Gospel Story Finder

The seventh anniversary of our arrival in New Mexico was close, and we were becoming more and more excited about getting the title to the land.
Mr. Talbot from the homestead office came by to make sure everything was in order. “How do you want your name to be printed on the deed?” he asked Papa.
“Alfred Blaine Cookson,” he said. “And Betty Harding Cookson.”
Mr. Talbot wrote that down and Papa added, “I want all the kids’ names on it too.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Mr. Talbot said.
“I don’t care about necessary,” Papa said. “I care about wise. We worked too hard to get this piece of property to let it out of the family. I want them all on there in case something should happen to any of us.”
“It’d automatically go to the next of kin,” Mr. Talbot resisted.
“Don’t care about automatic either,” Papa insisted. “I just want their names on that deed.”
“How many more is that?” Mr. Talbot asked.
“Twelve,” Papa said.
“I don’t think there’s room.”
“Then make room. Every last one of them has worked along with me to get this land and I want them to look at that piece of paper and remember what it cost us and that it’s part theirs. And I want them to be proud of it.”
Mr. Talbot sighed. “How do you want them listed?”
“Oldest first,” Papa said. “That’s Caroline Catherine.”
Mr. Talbot wrote while Papa named us off in order. “I don’t know how I’ll get them all on the paper,” Mr. Talbot said. “But I’ll figure out a way and have the deed ready for you to pick up next Friday morning.”
The next Friday was a holiday at our house. We finished the chores early and dressed in our best clothes for the trip to Harmony. Mama packed a lunch to take so we could stop for a picnic on the way home, and we were parked in front of the homestead office when Mr. Talbot arrived. He had a special deed made up at the printing office that was long enough to list all our names. They were written in beautiful curly letters that twisted in spirals at the beginning and end. I never knew my name could look so beautiful. After everyone signed the paper, Mr. Talbot stamped it with a big seal to make it official, rolled it up, and handed it to Papa.
Papa gave it to Mama and kissed her on the mouth. “We’re landowners, honey,” he said. “Now let’s go celebrate.”
He took us to the general store and told us each to pick out a nickel’s worth of candy. While we were deciding what to get, he asked Mr. Younger for a picture frame for the deed. “And make it a gold one,” he added. “This is very precious.”
After they’d selected the frame, Mr. Younger filled our orders for candy, giving each of us a separate bag. It made me think of the peppermint stick back in Salt Lake the day I had my tongue cut. It was the first time since then I’d had a whole nickel to spend on candy. I chose the kinds I could make last the longest.
Then Papa told Mama to pick out the goods for a new dress. “A nice one,” he said.
She gave him her are-you-sure-we-can-afford-it look and he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve been saving for today for a long time. I want everyone to remember it.”
How could we forget? We had a place of our own at last.

I sat next to my dad in a strange new place. This church lacked crucifixes and gilded paint. There was no altar. The walls were simple, and the stand was a wooden podium that could not be considered ornate in any way. The “minister” wore a business suit instead of the robes I was used to. No statues, no candles, no procession.
I was an outsider in this church and, as my dad insisted, we were going to stay the entire three hours. This was the first time I had been to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My dad was Catholic too, but he had been attending The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for a year. At first I felt alone and out of place sitting in the simple meeting hall, but things quickly changed. Despite the fact that my presence had not been announced, many people welcomed me and introduced themselves.
I stayed with my dad during sacrament meeting. When Sunday School began, I went to the adult class because I wasn’t sure how I would fit in with the youth. The stake president, who had become friends with my dad, was also my allergy doctor, and he had a son who was about my age. He wanted me to go with his son to Sunday School, but I was content staying with Dad the entire three hours.
Ten minutes after Sunday School began, Brent Williams, a good friend of mine who started Catholic school with me that year, walked in and recruited me to go to the youth Sunday School class. I was shocked. I just kept thinking, “No, Brent’s not a Mormon. That’s impossible.” I guess I had assumed I would never meet a Mormon outside of a church building. It’s as if I thought they couldn’t go to public schools or Catholic schools with other kids.
Now I had a best friend who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Brent introduced me to everyone in Sunday School and, within 10 minutes, I had 10 best friends.

While working on my Personal Progress, I came across a goal that required me to read the Book of Mormon (Virtue value project) and invited me to pray afterward to know if it’s true.
Over several months I read the Book of Mormon. When I finished, I eagerly went to my room, kneeled at my bed, and asked God to let me know if it’s true.
Nothing happened.
I rephrased the question several times and still felt nothing.
The next Sunday during fast and testimony meeting, a sister told a story about when she’d followed Moroni’s invitation to pray to know if the Book of Mormon is true. She didn’t receive an answer, so she prayed again and again. As the days passed, she worried about whether the Church was really true. Finally, she felt the Spirit speak to her mind: “You already know it is true.”
As I listened, I realized that God was answering my prayer through this woman’s testimony.
I learned that day that He does care. I have a testimony now that God answers our prayers, if we pray sincerely, because He answered mine.

At school we were given an assignment to find different words in magazines. My friend and I were looking through a magazine and came across an advertisement that showed a woman dressed immodestly. I knew I should tell our teacher, but my friend wanted to leave it in the magazine and ignore it. I decided to tell our teacher that the magazine she had given us had a bad picture in it. She said thank you, and put the advertisement in the trash. I’m glad I did the right thing, and that no one else had to see the bad picture.

It worried me when I noticed that my good friend was not coming to church anymore. Her close friend, I found, had recently passed away, and she was beginning to doubt. One day I invited her to a party with some girls from church. I made it a goal to bring up the Church once. After the others left, we talked about various Church topics that I would have never thought to talk to her about. I learned that by doing my part, the Lord will take care of the rest. All we need to do is open our mouths (see D&C 28:16).

Rebecca T., 16, Washington, USA

“You pray funny!” Lucia said after Whitney finished saying a blessing on their lunch.
“No, I don’t,” Whitney said. “Why did you say that?”
“We don’t say prayers like that at my church,” Lucia said.
“What do you mean?” Whitney asked as she picked off the crusty part of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“When you pray it sounds old-fashioned.”
“It’s just the words you read in the scriptures,” Whitney said. “I don’t think it’s weird.”
A car horn honked outside. Whitney looked at the kitchen clock. “That’s probably your mom to take us to soccer practice.”
The girls grabbed their sandwiches and raced out the door. “Bye, Mom,” Whitney called. “See you after practice.”
Whitney didn’t think much about what Lucia had said about her prayer until later that evening when Dad gathered everyone for family prayer.
“Whose turn is it tonight?” Dad asked.
“I think it’s Russell’s turn,” Mom said.
Russell bowed his head and began to pray. He thanked Heavenly Father and asked for blessings. Whitney listened closely as Russell prayed. His words did sound different from the way people usually talk: “We thank Thee. … We ask that Thou wilt bless. … Help us follow Thy prophet .…” Russell finished and everyone stood.
Whitney went to get ready for bed. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth. Then she opened her closet and chose one of her best dresses for church the next day. She took it off the hanger and laid it across the back of her desk chair.
“Hey, Whit,” Dad said as he came into her bedroom with a stack of folded clothes. “Mom told me what Lucia said at lunch. Did that bother you?”
“No, not really,” Whitney said. “Well, kind of. Why do we pray with fancy words? Why not just talk the way we usually do?”
Dad picked up Whitney’s soccer uniform from off the floor where she had dropped it earlier that day. “Why don’t you wear this to church tomorrow instead of that dress on your chair?”
“Very funny, Dad,” Whitney said as she grabbed her shorts and shirt. “This is what I wear to soccer—not to church.”
“There’s a difference?” Dad asked.
“Of course,” Whitney replied.
“Right,” Dad said. “The reason we wear our Sunday best to church is to show respect and reverence for Heavenly Father. We dress differently than we do for other occasions. It’s the same way with the words we use when we pray. The words we say show love and respect.”
“So when we say those words, Heavenly Father knows we are treating Him in a special way?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father listens and understands either way, but when we use words like Thy blessings instead of your blessings and Thou hast seen or Thou seest instead of you have seen or you see, it’s kind of like…”
Whitney lifted the dress from the chair. “It’s like our prayers are all dressed up in their Sunday best!”

“Wake up, everyone!” Dad called from the hallway. “We’ve overslept!” Mom pulled her robe around her and shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast. As she opened the curtains, she frowned. “That’s funny,” she said. “The sun is coming up later than usual this morning. But what a beautiful sunrise!” She called everyone into the kitchen to see the bright orange ball coming up through the pink clouds. In spite of their hurry, everyone paused in wonder.
“Gorgeous,” Dad said.
“Wow!” Karen said.
“Awesome,” Julie said.
“Can we have pancakes?” Aaron said.
Mother pulled her attention back from the window to look at Aaron. “I’m not sure we have time for pancakes, but I’ll see what I can do.” She put the frying pan on the stove to heat and started mixing up the batter.
“I wonder why Nicky hasn’t called yet,” Karen wondered aloud. “She usually calls by now to see if I can walk to school with her.”
Dad straightened his tie. “I don’t know, honey, but I’m wondering where the bus is. It’s never been this late before.”
“Those pancakes sure smell good,” Aaron said. “I’ll set the table.”
Mother smiled. “That would be great. But shouldn’t you get dressed first?”
Julie hurried into the kitchen carrying her backpack. “I can’t be late. I have a test today.”
“Then you need a good breakfast,” Aaron pointed out as he put the plates on the table. “And maybe a song or two. And a story.”
Julie stared at him. “What are you talking about? We don’t have time to do all those things.”
“We do today,” Aaron said mysteriously. And he began to hum as he put the forks beside the plates.
Mom and Dad exchanged a puzzled look. “Do you know something we don’t know?” Dad asked Aaron.
Aaron smiled. “Somebody needs to change the calendar,” he said.
“So?” Karen flipped up the next month’s page on the wall calendar. April it said in big letters.
Mom laughed. “It’s April Fools’ Day!”*
“What have you done?” Karen asked.
“I set everyone’s clock ahead an hour.” Aaron beamed. “Now we all have time for a nice big breakfast, a song or two, and a story. Isn’t that a great trick?”
“You mean I could have slept for another hour?” Julie asked. She looked at Aaron, who wasn’t smiling anymore. Now he looked worried.
“You could have. But you would have missed that awesome sunrise,” Mom said.
“And this delicious breakfast,” Karen added.
Julie put down her backpack. “All right, Aaron, you win. I’ll pick out a song to play on the piano.” She patted him on the head before going to the living room.
“And I’ll get my flute.” Karen hurried to her bedroom.
“And I’ll pick out a story,” Dad said, opening his scriptures.
“Mom,” Aaron said softly. “I know you sometimes don’t like it when people play April Fools’ tricks. Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not.” Mom gave Aaron a hug. “What I don’t like is when tricks make other people feel bad. Your trick is great because it’s making us feel good by giving us time to be together. And that’s a wonderful way to start any morning, especially April Fools’ Day!”

There was a tiny glow of growing yellow light just above the mountains to the east as I crept across our front lawn and headed for Buddy’s place next door.
“Well, good morning, Aaron,” Buddy greeted me in a soft, surprised voice. “I would have bet my best fishing pole that you’d never get that mattress unstuck from your back at this time of day.”
“And you would have lost that fishing pole,” I teased back.
Buddy chuckled. “It’s rare for a ten-year-old boy to get himself out of bed at four o’clock just to help his neighbor irrigate his yard.”
Buddy was old enough to be my grandpa. I used to call him Mr. Chambers or Brother Chambers until he told me that his name was just plain old Buddy. Mister, he said, made him sound too old, and Brother made him sound like a preacher.
I’d been helping him with his yard, in his shop, or around his house for as long as I could remember. When I helped him work on his truck or car, he explained how everything worked and why he had to change the oil or the spark plugs or pour in antifreeze. When we planted his garden, he asked me where we should put the carrots and the tomatoes and the other vegetables like I was the expert and had to be the one to decide. He usually planted them right where I suggested.
When I arrived that morning, the irrigation water was gurgling into Buddy’s backyard because he had already pulled up the headgate that let the water in from behind his backyard fence.
For the next hour, Buddy and I sloshed around in the cool brown water as we irrigated the garden, the fruit trees, the lawn, and the flowers.
“We have to be careful that we don’t let in too much water back here,” he told me, “or it will overflow the patio and run into the basement. It happened once, and it took Marva and me a week to pump all the water out and get things cleaned up. We had to replace the carpet and almost everything else downstairs. Marva hasn’t let me forget that boo-boo. That’s why I needed you out here today to keep me on my toes. Another accident like that, and I’ll be sleeping in the shed for the next two years.”
When we finished, he said, “I’m hungry. What do you say we drive down to Burt’s cafe?”
I had eggs and bacon alongside a stack of pancakes floating in blueberry syrup. Soon I was so stuffed that I could hardly move. “Buddy,” I asked, “would you come to Primary with me on Sunday?”
“I’m afraid I’m too old for Primary. They ran me out of Primary years ago. I don’t think they’d let me back now.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t mean that, and you know it. I’m going to give a talk this Sunday. I thought you’d like to hear me give it.”
“I’d love to hear you preach, Aaron. I’ll tell you what, you get your talk all polished and practiced, then come over and give it to Marva and me.”
“But I want you to hear me give it in Primary.”
Buddy wagged a finger at me. “You’re a sneaky guy, but I know your tricks. You’re just trying to get me to go to church. I already told you that it’s been so long since I went to church that the whole building would fall down if I walk through the door.”
“That’s not true,” I came back. “You were there when I got baptized, and it’s still standing.”
Buddy smiled. “That was a special occasion. Special occasions don’t count.”
“Sundays are special occasions,” I pestered. “Marva would love to have you there. She hates always going to church alone. Why did you stop going to church, anyway?”
Buddy set his fork down. “Oh, somebody hurt my feelings. It doesn’t seem like a big thing now, but it seemed pretty important back then. I decided I’d stop going, and I just got out of the habit. Now I’m in the habit of staying home, and it’s a tough habit to break. Besides, I’m too old to go back. And nobody cares, anyway.”
“That’s not true. I care. So does Marva.”
“Aaron, it would take a miracle to get me back inside the church.”
“What kind of miracle?”
“Oh, a little one would do fine, but I don’t think anybody’s passing out miracles these days. But when you get your talk ready, you come over and practice on Marva and me.”
“Mom, do you believe in miracles?” I asked my mother later that morning as I helped her clean the family room.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“What do you think a miracle is?”
Mom thought for a moment. “I suppose a miracle is something that doesn’t normally happen, and when it does happen, it’s because the Lord helps it happen that way. For example, when you had an earache in the middle of the night last year and there was no way to get you to the doctor, Dad gave you a priesthood blessing. Right away the pain stopped, and you went to sleep. That wasn’t a huge miracle, but it was a miracle.”
“Do you think it would be all right for us to pray for a miracle for Buddy? He says he won’t go to church unless he has a miracle.”
“Well, Aaron, the scriptures tell us that we aren’t to ask for signs. A miracle might be considered a sign. We could pray that Buddy would decide to go to church, but I’m not sure asking for a miracle for him would be the right thing to do.”
I worked on my Primary talk. I decided to talk about how the Lord answers prayers. I included the story about my earache. When I finally had the talk as good as I could get it, I went over to Buddy’s house and practiced on him and Marva.
“It’s a mighty fine speech, Aaron,” Buddy said.
“So will you come to Primary and listen to me give it there?” I coaxed.
Buddy laughed. “You don’t ever stop pestering me, do you? Besides, Marva and I are going to be out of town for three or four days, including Sunday. In fact, I need you to keep an eye on things while we’re gone. Will you water the flowers and pick the green beans and cucumbers?”
I was disappointed, but I didn’t stop praying for Buddy.
Monday morning I watered Buddy’s flowers. I picked the green beans and cucumbers. I even pulled the weeds. Then I checked all around the yard to make sure everything was all right before going home.
On Monday afternoon as I was reading a mystery book, I got to wondering about Buddy’s place again. I went back to my book, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking of Buddy’s place. I’d done more than he’d asked me to do, but something kept pestering my mind.
Finally I set my book down and muttered to myself, “I’ll go back and check again.” I wandered around Buddy’s front yard, making sure all the flowers had received water. I looked through the front window. Everything was all right in there. The rose bushes on the side of the house were all fine.
I was starting to feel kind of silly. Then I went through the gate. The backyard was a huge pond, and the water was just a few inches from running into Buddy’s basement! Someone had taken the headgate from the irrigation ditch when it was empty. But now it was full, and the water was gushing into Buddy’s yard.
Without stopping to pull off my shoes and socks, I sloshed over to the ditch and pushed the headgate into place. The water stopped rushing into Buddy’s yard. It had started trickling into the window wells, but it didn’t look like it would flood the basement.
When Buddy and Sister Chambers came home, one glance at his backyard told him what had happened. “Well, Aaron,” he said, “I owe you a great big thanks. As soon as I walked back there, I remembered taking that headgate out to clean the ditch. I forgot to put it back. I almost thought I’d had a miracle.” He grinned. “But it wasn’t a miracle at all—you look out for me all the time. I’m sure glad that I’d asked you to keep an eye on things.”
“But, Buddy,” I said seriously, “I think it really was a miracle. I’d already checked on your place once today, and everything was fine. I’d done everything you’d asked me to do. I had no reason to go back and check on anything. But this afternoon something in my brain kept insisting that I needed to check again. That’s why I went back.
“The other day you said that nobody cared about what you do. That’s not true. The Lord was watching out for you. He was the one who sent me over here to check up. I don’t know everything about miracles, but if you ask me, that’s a miracle. It might be just a little one, but it’s still a miracle.” I hesitated. “Maybe you’ve had more miracles than you know about. Maybe you just haven’t recognized what they were.”
The next morning I went over to help Buddy clean up his backyard. We didn’t say very much at first, but when we took a short rest, he said, “I’ve been doing some serious thinking since last night. You were right. Even though I’ve stayed away from church so long, the Lord hasn’t forgotten me. He still knows where I live. I didn’t think He did.
“And He doesn’t even mind sending a miracle or two my way, even when I don’t deserve them. I guess I’m going to have to break an old habit—staying home Sundays.” He took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve walked through those church doors, but if you’ll walk beside me and take me by the hand, I’m going to see if I can do it without the whole building falling down.”
I smiled. “You missed my Primary talk,” I teased him, “but that’s OK, because more than anything, I want you to come back to church. For good. Next Sunday will be best of all, because I’ll know that you’re not there for a special occasion. You’ll be there because you’re finally changing a bad habit for a good one.”

Other experiences I had as a boy taught me that the Holy Ghost can help us stay close to Heavenly Father. I had a friend named Ralph who was a few months older than I was. We went to school in a one-room redbrick schoolhouse, and Ralph and I would walk there together. One day we talked about his recent baptism and confirmation. He told me how clean he felt when he was baptized. I asked him what it was like to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, and he said, “It’s like a voice that whispers in your ear, teaching you the truth.” I never forgot Ralph’s explanation. I wanted to have what my friend had.

Later, after I was baptized and confirmed, I attended a banquet where President George Albert Smith was invited to speak. After the banquet, my dad and I stood in a long line to shake President Smith’s hand. When my turn came, President Smith looked down at me, took my hand, and spoke to me. I don’t remember what he said, but I will never forget how I felt. The Holy Ghost testified to me that he was a prophet of God.

I am grateful for the Holy Ghost. When we obey the commandments, the Holy Ghost dwells with us. He purifies us and teaches us the truth, and this helps us stay close to our Heavenly Father.

Merrell: At the same time I was doing The First Vision, Kieth was doing Indian and trying to find an Indian to do the title song. Although I wasn’t Indian, I figured I had nothing to lose, and I sent him a 15-minute tape anyway. In my letter I told him that not only could I write the title song but I felt I could also write the rest of the music for the movie. He liked my tape and asked for more and eventually gave me the contract. That began our association together.

My brother and I are a year and a half apart. For the past four years, insults between us have outnumbered the praises and expressions of love. He is beginning to see himself as the person I described to him through my insults. I now see that he lacks confidence in himself. I can’t change what I’ve said, and I may have lost a wonderful brother. I can ask for forgiveness, but tearing down the wall between us is much harder. Before you belittle someone with your insults, think about what you risk losing eternally.
Name Withheld

Now, once you receive it, be obedient to the promptings you receive. I learned a sobering lesson as a mission president. I was also a General Authority. I had been prompted several times, for the good of the work, to release one of my counselors. Besides praying about it, I had reasoned that it was the right thing to do. But I did not do it. I feared that it would be spiritually harmful to a man who had given long service to the Church.
The Spirit withdrew from me. I could get no promptings on who should be called as a counselor should I release him. It lasted several weeks. My prayers seemed to go no further than the room where I offered them. I tried a number of alternate ways to arrange the work, but to no avail. Finally, I did as I was bidden to do by the Spirit. Immediately, the gift returned! Oh, the exquisite sweetness to have that gift again. You know it, for you have it, the gift of the Holy Ghost. And the brother was not harmed, indeed he was greatly blessed and the work prospered.

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she and her students had just crossed. The students were from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah. They were a variety of ages and sizes; some students were even older than she was. She was glad to see the older ones helping the younger ones along the tracks. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride.
Annie felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.
“Do we really get to walk through the tunnel?” he asked nervously.
Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They said no trains are scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening of the mountain tunnel ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie, and there are no lights inside. But on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”
Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”
Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Go slowly,” Annie said. Her voice echoed in the tunnel. “Stay on the tracks and hold hands so you don’t fall.”
At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew quiet as they concentrated on keeping their footing. Their footsteps grated on the gravel as they guided each other over the railroad ties.
Annie knew they were about halfway through the tunnel when she saw a small circle of light in the darkness ahead. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “Look at the light.”
As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise behind them, and then a sound that terrified them—a train whistle.
“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear?”
Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming very fast toward the bridge they had just crossed!
Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Should we run?”
The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.
“No!” Annie commanded. The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say you can. Now, go!”
She had to shout the last word over the sound of the approaching train. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack, and the smoke almost suffocated them. The train seemed to go on forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child she was holding, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.
When the train was finally gone, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and helping her students, who were also rushing to get out of the dark.
Once outside the tunnel, one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”
Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “He’s still lying facedown by the wall.”
Annie heard another boy comforting him. “It’s OK, Hughie. The train is gone. You can get up now.”
Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say I could?”
Annie hurried over and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said with tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”
Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. She silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped she would always live worthy of that trust.
Annie also knew her trust in Heavenly Father had been rewarded. Her prayer had been answered when she told the children what they needed to do to be safe. They were spared because they immediately obeyed those instructions. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson Hughie, the other students, and their teacher never forgot.

Sometimes the pathway to conversion can be long and hard. My brother-in-law was less active in the Church for 50 years. Not until he was in his 60s did he begin to accept the Savior’s invitation to come back. Many helped him along the way. One home teacher sent him a postcard every month for 22 years. But he had to decide he wanted to come back. He had to exercise his agency. He had to take that first step—and then another and another. Now he and his wife have been sealed together, and he is serving in a bishopric.
Recently we showed him the videos that have been developed to help leaders and teachers implement the new learning resources. After watching the videos, my brother-in-law leaned back in his chair and said, somewhat emotionally, “Maybe if I had had that when I was young, I wouldn’t have fallen away.”

When she was 12 years old, her sense of security found deeper roots. While sitting in testimony meeting, she suddenly felt a strong desire to express her feelings about the Savior. “I stood up, and my love for Jesus just came gushing out,” Sister Wixom recalls. Her mother helped her understand that it was the Holy Ghost who had prompted her feelings.
“I had never known the Holy Ghost was so powerful and so real,” Sister Wixom says. Years later the Holy Ghost gave her an overwhelming feeling of peace while she was praying about one of her children. Her hope now is that parents and Primary leaders and teachers can help children learn to hear the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

On the third day, the group awoke to a terrible storm with winds blowing more than 50 miles per hour. Pegs pulled loose, tents collapsed, the rain pounded down, and dark clouds covered the entire sky. Fearing that the weather would stop the trek, the leaders knelt in prayer. President Randy Eberline of the stake presidency asked the Lord to calm the storm. Throughout the camp, trek families also knelt and prayed for relief from the weather. Suddenly, the clouds parted and a bowl of warm sunlight shone down. Kelly Maxwell, a priest from Sterling, described the answer to their combined prayers: “President Eberline prayed for there to be sunlight, and I was also hoping and praying that it would work. Minutes later we saw a break in the sky, and we started to see blue and then the sun just came out of the clouds.”

Kaylene described it this way: “The wind stopped, and you could see the clouds parting and the sun coming out. It was like seeing Moses parting the Red Sea, except this time God parted the clouds for us.”

Brother and Sister Matt and Jodi Clark arrived that evening to speak at a fireside. They reported that on the 100-mile drive from Anchorage it had been pouring rain. As they crested the last hill before reaching the camp, they saw the most incredible sight. Sunlight flooded the camp while the rest of the sky, as far as they could see in all directions, was full of dark clouds.

James Barrett, a priest from the Kenai Ward, said, “It was wonderful to feel the sun again, the warmth and the light that brought encouragement and hope. It was a miracle. It was as if the Lord had stretched out his hand and protected us from the harsh weather by surrounding our camp with sunlight.”

The fourth element of the framework is to recognize what God has already revealed to you personally, while being open to further revelation from Him. If God has answered a question and the circumstances have not changed, why would we expect the answer to be different? Joseph Smith stumbled into this problematic scenario in 1828. The first portion of the Book of Mormon had been translated, when Martin Harris, a benefactor and early scribe, asked Joseph for permission to take the translated pages and show them to his wife. Unsure of what to do, Joseph prayed for guidance. The Lord told him not to let Martin take the pages.

Martin requested that Joseph ask God again. Joseph did so, and the answer was, not surprisingly, the same. But Martin begged Joseph to ask a third time, and Joseph did so. This time God did not say no. Instead, it was as though God said, “Joseph, you know how I feel about this, but you have your agency to choose.” Feeling himself relieved of the constraint, Joseph decided to allow Martin to take 116 manuscript pages and show them to a few family members. The translated pages were lost and never recovered. The Lord severely rebuked Joseph.

Years ago, while we were on an assignment together, Elder L. Tom Perry shared how he and his companion regularly ministered to a sister who lived alone in a rough Boston neighborhood. When Elder Perry and his companion arrived, the sister cautiously directed, “Slide your temple recommends under the door.” Only after seeing the temple recommends would she unbolt multiple locks and open the door. Of course, I am not saying ministering companionships need temple recommends. But I love the thought that as those who honor covenants minister, homes unlock and hearts open.

Five years later—I was 27 by then—I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father was ward mission leader, and the sister missionaries were teaching someone else in my home. I overheard them teaching about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and I decided to pray about it. It made sense in my mind that if Joseph Smith was a prophet, then the Book of Mormon is true and the Church is true.
That night I began to read the history of Joseph Smith and of his vision in the Sacred Grove. Then I stopped, and I prayed to the Lord. I spent the whole night in this manner, reading and praying about each paragraph. It took me 14 hours. Something happened to me when I began to ponder. It seemed that I was in the grove with Joseph. It was a vivid and real experience. It seemed I could see what happened. When I finished the prayer the next morning, I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.
I went immediately to find the missionaries. At noon, when the sister missionaries came home for lunch, I was sitting in front of their door waiting for them. I asked them to teach me the discussions. After they taught me the seven discussions in a short period of time, I was baptized and confirmed into the Church.

I thought other youth would be interested in hearing about the Punta Arenas Branch, southernmost branch of the Church in the world, I believe. When Isaiah said, “… utter it even to the end of the earth,” he must have been referring to Punta Arenas, Chile! We’re on the Straights of Magellan, facing Tierra del Fuego. The wildlife and beauty of the Patagonia is outstanding: sharp green mountains, grazed by guanacos; blue waters filled with trout and salmon; and birdlife ranging from parrots to ostriches, ducks, swans, flamingos, and an occasional penguin.
Our branch is at the tender age of four years and has a membership of two hundred Saints. Jaime, our MIA president, and Carlos, an MIA officer, both youth, have been working all year to save enough money to cover their traveling expenses to the international youth conference to be held in Arica, Chile, at the northern end of the country. It’s been a long, hard job, involving window cleaning, cakes sales, and cleaning houses, but they have finally made it. That’s what it means to be a Latter-day Saint down here.
Elder Gary WeldChile Mission