Gospel Story Finder

It’s part of the Soviet Union now, the village in Karelia where I spent my childhood. The Russians annexed it, along with the rest of the Karelian region, after the two countries fought a war in 1939–40. But when I was young, the land of lakes, marshes, streams, cold weather, and hills was part of Finland. And that meant it was a land of skiing and of ski races.
Each February, when the worst of the winter chill was over, the townsfolk would break free from hibernation and gather at a large sand pit on the outskirts of the village. The sand pit was the site for the finish line of the cross-country competition, and for good reasons. For one thing, the hole torn from the side of the hill by summertime construction workers was large enough not only for the finish line, but for a food stand as well. On race day, the air was rich with the aroma of gooey, steaming meat pies and sausages. For another thing, the snow-covered sides of the sand pit formed a natural amphitheater. Standing around its sides and rim, spectators could clearly view the final stretch of the course, and the entire town knew who the victor was the moment he crossed the line.
There were many preparations for the contest. Race officials tied blue paper armbands on some of the older children, authorizing them to monitor crowds and keep competition lanes uncluttered. Trails were marked for the different events—courses of short duration for younger children, longer ones for older children; separate trails for male and female teenagers and for men and women; and even a grandpa trail for the older folks, who always did themselves proud in their own special race. Each group followed its own path, clearly marked by colored paper streamers. But the biggest event of all was the men’s 30-kilometer race. The winner was the star of the village for a year, the man who had proved what he was made of. Many a quiet farmer, shoemaker, or storekeeper imagined himself gliding past his neighbors and on to victory.
As children, though, we had a hero of our own. We called him Tappi-Eiska. He was the smallest and shortest possible full-grown man without being a midget. He was also the nicest, funnest person we knew outside our family circles. Maybe his shortness helped us relate to him, because we could look at him eye-to-eye. Maybe we understood the straggles he’d been through because of his size. “Eiska” is probably a shortened form of Einari, which could have been his true first name. But “Tappi,” in Finnish, means “stump” or “shortie,” and it might well be that originally the nickname was intended as an insult. It didn’t matter to us children. He was our candidate for skier of the year.
The problem was, Tappi-Eiska wasn’t much of a skier. The first year he raced in the men’s division was a fiasco. The men had to go around a ten-kilometer course three times, and when the winner came in, Tappi-Eiska was just finishing his first lap. By the time Tappi did finish, the other skiers were all in the sauna or on the way home. Only a few disappointed children waited for their tired friend at the finish line.
The rest of that winter and all of the next one, Tappi-Eiska spent every spare minute skiing on that trail. In the summer he swam and rowed a big army boat around in the Vuoksi River. He didn’t grow taller, but he did grow muscular. We children were excited, certain that all those muscles and all that practice would make him a winner at last. We thought a man should win just because he was nice. It always happened that way in the movies.
But Tappi-Eiska didn’t win that year, either. This time, he crossed the line with the last group of skiers. At least he wasn’t hours behind, and some other people besides us saw him complete the race. We figured his legs were just too short to compete with the big guys. Maybe he’d even give up now.
But during the next year, Tappi-Eiska showed us what the Finnish word sisu means. In English, it translates as determination or spunk. And that’s what this man had. He went on training and training and training. By the time of the next ski contest, we knew Tappi would win. Of course, we had felt that way every year, but this time it seemed possible all over again.
The striding skiers kicked up snow as they raced into the forest. Through one lap, through two, and back into the forest again. When we knew they would be coming into sight, some of us, on skis ourselves, moved out from the sand hole to meet the winner, sure that it would be our hero.
We waited in the cold. The trees were white with frost. Smoke from the few visible chimneys stretched straight up in gray ribbons. Our cheeks were red. But then, suddenly, we were warm all over! Emerging from the edge of the forest was the shortest man in town, now the biggest man in town—Tappi-Eiska! He was ahead of everyone else—everyone! Even the adults rose to their feet to cheer him on.
He came to the hill. We could see his short legs pumping so fast we could hardly focus on them. Then behind him came another man, a huge, lumbering giant! I’m sure many of us wished inside that somehow this long-legged pest would trip or break a ski, anything to keep him from passing. But as the two neared the top of the sand hole, the larger skier slipped past and crossed the line first.
How often in the years since then have I felt sorry for the man who came in first. Few of us cheered the victor. But when Tappi-Eiska crossed that line, bedlam broke loose. We followed him on our skis down into the pit, and no older children with blue armbands could have stopped us. We mobbed around Tappi-Eiska, then threw him into the air, skis and all. Many townspeople, who knew of Tappi’s struggles, joined us. Some were weeping openly. We completely forgot that he had come in second, not first. This stubbornly determined little man had shown us the value of not giving up and had become the hero of my childhood.
That was 1938. The war came the next year and took many things away. There were no ski contests. I never got my chance to be one of the older children wearing a blue armband and monitoring the crowd. And Tappi-Eiska never got another chance to prove he could cross the finish line first. But for me, and for the others, he would never have to. He had already proved he was a true winner in every sense of the word.

When I was the mission president in the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission, one of the missionaries serving with me, Elder Hinostroza, was happily serving in a town near the Brazilian border and wanted to finish serving his mission there. When it came time to make missionary transfers, I felt the impression to change Elder Hinostroza’s assignment and sent him to Santa Cruz. He said, “President, why change me when I have only six weeks left on my mission?”
I said, “I think it’s the right thing to do.”
He looked at me and said, “I’m not so sure.” But he was a good missionary and went to work.
Shortly after he began serving in his new assignment, he went to teach a family. He finished teaching the lesson, and the lady took out a picture from her wallet and showed it to Elder Hinostroza. She said, “The reason I’m here in Santa Cruz is because I’m looking for my daughter, whom I have not seen in 10 years. Somebody told me that she might be here.”
More than a million people live in Santa Cruz. The chances of a mother finding her daughter in a city of that size were very slim. Elder Hinostroza looked at the picture, then looked at the mother. He said, “I know your daughter. When I served one year ago in another ward, your daughter was there. She’s a member of the Church.” That night Elder Hinostroza took this mother to find her daughter who had been lost.
Heavenly Father cared so much about one mother and one daughter that He found a way to bring them together again. After that evening Elder Hinostroza called me and said, “I now know the care Father in Heaven has for His children, and I know why I was transferred. That knowledge has changed my life.”

One of many outstanding missionaries with whom Sister Funk and I served was Elder Pokhrel from Nepal. After being a member of the Church for only two years, he was called to serve in the India Bangalore Mission, an English-speaking mission. He would tell you he was not well prepared. That was understandable. He had never seen a missionary until he was one, because no young missionaries serve in Nepal. He did not read English well enough to understand the instructions included with his call. When he reported to the missionary training center, instead of bringing nice slacks, white shirts, and ties, he packed, in his words, “five pairs of denim jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and a lot of hair gel.”

Even after he obtained appropriate clothing, he said he felt inadequate every day during the first few weeks. He described that time of his mission: “Not only was the English difficult, but the work was just as challenging. … On top of all of that, I was hungry, tired, and homesick. … Even though the circumstances were tough, I was determined. I felt weak and inadequate. I would pray at those times for Heavenly Father to help me. Without fail, every time I prayed, I would feel comforted.”

Though missionary work was new and challenging for Elder Pokhrel, he served with great faith and faithfulness, seeking to understand and follow what he was learning from the scriptures, Preach My Gospel, and his mission leaders. He became a powerful teacher of the gospel—in English—and an excellent leader. After his mission and some time in Nepal, he returned to India to continue his education. Since January he has served as a branch president in New Delhi. Because of the real growth he experienced as a missionary, he continues to contribute to the real growth of the Church in India.

As a teenager I attended family home evening reluctantly. I thought I had better things to do.
One Monday night, after a few difficult FHEs, my mother wiped off the kitchen table and placed a small cherry pie in front of each of us. I eagerly looked around for forks—but there were none! Mom explained that we were having a pie-eating contest, but we could not use utensils or our hands. The winner got bragging rights.
We ate as fast as we could. Soon we had cherry pie covering the table, all over our faces, and even in our hair. I don’t remember who won, but I do remember laughing uncontrollably and truly enjoying my family. I didn’t realize it fully that night, but now I appreciate how nice it was to have a safe and loving place to call home and to have people who watched out for me.
I am sure we had a song and a lesson that night, and that it took my mother a lot of time to prepare and clean up. But I am grateful for an activity that taught a message about the importance of families that I needed—then and ever since.
Heather Mockler Teuscher, California, USA

When he served in the Tampa Florida Mission, he shared the Book of Mormon with everyone he taught. Missionary work also taught Elder Alvarado key lessons of obedience that serve him well to this day.
He knew little English growing up, so it was thrilling to receive an English-speaking missionary assignment. But just weeks after arriving in Florida, mission president G. Vern Albright told him he was assigning him to a Spanish-speaking area. It was frustrating news.
“But President Albright told me, ‘Elder, I’ll make you a promise: if you work in Spanish [areas], you will have opportunities to use English—and you will always be successful in your jobs and in the Church’.”
The new missionary chose to trust his priesthood leader. “And following my mission, all of my work and Church callings have been in English. It’s been a great blessing.”

Member Missionary Hunk was assigned to coordinate the open house for the public at the newly completed temple. He planned on being stationed in the celestial room, where he would quietly nod acknowledgments to community dignitaries. Afterwards there would be cookies and punch with guest speakers at the stake center to honor him. Honors to the Hunk.
“Dexter, you’ll be serving here. You’ll help put booties on the shoes of the visitors before they enter the temple for the tour,” the tour leader said.
Filled with disappointment, Dexter sat on the ground and assisted visitors with shoe coverings. No honor in this he thought. In fact it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But there was something familiar about it. What was it?
He looked up at the temple spires and remembered the words carved on the side: “Holiness to the Lord.”
Holiness to the Lord. Again there was that nagging feeling of familiarity.
Suddenly, a scene came to his mind of a painting that hung at home. He who was greatest was washing the feet of the disciples.
Across the walkway of the temple two visitors were conversing.
“Say, who’s that kid with the glasses, the one who is putting on foot coverings. Is he someone special?”
“No, that’s just Dexter. He’s a nice, average kid.”
“But look at the way he’s treating visitors. It’s as though each person he helps is the most important person he’ll meet.”

Quest for the Eagle Feather Quiet Water—or John Butler? Several years before, a storm had caused the boy to be separated from his parents, who were going to seek gold in California. Now he had to decide whether to try to find them or stay with Tall Deer and Blue-Flower-Blooming, who considered him their son. Somehow he knew that his quest with Running Fox and Screaming Crow would end the turmoil he felt.John Duncklee8–12 years

Klarie dribbled hard and fast down the court. This is it, she thought. The tallest, fastest girl on the team had been guarding Klarie the whole game. But now she was guarding someone else. This was Klarie’s chance!
She quickly spun away from another player and set her feet. Then she jumped and took her shot. The ball sailed through the air as Klarie held her breath. Please go in.
The ball swished through the net.
Klarie’s team members gave her high fives. Then Coach Garcia looked down at the timer and blew her whistle. “And that’s the end of practice! Good job, everyone! I’ll see you all tomorrow. Make sure to rest up because we’ll be doing a lot of sprints.”
Klarie groaned and walked over to gather her stuff. Then she saw Coach Garcia waving her over.
“Hey, Klarie,” she said. “Good job today. I know you work really hard in practice, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Klarie said with a big smile.
She was still smiling as she walked out to her mom’s car. As they drove home, she replayed her last shot in her head. Especially the swish of the ball through the net. She hardly even noticed the conference talk Mom was listening to.
But then something caught her attention. The speaker said, “We must take time to actively exercise our faith.”* The words “actively exercise” sounded like something she would hear at basketball practice. How do you exercise faith? she thought. Do you run with faith? Or dribble faith like a ball?
Klarie turned to Mom. “How do you exercise faith?” she asked.
Mom smiled. “How do you get better at basketball?”
“I practice,” Klarie said. “My coach tells me how to get better. And when we do drills, I try really hard to do them right.”
“Is it easy?”
“No!” Klarie said, remembering how tired her legs felt after sprints. “I have to practice a lot.”
Mom nodded. “Heavenly Father wants us to have faith in Him, but we have to work on it. He gave us ways to practice and get better.”
“Like what?”
“He asks us to talk to Him in prayer. He’s kind of like our coach. He gives us scriptures. They’re like His playbook. And He gives us families to help us. Our family is like—”
“Like our team!” Klarie interrupted.
“Exactly! Our family team works and practices together,” Mom said. “And what happens when you go to practice, Klarie?”
“I get better,” she said. She thought of how good it felt to make her final shot after working hard in practice for weeks.
“That’s right. When we practice spiritual habits, like prayer, we’re exercising our faith. That helps our testimonies get stronger. And it makes us happier.”
Klarie had never thought of faith like that. She had heard faith was like a seed. But she’d never known it could be like playing basketball! She thought about how her coach made practice plans for their team. Maybe I can make a practice plan too, she thought, but for faith! As soon as she got home, she found a big notepad and started writing:
Prayer—morning and night
Scripture study—every day
Church—every Sunday
Maybe exercising faith wasn’t exactly like practicing basketball. But practice was practice. She felt warm and happy inside as she looked at her plan. She trusted Heavenly Father and knew He would help her!
See Primary manual, pages 121–122, 126–127; family manual, page 123.

In my Spanish class recently, we were studying the verb tener. In English this verb means “to have.” At the same time, we were also studying the vocabulary of classroom items, things like pencils, paper, desks, etc. My teacher would ask us, “¿Que tienes?” which in English means, “What do you have?” Each student would answer using a new vocabulary word we were learning.
During one lesson, my mind went blank, and I couldn’t think of what I should say. Then a phrase came to my mind, “Tengo la luz.” When I said that, my teacher smiled and went on to the next student.
It wasn’t until later that evening, when I was lying in bed, that I realized what I had said, “I have the light.” As I lay there, an overwhelming feeling came over me. I knew that I truly did have the light, the light of Christ. I was so grateful for that insight and for my knowledge of the gospel.

Wilford Woodruff was also given a great work to do because of his faith in Jesus Christ and his willingness to submit to the will of the Lord. In 1840 Wilford Woodruff was sent as a missionary to England. He had been tutored by the Prophet Joseph Smith and was later ordained an apostle. The success of his missionary work in southern England in 1840 may be unparalleled. The following extract comes from his journal:

In the morning I went in secret before the Lord, and asked Him what was His will concerning me. The answer I received was that I should go to the south; for the Lord had a great work for me to perform there, as many souls were waiting for His word. [Wilford Woodruff, ed. Matthias F. Cowley (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1964), 116]

Wilford Woodruff followed the directions he received from the Lord and was led by the Spirit to the farm of John Benbow in Herefordshire, a region in the south of England where no Latter-day Saint missionary had visited. The Benbows accepted the gospel and soon introduced Wilford Woodruff to a group of 600 people called the United Brethren (see Woodruff, 116–19). This group had been searching for the truth and had been “calling upon the Lord continually to open the way before them” (Woodruff, 117). Wilford Woodruff recorded in his journal:

The first thirty days after my arrival in Herefordshire, I had baptized forty-five preachers and one hundred and sixty members of the United Brethren, who put into my hands one chapel and forty-five houses, which were licensed according to law to preach in. This opened a wide field for labor, and enabled me to bring into the Church, through the blessings of God, over eighteen hundred souls during eight months, including all of the six hundred United Brethren except one person. [Woodruff, 119]

This process is illustrated rather well in the development of the Welfare Program of the Church. This program was not revealed full blown to the prophet or even to the Brethren in the presiding councils of the Church. Rather the need for such a program became evident to these leaders. Through inspiration they selected the individuals who would be instrumental in developing the program. After a rather long prayerful period of counseling together and experimenting with various forms of a possible program, a final proposal was prepared and brought before the presiding councils of the Church. William E. Berrett has given us one account of the results. He says he was in the first meeting in which the Welfare Program was announced to the members of the Church in 1936.

President Grant related that individuals had asked him whether he had been talking to Heavenly Beings, whether the Lord had given him a vision. His answer was, “No, I have not talked to angels; I have not had a vision.” And he recounted that the word of the Lord on such matters was already given. A plan was worked out in accordance to earlier revelations . . . President Grant said that . . . he went before the Lord in prayer to ask him if the plan was acceptable, and he got the feeling from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet that the Lord was pleased. [“Teaching by the Spirit,” BYU, 27 June 1966]

… There came into the office a while ago a man who wanted to take a car to his son in the mission field. He said, “My son is riding a bicycle and I am afraid he is going to get killed. Can I take a car to him?”
I said, “You can if the mission president feels he needs one.”
Correspondence went back and forth, and finally approval was given for the young man to have a car. The father came in after he had taken the car and said, “I’m proud of my boy in the field. We had never been very close when he was at home. There had always been something of a gulf between us. I want to tell you what happened.
“I drove a thousand miles to deliver the car to my son. I went to his place of lodging and rang the bell. He came to the door, and said, ‘Hello, Dad. Glad to see you. Is that the car? I’m late for a meeting. If you can come around at eight o’clock tonight down at such and such an address where we are having a baptismal service, maybe I’ll have a few minutes to visit with you.’
“I hadn’t seen him for sixteen months and that’s the kind of reception I got. I felt like getting in the car and driving back home. But I went out, had some dinner and took a little nap and thought better of it. I went to the hall where the baptismal service was held. My boy was the supervising elder of the district.
“I arrived late and sat on the back row. They had just finished the baptismal service and were having something of a testimony meeting. A man stood up and said, ‘I’m retired. I’ve made some money. I’ve traveled around the world. I thought I had seen everything and had everything. Then one day that young man who is sitting here came to my door. Time was heavy on my hands; I let him in; I listened to him. He intrigued me, and I listened again. He has brought something to me more wonderful than all I have ever seen or all I have ever known. And I want to bear testimony to the truth of what he brought, and before you people here, express gratitude of the Lord for having sent him to my door.’
“He was talking about my boy. I am not a sentimental sort of a man, but the tears began to roll off my cheeks. I’ve come closer to my boy in one day in the mission field than I came in twenty years at home. I have concluded to be a better man myself. I have changed my life so that I may be worthy of my son.”
Gordon B. Hinckley“The Consequences of Conversion,”BYU Speeches of the Year, January 28, 1959, pp. 3–4.

“No fair!” Rachel yelled. “I don’t want to watch your show!” She grabbed for the remote control.
But her big sister Brianna was faster. She held the remote above her head.
“I just sat through your cartoon,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to watch my show.”
Rachel scowled and jumped off the couch. “You’re being mean!”
“I am not!” Brianna said. “It’s my turn!”
After more arguing, Rachel heard Dad’s footsteps coming down the hall. Uh oh. Dad always had the same solution when it came to fighting over the TV.
“Time to turn it off,” he said. He pushed the power button on the remote. The screen went black.
“But, Dad!” Brianna said. “I didn’t get to watch my favorite show.”
Before Dad could say anything, Rachel heard herself blurting out, “That’s because it’s boring!”
“No, it’s not!” Brianna said.
Rachel put her hands on her hips. Her insides felt hot and bubbly, like a volcano. “It’s the most boring-est show in the universe.” She would rather watch weeds grow than watch Brianna’s show. Her sister liked the weirdest things.
Dad stepped between them. “All right, cool it. Maybe you two need some space from each other.”
Brianna gave Rachel a mean look that made Rachel’s stomach twist. Brianna hadn’t ever looked at her like that before.
“Fine!” Brianna snapped. “I’ll be in my room. Away from her.”
Dad put a hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “You know,” he said, looking at both of them, “I wish you two would be nicer to each other. You could be best friends.”
Brianna stomped to her room, and Rachel heard her slam her bedroom door. The twisty feeling in her stomach got worse.
Rachel went outside to ride her scooter. Maybe it would help her forget the way Brianna had looked at her.
The sky was warm and sunny. But no matter how hard Rachel tried, she couldn’t stop worrying about the argument with Brianna.
Her favorite show really is boring, she thought. It’s boring-er than dirt. But … maybe I should have let her watch it anyway. She kept riding her scooter in circles. Then she noticed someone walk toward her. It was Brianna!
“Hey,” Brianna said. She looked happy.
Rachel stopped her scooter. Why was Brianna smiling? “Um, hi,” she said back.
“So, I thought we could use a sister date,” Brianna said. “My treat. How does the Fun Center sound?”
That was Rachel’s favorite place! “Really?” she answered. “That sounds awesome! Let’s go!”
And it was awesome. The two of them skated around and around the rink. Brianna even brought money for the arcade games. They won tickets and traded them for goofy glasses with fake mustaches.
Rachel giggled while Brianna made funny faces with her mustache. Then she remembered the fight they had earlier.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you watch your TV show,” Rachel said. “I wasn’t being very nice.”
Brianna put her arm around her. “Neither was I. I’m sorry too. Besides, this is the kind of stuff I’d rather do with you anyway.”
Rachel smiled her biggest smile. “Me too! Because we’re best friends, right?”
Brianna gave her a big-sister hug. “Best friends,” she agreed.

While I never experienced any sort of physical trial like these saints endured, hiking hundreds of miles with little food or water, I have experienced my own “disappointment, temptation, and loss.” [13] These trials have shaped me into someone who better understands God’s timing and trusts more fully in His purposes.

About 10 years ago, I remember applying for a job I really wanted. I prepared carefully and went through several rounds of interviews. I just knew that this opportunity was the right next step for my career. But when the call finally came, I didn’t get the job. At the time, it was disappointing and hard to understand. When I think about it now, I can see that Heavenly Father had something better in store. The very next time I applied for a position—the one that brought me here to BYU–Hawaii—it was the right opportunity, and I am so grateful He guided me here instead.

Looking back now, I can see that my time here hasn’t just been about a job. The mission of BYU–Hawaii is to prepare students to be disciples of Jesus Christ and leaders in their homes, communities, and nations.[14] But I’ve realized that this mission has also helped to shape me. Being here has helped me become a better disciple of Christ. I’m far from perfect, but I try to be a little bit better each day. Some days are better than others. I’ve made temple attendance a regular part of my routine, and thanks to the example of many of you students, I now serve as a temple ordinance worker, and my husband and I are preparing to serve a mission at the end of the year. I’m several years away from retiring, and most people have wondered, “Why now?” But the impression to serve now is clear. I don’t think these habits, new opportunities, and blessings would have happened anywhere else.

I was reminded of this lesson this past spring when I took my boys to a place called Snogression—an indoor practice facility in Salt Lake City for skiers and snowboarders. It has trampolines everywhere and a massive foam pit so that skiers and snowboarders can practice their tricks without having to worry about landing perfectly. The coolest feature of this facility is the practice ramp. A person stands up at the top, holds onto a bar, and, when ready, clicks a button. The bar pulls them down the ramp, accelerating them into the jump so they can go flying out into the foam pit. This foam pit is pretty huge too—it’s about fifty by fifty feet. It’s an enormous place. You’re not going to get hurt, but you’ll have a hard time getting out of it. It’s really deep.
Dallin, my thirteen-year-old son, was the most excited to go to this facility. He wants to be a professional free skier someday, and he could probably spend every day at Snogression and never get bored. But on this first day he was a little bit timid. He’d probably be the first to tell you that he was worried about looking foolish to all the other cool kids who were there. Their approval mattered a lot to him. As a result, he hadn’t tried anything really hard during the whole session. Then, on his last chance of the day, I yelled up to him from by the foam pit (where I was filming) that he should try a backflip. I knew he could do it because I’d seen him do much more difficult tricks on our trampoline, but I wasn’t sure he’d have enough courage to try with so many others watching him. Well, watch and listen carefully to this video clip to see what happened next. [A video of Dallin doing a backflip was shown.]
What you see here is Dallin jumping up and down, trying his best to relax and loosen up. Then he grabbed the bar and hit the button. I couldn’t believe my eyes as Dallin completed a near perfect backflip. Everyone there was cheering with excitement—and no one louder than me. Dallin floated around on cloud nine for the rest of the day.
When we got home from our trip to Snogression, we took out the video camera and watched Dallin’s flip forward and backward, in fast and slow motion. And we listened as well. It was then that I realized what I nut I had been when Dallin threw that trick. I was a little embarrassed at first, but later I thought to myself, “This has to be how Heavenly Father feels when we stop worrying about what others think of us and try to use the talents He has given us.” I think He is just as excited in celebrating our accomplishments as I was with Dallin’s jump.

Ryan and His Rescue When our youngest son, Ryan, was almost 12 years old, I had surgery on my back. Unfortunately, the surgery went wrong and I was worse off than before. I was told I would need a second surgery to remove some disc fragments in my spine. The pain in my back and leg was terrific and I was bed ridden for some time. Just when I was feeling my worst and anticipating anxiously a second surgery, Ryan came home from school with a serious pain in his abdomen.

Ross had been sharing time with my mother in caring for the children after work and also taking care of my needs. In the evening, Ryan’s abdominal pain became worse and Ross thought he might be having an attack of appendicitis. Reluctantly, he left me alone and took Ryan to the hospital emergency room.

They tested Ryan’s blood to see if his white cell count was elevated—a typical check for appendicitis. Strangely, the white count was almost normal. The doctor was puzzled because the pain in his abdomen seemed so characteristic of appendicitis. The doctor and Ross agreed that Ryan should go to surgery and remove the appendix. Ross waited alone in the surgical waiting room for a long time, occasionally calling me on the phone and reporting what was happening (or not happening, as the case may be). After an unusually long period of time, the doctor came to Ross. He carried a sponge with some of the tissue he had removed from Ryan in his hand. He told Ross: “well, this is the appendix and it is normal but I see in this boy a much more serious problem. It looks to me like there is necrosis in the large intestine.” He told Ross to consult a specialist as soon as possible.

I was beside myself. I was bedridden and unable to move. I could not even go to see Ryan in the Hospital. The prospect of a more serious disease in Ryan was much more troubling than my own condition. I prayed intensely that the Lord would rescue Ryan. Ross stayed at the hospital all night with Ryan and I laid awake in the dark—stuck in my bed.

The next day, a specialist was consulted and she came to Ryan’s room only to find him curled up in fetal position with pain and virtually unable to move. She performed some testing and examinations and after some hours, she told Ross that she thought Ryan had Crones Disease. She sat on the bed next to Ryan and explained that his condition was not curable and would be life-altering for Ryan. He could expect to have a rigidly restricted diet; have limits placed on his activities at school and that he could expect to have a colon resection several times in the next few years. She said that she would return the next day with the results of the tests on his tissue samples and would then recommend surgery to remove some of his colon immediately. Medications and therapy would follow.

When the doctor left, Ryan just cried. He said: “Dad, I don’t want this!” “What can we do?” As Ross repeated the doctor’s report to me, I anguished. I felt so helpless.

After an all night vigil, Ross gave Ryan a priesthood blessing. I was not there to hear the blessing but I know it was given by the spirit. When the doctor arrived the next morning to schedule the surgery, Ryan was standing on the bed and jumping up and down trying to catch some balloons some of his sweet primary friends had brought to him. The doctor watched him for a few minutes, astonished. At last she said: “Well, I don’t know what this kid had, but it obviously isn’t Crones Disease.” He was released to his home and to this day, he is healthy and has brought us 5 of our grandchildren.

I have often mused at the terrible confluence of events that occurred at that time. Why when I am, myself sick and bedridden was Ryan brought to this crisis? Both Ross and I anguished beyond measure as we felt so helpless in the face of a catastrophic illness in our young son’s life. Yet later, when we looked back on the circumstances, we learned this was a defining moment in our lives. When all the efforts of loving parents are exhausted and when the best medical care available is not effective, what do we do? We turned our whole hearts and soul to our Savior and placed it all in His hands. Whatever is His will, from that time forward, we know is acceptable to us.

How many times since have we faced extremely difficult challenges with our loved ones only to then remember this important event and know that as long as we are steadfast in our covenants, the Lord will do for us what is best for us. In that we have absolute confidence.

“My dad was a real farmer, and he had 32 hectares that he farmed, although we lived in town. Dad and I used to spend a lot of time together, and we understood each other very well. He felt obedience was the most important principle. He never questioned any instruction or guidance that was given by Church leaders. He obeyed any directive they gave, and he instilled that desire to obey in his family. I remember Dad as being a strong disciplinarian, but he always tempered his discipline with love and concern. Once when he spanked me, he cried. But he felt that he had to spank me in order to teach me obedience. I remember thinking then that it hurt him worse than it hurt me.”

One reader wrote about the difficulty—and necessity—of getting involved in more of the process: “One cold December night, I came to realize that until I believed the Lord and received his counsel through priesthood blessings and the scriptures, I could not progress. My emotional and spiritual health, as well as my eternal progression, hinged on this. I had to trust my Heavenly Father!

“How does a person learn to believe spiritual things that are so different from earthly experiences? After many hours of prayer and tears, I found the answer in Alma 32:27: ‘If ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.’

“When I read those words, I burst into tears. I did have a desire, and as I let it work in me, as the scripture promised, I found a place for a portion of his words. On my knees, I felt the Lord ‘take [my] stony heart’ and give me a ‘heart of flesh’ (Ezek. 11:19). In the months that followed, I could feel a change in me.”

Before his mission had ended, Elder Spori had received word from an almost inconsolable wife, still in Switzerland, that their eldest daughter, Katherine, had died from injuries received in a fall from a swing. Jacob, knowing well of the gospel’s ability to heal spiritual wounds, wrote his wife of the doctrines of the Church. She was touched by these new truths and became convinced the gospel was true.
Mrs. Spori applied for baptism and was reunited with her husband when he arrived in Switzerland following his missionary labors. She later bore fervent testimony and gave thanks for the eternal truths the gospel brought into her life.

Fifty-one years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake who would later become an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, speak to the brethren of the general priesthood session of conference and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“[Young] Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald! Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture, and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald!’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green with a slender bit of gold chain [that had been broken]. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse galloped across the bridge spanning the stream, and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1955, 86; paragraphing, capitalization, and punctuation altered).