Gospel Story Finder

Just recently I was very sick and hurt so badly I could not move. I had prayed a couple of times to ask Heavenly Father if He could help me. It just kept getting worse. So I called my dad at work and asked if he could come home to give me a blessing. He agreed.
When he got home, I had prayed four times already and told no one about it. What was so surprising is that in his blessing he said that he knew I had prayed about it and that if I kept praying, then I would heal very quickly. I know it was Heavenly Father talking to me through my dad, because Heavenly Father was the only other person who knew that I had prayed. I thought that was amazing.

Another hurdle the Committee Coordinators faced was regarding the chairs for the dedication.
“Where are we going to rent nice chairs?” Elder Gregorio Karganilla said. “But then in February, the Tabernacle Choir came to the country.”
The choir’s visit to the Philippines two months before the dedication was a miracle. The chairs they used were brought in for the dedication.
Truly, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

For the next appointment I was to meet the elders at their home. I was late and had not read the pamphlet nor the few pages in the Book of Mormon they had asked me to before our meeting. When I got to their home, no one was there. I sat on the porch and waited a few minutes. Then it began to pour down rain. I thought that instead of going home and getting soaked I could wait and see if the elders made it back.
While waiting I decided to read in the Book of Mormon about Christ visiting America. I read of cities being destroyed and of the calamities and suffering. I was captivated with the story and I had to keep reading. Soon I got to the part about God introducing his son. I could not believe what I was reading. The words were so powerful, yet they brought peace to my soul. I believed them. I knew that book contained the word of God. I knew it was true!

It had little effect, due in large part to the moral courage of one man, a nonmember named George Ramsden, manager of the passenger department of the Guion Line. At his death the Millennial Star published an obituary describing him as a man of “integrity and honour.”3 Several of Mr. Ramsden’s colleagues warned him that he would run a great risk if he attempted to land any Latter-day Saints in America, but he had the courage to ignore the circular, knowing that it had its origins in prejudice and religious intolerance. When government officials put up posters on his ships stating that Church members would not be allowed to land in New York, he had them taken down and forbade the distribution of the circulars among his passengers. To the American consul he simply said that he was not willing to apply a religious test as to who should, or should not, be his passengers.4
The Millennial Star concluded “that the Latter-day Saints, notwithstanding the hostile attitude of the American government towards them during a number of years, have not been prevented from landing in America is in great degree due to the wise discretion and superior tact displayed by this courageous and broad-minded gentleman.”5 Qualities still in great need today.

When my son was three years old and my daughter was four, they were part of a neighborhood preschool group. That winter those of us in charge of the group decided to do a Christmas project that included having each child donate a toy to a needy family.
We taught many lessons in the preceding weeks about how gratitude and sharing with others make us happy. I told my children to start thinking about which toys they would like to give, wanting them to have the experience of choosing what to give. Our family finances were limited, and I was curious which of their few toys they would be willing to part with.
One Saturday morning I told the children it was time to select their donation. I helped Hunter wrap the truck he had chosen and then went to see how Mikelle was doing. The scene I witnessed from the doorway of her room brought tears to my eyes.
Mikelle was holding her favorite doll, Mella, dressed in her best doll clothing, and she was singing to her. Then she tucked a small blanket into the bottom of a gift bag. She smiled at the doll, hugged and kissed her, and lovingly placed her in the bag. Seeing me, she said, “Mella’s all ready, Mom. I hope someone will love her.”
Knowing how my daughter felt about this doll, I was stunned she was giving her away. I almost wanted to tell Mikelle she didn’t have to give up her favorite doll, but I stopped myself.
“She understands giving,” I thought. “She is giving her very best.”
Suddenly I recognized that part of me was willing to give and share but not at too great a personal sacrifice. I had placed limits on my charity, and I knew I needed to change.
I thought of how Heavenly Father gave up His only perfect Son and allowed Him to suffer and die for me. I pictured a loving Father in Heaven kissing His Beloved Son and sending Him to earth as a baby, hoping that we would love and follow Him.
The Savior Himself held nothing back and gave everything He had to give.
I wondered if Mikelle would change her mind before the Christmas program, when the toys were to be donated, but she did not. I wondered if she would later regret her choice and feel sad, but she did not.
Seeing my daughter’s Christlike example, I decided that whether I have much or little to give, I would always cheerfully give my best when I have an opportunity to share.

A short family history story illustrates this counsel.
Several months ago I read the testimony of my great-grandfather’s sister Elizabeth Staheli Walker. As a child, Elizabeth immigrated to America from Switzerland with her family.
After Elizabeth married, she and her husband and children lived in Utah near the Nevada border, where they ran a mail station. Their home was a stopping place for travelers. All day and all night they had to be ready to cook and serve meals for travelers. It was hard, exhausting work, and they had little rest. But the greatest thing that concerned Elizabeth was the conversation of the people they associated with.
Elizabeth said that up to this time she had always taken for granted that the Book of Mormon was true, that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been authorized of God to do what he did, and that his message was the plan of life and salvation. But the life she was experiencing was anything but what would strengthen such a belief.
Some of the travelers who stopped were well-read, educated, smart men, and always the talk around her table was that Joseph Smith was “a sly fraud” who had written the Book of Mormon himself and then distributed it to make money. They acted as if to think anything else was absurd, claiming “that Mormonism was bunk.”
All this talk made Elizabeth feel isolated and alone. There was no one to talk to, no time to even say her prayers—although she did pray as she worked. She was too frightened to say anything to those who ridiculed her religion. She said she didn’t know but what they were telling the truth, and she felt she could not have defended her belief if she had tried.
Later, Elizabeth and her family moved. Elizabeth said she had more time to think and was not so distracted all the time. She often went down in the cellar and prayed to Heavenly Father about what was troubling her—about the stories those seemingly smart men had told about the gospel being bunk and about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.
One night Elizabeth had a dream. She said: “It seemed I was standing by a narrow wagon road, which led around by the foot of a low rolling hill; halfway up the hill I saw a man looking down and speaking, or seemed to be speaking, to a young man who was kneeling and leaning over a hole in the earth. His arms were stretched out, and it looked as if he was reaching for something from in the hole. I could see the lid of stone that seemed to have been taken off from the hole over which the boy was bending. On the road were many people, but none of them seemed to be at all interested in the two men on the hillside. There was something that came along with the dream that impressed me so strangely that I woke right up; … I could not tell my dream to anyone, but I seemed to be satisfied that it meant the angel Moroni [instructed] the boy Joseph at the time he got the plates.”
In the spring of 1893, Elizabeth went to Salt Lake City to the dedication of the temple. She described her experience: “In there I saw the same picture [that] I had seen in my dream; I think it was [a] colored-glass window. I feel satisfied that if I saw the Hill Cumorah itself, it would not look more real. I feel satisfied that I was shown in a dream a picture of the angel Moroni giving Joseph Smith the [gold] plates.”
Many years after having this dream and several months before she died at nearly age 88, Elizabeth received a powerful impression. She said, “The thought came to me as plain … as if someone had said to me, … ‘Do not bury your testimony in the ground.’”
Generations later, Elizabeth’s posterity continues to draw strength from her testimony. Like Elizabeth, we live in a world of many doubters and critics who ridicule and oppose the truths we hold dear. We may hear confusing stories and conflicting messages. Also like Elizabeth, we will have to do our best to hold on to whatever light and truth we currently have, especially in difficult circumstances. The answers to our prayers may not come dramatically, but we must find quiet moments to seek greater light and truth. And when we receive it, it is our responsibility to live it, to share it, and to defend it.

Repeating the words of an Apostle, David said, “Fear is a chief weapon of Satan in making mankind unhappy.”1
David Ikegami, a deacon from Oahu, Hawaii, had an assignment to speak during a Sunday mission conference. Seven months ago he had lived through one of the worst Christmases ever—not just for his family, but for the whole country. He chose to speak out against fear.
He would know a thing or two about fear. The year was 1942. Months earlier, the scenic island where David’s family lived had been turned upside down with destruction as Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. The day after that devastating attack, the United States entered World War II.
Fear for the future still covered the land like a blanket. To make matters more difficult, Japanese-Americans, such as the Ikegami family, lived with serious racial prejudice after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Life was neither simple nor easy for this young man.
Seven months ago he had lived through one of the worst Christmases ever.
So how did he find peace? For one thing, he focused on serving. He joined a group who helped to build trails and clear thorny kiawe trees from trails for military camps. Meanwhile, his family joined fundraising efforts to help the U.S. soldiers. These funds were used for everything from buying books to movie screens and projectors to help raise morale.
David then said, again quoting the same Apostle, Elder John A Widtsoe, “There is safety wherever the people of the Lord live so worthily as to claim the sacred title of citizens of the Zion of our Lord.”2
David found peace by focusing on Jesus Christ.3

At the end of every session, they invited me to pray. Again I resisted. I had never prayed and felt very awkward at the very thought. Eventually, they wore me down – I agreed. They suggested a simple format, and I knelt and voiced a prayer.
And while I grappled for words, I felt a bright effusion of light in my mind. It was something real and profound. I suddenly felt that there were other ways of knowing beyond the limits of human reason. This spiritual experience unlocked my soul to God and all the associated possibilities.

At the birth of each of my children, during those precious, solemn moments when I held them for the first time, I felt the whisperings of the Spirit teaching me of their unique qualities. When these impressions first came, I doubted. But as my children grew, the truths suggested at their births were verified. I feel wonder for a God who would thus offer counsel to me as he, our Heavenly Father, transferred his precious children to a new father’s earthly care.

As Adam Harrop walks the sidewalks of Ricks College, very few students or faculty would be able to single him out of the crowd. After all, his worn jeans, fresh haircut, and navy blue shirt are common sights at the LDS Church-owned junior college in Rexburg, Idaho.
However, beneath his common appearance, Adam is different. Not many male sophomores at Ricks are only 18 years old. Most second-year male students are 21 and returned missionaries. In addition to Adam’s unique age situation, he also holds the top student leadership position, overseeing 8,500 students at the largest private junior college in the United States.
Being student body president of Ricks College doesn’t come stress free. Especially when you’re taking a full load of classes, planning towards a degree in law or medicine. Especially when you’re also preparing for a full-time mission. Especially when you’re younger than most of the people you are leading.
But Adam Harrop knows that everything “IS OK.” The Harrop family has a saying back in Quincy, Illinois, where Adam grew up. If you’re In Scriptures and On Knees (IS OK), everything will turn out the way the Lord intended.
Adam doesn’t see his age as a disadvantage. “I still have my youthful spirit,” he says. “I want to work hard and play hard.”
It wasn’t easy from the start, however. Adam didn’t come to Ricks with a lot of leadership experience. Once he got to Ricks, he knew he wanted to develop his leadership skills. “There are a lot of people older than I am on my committees,” Adam says. “But there is a feeling of trust that has grown among the officers that has allowed me to lead them and to accomplish our goals.”
In fact, Adam’s campaign slogan last spring emphasized his energy. His signs read, “Thumbs up, step it up with Adam Harrop.” The voters said thumbs up to his ideas and elected him to the office. Adam is quick to give a thumbs up to his sister Heidi, also a Ricks student, who did “all of the campaigning,” he says. Adam has five older sisters, including Heidi.
His support of other students and leaders and, in turn, their support of him make him an approachable leader. He hopes his experience at Ricks will be a springboard toward a successful career. “Being the president has taught me time management, communication, patience, and how to get along with others,” Adam says. “It has been a big character builder for me.”
Adam spends more than 20 hours a week completing duties for his office, including attending 18 meetings each week. “I have to make good use of my time so I can study. None of us has time to waste. We all have to prioritize and know what is the most important to us.”
“If I could give advice to high school students,” says Adam, “I would say to push yourself harder and find areas in which to improve. Participate in something that will help you grow—physically, spiritually, and academically. Find out what the Lord wants you to do, not just what you want to do.”
Adam is pushing himself hard in his office and his schooling as he tries to do what the Lord would have him do. At times it seems overwhelming, but he reads his scriptures and prays. So he knows, everything IS OK.

Editor’s note: President Heber J. Grant’s life is a lesson in the power of practice and persistence. As an ungifted athlete, he worked so hard that he became the pitcher for a championship baseball team. While he was a bookkeeping student, classmates made fun of his writing. “Hentracks!” one boy said. “Lightning has struck the ink bottle,” jeered another. Heber vowed that someday he would teach penmanship, a prediction that came true. His calligraphy eventually won awards for excellence and gained national attention. In 1901, Elder Heber J. Grant, then serving as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was called by the First Presidency to initiate missionary work in Japan.

The three other elders and I were excited to visit Nikko shrine, one of the best-known tourist attractions in Japan. We thrilled at the sculptured gardens, waterfalls, gently arched bridges, and carved stone monuments.
In the town near the shrine, we entered a curio shop which was set back from the road. The shop had apparently seen better days and was now overlooked by most tourists who favored the modern shops along the thoroughfare.
As we chatted with the owner, we found that the shop had been operated by his family for more than three generations. Many interesting objects attracted our attention. As we browsed, the owner brought over a guest book and asked us to sign it. He said that his grandfather had started the “sign-in” tradition almost a hundred years ago and that there were now several large volumes of signatures from foreigners who had visited the shop.
After we signed our names, he proudly showed us some of the signatures of royalty and of other famous personalities. He added that he wanted to share with us the most prized signature he possessed. Our new-found friend excitedly opened one of the older volumes and pointed to a signature: Heber J. Grant!
The signature was beautiful, with full, exact strokes. President Grant had given his address as simply “Salt Lake City, Utah,” and had written the date alongside. I don’t remember the date he wrote (our visit to the shop took place in 1974), but it was sometime during the period when President Grant presided over the Japanese Mission, probably around 1903.
From the experience, I learned of President Grant’s desire to become an accomplished penman and of the pursuit for excellence which he incorporated into every facet of his life. It was an unusual testimony to me of the importance of striving for perfection, and the lesson is one I will never forget.
Even though the shop owner (at that point) knew nothing about President Heber J. Grant or about missionaries and their mission, among the thousands of signatures included in his guest register, the most prized was the signature of a president of the Church!

The young man had been on the job a little more than a year. He hoped his part-time assignment under one of the most influential supervisors in the organization might develop into a challenging, satisfying full-time assignment.
Then one day as he and his supervisor met with their manager, the young man’s trust in his supervisor vanished. The manager criticized a report the young man had prepared, and the supervisor, who had reviewed the report and changed the section in question, sat silently, offering no help.
“But I handled this in what I wrote originally,” the young man said, turning to his supervisor. The supervisor answered, “I don’t remember reading anything about it.”
The young man was certain of what he had written. Later in the day, after the supervisor left, the young man went to the file where everyone in the department filed copies of their reports. All the copies were in place, in proper order, except the one in question. It had disappeared.
After that day, the young man was careful to keep a second copy of everything he wrote. He cooperated with his supervisor as the job required, but when an opportunity came for a less prestigious assignment under a supervisor he knew to be honest, the young man took it. His life had been affected by someone who bore false witness.

They recognized that their challenges were not at an end. Juan, a priest, was about to enter the army. “It will not be easy to maintain Church standards in the military,” he said, “but I believe that through many prayers I can do it. I do not intend to isolate myself from others who do not share my standards or to try to appear better than they are. But when one of them offers me a cigarette, I will ask for a stick of chewing gum instead. I want to teach the gospel to them.” He felt that the priesthood he bears will be a real help in difficult circumstances. “I don’t believe that anyone who holds the priesthood could possibly ask for anything more. We must be faithful and steadfast in this great calling in order to carry the work forward.”

My mom is the genealogist in our family. She’s researched over 10 generations of our family line, taught herself to read German, and has an abundance of knowledge about the cultural traditions of different time periods.
I, on the other hand, have never been good at history, and I’ve always been content to let other people do our family history work. However, my reluctance changed one Sunday in July.
My priests quorum adviser, Brother Holland, who is famous for his homemade wheat bread, gave the entire priests quorum a challenge: “If you go home and index 100 names through FamilySearch by the end of the night, I will bake you an entire loaf of bread.”
The first thing I did when I got home was to access the indexing tool at FamilySearch.org/indexing. When I downloaded the first batch, I met my first set of problems. First, the handwriting on the records was hard to read and sometimes unintelligible. The second and much more serious problem was that I couldn’t read cursive. Luckily, with the help of the Internet, I worked my way carefully through the first few names until I got the hang of it. Reading and writing the names started to go faster.
I tried to picture in my mind the families as I input their names. I saw families from all over the world—from Italy, Ireland, Germany, and more. When I read their names, I felt like I somehow knew them. When I came across a name I couldn’t read, I didn’t give up. I thought of every possibility and even searched the Internet for what it might be. I wanted to get it right.
It wasn’t too long before I finished my 100 names. I called Brother Holland and reported that I had completed the task. Later, I got my loaf of bread. The next week, he made the same offer. I went home and indexed more names, but this time I didn’t report it. I realized that I wanted to do it—not because I wanted bread, but because I genuinely wanted to help the people I was recording. I wanted their descendants to be able to find them and help them. It was a great feeling to be a part—even just a small part—of family history work.

Kurt Reintjes has gone far in Scouting—clear to Japan and back, in fact. One of very few Mormons who attended the World Jamboree there, Kurt had a great time explaining the gospel to friends. He also enjoyed visiting a Japanese member family. “Even though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, when they prayed, I knew it was a prayer. It was wonderful.” Kurt brought back greetings from Kyoto’s leaders to the mayor of La Habra, California.

This is a change-about story. Color, then cut out the squares at the end of it and put them in a small paper sack or other container that you can’t see into, then read the story aloud with a friend or your family. Whenever you come to a blank, fill it in by drawing a word out of the sack.
From the time Benjamin woke up that morning, everything seemed to go wrong. To begin with, when he decided to wear ____________________ to school, he couldn’t find it because it was hidden under ____________________. So he had to put on ____________________, instead, even though it was upside down and inside out.
“It’s not funny!” Benjamin muttered grumpily when his reflection in the mirror showed ____________________ draped around his neck and ____________________ hanging down in front. He sighed. This was going to be a dumb, crazy, mixed-up day.
Just then Mother called, “Hurry, Benjamin, so you’ll have time to eat ____________________. Your teacher will be pleased if you have ____________________ for breakfast.”
“I’ll be late if I eat that!” Benjamin exclaimed. He snatched ____________________ out of the refrigerator and dashed out the front door, putting on ____________________ to keep him warm.
“Wait!” Mother called. “You forgot ____________________ and money for ____________________!”
But it was too late. Already ____________________ bus was rounding the corner and coming to a stop. Most of the seats were filled by ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________. In place of ____________________, the regular driver, ____________________ sat behind the wheel.
“Climb aboard!” he snapped, sounding just like ____________________. “We can’t wait here all day!”
With a great clashing of ____________________, the driver raced down the street, narrowly missing ____________________ and a lady pushing ____________________ in a baby buggy. In the back of the bus, a chorus made up of ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________ suddenly began to sing. There was no doubt about it—it was another dumb, crazy, mixed-up day!
At school, things were even worse. During math, the teacher asked, “Benjamin, what is nine times seven?” and he answered ____________________. During social studies, Benjamin tried to hand in ____________________ for his homework, and it spilled all over ____________________ on the teacher’s desk. And at noon he found that Mother had packed ____________________ and ____________________ for his lunch. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “When will this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day ever end?”
After lunch period it was time to practice with the band, one of Benjamin’s favorite classes. But when he reached in to take his horn out of the case, he found ____________________ there instead.
“Come, come, Benjamin,” the band leader scolded, “Whoever heard of playing that in a school band? If your horn isn’t here, borrow ____________________.”
Poor Benjamin was so embarrassed that he bolted out the door and ran blindly down the hall. On the way he bumped into ____________________ and ____________________. At last the bell sounded, and school was over for the day. Benjamin rubbed his jaw with ____________________ and sighed with relief.
After ____________________ bus took him home, Benjamin hurried into the family’s cheery kitchen. At least Mother always set out a delicious after-school snack. But not this time! There on the counter was ____________________ to eat and a glass with ____________________ in it!
Benjamin lost his appetite. “I’ll just put on ____________________ and go to bed,” he declared. “And I’ll stay there until this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day is over.”
And that’s what he did.

a purple puppy
a squashed skateboard
a green giraffe
a brass button
a prickly pelican
a limp lantern
a cuddly kitten
a wilted watermelon
a zany zebra
a dozing dodo
a pink porcupine
a leaping lizard
a helpless hippo
a jogging jackal
a snoopy skunk
a squeaky saxophone
a broken bicycle
a cinnamon camel
a strawberry soda
a toothless tiger
a sassy snake
an orange octopus
an angry alligator
a happy hobo
a nippy noodle
a crispy cracker
a leaky lemon
a rattling rollerskate
a grinning gorilla
a bouncing broom
a prancing pony
a dippy donkey
a frisky frog
some jiggling gelatin
a bent bucket
a polka-dot pumpkin
a croaking company
a rusty rainspout
a friendly fox
a dimpled doughnut
a quirky quince
an exotic explorer

Extending care and aid is a vast range of dedicated relief workers, many of them volunteers. I saw in action a member of the Church who, for many months, worked through the night, providing for the most immediate needs of those arriving from Turkey into Greece. Among countless other endeavors, she administered first aid to those in most critical medical need; she saw that the women and children traveling alone were cared for; she held those who had been bereaved along the way and did her best to allocate limited resources to limitless need. She, as so many like her, has been a literal ministering angel, whose deeds are not forgotten by those she cared for, nor by the Lord, on whose errand she was.

Several months later my relationship with Jake (name has been changed) had progressed a great deal. But Jake’s parents had divorced years earlier, and their separation still affected him deeply. He was afraid that if we got married, things would end for us as they had for his parents.
I told him I was willing to give him time—lots if he needed it—to sort things out in his mind and his heart. We talked about making decisions based on faith instead of fear. We discussed the role of agency and the fact that he didn’t need to assume that his parents’ path would automatically be his fate too. And we talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s ability to heal our hearts.
Our conversations seemed to help relieve his anxiety some, and our relationship continued as usual. So when he called me one Saturday afternoon to break up, it more than surprised me. He told me that he couldn’t see himself being married to me—or to anyone. He just didn’t believe in marriage anymore.
For the next hour we rehearsed what we had already discussed, but I couldn’t persuade him. He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and he hung up the phone. I sat silently on my bed, tears running down my face, absolutely stunned.
A while later my roommate knocked on the bedroom door. “Are you coming to stake conference?” she asked. I didn’t feel much like going anywhere or doing anything, but I put on a dress and got in her car.
When we arrived the first person I saw was the woman who had given that family home evening lesson months earlier. Neither of us said anything, but our eyes met, and in my mind, I heard a voice call my name and say, “Go back and get the plates.”
Somehow I knew all that the prompting implied. It wasn’t just about an ancient prophet returning to get a sacred record. It was also about me. It meant that even though Jake didn’t believe in marriage, I still could. I could hope for it and pray for it and work for it—not in a wishful, wistful way but in a believing, active, prepare-myself-daily-because-this-is-God’s-plan-for-His-children kind of way. It didn’t mean that I had to go back to Jake and be with him until I “wore him down” on the idea of marriage, and it also didn’t mean I had to start dating someone new right away. It was OK for me to have a time to grieve and heal.
But during that time I could avoid wallowing in self-pity. I could resist the temptation to be snide about Jake—or men in general. I could seek friends who believed in marriage and looked forward to it. And I could, like Nephi, trust in a loving Heavenly Father who gives no commandment—whether it’s obtaining ancient scriptural records or marrying and creating families—without preparing a way for us to accomplish it.
I’m still in the “accomplishing”—not the “accomplished”—stage. I’m not yet married, but I feel grateful for the good dating experiences I’ve had—experiences made richer by an improved understanding of the role persistence plays in righteous goals.

Now I share an experience that taught me a way to gain spiritual guidance. One Sunday I attended the priesthood meeting of a Spanish branch in Mexico City. I vividly recall how a humble Mexican priesthood leader struggled to communicate the truths of the gospel in his lesson material. I noted the intense desire he had to share those principles he strongly valued with his quorum members. He recognized that they were of great worth to the brethren present. In his manner, there was an evidence of a pure love of the Savior and love of those he taught.

His sincerity, purity of intent, and love permitted a spiritual strength to envelop the room. I was deeply touched. Then I began to receive personal impressions as an extension of the principles taught by that humble instructor. They were personal and related to my assignments in the area. They came in answer to my prolonged, prayerful efforts to learn.

As each impression came, I carefully wrote it down. In the process, I was given precious truths that I greatly needed in order to be a more effective servant of the Lord. The details of the communication are sacred and, like a patriarchal blessing, were for my individual benefit. I was given specific directions, instructions, and conditioned promises that have beneficially altered the course of my life.

Subsequently, I visited the Sunday School class in our ward, where a very well-educated teacher presented his lesson. That experience was in striking contrast to the one enjoyed in the priesthood meeting. It seemed to me that the instructor had purposely chosen obscure references and unusual examples to illustrate the principles of the lesson. I had the distinct impression that this instructor was using the teaching opportunity to impress the class with his vast store of knowledge. At any rate, he certainly did not seem as intent on communicating principles as had the humble priesthood leader.

In that environment, strong impressions began to flow to me again. I wrote them down. The message included specific counsel on how to become more effective as an instrument in the hands of the Lord. I received such an outpouring of impressions that were so personal that I felt it was not appropriate to record them in the midst of a Sunday School class. I sought a more private location, where I continued to write the feelings that flooded into my mind and heart as faithfully as possible. After each powerful impression was recorded, I pondered the feelings I had received to determine if I had accurately expressed them in writing. As a result, I made a few minor changes to what had been written. Then I studied their meaning and application in my own life.

Subsequently I prayed, reviewing with the Lord what I thought I had been taught by the Spirit. When a feeling of peace came, I thanked Him for the guidance given. I was then impressed to ask, “Was there yet more to be given?” I received further impressions, and the process of writing down the impressions, pondering, and praying for confirmation was repeated. Again I was prompted to ask, “Is there more I should know?” And there was. When that last, most sacred experience was concluded, I had received some of the most precious, specific, personal direction one could hope to obtain in this life. Had I not responded to the first impressions and recorded them, I would not have received the last, most precious guidance.

On the bus to work one morning, I took a window seat. Before long I became aware of a little bee trying to get itself out of a fix. It was trapped between the two glass panels of the window, and no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t find its way out. Encased in a transparent prison, it could see freedom but couldn’t find an escape route. Perhaps frightened, it beat its wings furiously and desperately threw itself against the glass.
I’ve always been a person who didn’t like to see anyone or anything hurt. So after observing the bee for some time, I began to try to get it out of its difficulty. But lacking trust and understanding of my desire to help, it didn’t take advantage of the assistance I offered. In fact, all it did was continue to throw itself against the window. Finally I began to get a bit irritated.
Before I got to my stop and after the poor little bee had suffered much, it managed to get out of its predicament. From it I learned that we also can overcome trials—suffering less if we turn to and trust in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, to whom all adversity is transparent.