Gospel Story Finder

How could we have had a precious baby offered to us and not have taken him? After so many months of prayers, pleading, and hoping—how?
Yet a beautiful baby boy had come into the world, and we had decided he was not for us.
As we fought to restrain our emotions, we reflected on the experience that began with a strange telephone call in the middle of a January night one month earlier.
It had been a quiet night in the house, but all our nights were quiet. There was no cooing baby in a crib, no colorful baby toys, no diaper container hanging from the bedroom doorknob. Those happy things were found where children were.
The telephone rang late into that memorable evening. James, my husband, answered and was greeted by a vaguely familiar voice, an acquaintance.
“I understand from a mutual friend that you and your wife are interested in adopting a baby,” she queried.
“Yes,” James said, “we are very anxious to adopt a baby.” I sat up, surprised. The conversation continued, and I listened intently to his replies, wishing I could hear the voice on the other end of the line.
When James hung up the receiver, his hand was shaking, his voice nervous and tense. “That was someone I know through a friend at work,” he began. “She says she has a distant unmarried relative who is going to have a baby soon. The girl is young. She’s unemployed and unable to care for the baby when it’s born. Her family can’t help her. She wants to do what’s best for the baby and thinks she should place the child for adoption.”
That night we relived all the hope and excitement we had felt so many times before when we thought we might get a baby.
But weeks went by without word, and our anxious optimism faded. We talked in the evenings about this unborn child coming to our home. We knew the phone call had brought false hope, but we persisted with prayers and fasting.
“There are agencies that handle adoption placement,” James said. “Surely a social worker from an agency will contact her, or she will go to them. That would probably be best for the expectant mother anyway. Agencies with skilled social workers can help to find the best possible home for adopted children.”
He wasn’t saying anything we both didn’t already know. We had been working with a social worker through an adoption agency for months, and we knew that they provided a very necessary service to couples seeking children, and especially to unmarried young girls thinking about placing their babies for adoption.
The waiting took us into the snows and cold of February, and another quiet night. The ringing of the phone at 2:00 A.M. made my heart pound wildly. Startled, I got up and groped in the darkness for the receiver.
“Is James there?” asked a weary female voice.
“Yes, he’s here. He’s asleep, but I’ll wake him.” Whoever this is must need him now, or she wouldn’t call at this hour.
“Hello,” James mumbled, as he answered the phone, then listened. He was answering questions. “Yes, all right. We didn’t think she was still … Yes, I’ll call you back tomorrow.” He dropped the phone on the bed, sleep gone from his eyes. “She’s having the baby. Right now. She’s in labor and will soon deliver. And she’s expecting us to take the baby!”
We both sat silent. Stunned. Someone from somewhere had just called and said we have a baby for you. Right now! James broke the silence. “She didn’t go to an agency, and she didn’t contact a social worker. She told this relative to call us again and tell us that the baby is about to be born and she wants to have it adopted.”
Suddenly, all of the concerns we had both entertained about private adoption, but had never discussed, came flooding into a wee-morning-hour conference. We concluded that in the morning we must talk with our social worker and seek her counsel, backed by thirty years of adoption expertise. We knelt in prayer for the unknown mother in labor, for her peace of mind about the decision she was going to make. We asked our Heavenly Father to bless a baby who was about to be born. We asked him to bless us that we would be guided in our decision concerning the child.
That morning, we sat in council with a very wise, loving woman who had given years in the service of mothers and children. She listened intently to our story of the unexpected phone calls and responded thoughtfully. “I can’t, nor will I even try to make a decision for you,” she said. “I must leave that to your discretion and can only offer you my insight and understanding. I know how anxious you are to have a child, and I also know that agencies often require seemingly unbearable waiting periods for anxious couples. You have a ‘baby in the hand,’ so it seems, and I can promise you nothing. But I must tell you that I would have serious concerns about the fact that James is known by a relative of the baby’s mother.” She paused and thought before she spoke. “Years of experience have taught me that adoptive children generally do better when the identity of the natural parents remains totally anonymous.
“Adoption agencies, as you know, do extensive studies with both child and potential parents to determine which child is best suited for which family,” she continued. “This situation would not allow you that advantage, nor would you know any of the medical history of the child.”
Thoughts, professional views, fears and wisdom were covered in a two-hour exchange.
On the drive home, we were both silent. There was an undeniable tension in the air.
At home, we knelt in prayer, and I knew the answer before James told me what he was feeling. It was not the answer we had begged to receive. This child was not to come to our home. But why? A miracle, it seemed, and we were about to turn it away.
“I know this baby is not meant to come to our home, to be ours,” James said. “I don’t receive that confirmation, that peace of mind that comes with positive answers to prayer. But this mother is expecting me to find a home for the baby. The baby needs a home, a good home, and it needs one today.”
James and I talked at length about what would be best for the child. We made some telephone calls to friends and professionals who could offer the best advice. That evening, James telephoned the woman who had contacted us. He briefly told her why we could not take the child, and he gave her the name of a very experienced social worker who would work closely with the mother. She hung up and made the contact. Two days later, the baby boy, was placed in a special home where he would be loved and well cared for. We knew that somewhere the child was safe, comfortable, and in the arms of parents who desperately wanted a child. Yet we sat on the edge of the bed after receiving the news, wondering, lamenting. But even as we questioned, we knew we had been told by a loving Heavenly Father, with insight and understanding far exceeding our human limitations, that the child was not for us.
The cold winds of March found us home on quiet nights and at work during the day. About 8:00 A.M. on a Monday morning, James awoke singing. I asked him what it was that made Monday so wonderful, when it only meant going back to work after a great weekend. “I don’t know,” he laughed. “I just feel like it’s going to be a good day.”
I left for work at the usual time, and was exceptionally busy when the phone rang at 9:10. “Hello, Mary Ann, this is Carol.” Our social worker! I would have known her voice anywhere.
“Do you think they might let you off work long enough to come and pick up your baby boy?”
Everyone down the hall heard the jubilant exclamation. No one had to ask what the call was about. “A baby boy! That’s fantastic! When? Where? I’ll call James right now. We’re on our way.”
“Don’t hang up yet,” she said. “I need to give you some details and tell you something more about the baby.” I was so excited I could hardly listen, but as her conversation continued, I found it well worth the extra few minutes on the phone.
I contacted James. “Carol just called. You’re a dad! She has a baby boy for us. He’s there right now, waiting for us to pick him up and bring him home.” I was so nervous that I could hardly voice the next sentence.
“Carol told me about the baby just like I’m telling you. You see, that isn’t all, dear. There’s more. This little boy of ours has a brother.”
“What do you mean, a brother?” he asked.
“Twins,” I laughed. “You are the proud father of identical twin boys.”
A frantic drive to the agency, an apprehensive walk up the stairs to the agency’s second floor, and there, lying together in a wooden cradle with room to spare, weighing five pounds each, our beautiful baby boys!
Our twins had been born one day after the baby we had had a chance to adopt was born. On the day we had talked with our social worker, seeking her guidance, our babies were lying in the hospital’s intensive care nursery, weighing four pounds each. It was strict agency policy that prospective adoptive parents never be told about a baby until the infant was released from the hospital and made ready for placement. Carol and the other agency social workers had met and selected us as parents for the twins shortly before they were born, but we couldn’t be told until they were delivered, had gained weight, and could leave the hospital. Our boys were in the hospital, growing and waiting to meet us for seventeen days before we received the agency’s call on that glorious Monday morning.
Carter James and Jefferson Thomas were sealed to us in the temple after a six-month waiting period required by state law. The joy they have brought into our home is beyond my ability to describe. Both James and I feel so intensely that these handsome little straight-haired blonds were intended for us.
Often I look longingly, lovingly, at them and realize that had we not listened to the counsel of our Heavenly Father, they wouldn’t be in our home, and we might have forfeited one of the greatest blessings we have ever received.

I want to share with you an experience from my first semester in graduate school. I took a class from a very prominent professor. I worked hard in that class all semester, prepared for the final exam, and prayed to Heavenly Father for His help. The exam assignment was really simple but also really hard: we had to read and critique two very complex research papers.
As I read the first paper, something wonderful happened. In the analysis I did and in the writing of my critique, I was blessed with insights and help beyond my own. When I finished, I picked up the second paper and had exactly the same experience. I have never forgotten that day.
When good things come, it is easy to get prideful. In fact, if we do not resist diligently with faith in the Savior’s power to change our hearts, it is easy to get puffed up with pride. If we do, we stop learning deeply. I know that is true.

I never used to find time to read the scriptures daily, especially with waking up early to go to school and long hours of homework. The only times I read were at Sunday School, in Young Women class, and a couple of times a week for family scripture study. Despite all the promised blessings of daily scripture reading, I always put off my personal study. That is, until my cousin came to visit.
My cousin, a student at Brigham Young University–Idaho, was my roommate at our home while she worked at a Church ranch in Florida. Every night she would pray and read her scriptures and, since the light was on anyway, I would join her. Gradually, I developed the habit also, and when she went back to Idaho, I continued personal scripture study on my own.
I know there is a lot more I need to read and understand, but daily reading has truly blessed me. The scriptures have come to life for me, especially in Nephi, Mosiah, and Alma. Whenever I begin to murmur and complain, I can look back to what I have learned in the scriptures and make changes in my life.
It is fun to find the stories I learned when I was in Primary and read the complete versions from the sacred records of God’s prophets. I am so thankful for the example my cousin set by studying the scriptures daily. I know scripture study has helped and will continue to help me throughout my life.

Early in my professional life, Sister Homer and I were asked to accept a change in job assignment. At the time, it seemed to us a huge decision. We studied, we fasted, and we prayed, but an answer was slow to come. Eventually, we made a decision and pressed forward. As we did, we felt settled and soon learned that it was one of the best decisions we had ever made.

As a result, we have learned that answers are sometimes slow to come. This can be because it is not the right time, because an answer is not needed, or because God trusts us to make the decision ourselves. Elder Richard G. Scott once taught that we should be grateful for such times and made this promise: “When you are living worthily and your choice is consistent with the Savior’s teachings and you need to act, proceed with trust. … God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision.”22

At the meeting of the religious leaders of the United States in Washington, D.C., a luncheon was held in the state dining room. President Reagan had addressed us, and then we had lunch.

After lunch, the meeting was opened for questions and comments. One of the persons present said, “Mr. President, we want you to know that we pray for you.”

President Reagan’s response was, “Thank you. I have great faith in intercessory prayer.” Then he paused and thoughtfully expressed his feeling, “Sometimes when we pray, we then wait for the Lord to do something. I suspect that when we pray the Lord is waiting for us to do something. And, by the way,” the president added, “if you ever find the line busy as you wish to pray, know that I am on the line.”

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.
My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.
It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

Illustrations by Craig Phillips
While talking in history class about different religious denominations, my friend asked me about my CTR ring. Without hesitating, I explained that CTR meant “choose the right” and that my parents gave it to me for my birthday. He asked which church I belong to, and I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or a Mormon. Until then I hadn’t realized that people don’t actually know much about the Church, but he seemed sincerely interested to learn more and asked me if I was an altar boy. I had no idea what that was, so he explained, and then I told him we had something similar called deacons.
We proceeded to ask each other questions, including, “Can your bishops marry?” and “Who is your archbishop?” He also asked, “You use the Bible, right?” To that, I explained our beliefs in the Bible and the Book of Mormon, which complement each other. The next day, I offered him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Inside the cover, I told him where he could get a CTR ring, because he was interested in getting one. My friend carried that Book of Mormon to school for about a week and said he couldn’t put it down. Though he never came to church with me, I’ve learned that a great way to share the gospel with others is to find common ground and to be interested in their beliefs as well. Throughout this experience, I learned a lot about what my friend believes, while he learned what I believe, and we’ve come to respect each other’s beliefs. I know one of the best ways to share the gospel is just to open our mouths and talk to our friends.

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.
I know that preparing ourselves and leaving everything in the hands of God and giving the best of ourselves to enter the temple is what is expected of us. Then God blesses us abundantly.

As I was thinking about the mission of BYU and preparing for this opportunity to speak with you today, a wonderful memory came to my mind.
On October 10, 1975, I was twenty-three years old, recently married, and a senior at BYU. That day I attended the weekly devotional and listened to President Spencer W. Kimball deliver his landmark message “The Second Century of Brigham Young University.” Among the Church and university leaders seated on the stand were Neal A. Maxwell, the commissioner of Church Education, Dallin H. Oaks, the president of the university, and Jeffrey R. Holland, the dean of Religious Instruction.
President Kimball’s instruction that day was inspiring, edifying, and prophetic. He reviewed key aspects of the university’s first century of service and described both opportunities and challenges for the university’s second century. Listening to the president and prophet of the Lord’s restored Church that day was a historic event and a most memorable experience for me.
We are approaching the halfway mark of the second century of BYU, and I believe it is an appropriate time to consider where we are and what may be coming next.

When my family lived in Seoul, South Korea, we were within walking distance of the school my youngest son attended. My wife could have driven him to school every day, but she enjoyed the time walking to school with him. Twenty minutes is a long time to talk, so they would often sing hymns and Primary songs too.
“Would you teach me a song you learned from Primary this week?” my wife would ask. Sometimes she knew the songs already, but Sun Yoon would sing loudly and proudly. He liked teaching his mom his favorite Primary songs.
They had a good time together on those walks. One day my son observed, “Mom, I want to live in a world where I can hear hymns and Primary songs everywhere I go.”
Many places in South Korea had large speakers that blasted popular songs that sounded very different from the sweet songs my son and wife sang together. Sun Yoon found that singing good songs tuned his mind to enjoy good music. He had good songs in his heart.

When I was six years old, my parents divorced. Though I continued to live with my mom, my dad was still present in my life after the separation. I stayed at his house on weekends and for one day in the middle of the week.
Despite his efforts to be a good father, when I was seven, he betrayed my trust in a very serious way. This breach of trust marked the beginning of a growing distance between us. When he called the house, I would avoid answering the phone. When I was older, I demanded that I be able to choose when I went to stay at my dad’s house, rather than be forced to go when the custody order mandated me.
When I was in high school, visits gradually became a lot less frequent. I saw him only two or three times a month. When I went to college, the space between calls grew, until I would talk to him about once a semester. My relationship with my dad had become more of a formality than a true parent-child connection.
During my second year of college, I decided to talk to him about the incident from my childhood that I felt had damaged our relationship so many years ago. I hoped for closure, forgiveness, and a chance to start over. I e-mailed him my thoughts and waited for a reply.
Some time later I received his e-mail in reply. Before I read my father’s response, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father that His Spirit be with me as I read the e-mail. This was such an important moment in my life—I was about to see what my dad had to say and what direction our relationship would take. I was scared and felt very alone.
Indeed I was alone, sitting in my room with my computer. I needed support. I continued to pray to Heavenly Father and felt His Spirit. At last I had the courage to read.
My dad replied with a very short e-mail in which he denied any memory of what I was saying and said that it was a really bad time for him to discuss our past.
The way he dismissed something that was so important to me and didn’t seem to want any sort of reconciliation hurt me deeply. I felt deserted by my father, racked with grief over the troubled relationship we had had for more than a decade.
As I sat in my chair sobbing, I felt the Spirit around me. I had never felt my Heavenly Father’s presence so strongly. I literally felt “encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15). I felt reassured and loved as I sat crying.
My relationship with my earthly father may have been lacking, but my Heavenly Father was with me. His presence is strong in my life. I know He loves me, cares for me, and will always want a relationship with me. I know that He is my Father. And He is not going anywhere.

In 1837, two years after being ordained an Apostle, Elder Heber C. Kimball was sitting in the Kirtland Temple when the Prophet Joseph Smith whispered to him that the Lord wanted him to go on a mission to England. He would be the first missionary sent outside North America.
“The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me,” Elder Kimball said. But he accepted the call and went to England—even leaping from the boat upon his arrival in Liverpool. “The moment I understood the will of my heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed” (see History of the Church, 2:489–90).
Elder Kimball’s mission opened the door to much success in England over the next several years, as thousands of people accepted the gospel and became a great strength to the Church.

A true story from Kenya.
Kelvin carefully stacked the shiny glass milk bottles on the shelf. He had recently moved to live with his grandparents in a village outside the city. They owned a milk shop, and Kelvin liked helping.
“Tonight we are going to an activity at our church,” Ghuka (Grandpa) said. “Want to come with us? It will be fun.”
Kelvin liked having fun. “Yes!” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
After they closed the shop, Kelvin and his grandparents walked to the activity. They passed other shops selling fabrics, fruit, and potted plants. After a while, they reached the church.
Kelvin stood wide-eyed as he looked at the beautiful building. He had never seen a church like this before. Most churches had a cross at the top, but this one didn’t.
Inside, Kelvin’s grandparents introduced him to lots of nice people. They ate yummy food and played games.
But Kelvin was curious. So he wandered the halls of the church. He saw paintings of Jesus Christ. Then he walked into a classroom and noticed some photographs on the wall.
Who are those people? Kelvin wondered.
After he left the room, he saw two young men in the hall. They were wearing white shirts and ties. “Hi,” one of them said. “We’re missionaries. What’s your name?”
Kelvin introduced himself. Then he asked, “Who is the man in that picture?” He pointed back to one of the photos in the room.
“That’s the prophet,” the other missionary said. “Do you know what a prophet is?”
Kelvin smiled and shook his head no.
“A prophet is a messenger from God,” said the missionary. “He teaches us what God wants us to know.”
When Kelvin walked home with his grandparents that night, he was holding a copy of the Book of Mormon that the missionaries had given to him. He was excited to learn more about prophets and this new church.
“Will you read to us?” Ghuka asked when they got home. Kelvin’s grandparents didn’t know how to read.
“Yes!” Kelvin said. He opened the Book of Mormon and read out loud. He didn’t understand all the words, but he felt something special.
On Sunday, Kelvin walked with his grandparents back to church. He went to a class for all the kids. It was called Primary. He made so many friends! He learned more about prophets and Jesus.
The missionaries came to teach Kelvin more. One day they asked him a question. “Will you follow the Savior’s example and be baptized?”
Kelvin smiled big. “Yes!”
On the day of his baptism, Kelvin stepped into the water. It was chilly. But as Kelvin looked around him, he saw his grandparents, the missionaries, and all his new friends from church. He felt so loved!
By choosing to follow Jesus Christ, Kelvin was a pioneer in his family. He couldn’t wait to keep following Him—and to help others follow Him too!
When he grew up, Kelvin served a mission in his home country.
Today, Kelvin attends college through BYU–Pathway Worldwide.
Kelvin enjoys watching movies and reading.
Illustrations by Kristin Sorra

As a stake Primary president, Sabrina Simões Deus Augusto of Curitiba, Brazil, has seen how the personal development aspects of the program bless the children and youth in her stake. But she has also seen many ways to use what she has learned about personal development in her assignment as a ministering sister.

“When I develop a talent,” Sister Augusto says, “I can use that talent to bless someone I minister to.”

Sister Augusto taught one of the sisters to whom she is assigned how to make chocolate truffles. That sister now makes and sells the truffles to help supplement her family’s income. “Months later, I was blessed when another sister taught me how to make honey bread that I could sell,” Sister Augusto said. “Developing and sharing our talents can bless each other’s lives and deepen our relationships as ministering sisters.”

A few weeks ago, I flew to New York City to meet a new granddaughter. As my daughter and her husband met me at the door with their little three-day-old infant, there was an obvious radiance in that apartment. As they placed Hannah, who will be named after my mother, in my arms, she looked like a curled-up little doll with lots of dark hair. Within a few days, Hannah was stretching out her long legs and her long, thin feet, and I started to think of all of the things she will experience as she starts growing up. Perhaps she’ll have some of the same fears that I had—like being afraid to be alone in the dark at age six or seven. At age thirteen or fourteen, she may be sure, as I was, that there will never be boys as tall as she is. That concern was increased for me the following year when I became convinced that a person with feet as large as mine would surely never marry.
In infancy, little Hannah responds to food when hungry. She responds to gentle voices and dry diapers. It will be some time before she realizes that her mother is reading the scriptures to her while she feeds her. It will be many, many months before she knows why heads are bowed and prayers are spoken at the dinner table. Yet her faith will begin to take root in this trusting environment. A little child can learn to respond to good feelings, but you are learning to take responsibility for your faith.

The screen door slammed its familiar afternoon bang. “Mom! I’m home!” Marcus called out.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Mom called back.
Marcus pulled his shoes off by the front door, then made his way to the kitchen. His nose told him hot cinnamon rolls were waiting. He smiled.
“Would you like one?” Mom asked, pouring him some milk. “How was school?”
“It was OK.” Marcus sank his teeth into the warm roll. “There’s a new girl in my class.”
“Oh?”
“Her name is Karen, and I feel really sorry for her,” Marcus said, staring quietly out the window.
“How come?”
“Well, she has only one arm. And you could tell she was scared to come to a new class. She looked at her shoes all day and didn’t talk to anyone.”
Marcus’s family had moved recently, and he knew how difficult it was to be the new kid at school. He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if you looked different, too.
“I hope that you were kind to her,” Mom hinted.
“I smiled and said hi, but I don’t think she noticed. Most of the kids stared at her missing arm all day. Some even whispered and pointed, and you knew they were talking about her.”
Mom frowned. “I don’t imagine that that made her feel very welcome.”
“No, probably not.” He didn’t mention that one of the boys who had joked and pointed the most was his new friend, Tim. Marcus had been embarrassed each time Tim did it, but he hadn’t known what to do about it.
That night, Marcus’s father gave the lesson for family home evening. He talked about President Hinckley’s great love for all people and his counsel that each of us should be a little kinder to those around us. Dad asked each member of the family to think of someone to whom they could show a little more kindness.
Marcus thought hard while his little sisters took their turns. When Dad called on him, he replied, “I can show more kindness to Karen, a new girl in my class. She doesn’t have any friends yet.” Mother gave Marcus a smile of encouragement and a quick wink.
After he and Mom told whom they would be kinder to, Dad said, “OK then, I’ll expect to hear a report from everyone tomorrow night at dinner.” He closed the lesson by bearing his testimony about how important it is to follow the prophet’s counsel.
That night, Marcus fell asleep wondering how he was going to make friends with a girl who stared at the floor all day. And he worried about what Tim and the other guys in his class would think when he tried to be nice to her.
When Marcus walked into his classroom the next morning, he half-hoped that Karen would be absent. But she was sitting at her desk, looking straight down at a book and seemingly unaware of anyone else. That’s when Marcus had an idea. He went and spoke quietly to his teacher, Mrs. Meyers.
Every Tuesday was “book buddy” day in Marcus’s class. After lunch, Mrs. Meyers announced that they would divide into pairs to read out loud to each other. As she called out the book-buddy assignments, she paired Marcus with Karen. Tim grinned as he leaned over and whispered, “Tough luck! Guess you’ll have to hold the book and turn the pages, since she has only one arm.”
Marcus looked at Tim and smiled, “That’s OK. I don’t mind.” Tim’s grin disappeared as he watched Marcus cross the room to Karen’s desk.
A warm feeling filled Marcus’s heart as he smiled into Karen’s hesitant eyes. “Hi! I’m Marcus. What do you want to read?”
Karen looked up at him blankly, then ducked her head without saying anything.
“Do you like the Magic Time Machine series?” Marcus continued. “I just finished the one where they go to ancient Rome. It was great!”
“Really? That’s the one I’m reading right now!” She looked him right in the eyes and grinned happily.
“No way!” Marcus grinned back. “You’re going to really like the ending.” Marcus made himself comfortable in the chair next to her. He thought about his father’s challenge, and he was grateful for President Hinckley’s counsel. Not only had he found a way to be kinder, but he’d made a new friend, too!

One of My Wobbles
I want to begin by sharing my own existential wobbles from my late twenties as I wrestled with some of the questions that many of you are contemplating now. In August 2008, with all my belongings loaded in the back of a Penske truck, I waved goodbye to my mom as my dad and I began a cross-country drive from Salem, Oregon, to Athens, Georgia. Only months earlier I had been teaching high school English, finishing my master’s degree, and enjoying my life. But as I thought about next steps, the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley, the prophet at the time, rang in my ears. He had admonished young adults who were in the midst of dating and preparing for family life to “get all of the education that you possibly can.”7 I loved learning, and this counsel resonated with me, so I applied to PhD programs. Through a series of events that felt like divine intervention, I received a fellowship to study at the University of Georgia.

This adventure excited me, but the farther south we drove, the more I second-guessed my choice. The changes in location, climate, culture, profession, and focus created upheaval in nearly every area of my life. I quickly found myself immersed in wonderful academic, social, and religious spaces—but also in a constant state of wobble. I questioned how concepts and theories I learned in my classes fit with gospel truths; I doubted my capability as a learner as I compared my abilities to those of my classmates. The more I read and experienced, the more I wondered if, as a woman, I could remain a member of the Church and successfully earn a PhD. As I listened to the cacophony of voices and opinions, I wondered if my choice to pursue more education meant giving up my dream of becoming a wife and mom. I found myself questioning my worth, God’s promises for me, and, for the first time, my testimony.

It’s hard now, with the advantage of almost two decades of hindsight, to convey the magnitude of this wobble. But if you think about your own life, maybe you can empathize as you consider your own moments of fear and trembling. Perhaps coming to BYU provided your catalyst for wobble, or maybe you’re wobbling about what to do after graduation. Perhaps you’re wobbling because of unanticipated changes in your major or uncertainty about a relationship. You may be wobbling because your mission wasn’t what you expected, because you can’t decide if you should serve a mission, or because you wonder what to do now that your mission is over. Maybe you’re wobbling because of mental or physical health challenges, because of a lack of money in your bank account, or even because of your testimony.

Each of our lives will likely include many minor—and perhaps a few existential—wobbles. In these moments, it’s normal and often justifiable to feel uncertain, scared, deceived, angry, or broken. But today I want to testify of a few supports that will help you as you navigate wobble. I cannot promise immediate answers, but I can promise that remembering your divine identity as a child of God, staying in dialogue with Heavenly Father and the Savior, and trusting Heavenly Father’s plan for you will bring stability and confidence as you navigate your wobble moments.

Questions about our identity and worth often lie at the center of wobble. My questions included “Am I smart enough to do well in this program?” “Can I succeed as an academic and a member of the Church?” and “Are my identities compatible with one another as well as with other identities that I hope to embody?” The identity questions at the heart of your wobbles may differ from mine, but whatever their focus, they lead us to interrogate who we are and what we value.

It took time, but once I quit linking my value to ever-changing characteristics and variables and instead rooted it in my identity as a child of God, I discovered that I could deal with failures or setbacks without questioning my worth. I still wobbled, but the focus of my wobbling centered on the challenges of graduate school, not my value as a person.

I feel immense gratitude for people who, in my early graduate school days, dialogued with me about my professional, personal, and spiritual wobbles. Emails with trusted mentors as well as phone calls with family and friends provided reminders of my identity and potential. As I formed relationships with colleagues and professors in my program, dialogues with them led to solutions and ideas. Members of my branch offered fellowship. And reading and pondering the writings of good men and women who wrestled with similar questions helped me push my thinking, separate culture from doctrine, and expand my vision of the gospel.

Let me give you an example. A mother was diagnosed with cancer. Soon she began treatment, and immediately, the Relief Society sisters went to work, planning how to best help with meals, transportation to medical appointments, and other support. They visited her regularly, providing cheerful companionship. At the same time, the Melchizedek Priesthood quorum sprang into action. They provided labor in adding a remodeled bedroom and bathroom to make it easier to care for the sick sister. The young men lent their hands and backs to participate in that significant effort. And the young women got involved: they cheerfully arranged to faithfully walk the dog each day. As time passed, the ward continued their service, adding and adapting where necessary. It was clearly a labor of love, each member giving of him or herself, unitedly showing caring in individual ways that blessed not only the suffering sister but each member of her family.

After a valiant effort, the sister finally succumbed to the cancer and was laid to rest. Did the ward breathe a sigh of relief and consider the job well done and well over? No, the young women continue to walk the dog daily, the priesthood quorums continue to minister to the father and his family, and the Relief Society sisters continue to reach out in love to ascertain strengths and needs. Brothers and sisters, this is ministering—this is loving as the Savior does!

I grew up in an environment where many men smoked, drank, and lived unchaste lives. I saw this kind of example in my own family and in most of the men in the vicinity, so I came to believe it was normal. At the early age of 20, I got married. Four years later, after we had three children, we divorced. But I later met a wonderful woman, who not only accepted me with three children but gave us five more. We have been married for more than 30 years.
One day about 22 years ago I began to fear greatly for the future of my eight children. I didn’t want them to go through the same dangerous situations I had, and I was afraid they would be lost in the wickedness of the world. I didn’t know what to do to help them, but I became very receptive to the things of God. Whenever someone knocked on the door with a religious message, I opened my door and my heart. I listened attentively, accepted their pamphlets, and went with them to their houses of worship. Still, I wasn’t at peace; I couldn’t find what I was looking for.
A few years passed, and a pair of young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our home. With my wife and our five children (the other three lived with their mother), I began to hear the discussions, attend church, and get acquainted with the members and their beliefs. After several months we made the wise decision to join the Church, and 17 years have now gone by.
I understood that I had to make changes in my life if I wanted to teach my children the right way. For example, I could not teach them to keep the Word of Wisdom and live a chaste life if I was not living these commandments. By striving to live the teachings of the gospel, I was able to change my life and teach my children. I was also able to baptize my three children from my first marriage and get them back from the world. All eight children belong to the Church now. Four have served missions. One was too old to go on a mission, but he served as a stake mission president. Six are married, all in the temple.
At the beginning of 1999, we had a regional conference in southern Florida. After fulfilling an assignment to deliver earphones for the conference translation, I went into a hall where thousands of Church members were seated. I remained standing at the back of the hall, and I was able to observe one of my sons with his baby. I looked in another direction and saw another son with his wife and children.
A wonderful feeling of joy came over me at that moment, and I could not keep tears from my eyes. I remembered those terrible days when I was so worried about my children’s future. Now I was weeping for joy because I no longer had those worries.
The gospel and true Church of Jesus Christ made it possible for us to find the right way to help our children and to have joy and happiness. Christ is the light guiding our lives. His teachings persuade us to do good.

The New Era has given my family many uplifting moments. Thank you for choosing quality stories, poems, and songs. A special thanks for printing the song “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” in the April 1979 New Era. I would like to express a special thanks to Jamie Glenn and Raya Jones, who wrote the words and music. Their song affected one young woman deeply, and through her love for the Savior and this song, many lives have been touched.
My daughter, Shannon Clark, died one year ago today at the age of 16 from a rare type of bone cancer. But in her short time on earth she taught me how to live and how to die. I am so proud of her and shout for joy because she is eternally ours.
After the New Era printed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” our stake gathered together a special group of young women and taught them the song. My daughter and I heard them sing it at a stake Mutual event. This song touched Shannon deeply. She heard it again at girls’ camp that year. At the close of that camp an event took place which I shall remember as long as forever. We closed camp testimony meeting singing this wonderful song. As we sang “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” Shannon and I embraced each other, crying and singing all at once. Thank you for that memory! I had less than a year left of holding my daughter. At the last she was in too much pain to be touched, and finally she was paralyzed so she couldn’t hug me anymore either.
We have a small organ at home, and as soon as Shannon could she had the New Era opened on the music rack trying to play “Walk Tall.” It was contagious. I had to have a go at it too. We never got good at it, but we enjoyed singing along as we struggled with the notes.
When the time came to plan my daughter’s funeral, I knew one song that had to be on the program. You guessed it. “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” was sung beautifully by the stake Young Women’s choir. Shannon’s funeral was held in her high school gymnasium to accommodate the large crowd. We attend a small LDS branch, so only a small percentage of those attending were members.
The special part of this story is how “our” song touched the lives of all those who attended that day.
Many nonmembers asked for copies, and I provided them. The Lake Chelan Christian Church Choir sang it at a special meeting with hundreds of people attending. A nonmember friend who attended later told me that many of her faith had been touched by the song. The keynote speaker at that meeting changed his topic to include references to the song.
Last June I couldn’t bring myself to attend girls’ camp, but the reports I have received are beautiful. Shannon’s group of fourth-year girls performed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” at the first night fireside and dedicated it to my daughter. Every night thereafter they used “our song” as the closing song at the campfire meeting. The new Beehives did not know Shannon, but they could feel the Spirit as the tears flowed and the notes were sung.
I am lonely some days because not only did I give back to Heavenly Father my only daughter but also one of the best friends a woman could have. When I feel down I remember my favorite song and the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”
I hope this letter isn’t sad, because I’m not sad. I have two nice-looking sons and a loving husband. Life is good to me. And most important to me—I have an eternal family, if I but live worthy.
Thank you, Jamie and Raya, for using your God-given talents. If Shannon has any say in heavenly matters she has joined one of the heavenly youth choirs and they are singing “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God.” I know your song will live eternally and will give strength to many more. You touched one 16-year-old, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. God bless you.
Roberta Clark
Manson, Washington