolerance for “being realistic” can inhibit the workings of the Spirit in our lives. When I had been on my mission in Germany about a year, I was assigned to work with a brand new missionary named Elder Keeler, who had just arrived fresh from converting—or so he thought—all the stewardesses on the plane from New York to Frankfurt. Within a few days of his arrival, I was called to a meeting in another city and had to leave him to work in our city with another inexperienced missionary whose companion went with me. I returned late that night.

The next morning I asked him how his day had gone. He broke into a big smile and said that he had found a family who would surely join the Church. In our mission, it was rare to see anybody join the Church, let alone a whole family. I asked for more details, but he had forgotten to write down either the name or the address. All he could remember was that the family lived on the top floor of a big apartment house. “Oh, that’s great,” I thought to myself as I contemplated all those flights of stairs. He also explained that he knew so little German that he had exchanged but a few words with the woman who answered the door. But he did think she wanted us to come back—and he wanted to go find her and have me talk to her that very minute. I explained to him that the people who do not slam the door in missionaries’ faces are not all planning to join the Church. But off we went to find her, mostly to humor him. He could not remember the right street either, so we picked a likely spot in our tracting area and began climbing up and down those endless polished staircases.

After a frustrating hour, I decided that I really needed to level with him. “Based on my many months of experience,” I said, “it is simply not worth our time to try any longer to find that woman. I have developed a tolerance for the realities of missionary work, and I simply know more about all this than you do.”

His eyes filled with tears and his lower lip began to tremble. (That elder was no dummy—he recently graduated from Boalt Law School at Berkeley.) I remember it so well—he said to me through those tear-filled eyes, “Elder Hafen, I came on my mission to find the honest in heart. The Spirit told me that that woman is going to join the Church, and you can’t stop me from finding her.”

I decided that I had to teach him a lesson. So I raced him up one staircase after another until he was ready to drop, and so was I. “Elder Keeler,” I asked, “had enough?”

“No,” he said. “We’ve got to find her.”

I began to smolder. I decided to work him until he pled with me to stop—then maybe he would get the message.

Then, at the top of a long flight of stairs, we found the apartment. She came to the door. He thrashed my ribs with his elbow and whispered loudly, “That’s her, elder. That’s the one. Talk to her!”

Not long ago, brothers and sisters, up on Maple Lane a few blocks from here, that woman’s husband sat in our living room. He was here for general conference because he is the bishop of the Mannheim Ward. His two boys are preparing for missions; his wife and daughters are pillars of the Church. That is a lesson I can never forget about the limitations of the skepticism and the tolerance for ambiguity that come with learning and experience. I hope that I will never be so aware of “reality” that I am unresponsive to the whisperings of heaven.