Gospel Story Finder

I have seen that promise fulfilled in my own life and in the lives of others. A friend of mine served as a mission president. He told me that at the end of every day while he was serving, he could barely make it upstairs to bed at night wondering if he would have the strength to face another day. Then in the morning, he would find his strength and his courage restored. You have seen it in the lives of aged prophets who seemed to be renewed each time they stood to testify of the Lord Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. That is a promise for those who go forward in faith in their priesthood service.

I can say, as Nephi said, that I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). During World War II my father was captured by the Germans when they invaded Belgium. He escaped and disappeared into the underground (an opposition group). As a young child, I remember seeing my father only once or twice. He made very short visits, then disappeared again into the underground, where he was a radio operator.
Even when the war was over, he didn’t come home right away but went to Germany with the Belgian army. Then he was assigned to another city in Belgium. Fortunately, my mother was a very strong and faithful person. When my father was away, she was the head and the strength of the family.
We were not Latter-day Saints, but I have always had faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That has never been in doubt for me. I don’t know where my faith came from. I grew up in a typical European home. We did not go to church, and we never prayed in our home. Yet as a child, I knew. I had faith. It was a spiritual gift I could never deny.
As a teenager, I lived with my family on a hill in Namur, Belgium. We often noticed missionaries pushing their bicycles slowly uphill or riding swiftly back down. One day they came to our house. Knowing they were Americans, we were curious and invited them in. It was 1951, and I was about 16 years old.
When the missionaries started talking about religion, we four children were not too interested, but my mother listened and kept inviting them back. As they taught her, she gained a testimony of the Church. Then came the question of baptism. My mother’s parents didn’t want her to be baptized, and my father was in Germany in the army. He came back only once a month for a two- or three-day visit. My mother got his permission, however, and was baptized. But he insisted that we children wait and make our own decisions when we were older.
In the meantime, we attended church with our mother. I went mostly because I wanted to perfect my English. I participated in the youth activities. It was a very good experience because I learned how to sing, dance, and act in the theater. I became acquainted not only with the Church but with the missionaries. I was getting closer to them in age, and we became good friends. They were in our home at least two or three times a week.
When I turned 21, I attended college in Liège, a city about 65 kilometers from home. The missionaries challenged me to be baptized, and I had to make a choice. It was a matter of testimony. I had questions about the Book of Mormon. I was 95 percent converted, but I needed a spiritual confirmation. The missionaries helped me find it by teaching me to pray, praying with me, and helping me recognize the answers I received. I was soon baptized. Since that time in that small branch, I have continued to grow in the gospel.
My faith helped me when I experienced peer pressure. I was the only member of the Church in college and later in Belgium’s air force. To resist temptations, I had to turn somewhere. I could not just turn to a magazine or a book. I had to have the internal strength that comes from a testimony of Jesus Christ. Once you have faith and rely on it, you will be strengthened even more. Faith becomes your determining factor in making decisions and moving forward.
My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his wife and four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.
With age, physical challenges are starting. At the end of last year I suddenly had a serious back problem. I was unable to move or to function normally. Through a priesthood blessing and my faith in the Lord, my back got better.
I think faith is our “homework” as Latter-day Saints. When you go to school, you have a textbook, but unless you do the homework each night, you don’t progress. The scriptures are our gospel “textbook,” but we have to do our homework. Our faith needs to be practiced. Faith without works is dead (see James 2:17).
My message to you children is to listen to your parents and follow their teachings. I had a foundation in my life from the teachings of my mother and my father, who were great examples. They were not perfect and your parents may not be perfect either. But if you can separate their problems from the true principles they teach and follow by faith, you will be blessed for it. If you will turn to your parents and to the Lord, it will make a big difference.

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

At first, the LDS Hour seemed to be a service just for Church members. But Brother Noble and the boys found out that the show was being watched by an audience they hadn’t quite expected. They found that members who have not been attending church for years are tuning in.
“They don’t want to commit themselves to attend church meetings, but they want some connection. One lady who watches our show was baptized 33 years ago,” said Brother Noble. “Her home teachers and visiting teachers have never been successful in encouraging her to attend the ward. But she watches the program and calls her friends to watch it.”

In summer 2017, the Page family participated in the British Pageant at the Preston, England Temple.
Preparations began early in January, with applications to be made, auditions to attend, and accommodations to organise. We were very excited to receive our phone call from Peter Trebilcock (the pageant director at the time). He told us that we had been accepted into the family cast. We were then set apart by our bishop, who said our children were the youngest he had ever set apart for a calling!
Our time at the British Pageant was very busy, with long days of rehearsing, many late nights, and makeshift meals. But it was wonderful— we made some new friends, grew through the expertise of all the directors and had many spiritual experiences and opportunities to give testimony.
One of the highlights was a visit from President M. Russell Ballard, an Apostle. My husband, Matthew, who was working on the security team, had the privilege of ferrying President Ballard around the site in a golf cart! We also had visits from President and Sister Kieron, and President and Sister McReynolds of the Manchester England Mission.
At the end of the performance each night, it was our privilege to speak with our visitors about their experience at the pageant. Many were not members of our Church, while others had not attended for a very long time. There were many positive stories of people feeling the Holy Ghost, as well as compliments as to the quality of the event.
The British Pageant is a truly worthwhile experience, and we wholeheartedly recommend getting involved!

On July 26, 1847, their third day in the valley (the second having been the Sabbath), Brigham Young, with members of the Twelve and some others, climbed a peak about one and a half miles from where I now stand. They thought it a good place to raise an ensign to the nations. Heber C. Kimball wore a yellow bandana. They tied it to Willard Richards’s walking stick and waved it aloft, an ensign to the nations. Brigham Young named it Ensign Peak.
Then they descended to their worn-out wagons, to the few things they had carried 2,000 miles, and to their travel-weary followers. It was not what they possessed that gave them strength but what they knew.
They knew they were Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ. They knew that the priesthood had been delivered to them by angelic messengers. They knew they had the commandments and the covenants to offer opportunity for the eternal salvation and exaltation for all mankind. They were sure that the inspiration of the Holy Ghost attended them.
They busied themselves plowing up gardens, putting up shelters against the winter soon to come. They prepared for others already on the prairie following them to this new gathering place.
Those Brethren on Ensign Peak knew that they were to live ordinary lives and keep the image of Christ engraven in their countenances (see Alma 5:14).
We are as much a part of this work as were those men who untied that yellow bandana from Willard Richards’s walking stick and descended from Ensign Peak. That bandana, waved aloft, signaled the great gathering which had been prophesied in ancient and modern scriptures.

All this talk caused a great curiosity about the Church and the Book of Mormon. Twelve-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins, a recently baptized member, wanted to see the Book of Mormon, but at that time there were very few copies of it available. When she heard that a neighbor, Isaac Morley, had one, she went to his home to see it. When she first glimpsed at the book, an overwhelming desire came over her to read it. Gathering her courage, she asked if she could take the book home and read it while Brother Morley attended a missionary meeting that evening. Brother Morley hesitated but finally said, “Child, if you will bring this book back before breakfast tomorrow morning, you may take it.” Mary hurried home with the book, threw open the door, and exclaimed to her uncle and aunt, “Here is the ‘Golden Bible!’” Immediately her aunt and uncle sat down with her and began taking turns reading until late at night. Mary got up the next morning as soon as it was light enough to see and memorized the first verse. Then she hurried to Brother Morley’s house to return the book. Upon greeting her, Brother Morley said, “I guess you did not read much in it.” When Mary showed him how far they had read, he was surprised. “I don’t believe you can tell me one word of it,” he said. Mary repeated the verse she had memorized and told him the story of Nephi. At that, Brother Morley gazed at her and said, “Child, take this book home and finish it. I can wait.”

There will be times, however, when adapting to a sibling’s behavior is not enough. Simply avoiding or ignoring your brother or sister may not work when you feel your basic rights as a person are being overlooked. For Doug and Brent, the TV was a constant source of conflict. Both tended to be possessive of the television, always changing channels without asking. A channel-changing war inevitably ensued every time they sat down to watch the television. The fight would soon be blown out of proportion, and the two brothers were often at each other’s throats—literally—over a TV show.

Since the family owned one television, their behavior affected everyone. Occasionally, the boys made compromises, but they were temporary and soon forgotten. A long-term solution was needed.

This came in the form of a preplanned TV schedule decided on by the entire family at the start of each week. Mom and Dad limited the viewing hours and made sure the “TV menu” was fair for all. Brent and Doug’s fighting eventually stopped because they were often reminded of the schedule and the new compromise.

While I can’t imagine what Joseph’s harrowing experience was like in Liberty Jail, I too have wondered where God is when I’ve waited on Him for answers, endured unfairness, and felt the disappointment of unfulfilled blessings.
A few years ago, I felt all of this profoundly.
In my early 20s, I was suddenly facing chronic health problems, struggles in my family, heartbreak from a failed relationship, and unmet expectations for my life, all while juggling anxiety and depression.
I was a mess—emotionally, spiritually, and physically.
I didn’t understand why I was experiencing so many challenges when I had always learned I would have joy if I lived as a disciple of Christ.
I did not feel joy.
Instead, I was bitter. I felt disconnected from Heavenly Father. All I could see were my troubles.
I read scriptures, prayed, and attended the temple. But I couldn’t shake my focus from my challenges.
I lived like this for months, feeling rigid in my negative feelings about life. In my mind, I had a right to be bitter! But one day I sat down to read my patriarchal blessing.
I have always been known for my optimism, humor, and zest for life, and when I read my blessing describing these qualities and my eternal potential, I realized that this sacred document was not describing who I was at the time.
I wept as I read about the promises Heavenly Father has in store for me, but I felt discouraged. How could I change and reconnect with my happy, faithful self this blessing was describing?
I realized how much I was letting my struggles—and the labels I had given myself because of them (chronically ill, chronically anxious, chronically forever alone … catch my drift?)—overshadow every good thing in my life.
I had lost sight of the truth that I am one of Heavenly Father’s beloved daughters and that He has great things in store for me.
This most powerful label was stated in the very first sentences of my patriarchal blessing.
President Russell M. Nelson has said, “If any label replaces your most important identifiers, the results can be spiritually suffocating.”
… Guilty.
“First and foremost, you are a child of God, a child of the covenant, and a disciple of Jesus Christ.”1
I realized I needed to change.
I had a desire to start doing life differently. So I started focusing on my divine identity, and I set goals. I believed that with faith in Christ and action on my part, I would see changes in my life. President Nelson also taught, “As we strive to live the higher laws of Jesus Christ, our hearts and our very natures begin to change.”2
So:
I went to the temple to feel the Spirit instead of feeling frustrated if I didn’t receive specific answers.
I read my scriptures with intention.
I prayed for help in changing my thoughts from hopelessness to hopefulness.
I kept a gratitude journal.
I exercised more.
I spent more time with loved ones and less time alone.
I strived to magnify my calling.
I met with a therapist who helped me gain helpful perspectives about living with chronic illnesses and managing anxiety.
Over time I witnessed miracles, like feeling more empathy toward others, feeling grateful and strengthened even on days when my chronic illness flares, and feeling hope even when challenges aren’t fully resolved.
As Sister Michelle D. Craig, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, taught, “Trials do not mean that the plan is failing; they are part of the plan meant to help [us] seek God.”3
As I turned to Him, I felt different—and I still feel different—as I continue to shift my focus from my suffering to living joyfully as a disciple of Christ.4
My time in my figurative “Liberty Jail” showed me what happens when we choose Jesus Christ in our challenges—we are changed for the better. I cherish His enabling power that continues to help me become “a new creature” (see 2 Corinthians 5:17).
In times of anguish, I remind myself of God’s words to the Prophet Joseph Smith and think about how they might apply to me too:
“[Chakell], peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8).
These days, I have a zest for life again, despite ongoing challenges. I know as I follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I am offered security in my covenants, hope in promised blessings, perfect love, and rest.5 Our trials, and especially our ability to grow through them, are our biggest blessings when we choose to come unto Christ. He truly changes us from bitter to better.

I had finally come to know myself. I remember a day when, 15 and confused, I borrowed Sandy’s jeans. Sandy was everything I wished I was—cute, popular, self-confident. Somehow I guess I thought that if I wore her jeans, I’d be more like her. But her body, shapely for 15, was about three sizes bigger than my wiry one. I guess I looked pretty silly with her pants hanging on me like a bag, held tight around my waist with a belt, then ballooning out like a clown’s costume. I remember Grandpa’s face, so serious, so gentle: “Honey, why do you wear Sandy’s clothes? Why do you talk like her and laugh like her?” Embarrassed I looked to the floor, at the pants that hung inches past my feet.
“Why not be yourself?” he said.
“Oh, Grandpa,” I sobbed. “How can I be myself? I don’t even know who I am.”
Grandpa held me on his lap as if I were a child again, quietly, till the crying stopped and the tears dried. With a smile he looked into my eyes. “You used to know,” he said. “But we all forget sometimes. Take Sandy’s pants back to her. Together we’ll rediscover you. Then you can be yourself.”

The year before I served my mission the bishop called me into his office and extended a call for me to be a CTR B Primary teacher. I accepted the call, excited to teach the seven- and eight-year-olds in my class. At the same time, I also worked at a local supermarket. It was a good job.
Not long after I was hired, the manager and assistant manager of the store where I worked informed me that I would have to start working on Sundays. The manager said, “I am not going to work around the Mormons or any other church.” To keep my job, I knew that it would mean giving up my calling. My manager wouldn’t discuss it any further.
I sat down with the bishop and explained the whole situation. This was one of the first times we talked about a mission. I wasn’t sure that I would even go on a mission. But if I did go, I would need a job to earn money to pay for it. But I also wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy and be able to attend church and teach Primary. After a long discussion with the bishop, I decided to quit my job. Not long after that, I found a job at another store that allowed me to have Sundays off. I kept my calling, and for the next several months I helped those children prepare for baptism.
One day I was looking at the missionary discussions, just to see what was in them, and it suddenly became clear to me why it had been so important for me to teach Primary. The discussions taught about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, the First Vision, faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost—the very same principles I had been teaching my Primary class. I decided to pray about a mission.
I received an answer to serve a mission. I was interviewed by my bishop and received a call to serve in the Jacksonville, Florida, area. Teaching Primary gave me a better understanding of the things I would need to know to be prepared to serve a mission.
When I quit my job, some people might have wondered why, especially when someone else could have easily taught that Primary class. But giving up my job to keep the Sabbath and teach Primary resulted in a greater blessing for me.

Later, as I sat in sacrament meeting thinking about the dreams, I silently prayed for guidance that I might be able to find the information necessary to do my Choctaw ancestors’ temple work. I felt impressed to acquire a copy of a record I had seen some twenty years earlier at the National Archives in Washington, D.C. It was the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll of 1831, and it contained records of the Choctaw before their trek over the “Trail of Tears” to Oklahoma. This census had on record some 3,000 heads of families and represented about 17,000 people. I had photocopied the pages from it that dealt with my ancestor named Betsy.
I wrote to the National Archives, requesting a microfilm copy of the entire record. I also contacted the Church Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah, and asked whether temple work could be done for people listed on the record. I then asked for and obtained permission to help do name extraction work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll.
I also went to Philadelphia, Mississippi, as I had been prompted. There, on the Choctaw reservation, I learned the story of the Nanah-weya. Archaeologists think that the Choctaw are probably of Mayan descent—from Central America—because their language, customs, and culture are similar to those of the Mayans. Choctaw legends tell of their migration from their old lands, where they had been persecuted. A prophet had told them of a land waiting for them, where they would be safe. Two brothers, Chataw and Chickasaw, led the people out of the old land.
The people followed the “leaning pole,” a sacred pole placed in front of the leaders’ camp each night. Some legends say that a sacred medicine bag was tied to the pole. Each morning, the people traveled in the direction the pole leaned. They carried their ancestors’ bones with them.
When they reached the area that is now Northern Mississippi, there was a tremendous rainstorm. The people thought that in the morning they would find the sacred pole flat on the ground because of the rain. Instead, the pole stood straight, its shaft buried deep in the mud.
That is where the people stayed. In the new land they held a great council to decide what to do with their ancestors’ bones. The decision they made was to build a large mound and bury them there. This mound, called the Nanah-weya, means “leaning mountain,” or “mother mound.”
I asked a Choctaw from Oklahoma if he knew the meaning of the word Nanah-ku-chi. He told me that it means “to bring out of the mountain.”
“You have said it just the way the Choctaw would say it,” he told me. “Nanah means mountain; Ku-chi means to bring forth.” I concluded that the words I had heard must have meant that the names of the Choctaw dead should be brought out of obscurity so that the Choctaws’ temple work should be completed.
My trip to Mississippi bore great fruit. There, in a courthouse, a woman gave my aunt and me a copy of some family records. Later, when I read through it, I was amazed. Before, I had had only three names on that particular family. Now I had more than sixty pages of information! There, at the beginning of the line, was the name of Ikenaby, an Indian chief who had lived during the early 1800s and who had married a white woman by the name of Kearney.
I continued to help with the work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll. Lorraine Nievar of Ardmore, Oklahoma, whose ancestors are Choctaw and French, also helped with name extraction work on the record. When the work was complete, 1,500 names from the record were sent to the temple in Dallas, Texas, so that Sister Nievar and her family could help perform their ancestors’ temple work. Another 1,500 names were sent to the Logan Utah Temple, where many of my friends and neighbors have helped with the work.
I believe that many members of the Choctaw Nation who lived during the early 1800s have accepted the temple work completed in their behalf. As I participated in baptisms for the dead one Saturday morning, I felt their gratitude. During one particular temple session, I was asked to speak to the members of a Logan ward. While we sat together in the temple’s chapel, I told them the story behind the names they carried that night. I remember that temple session as one of the most sacred I ever attended.
I recall feeling a vivid sense of light and joy at one particular point in the session. I thought of my son’s dream. My friends and neighbors were now giving the “bread of life” to those who had asked for it. I again felt that those whose work we were performing, though unseen, were grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel. Though they had once walked the “Trail of Tears,” now they could walk the straight and narrow path of joy that leads to eternal life.
Many native American records have been compiled by various organizations. It is now possible to do more temple work for native American ancestors than ever before; many of them are eager to receive the saving ordinances of the gospel.
I learned just how eager they were one spring day while driving to Salt Lake City to talk with a woman there. Suddenly, I felt that I could hear the sound of drums beating. I seemed to see an Indian woman, dressed in an oversize plaid shirt, a Navajo skirt, and a silver medallion belt. The seat beside me was empty, but I could sense her presence.
When I arrived in Salt Lake City, I felt prompted to ask the woman with whom I had the appointment whether she had any Indian ancestors. But Carolyn doesn’t look Indian; she’s blonde and blue-eyed, I thought to myself. She’ll think I’m crazy.
When I met Carolyn in her office, the prompting for me to ask was just as strong as it had been in the car. So I asked if she had Indian ancestors.
“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother was Cherokee and was adopted by the Navajo.” She told me about how her “Granny” had worked as a nurse for many years with the Navajo in Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Texas. Later, I asked Carolyn about the clothing her grandmother had worn, and she described to me the clothing I had seen the woman wearing.
I told Carolyn about the temple work we had done for the Choctaw. She was thrilled about the possibility of doing the same work for the Cherokee. The Cherokee were the second nation to walk the “Trail of Tears”; there is a record of the tribe in its entirety from 1835—before they had settled in Oklahoma. Carolyn is now doing extraction work on that record, preparing names for the temple.
I know that my Choctaw ancestors desired the blessings of the gospel. My love for my ancestors has grown as I have learned about them. Though they suffered great hardship in mortality, they are now receiving the great blessings of the temple.

An old Asian tale describes a prince who was reared in a castle and kept sheltered from the hardships of life. He never saw anyone who was ill. He never saw anyone who was aged. He never saw anyone die.
When the prince grew to be a young man, he desired to go out into the kingdom he ruled. As he was being carried along on a litter, he saw for the first time an old man, toothless, wrinkled, and bent with age.
The prince said to his bearers, “Stop! Wait! What is this?”
The chief bearer replied, “This is a man who is bent with age. Though you are young and strong, the time will come when you too must be bent with age.”
This disheartened the prince. His confrontation with aging was more than he could bear. He asked to be taken back to the castle.
After a few days in familiar surroundings he felt rejuvenated. He decided to venture forth again. This time as he passed by a group of men he noticed that one of them was on the ground, overcome with fever and convulsing in pain.
“What is this?” the prince asked.
“This is a man who is ill,” said the porter. “Though you are now young and strong, you too will have to suffer the problems of sickness.”
The prince was again saddened and returned immediately to the palace. But again in a few days, he wanted to visit his kingdom once more.
They hadn’t gone far from the castle when the prince saw a coffin being carried to its place of burial.
“What is this?” he asked.
When the meaning of death was explained to the inquiring young prince, he became depressed by the inevitable vision of the future. As he returned to the immediate comfort of his palace, he vowed he would never come out again.
The prince interpreted life to be an evil trick because no matter what a man did or what a man was, he had to suffer sickness, aging, and death.

My career as Devin Durrant’s father began on October 20, exactly 29 years after my own birth. Marilyn and I rushed to the hospital. Our third child was about to be born. My wife went immediately to the delivery room and I to the waiting room.
I was startled after just a few minutes to hear the voice of our doctor, who said, “Hello, Mr. Durrant.”
Because he was there much sooner than I had expected, I wondered, “Is the baby born already?”
He spoke again: “Would you like to come in and be with Marilyn while she has the baby?”
I had never done that before, nor did I really desire to do so this time. I replied, “Well, I would but I am reading this Sports Illustrated magazine.”
He asked in a questioning tone, “Could you read that later?”
I gulped and replied, “I suppose that I could, but I’m right in the middle of an article.”
He was persistent, and I soon ran out of excuses. Soon I was at Marilyn’s side, and in a matter of several minutes the baby was born. I never did finish that Sports Illustrated, but that day the longest sports story I’ve ever been a personal part of began to be written in my heart.

Ben O’Brien of the Temple View Second Ward, Temple View New Zealand Stake, was the only LDS student and only boy from New Zealand to attend a youth peace conference in India. The conference was held for youth from the Pacific to get together to discuss how they could help bring peace and harmony into the world.
Ben applied to participate in the program before he realized that all of the other 34 participants from New Zealand were from girls’ schools. But he felt that the experience of learning about a new culture as well as serving with others was too good to miss.
The group from New Zealand lived with families in India as part of their tour. They also visited hospitals and offered comfort to the ill. They talked with lepers and their children. Ben found that even with the language barrier, the patients in hospitals were cheered by their visits.
In Calcutta the group met and talked with Mother Theresa, and they worked in her orphanage and home for the elderly and mentally handicapped. They also spent time helping Bangladesh refugees.
Ben said of his experience, “It opened up your heart. It was easy to feel the spirit of Christ’s love. Through all their trials and despite what they don’t have, these people want to give to others.”
The experience made 18-year-old Ben even more eager to serve a mission.

Come with me if you will, in your mind’s eye, to an experience I had while participating in a survival camp with a group of youth in the High Sierras a couple of years ago. After three days of physically challenging and spiritually strengthening experiences, we faced one of the last activities—that of rappelling down an eighty-foot cliff, which from the top looking down appeared to be more like an enormously high mountain. Some of the youth had gone before and some would follow, but now it was my turn.
I surveyed the setting. Overhead the sky was blue and clear. Looking over the edge of the cliff, it was a long, long way down. The edge of the cliff jutted out so I could not see the landing place at the bottom or the people who would welcome me or pick up the pieces down below. I quickly looked to the sky again to catch my breath. The instructor securely wrapped a strap around my legs and waist, placed the rappelling rope in my hand, and proceeded with instructions. It’s fascinating how much better you can listen and concentrate when you know it really matters. He had explained the skill of rappelling and the importance of the safety rope with individual instruction as each took their turn; but when it was my turn, I listened more intently. I wanted to know all that he knew. I didn’t want any of the rules of rappelling overlooked or minimized. He told me that the safety rope would secure me, but if I was to get to my destination safely, I had a few things I must do. If I followed the instructions I’d get there safely; if not, I would suffer varying degrees of discomfort according to my ability to follow the instructions. I learned right away that his instructions were accurate as I experienced some discomforting rope burn on my hands.
Without looking down, but always looking up and straining to listen for instructions, advice, and encouragement, I began to ponder at that halfway position, forty feet from the top and forty feet from the bottom, about this experience.
Holding onto the rope, I was reminded of the teachings of President George Q. Cannon.
When we went forth into the waters of baptism and covenanted with our Father in heaven to serve Him and keep His commandments, He bound Himself also by covenant to us that He would never desert us, never leave us to ourselves, never forget us, that in the midst of trials and hardships, when everything was arrayed against us, He would be near unto us and would sustain us. That was His covenant.[Gospel Truth; Discourses and Writings of President George Q. Cannon, sel. Jerrald L. Newquist, vol. 1 (Salt Lake City: Zion’s Book Store, 1957), August 6, 1893, p. 170]
The Savior, I thought, bound himself to us. He is our safety rope. He throws out the lifeline—literally, our lifeline. Through obedience to the laws and the commandments, we tie ourselves securely to him. The rope I held was the safety rope. I had my agency. I could hang on or I could let go. Or if I wanted, I could take my pocketknife, exercise my agency, and cut just one fine strand at a time. Surely one strand at a time would be no risk. I likened the rope to the commandments. I can break one commandment at a time. Surely one commandment at a time won’t hurt. Would you ever consider letting go of a rope and challenging your ability to survive against the law of gravity? Would you ignore the commandments of God and pit your resistance against the power of the adversary?
If we choose to hold onto the rope, we are limited, restricted, curtailed, but through that very process our Father in Heaven has said he will make us free. Only after we are tried and tested can we be trusted with our inheritance as heirs to the kingdom of God, joint heirs of Jesus Christ. If you choose to let go of the rope and release yourself from the laws and commandments, you also choose the consequences, because even God obeys the law. Through disobedience to laws we will fall.

Scouts in Ogden, Utah, learned about their heritage as well as held a Scout-o-Rama. The event was held in a wooden fort erected for the activity complete with outlook posts, bearded mountain men with muskets, and Indians in teepees. The activities of the day attracted the attention of the community, and Scouts manned over a hundred booths and displays. Included on the schedule were flag ceremonies, old-time fiddlers, square dancers, a pinewood derby, and band concerts.
The old western fort was the idea of Brother Vince Quan, who has a keen interest in the history of his new home town. Brother Quan is originally from California. One of his projects, completed with the help of the Scouts, was the placement of a monument in honor of Peter Skene Ogden, a British explorer, for whom the city was named.
After the activities were completed, the fort was dismantled, yet the old West atmosphere lingered. The Scout event is well on its way to becoming an annual community event.

We expect a lot from our Aaronic Priesthood brethren, and, properly trained, they seldom disappoint us. I remember when Dr. Harold Hulme served as bishopric adviser to a deacons quorum. They were invited to tour a hospital. As he introduced his quorum to the nurses, one of them said, “How unusual. The deacons in our church are older men.” Dr. Hulme replied, “Well, our deacons are outstanding young men. They can handle it when they are twelve years old!”

When I returned to Buenos Aires, my mother realized that I truly wanted to be baptized. Since I had a somewhat rebellious spirit, instead of opposing me, she very wisely took my side. And without even knowing it, she did my baptismal interview herself. Indeed, I believe that her interview was even more in-depth than those that our missionaries conduct. She told me, “If you want to be baptized, I will support you. But first I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to think very hard and answer me honestly. Do you commit to attend church absolutely every Sunday?”
I told her, “Yes, of course I’m going to do that.”
“Do you have any idea how long church is?”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
She replied, “Well, if you get baptized, I am going to make sure that you attend.” Then she asked me if I was truly willing to never drink alcohol or smoke.
I answered, “Yes, of course I am going to comply with that as well.”
To which she added, “If you get baptized, I am going to make sure that that is the case.” And she proceeded on in that way with almost every commandment.
My uncle had called my mother to tell her not to worry, that I would get over this soon. Four years later, when I received my call to serve in the Uruguay Montevideo Mission, my mother called my uncle to ask him exactly when I was going to get over all this. The truth is that from the time I was baptized, my mother was a happier mother.

A few days later, we fasted along with our extended family members. For the first time in a while, I felt like fasting in faith made sense. I had faith in the Savior and knew that whatever His will, we could get through it with His help.
We went forward with the treatment, and, amazingly, we soon found out we were pregnant. We were so excited. I felt with my whole heart that God truly is a God of miracles!
A few days later, we learned we were going to lose the baby. All our joy was suddenly replaced with sadness. But because of the experiences I’d had learning about miracles, I felt a sense of peace. I knew that through the Savior’s Atonement we would get through this—I had felt that strongly just a few days before. And the fact that we could get pregnant gave us guidance in the coming months.