Gospel Story Finder

Throughout his journey, Elder Walker has witnessed many faith-building experiences that have deepened his testimony of the gospel. One such experience with a humble family in Tonga profoundly strengthened his faith in the power of sacrifice and obedience to the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Elder Walker was on assignment in Tonga when he met a couple whose lives exemplified faith and devotion. This couple was known for their unwavering obedience to the Lord, consistently prioritizing His work, even at the expense of their own health and personal needs.
As he got to know them, Elder Walker learned that the husband suffered from a heart condition that required surgery, an operation that would cost $24,000 and needed to be performed in Australia. The couple could not afford the procedure or the travel expenses, but thankfully, a family member in Australia offered financial help.
Soon after arriving in Australia for the surgery, however, the man felt a strong prompting to return home, even before the operation. Trusting this spiritual impression, he returned to Tonga, where he was soon called as the stake president. His sense of duty replaced any consideration for his own wellbeing, and he postponed addressing his health concerns to focus on serving the members of his stake.
Elder Walker counselled with the couple, urging them to prioritize the husband’s health so that the Lord could continue to bless him and use him to care for his family and his stake. Shortly after, the man was able to receive financial assistance and returned to Australia for health tests and medical advice.
Following some of these tests, Elder Walker received an intriguing message from a family member in Australia. The family member reported that during one scan, the technician noticed something unusual—something resembling a metal stent appeared exactly where the pain originated. When asked if the husband had undergone any surgery before, the family member assured the technician that he had not.
This unexpected finding was a sign of divine intervention, a miracle that allowed the husband to continue his service without needing the costly operation.
This experience left a lasting impression on Elder Walker, strengthening his testimony of the miracles that occur when we exercise faith and obey the promptings of the Holy Ghost. The humble couple’s willingness to sacrifice and trust in the Lord exemplifies the truth in 2 Nephi 27:23: “For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever; and I work not among the children of men save it be according to their faith.”

Hector González of the Villa Nueva Guatemala Stake says the gospel has given him strength to face the cancer that cost him a leg and nearly took his life. At one point, he wondered why this should happen to him. His wife brought his patriarchal blessing to him in the hospital, and he found hope in its promise of a long life of service. When it became obvious that he would lose his right leg, he received a spiritual witness that all would be well. After the surgery, he recalls, “It was incredible the support I found in reading the Book of Mormon. It gave me the strength to go on.” Now back at work, he says, “I know the Lord has been watching over me. I know He has cared for me through all of this.”

Little finger puppets crafted by the young people of the Stillwater Oklahoma Stake take the sting out of a blood test for children at the local medical center. Over 50 young men and young women got together to make over 200 bunnies, snowmen, and chickens that just fit the fingers of small patients at the hospital.

Having a finger pricked for a blood test is a necessary but often traumatic experience for children. Gail Vest, the coordinator of the project, thought the finger puppets would help turn the tears into smiles. She went to the stake’s young people to see if they would like to make it a service project. The project was performed with enthusiasm, and the hospital is delighted with the results.

Heavenly Father wants us to serve others. My Primary teacher was a great example of service. When we came to Primary, Sister Antonietti always brought a chocolate cake. I hated chocolate cake! Everyone else liked it. But I never ate it.
One day she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient.”
I agreed to try it. And guess what? I liked it!
Many years later my mom told me what Sister Antonietti’s secret ingredient was. “Sister Antonietti didn’t have much money,” my mom said. “Each week she had to choose between paying for a bus ride to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for your class. She always chose the chocolate cake. So instead of riding the bus, she walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
Sister Antonietti’s secret ingredient was the love she had for others!

The joys and blessings of serving a full-time mission are so personally sacred, they are hard to express adequately. Thirty-five years after I served my first mission, I received a letter from a family whom I had taught but did not baptize. The letter shared that their family of four little children, whom I once knew, now consisted of four temple marriages, three full-time missionaries, three bishops, a Relief Society president, and a dozen grandchildren maturing and developing in the gospel. You can well imagine the thrill and joy I received knowing that I had helped to find them and to teach them the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When I was about five years old, while my parents built our home, we lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, in an apartment owned by my Aunt Elizabeth. We had heavy snows that winter and then a quick thaw, which caused a tremendous flood to sweep through the area where we lived, bringing rocks and sand with it.
When the flood waters were finally gone, my aunt gave me the task of shoveling the dirt it left behind into a little red wagon and unloading it onto a big mound, which was later hauled away. She paid me one or two cents a wagonload. That was how I earned a large part of the money to buy myself a Red Flyer wagon. What a great thing that was! I thought it was a privilege to have a job. My aunt could have had somebody else do it a lot more quickly and easily, but the experience helped me learn the value of working hard. This lesson has helped me at school, in the mission field, at work, and in other areas of my life.

Big “wanted” posters were used as invitations for a super evening activity for the Young Women of the Hyrum Utah Stake and their dads. The event, which by request will be an annual event, was set to a western theme with over 350 in attendance.
A dinner of Navajo tacos and all the toppings was served. Then after a short program, the chairs and tables were shoved aside and the dancing began. Everyone had a great time learning to square dance and picking up a little bit of the western swing.
The girls were excited to have their fathers as escorts, and the evening was termed a great success with comments like, “This evening has been fabulous. I’ve never had such a good time.”

Joseph Smith’s religious searchings were not directed exclusively to his own benefit and comfort. He frequently invoked the powers of heaven in behalf of others who suffered around him. In an early letter to his brother Hyrum, Joseph wrote:
“This morning after being called out of my bed in the night to go a small distance [to administer to a sister] I went and had an awful struggle with Satan, but being armed with the power of God he was cast out and the woman is clothed in her right mind. The Lord worketh wonders in this land.”27

“In our stake all the youth were introduced to the theme in a standards night at the beginning of the year. We watched a bunch of clips including the theme song [see lds.org/go/embark9NE]. I instantly loved it. Then we talked about some of the standards in the For the Strength of Youth booklet. We finished by talking about Elder Neil L. Andersen’s temple challenge [see templechallenge.lds.org] and how important it is to find and bring your own family names to the temple.
“At home, I picked up my phone and looked up #embark on Instagram. I found tons of pictures of the theme scripture, logo, and some Mormonads. I posted a few pictures of #embark, and a few minutes later I got a comment from someone at school saying she’d seen me at the standards night. Before that I didn’t know that anyone else at my school was LDS—let alone someone in my grade. I love this theme so much!”
Haiden G., 13, Alberta, Canada

“When I was younger, I was struggling with letting go of an issue with one of my siblings, which could have ruined our family unity for years, but my dear mother lovingly and swiftly corrected me and asked me to do what the Lord had counselled the Nephites to do when He appeared to them in the Americas.
“In 3rd Nephi it says (and she made me read this even when I was angry):
“But behold I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them who despitefully use you and persecute you (3 Nephi 12:44).
“It was hard for me to do, at first . . . Who knew that kind of grudge can affect you, not just spiritually, but also physically and mentally? Yet, as Mum shared, the other person with whom I held a grudge against, is living their best life, unaware of my personal turmoil because life progresses for those who learn to let it go quickly.
“She said, ‘Don’t you let Satan win!’
“I am grateful for the Atonement of my Saviour Jesus Christ that allows me, an imperfect daughter of God, a striving covenant-keeper and disciple of Christ to repent daily as I practice being meek. The power of His Atonement strengthens me to keep trying and I know He will be there for all of us in our daily efforts to be meek and lowly in heart.”

The last thing I remember before the four-wheeler flipped was being so scared that I couldn’t even scream. I closed my eyes and felt my body being dragged across the ground. When the four-wheeler landed on top of me, it knocked me out. Somehow my friend Kurt, who was also injured, lifted it off me.
When I woke, I tasted blood and dirt in my mouth. I was dizzy and lying on the side of a ditch. At first I didn’t feel any pain, but soon I began to hurt every time I breathed. After Kurt helped me take off my helmet, my left arm, which was bent out of shape, started to hurt too. I had a big lump on my head, and when I looked at my left leg, I saw a huge cut. My leg was bleeding, and it soon swelled to twice its normal size.
Then I got scared—not of dying but of thinking I might never be able to play soccer again.
Both of my parents are from Argentina. Everyone in my family knows soccer. I grew up playing it and watching it, especially with my dad. When Argentina won the World Cup in 2022, it was the best day ever!
Playing soccer has taught me that if I do my best, I can do things I didn’t think I could do. That applies to school too, like with tests. Tests can be tough, but if I study and work hard, I know I’ll do OK.
I’ve also learned that I’m more frustrated if I play badly than if my team loses. Even if we lose, I’m still happy if I played well.
Right after the accident, my sister Nicole showed up with her friend on another four-wheeler, and two boys who saw us crash quickly drove up on their four-wheelers.
“My dad’s a nurse!” one boy said. While he called his dad for help, Nicole and her friend hurried back to our camp to get my dad.
That morning, nurse Mike Staheli had planned to head home from a weekend campout with some friends. But they felt prompted to stay one more day. I’m thankful they did.
While Mike gave me first aid and checked my vital signs, someone called for an ambulance. Mike feared that I had broken my arm and femur, cracked several ribs, and that I was bleeding internally.
Mike said the ambulance from a nearby town would likely arrive first, but my condition was serious enough that I should be airlifted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. A medevac helicopter was also called for.
When my dad and his friend Hector saw me, they knew I needed a priesthood blessing. My dad asked me, “Do you have faith in the power of the priesthood? Do you have faith that the Lord can help you and heal you?”
“I do have faith, Papá,” I told him. But at the same time, I wondered, “What if I don’t have enough faith?”
My dad anointed me, and Hector blessed me. As soon as the blessing began, my breathing slowed, I calmed down, and I felt warmth even though it was cold outside. I knew then that I did have enough faith and that I was going to be fine either way.
When the ambulance arrived, paramedics cut off my favorite soccer shirt and checked my vital signs. They had stabilized. The helicopter arrived a few minutes later.
When the helicopter landed at the hospital, I was rushed inside. Nurses and doctors began examining me and doing lots of tests, including an MRI. My dad and I expected the worst, and so did they.
But they found nothing! No broken bones, no internal bleeding, no sign of concussion. My leg still hurt a lot, though.
“This is a miracle!” a nurse told me. Later, one doctor said, “OK, Alan, looks like you can go home tonight.”
I was like, “Really?”
Because I still had a hard time walking, I stayed in the hospital overnight. I left the next morning with only a brace on my left wrist. A few weeks later, I was training again for soccer.

Grandpa had a great desire to serve, and no matter what the job, he was dedicated to it. He served as stake clerk for many years. When the shaking of his hand became so severe that it became difficult to write, the stake president asked him if he would like to be released. Without hesitation and with a twinkle in his eye, Grandpa replied, “You know, President, it’s not writing I have a problem with. It’s fishing. Whenever I go fishing my hand gets to shaking so that I can’t tell if I’ve got a fish on the line or if it’s just me.” With that, Grandpa continued to serve in his position almost until his death.

The word of God is powerful, too, in helping us find hope in coping with our daily trials. Sister Patricia Holland, wife of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve, experienced the pressures many women feel during the early years of her marriage as she supported her husband in school, moved many times, and cared for their very young children. At one point when her husband, a graduate student, was called to serve in a stake presidency and Sister Holland was called as ward Relief Society president, she admitted, “I really wanted to give up. … It wasn’t easy.”
Her husband’s gentle counsel was, “Read your scriptures more meaningfully. … The only way we will survive [feeling considerable pressure himself] is through spirituality. We will survive through the strength of the Spirit.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Sister Holland thought. On a day of fasting and prayer, “his words kept coming to my mind. … I remember walking over to my scriptures with the attitude, okay, we’ll just see if there’s something to this. And of course there was. The answers were there” (New Era, April 1981, pages 42–43).

I opened my eyes just as the sun started to peek under my flowered drapes. Excitement flooded my body, but for just a moment I couldn’t remember why. Then I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. “Today is the day! Today is the glorious day!” I sang quietly—it was way too early to disturb anyone. I stood there thinking about how wonderful today would be: I was going to get a puppy of my very own. Well, not exactly of my very own, for I would have to give it up in a year. Still, I’d have him practically forever. A year is an awfully long time.
I had always wanted a dog, but Mom said that she had enough to do with me and Jeffy and her part-time job at the library, without having a dog underfoot.
I tried to explain that it wouldn’t be underfoot and that I’d take complete care of it. “I already know how to take care of a dog,” I argued.
For several weeks I’d worked after school at Pete’s Pet Shop. It wasn’t a real job, but Pete said that he’d hire me when I grew up, so it was almost a job. I watered and fed the animals, then played with the pups until it was time to go home for dinner.
One day Pete had introduced me to Mrs. Evans. “Meet my friend Tracy Stevens. She’s my right hand. I don’t know what those dogs would do if she didn’t come in every day and get them fresh food and water.”
“I like dogs, too,” Mrs. Evans had said. “I find people to take care of pups until they are trained enough to give to a person who needs them to see.”
How would a dog help someone to see? I had wondered. After she went out, Pete explained to me that she worked for the Society for Seeing-Eye Dogs. When she picked Blacknose, one of Pete’s dogs, to use in the program, I felt my heart sinking. That meant that I wouldn’t see Blacknose again. He was one of my favorites. They were all my favorites, for that matter, and I felt a little sick every time I came to the store and a pup had been sold.
I listened carefully as Pete explained to me just what Mrs. Evans did, and then I ran home to explain it to my folks. At dinner I told them about the seeing-eye-dog program and that I really wanted Mrs. Evans to choose me to help her. I didn’t think that Mom was listening, because Jeffy threw his potatoes on the floor just then. But she winked at Dad, saying, “Now wouldn’t that be something—a dog to lick up Jeffy’s mashed potatoes.” Then she got serious and said, “I have plenty to do without running after a dog when I get home. No, Honey, I just don’t think that it would work.”
I’d argued and talked, and finally they’d agreed to see Mrs. Evans to hear what she had to say. And today was the day! Mrs. Evans was bringing a live puppy with her while she explained the training program.
I thought that noon would never come. Finally I saw a car drive up. Mrs. Evans got out, shook hands with Mom and Dad, and handed me the cutest little puppy that I had ever seen. Then she started to explain what would be expected of me. “You’ll have to keep him with you as much as possible. You’ll have to show him love without getting him spoiled. You must never let him jump up on you, because blind people can’t anticipate that kind of thing. You must feed him properly—no snacks!”
After Mrs. Evans had explained everything about the program and what my responsibilities would be, Mom and Dad agreed to let me train the puppy.
“I hope that we’re doing the right thing,” Mother said to me as we all signed some papers, “and that it won’t break your heart when you have to give him up.”
“A year is a long time,” I answered. I spent as much time with Chip as I could.
I took him walking where we’d see cats and bikes and dogs. He must never run or bark without a reason. I taught him to heel and sit, and he even learned about traffic. I couldn’t bear the mournful look in his eyes when I ate cookies, so I’d slip him a tiny piece from time to time. That’s why I called him Chip, for chocolate chips.
Then one day we got that awful phone call from Mrs. Evans. “I’ll be over next Saturday to take you and the dog to the center,” she told me.
“The year isn’t up yet, is it?” I wailed.
Mrs. Evans laughed. “Not quite, but I hope that you aren’t getting too attached to that dog. He will have to go in two months, you know.”
“So what will we do next Saturday?”
“He’ll be tested by a professional handler. If he tests out, he’ll be ready to help a blind person.”
“What if he doesn’t test out?”
“We couldn’t use him and would have to give him away,” she answered.
Only a week, I thought. How can I bear to lose him? I had a wild idea: If I could make Chip forget everything, they wouldn’t want him. So why not try to make him act disobedient? “Heel,” I shouted. When Chip obeyed instantly, I yelled at him, “You bad dog! You are so dumb.”
“Sit,” I ordered next, and when he sat, I pulled on his collar and told him how bad he was.
He began to look more and more bewildered as I gave him orders, then punished him for obeying. It broke my heart when I saw his sad eyes looking at me. “Please understand. I’m doing it for your sake,” I told him.
By Saturday Chip was slinking around with his tail between his legs. “What’s wrong with Chip?” Dad asked.
“He’s been acting strange all week,” I answered. I felt terrible about lying like that, but I wanted to keep Chip with me.
When we got to the arena, Mrs. Evans met us and smiled. “Well, here is one of our young handlers. What a fine looking dog. It looks as though you did a good job.”
A man came up and took the leash from my hands. I wanted Chip to sit down and growl at him or do anything except what he was supposed to. But he obediently followed the man to the center of the big floor. I watched as Chip performed perfectly. He came bounding happily back to me with an expectant look on his face, and I realized that I’d failed in my efforts to keep him. “Couldn’t you have run after a cat or something?” I muttered sadly.
As we drove home, Dad chattered pleasantly about the beautiful day, and I sat there wishing that I could crawl into a big hole and just die. I was going to lose Chip. I’d have him for just two more months, and I knew that I wouldn’t try to confuse him any more. I did keep praying that I could keep him, though.
Every Saturday we drove to the center and watched as the handlers put Chip through his paces. They took him into traffic. They had a man run at him with a club. They used horns and whistles and records of screaming crowds. Chip responded perfectly. I couldn’t help but be proud as I watched him work.
Then came the Saturday when Dad said, “You’ve done a superb job. Your work is over now. I’m sure that the person who gets Chip can hardly wait. Imagine waiting for a whole year to finally walk in the sun! You’ve helped someone be able to do that.”
I huddled in the seat with my arm around Chip. I felt miserable. What did it matter that Dad was proud of me? I had lost Chip. Hot tears spilled down my face. Without a word, Dad handed me his handkerchief and squeezed my hand. “We are all born with different talents. Maybe this is one of the things that you were born to accomplish,” he said softly.
When we got to the center, I took Chip’s leash and walked as tall and proud as I could. I didn’t want Chip to be ashamed of me this last day. Mrs. Evans pointed out a young man sitting in a corner. “That’s Mike. He’ll be getting Chip. He’s waited a long time for this.”
The expression on Mike’s face was expectant, and his head was turned slightly. I realized that he was listening harder than most people because he couldn’t see.
“This is Tracy,” Mrs. Evans said when we reached him. “She’s trained your dog for you.”
Mike got up and held out his hand. I took it and felt strong, warm fingers close over mine.
“I want to thank you for everything.” His eyes were bright with unshed tears, and his voice choked in his throat. “What do you call him?”
“I call him Chip.” I hesitated, then added, “I’ll tell you why later.” Then, when Mrs. Evans walked away with Dad, I whispered to Mike, “We aren’t supposed to give him snacks, but I give him a piece of cookie now and then. He loves it.”
Mike laughed and whispered back. “I love cookies too. Don’t worry—I’ll slip him a cookie sometimes.”
Mike reached down and took Chip’s leash. Chip watched me with a puzzled look, whining softly. Mike put his arms around Chip’s neck. I saw Chip wag his tail, and his tongue came out and touched Mike’s hand. I knew that he’d agreed to go with Mike. I suddenly felt warm and light inside. I’d done my best, and I had helped someone. It really felt good.
And after Chip had been gone for a month, the very best thing happened! Mrs. Evans came back and handed me a little ball of fur. He looked something like Blacknose. Mother groaned, but there was a smile on her lips. I remembered that Dad had said that maybe this was one of the talents I was born with. If it was, I always had to do my best. Grateful, I took the wriggling puppy in my arms and thought, I’ll have you for a whole year. And a year is a long time!

Jaymee was bored. There was nothing to do … nothing fun, anyway. She looked at her coloring book and crayons.
“I’m tired of coloring,” she thought.
Jaymee looked at her dolls with their colorful dresses, shoes, and purses.
“I’m tired of playing with my dolls,” she thought.
She looked at the books and magazines on her shelf.
“I’m tired of reading,” she thought.
Jaymee walked into the family room and looked at the television.
“I’m tired of movies and TV shows,” she thought.
Jaymee wandered around the house and found her mother in the kitchen washing dishes.
“Mom, I’m bored,” she said. “What can I do?”
“I can’t think of anything for you to do right now, Jaymee,” Mom said, squeezing a sponge into the hot, soapy water.
Jaymee found her brother Matthew in his bedroom. Toys, books, and clothes were scattered on the floor.
“Do you want to play, Matthew?” she asked.
“I have to clean my room right now,” he said. He picked up a truck and dropped it in the toy box.
Jaymee went outside. Mrs. Johnson was weeding her garden. She wiped her brow with a small towel, bent down, and pulled another weed. Jaymee didn’t even ask Mrs. Johnson if she wanted to play.
No, there was nothing to do. Nothing at all.
Jaymee sat down on the front porch. She started to think about what her Primary teacher had taught them. Jesus Christ had helped people, and He talked about how important it was to be a good neighbor. Jaymee smiled. She wanted to be like Jesus. She got up and hurried back into the house.
“Mom, can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, Jaymee.” Mom handed Jaymee a dishcloth. “It would be a big help if you dried the dishes.”
When the dishes were done, Jaymee went to Matthew’s room.
“Matthew, can I help you clean your room?” she asked.
He looked surprised and said, “Yes.”
She picked up clothes, blocks, trucks, and books. At last they were done.
“Thanks, Jaymee,” Matthew said.
Jaymee went outside and saw Mrs. Johnson still weeding the garden. Jaymee went back into the house, poured a glass of cold lemonade, and took it to Mrs. Johnson.
“What a thoughtful thing to do,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Weeding makes me so hot and thirsty.” She finished the lemonade. “You are such a wonderful neighbor, Jaymee,” she said.
Jaymee smiled, and then they finished weeding the garden together.

Filing of articles and thoughts for church talks and lessons is another chore that I simply can’t stand to do for more than a few minutes at a time. Before applying this idea to the filing task, and while waiting—and waiting—to file until I “had time” or felt “motivated,” I felt guilty about not getting it done. After years of good intentions, I decided to file two items a day, every day. I’m still at it, but now instead of two boxes of material to file, I’m down to a stack about three-inches deep. And I feel much better about my file.

I was reared in a home with a faithful mother and a wonderful father. My mom was a descendant of pioneers who sacrificed everything for the Church and kingdom of God. My dad was not a member of our Church and, as a young man, had desired to become a Catholic priest. Ultimately, he elected not to attend theological seminary and instead pursued a career as a tool and die maker.

For much of his married life, my father attended meetings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints with our family. In fact, many of the people in our ward had no idea that my dad was not a member of the Church. He played on and coached our ward softball team, helped with Scout activities, and supported my mother in her various callings and responsibilities. I want to tell you about one of the great lessons I learned from my father about priesthood authority and power.

As a boy I asked my dad many times each week when he was going to be baptized. He responded lovingly but firmly each time I pestered him: “David, I am not going to join the Church for your mother, for you, or for anyone else. I will join the Church when I know it is the right thing to do.”

I believe I was in my early teenage years when the following conversation occurred with my father. We had just returned home from attending our Sunday meetings together, and I asked my dad when he was going to be baptized. He smiled and said, “You are the one always asking me about being baptized. Today I have a question for you.” I quickly and excitedly concluded that now we were making progress!

My dad continued, “David, your church teaches that the priesthood was taken from the earth anciently and has been restored by heavenly messengers to the Prophet Joseph Smith, right?” I replied that his statement was correct. Then he said, “Here is my question. Each week in priesthood meeting I listen to the bishop and the other priesthood leaders remind, beg, and plead with the men to do their home teaching and to perform their priesthood duties. If your church truly has the restored priesthood of God, why are so many of the men in your church no different about doing their religious duty than the men in my church?” My young mind immediately went completely blank. I had no adequate answer for my dad.

I believe my father was wrong to judge the validity of our Church’s claim to divine authority by the shortcomings of the men with whom he associated in our ward. But embedded in his question to me was a correct assumption that men who bear God’s holy priesthood should be different from other men. Men who hold the priesthood are not inherently better than other men, but they should act differently. Men who hold the priesthood should not only receive priesthood authority but also become worthy and faithful conduits of God’s power. “Be ye clean that bear the vessels of the Lord” (D&C 38:42).

I have never forgotten the lessons about priesthood authority and power I learned from my father, a good man not of our faith, who expected more from men who claimed to bear God’s priesthood. That Sunday afternoon conversation with my dad many years ago produced in me a desire to be a “good boy.” I did not want to be a poor example and a stumbling block to my father’s progress in learning about the restored gospel. I simply wanted to be a good boy. The Lord needs all of us as bearers of His authority to be honorable, virtuous, and good boys at all times and in all places.

You may be interested to know that a number of years later, my father was baptized. And at the appropriate times, I had the opportunity to confer upon him the Aaronic and the Melchizedek Priesthoods. One of the great experiences of my life was observing my dad receive the authority and, ultimately, the power of the priesthood.

I share with you this pointed lesson I learned from my father to emphasize a simple truth. Receiving the authority of the priesthood by the laying on of hands is an important beginning, but it is not enough. Ordination confers authority, but righteousness is required to act with power as we strive to lift souls, to teach and testify, to bless and counsel, and to advance the work of salvation.

A story I heard years ago has helped me recognize and then act on promptings from the Holy Ghost. Sister Bonnie D. Parkin, former Relief Society General President, shared the following:
“Susan … was a wonderful seamstress. President [Spencer W.] Kimball lived in [her] ward. One Sunday, Susan noticed that he had a new suit. Her father had recently … brought her some exquisite silk fabric. Susan thought that fabric would make a handsome tie to go with President Kimball’s new suit. So on Monday she made the tie. She wrapped it in tissue paper and walked up the block to President Kimball’s home.
“On her way to the front door, she suddenly stopped and thought, ‘Who am I to make a tie for the prophet? He probably has plenty of them.’ Deciding she had made a mistake, she turned to leave.
“Just then Sister Kimball opened the front door and said, ‘Oh, Susan!’
“Stumbling all over herself, Susan said, ‘I saw President Kimball in his new suit on Sunday. Dad just brought me some silk from New York … and so I made him a tie.’
“Before Susan could continue, Sister Kimball stopped her, took hold of her shoulders, and said: ‘Susan, never suppress a generous thought.’”

The Jeffrey family, from Illinois, USA, recognizes the freedom that comes from managing their finances with a budget. When the Jeffrey children were very young, the family realized that three of them would be serving missions at the same time. Recognizing the financial strain this would place on the family, their mother, Olga, implemented a strict budget. Along with paying 10 percent of the family’s income to tithing, Sister Jeffrey set aside an additional 10 percent to save for her future missionaries. “I realized that finances could become a stumbling block and that we needed to be prepared to provide the means for our children to serve the Lord,” Sister Jeffrey says.
As the Jeffrey children began leaving on missions, their parents were financially prepared, and the Lord blessed them.

When the full-time missionaries started teaching us, I was skeptical and my husband was contentious. We didn’t really want to hear the gospel, but they were so determined to teach us that we knew they wouldn’t give up.
One Saturday night my husband, Javier, and I attended a party that lasted late into the night. Because we were up so late, we slept in and forgot about the invitation from the missionaries to attend church with them the next day.
When we heard them knocking on our door Sunday morning, Javier and I said to each other, “Let’s pretend we’re still asleep and ignore them.”
But the missionaries kept knocking. Finally they called out, “Brother and Sister Vasquez, we know you’re there. If you don’t open the door, we might just jump over your wall and help you get ready for church!”
We knew they were joking, but we decided to get up, open the door, and pretend we hadn’t heard them. We came out rubbing our eyes as if we had just woken up. They knew we were faking it, but they didn’t say anything.
“As soon as you’re ready,” they said, “we’ll go to the chapel.”
We got ourselves and our two children ready, and off we went. At church that day we were touched by the Holy Ghost. From then on, we never missed a meeting. The day we were baptized, October 17, 1976, was the happiest day of our lives. Becoming members of the Church totally changed us.