Gospel Story Finder

While on a leadership training assignment to Brazil, I had the opportunity to visit a Primary nursery class. Approximately eight children were seated around a table with their teacher. I watched in awe as these little ones, two and three years old, sat for a few brief moments focused in rapt attention on a picture the teacher was holding of the Savior with the children. I heard her tell them how He loves children and how He loves each one of them. She taught them that Heavenly Father loves them too. I watched them listen, and I felt that they were understanding much more than I might have thought possible. They were hearing her words and feeling her love. In the beauty and simplicity of those few moments, those children were being taught the answer to life’s most important question, “Who am I?” In their pure, childlike faith, their spirits were receptive to the truths they were being taught. That experience will be repeated for them in their nursery class Sunday after Sunday. These are significant teaching moments in the lives of young children at a time when they are ready to learn.

Often the blessings come long before the end when you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that many times on his mission. Take the day he met Kevin Smith, for instance.

Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint girl in his office and had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scriptures.

“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past 16 years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, clothed in sharp suits, with toothpaste-advert smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they’d looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as myself at the sight of a wheelchair.”

“Kevin is such a cool guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time I felt good about things that would happen.”

Elder Folkett and Kevin hit it off from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

It’s Saturday evening in the Waila Ward of the Nausori Fiji Stake. The responsibilities of the day are fulfilled, and holders of the Aaronic Priesthood have prepared for the Sabbath and are now gathered at the home of Brother and Sister Maiwiriwiri. It is an opportunity for them to have a small meal before beginning their fast—followed by an evening sleeping on mats in the Maiwiriwiris’ home.
Morning for these young men of the Aaronic Priesthood comes early. Long before daybreak, they quickly arise, don their white shirts and ties and their dark slacks, and by 6:00 a.m. they have left the home of Brother and Sister Maiwiriwiri in pairs—much like missionaries. Each of these companionships has a specific route to take in order to get to the chapel by 10:00 a.m., when priesthood meeting begins. Their responsibility is to stop at each member’s home on their route and invite them to contribute fast offerings.
These young men walk three miles (5 km) from the Maiwiriwiriwis’ home at one end of the ward to the meetinghouse at the other end of the ward. This is an opportunity to fulfill their duty and invite members of the Church to participate in the great work of caring for the widows and for their brothers and sisters by contributing fast offerings. President Alipate Tagidugu of the Nausori Fiji Stake commented that as a result of this effort by the Aaronic Priesthood, fast offering contributions have gone up 20 percent.
Just as important, these young men have an opportunity to fulfill their duty and help the members of the ward keep their covenants made at baptism:
“As ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;
“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life” (Mosiah 18:8–9).
For these great young men, collecting fast offerings is not a burden but a blessing. They gladly wear their white shirts and ties, eagerly rise early, and willingly knock on the doors of the members in the early-morning hours to invite them to partake of the blessings that come from giving a generous fast offering.
As I watched these young men prepare for and fulfill their duty as priesthood holders, I thought what a wonderful blessing it will be to them throughout their lives to understand the significance of their efforts in inviting members of the Church to come closer to the Savior through giving fast offerings. How much better missionaries they will be, and how much better husbands and fathers they will be as a result of their priesthood efforts.
They will better understand this scripture about the Lord’s people: “The Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them” (Moses 7:18).

Nine-year-old Camille has lots of friends. “The thing I really like about my friends is that they are all different,” she says. “They come from different places, and they have different ways of doing things.” Camille loves to learn good things from her friends, and she likes to share things with them. The best thing she’s ever shared with a friend is the gospel. After sharing the first article of faith with her friend Yailin, Camille invited her friend’s family to meet the missionaries. Camille also taught Yailin how to pray. Now Yailin and her mother are members of the Church.
My friend Yailin got baptized in 2011. I love that we can go to church together. I am helping her memorize the Articles of Faith. We’re working on the ninth article of faith.

From his early teens, Wilford Woodruff searched for the true church. Once he gained a testimony that Joseph Smith truly was a prophet of God, Wilford tried to do everything the Prophet asked. When Joseph counseled the Apostles to keep a history of their lives, Wilford wrote daily in his journal. “Whenever I heard Joseph Smith preach, teach, or prophesy,” Wilford said, “I always felt it my duty to write it.” In the Church Historian’s office are stored seven thousand pages of Wilford Woodruff’s journals. The record he kept was invaluable for himself, his family, and the Church.

I stammered and stuttered during my growing-up years. In school, I would never be involved in anything that required more than a minimum of speaking. My parents sent me to speech teachers and therapists, but they couldn’t correct my problem. However, just before my father became ill, I received my patriarchal blessing. It said, in part, “Lloyd, you have problems. Know this—the Lord loves you and wants you to be happy. I bless you that you shall go out into the world and preach the gospel with force to a waiting world.” Because of this blessing, I accepted a call to the Southern States Mission.
The first month of my mission was terrible. I had never administered the sacrament or given a talk. My companion had me talk to one lady at her door, and I stuttered and stammered terribly. After a month of not making any improvement, I prayed, “Lord, now is the time. If I don’t have relief from this affliction, the mission president will send me home. Lord, it has to be now!”
Gradually I was able to speak more fluently. After six months I went back to some elderly sisters that we had taught, and I really gave them and some others what I thought was my best talk. Afterward, with tears in their eyes, some of them came up to me and said, “The Lord has really blessed you.” After that experience, I learned about the real power of prayer.

“Hello, Brother Berger? This is Dallin Wright speaking. I’m Greg’s quorum president, and we missed him at Scout meeting tonight. I’m calling to see if he is ill or something else is wrong so that he wasn’t able to come.”
“His what? Deacons quorum president, huh? Glad you won the election. I expect my son’s got something better to do than tie square knots.”
Dallin didn’t stop there. He went to the elders quorum president.
“President Roanes, this is Dallin Wright. I’m president of the deacons quorum. I …”
(With a slight chuckle) “Oh yeh. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling on quorum business. I understand that Greg Berger’s father is a member of your quorum. You see, we’re trying to reactivate Greg and feel that it’s his father who’s hindering his spiritual growth. That’s why I called you. I wondered what you were doing to help Brother Berger.”
“Well, uh … I … uh … that is …”
“I see. Well, I was wondering if you could see what you could do with Brother Berger … especially help him give the proper parental support and guidance for Greg’s quorum activities. So is it all right if I call you again a week from tonight and find out what progress you’ve made?”
“I think I’ve just been called to repentance!”
The dialogue reads like a script, and it was—part of this year’s June Conference activities—but more importantly, the circumstances actually existed, and a deacon spurred an elders quorum president to work with an inactive elder, thus helping both father and son.

Eugène used to think all churches were the same. Then the missionaries came to his door and started teaching his family. Gradually he came to understand that the gospel has been restored, and that there’s a great role in it for young men. He was baptized and, when he came of age, ordained a deacon.

“Now, I’m the only Aaronic Priesthood holder in the entire city,” he says. “There are Melchizedek Priesthood holders, and they help me. But when we have sacrament meeting, I pass the sacrament.”

Lala loved to watch ants. “Pelusa,” she would say to her cat, “see those two ants trying to carry a crumb of bread to their hill. One ant is going one way and the other is going a different way. They’ll never get anywhere if they keep that up!”
Pelusa sat in the shade licking himself. Though he never said anything, Lala knew that he always listened.
Lala and her family lived in a small adobe hut in the dry highlands of northern Mexico. It was perfect country for ants. Among the cacti and thorny bushes around Lala’s house there were hundreds of anthills. However, no one ever visited them except Lala and Pelusa.
In her pockets Lala always carried pieces of bread. Finding an anthill, she would crumble the bread several feet away, then sit and wait for the ants to discover their meal. Before long the ants would join into a long, straight line between the crumbled-up bread and their nest. Each ant would carry home a crumb.
Watching the ants work, Lala daydreamed about the ants’ world beneath the ground … Someplace in a big chamber the ant queen must be laying eggs. Somewhere else nurse ants must be taking care of baby ants. And worker ants must be digging new tunnels, while soldier ants guard the colony’s entrance.
“How I would love to go inside the ant’s tunnels,” Lala often said to her cat. But Pelusa would only stretch and yawn.
Late one hot afternoon, something small and white fluttered past the adobe hut’s open door. Pelusa streaked from the door, chasing it, and Lala called, “It’s just a turkey feather, Pelusa, being blown by a whirlwind. Come back!”
However, Pelusa was already far away, so Lala ran after him. Eventually, her pet’s tracks led Lala into Mulehead Valley. Never had Lala been so far from home alone. She was about to turn back when she heard a familiar meow. It was coming from an abandoned mine shaft beneath a big rock balanced at the base of Mulehead Hill.
“Pelusa, come out!” Lala called into the deep hole. But the cat did not come out. Then, even though Lala knew better, she entered the mine. Pelusa was only a little way inside. He was intently staring at a pile of rubble into which he had chased a mouse. “Silly cat.” Lala laughed, and gave him a hug.
And then it happened! Turning around, Lala’s shoulder knocked something loose, and the big rock over the mine’s entrance fell with a thud. Suddenly everything inside the mine shaft was dark and quiet. “Pelusa,” Lala whispered huskily, “I think we’re in trouble!”
When the dust settled and Lala’s eyes became used to the dark, she saw a tiny crack between the rock and the mine’s entrance. She put her eye next to the crack and looked across Mulehead Valley. “They’ll never find us here,” she said to Pelusa. “And if this is what it’s like being in an ant’s tunnel, I don’t like it!”
The next morning, Lala and Pelusa were very hungry. “Pelusa!” Lala cried. “I just remembered! I have some bread in my pocket.”
Lala ate enough to make her stomach feel better. However, Pelusa didn’t like bread.
“Well, I’ll just push a little bread through the crack,” Lala declared. “Maybe the ants will eat breakfast with me then.”
The long morning hours passed. Lala was about to give up hope when she heard an anxious voice calling, “Lala, are you in there?”
“Papa, is that you?” Lala cried. Pelusa meowed for the first time since the rock fell.
Before long the big rock was moved out of the way, and Lala was in her father’s arms outside in the fresh air and sunlight. “Oh, Papa!” Lala whooped. “How did you ever find us?”
“Well, I was walking across Mulehead Valley, looking for you,” he explained, “when I came across a long line of ants. Every ant carried a piece of bread. Now who but you feeds bread to ants? I followed the line right up to the mine entrance. I’m so grateful that you remembered to feed the ants this morning!”
“Papa!” Lala exclaimed. “Tonight we must make a sweet, sweet cake with plenty of icing on it, and it must be so big that we can leave a piece on every anthill for miles around!”
And that is exactly what they did.

Last year, I played in a volleyball tournament. Like most of my teammates, I was nervous. When I began to play, our team had already lost the first two games. We were discouraged. Then people watching the game said some unkind words, and we felt even worse. We lost.

When my mother asked me how it went, I started to cry. I was so disappointed. I went to my room, where it was nice and quiet, and said a prayer. After I prayed, I felt calmer and more peaceful in my heart. I knew the Holy Ghost had comforted me and that He would always help me. With another tournament coming this year, I know He will be with me as I play.

I’m reminded of a phone call I received several years ago from our daughter, Michelle. With tender emotion she said, “Mom, I just had the most incredible experience with Ashley.” Ashley is her daughter who was five years old at the time. Michelle described the morning as being one of constant squabbling between Ashley and three-year-old Andrew—one wouldn’t share and the other would hit. After helping them work things out, Michelle went to check the baby.

Soon, Ashley came running in, angry that Andrew wasn’t sharing. Michelle reminded Ashley of the commitment they had made in home evening to be more kind to each other.

She asked Ashley if she wanted to pray and ask for Heavenly Father’s help, but Ashley, still very angry, responded, “No.” When asked if she believed Heavenly Father would answer her prayer, Ashley said she didn’t know. Her mother asked her to try and gently took her hands and knelt down with her.

Michelle suggested that Ashley could ask Heavenly Father to help Andrew share—and help her be kind. The thought of Heavenly Father helping her little brother share must have piqued Ashley’s interest, and she began to pray, first asking Heavenly Father to help Andrew share. As she asked Him to help her be kind, she began to cry. Ashley ended her prayer and buried her head on her mother’s shoulder. Michelle held her and asked why she was crying. Ashley said she didn’t know.

Her mother said, “I think I know why you’re crying. Do you feel good inside?” Ashley nodded, and her mother continued, “This is the Spirit helping you feel this way. It’s Heavenly Father’s way of telling you He loves you and will help you.”

She asked Ashley if she believed this, if she believed Heavenly Father could help her. With her little eyes full of tears, Ashley said she did.

Sometimes the most powerful way to teach our children to understand a doctrine is to teach in the context of what they are experiencing right at that moment. These moments are spontaneous and unplanned and happen in the normal flow of family life. They come and go quickly, so we need to be alert and recognize a teaching moment when our children come to us with a question or worry, when they have problems getting along with siblings or friends, when they need to control their anger, when they make a mistake, or when they need to make a decision. (See Teaching, No Greater Call: A Resource Guide for Gospel Teaching [1999], 140–41; Marriage and Family Relations Instructor’s Manual [2000], 61.)

If we are ready and will let the Spirit guide in these situations, our children will be taught with greater effect and understanding.

Jenny came home from school, dropped her backpack off in her room, and slumped down on the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
Jenny sighed. “Today Mrs. Patterson gave each of us three paper flowers. If anyone talks during quiet time, we have to give someone one of our flowers.”
Mom nodded.
“Emily keeps saying I need to give her a flower. But I’m not even talking!”
“Have you talked to your teacher? Maybe she can help,” Mom said. “But sometimes when people act like that, they really just want a friend.”
Jenny scrunched up her forehead. “It seems like a strange way to show you want a friend.”
“I know. But if you pray, Heavenly Father will show you how to be a friend to Emily.”
That night Jenny prayed for help. She asked Heavenly Father to help her know what to say when Emily asked for her flowers.
At school the next day, her teacher announced that she would retire soon. A lump grew in Jenny’s throat. She loved Mrs. Patterson! Jenny wanted to cry as she thought about how empty her school would feel next year. Later she went home and told her mom about Mrs. Patterson leaving.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I bet Mrs. Patterson is sad too.”
Jenny nodded. “Maybe our class could buy her a new wind chime. She loves those.”
“Great idea! Let’s go to the store tomorrow. You could invite some friends to come too,” Mom said.
Jenny smiled. She was excited to give Mrs. Patterson a present.
“Speaking of other kids, did you talk to Emily today?” Mom asked.
Jenny shrugged. “She kept asking for flowers again. I didn’t know what to do, so I just gave them to her. I prayed for help last night, but it’s not getting any better.”
“Don’t give up,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father hears your prayers. Just keep praying, and you’ll know what to do.”
That night Jenny prayed again for help with Emily. When she got to class the next morning, she quietly sat down at her desk next to Emily. Almost immediately Emily told Jenny to give her a paper flower.
Jenny hesitated. Suddenly she knew what to say. “Emily, I have a question for you.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I want to buy Mrs. Patterson a new wind chime, and I need help picking one out. Do you want to come shopping with my mom and me?”
Emily’s face lit up. “Really? I guess I could help you.” She looked down at her hands. Then she reached into her desk. She carefully pulled out several paper flowers and handed them to Jenny.
“I’m sorry I took your flowers.”
Jenny reached for the flowers, and the girls smiled at each other. Mom was right, Jenny thought. Maybe she just wanted a friend!
As Jenny turned to her desk, she felt happy inside. Heavenly Father had heard her prayers! She was sad to lose her favorite teacher, but she was happy to gain a new friend.

“I went a little farther that time!” Lewis exclaimed, marking where he had landed with a stick. A new house was being built next door, and six-year-old Lewis loved playing in the big piles of dirt. He and his brother especially liked to jump off the top of a dirt pile to see who could go the farthest. Jumping was the next best thing to flying, and Lewis wanted more than anything to be able to fly. Not just to ride in a plane—he’d done that lots of times with his dad in a little four-seat airplane. He wanted to fly like a bird. He thought about it all the time.
Last Sunday, Sister Jones had taught a lesson in Primary about faith. She had said if you have enough faith, you can do anything—even move mountains! Lewis didn’t want to move a mountain—he wanted to fly over one. He believed Heavenly Father could help him do that just as easily.
Lewis didn’t hear the rest of the lesson that day because he was dreaming about his first flight. He knew exactly how it would be. He would jump off something very high and dive to the earth. Just before he hit the ground, he would spread his arms and glide above the earth, rising higher and higher. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and see the look of surprise on his brother’s face as he flew effortlessly over his head. Yes, it was going to be wonderful!
“Lewis,” Mom called from the house.
“Yes, Mom?” he replied from the top of the dirt pile.
“Grandma is here and wants to see you.”
Lewis jumped one more time, marked the spot where he landed, and rushed to the house. “Hi, Grandma. How was your trip?”
“Oh, it was great fun. I brought you something.” She held up a small wing-shaped pin she had received on her flight home.
“Wow! Thanks, Grandma!” He had wings! Now he knew he could fly. He pinned them to his shirt and ran outside to the dirt pile. Sure enough, he seemed to jump a little farther and a little higher. The problem, he thought, is that this hill is too small. If I could find something higher, I’m sure I could start to fly before I hit the ground.
The next day, Dad took Lewis to look at some new playground equipment, and Lewis saw the biggest jungle gym he’d ever seen. He grinned. Today was the day he was going to fly!
While his dad was busy talking to someone, Lewis pulled his pin out of his pocket and pinned the wings to his shirt. Then he raced over to the jungle gym. He climbed to the very top bar—about five meters from the ground—and yelled, “Watch this, Dad!” He jumped off, completely unafraid. On the way down, his leg caught on a bar and he crashed to the ground.
Lewis’s leg was broken, and his body was bruised and scratched.
“Are you feeling better now?” Dad asked on the way home from the hospital.
“Dad,” Lewis sobbed, “I don’t understand. My Primary teacher said if I have enough faith, I can do anything.”
“Lewis, you need to understand something about faith. The scriptures say that faith must be based in something that is true. If I believed with all my heart that the oceans were filled with spaghetti, it still wouldn’t be true. We can have faith in Jesus Christ because He really did come and die for us and He really does love you. We can have faith in the scriptures because the Lord really commanded the prophets to write them so we could learn about Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ and the scriptures are true. Can you see the difference?”
“I guess so.”
Dad continued, “There are also natural laws, like gravity, that are true. You will be able to fly someday, Lewis, but you have to do it using the natural laws of the earth. When you get a little older, you can learn how to fly an airplane. Now let’s go home and let that leg heal.”
Today Lewis is grown-up, and he flies high in the sky—as an airplane pilot.

For instance, President Thomas S. Monson remembered the promised words of the Savior as he blessed me six months ago to stand fearlessly in my calling when it seemed hard. These words of the Savior, which He gave to His tiny band of priesthood holders in this dispensation, came to the prophet’s mind as he laid his hands on my head: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”
The promise which President Monson remembered and quoted was fulfilled for me. Confidence replaced doubt, the Spirit came, medical helpers were inspired, my life was preserved, and I was borne up. Because of that blessing by President Monson, it will always be easy for me to remember the Savior and trust His promise that He goes before and beside us in His service.

“The first time I went home teaching, I was really nervous about what I would have to say to the families,” admits Ryan Hunter. “I was glad when I only had to give the closing prayer.” But after just a couple months of home teaching, Ryan wasn’t nervous anymore. Now he looks forward to going. “My favorite part is talking to the people and learning more about them and how we can help them,” says Ryan. “If it were not for home teaching, people might not ask for help, even when they really need it.”

When my sister, Nancy, and I were teenagers, we regularly attended our local church. But we began to feel that something was missing, so we decided to investigate other churches.
That summer my sister and brother visited a booth at the Canadian National Exhibition where missionaries were showing a movie called Ancient America Speaks. After watching the movie, they signed up for a free copy of the Book of Mormon. I can still remember the excitement in my sister’s voice as she announced to my mother and me that Christ had visited the American continent.
The missionaries dropped off a Book of Mormon to my sister and asked her if she would like to learn more about the Church. That was how we both were taught the gospel.
More than a year after Nancy and I were baptized, she began dating a young man named Luke. He had a bubbly personality and seemed to radiate love and excitement. At the time Nancy met him, he was looking for direction in his life and was eager to take the missionary discussions when Nancy told him about the gospel. His sister, Leonarda, also was interested in being taught.
Although Luke and Leonarda agreed with most of what was presented, they had trouble accepting that Joseph Smith was a prophet. Once they gained a testimony of Joseph Smith then everything else (the Book of Mormon, the restoration of the gospel, and the gospel principles taught by the prophets) would fall into place.
They came to our home to be taught by the elders. Once again the discussion centered on Joseph Smith. One of the elders suggested that we should each take a turn asking Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet and then listen silently for a minute for the answer.
I won’t forget the feeling of peace that came into that room and touched each of our hearts as the Spirit bore witness to each of us that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the Lord. For some of us a testimony was gained that night; for others the truth was reaffirmed. Luke accepted baptism and Leonarda was baptized a few years later with her parents’ approval.
Since that night the Spirit has borne witness to me many times of the truthfulness of other gospel principles. But this experience stands out in my mind because it was one of my first experiences with personal revelation from a Heavenly Father who loves me. I learned that night the truth of the counsel found in Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” [Matt. 7:7]

My dear brothers and sisters, I remember as a little girl driving across the Nevada desert with my family to attend general conference in this Tabernacle. Automobiles did not have air-conditioning, so we traveled at night with a canvas water bag tied to the front of the car in case the radiator boiled over. I remember standing outside this building, singing the hymns of Zion in the darkness of the morning, waiting for the large wooden doors to open. I remember secretly hoping that I wouldn’t be seated behind one of the wide, round pillars, or worse, a lady wearing a large hat. Though I was scarcely tall enough to see, I remember the feelings that came over me as everyone rose when the prophet entered. Those feelings of excited reverence are spiritual feelings that return each time I enter this building or hear our leaders speak in general conference. I remember what I have received and heard. I remember what I know and what I have felt.

I remember well the insecurities I felt as a teenager with a bad case of acne. I tried to care for my skin properly. My parents helped me get medical attention. For years I even went without eating chocolate and all the greasy fast foods around which teens often socialize, but with no obvious healing consequences. It was difficult for me at that time to fully appreciate this body which was giving me so much grief. But my good mother taught me a higher law. Over and over she said to me, “You must do everything you can to make your appearance pleasing, but the minute you walk out the door, forget yourself and start concentrating on others.”

There it was. She was teaching me the Christlike principle of selflessness. Charity, or the pure love of Christ, “envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own” (Moroni 7:45). When we become other-oriented, or selfless, we develop an inner beauty of spirit that glows in our outward appearance. This is how we make ourselves in the Lord’s image rather than the world’s and receive His image in our countenances. President Hinckley spoke of this very kind of beauty that comes as we learn to respect body, mind, and spirit. He said:
“Of all the creations of the Almighty, there is none more beautiful, none more inspiring than a lovely daughter of God who walks in virtue with an understanding of why she should do so, who honors and respects her body as a thing sacred and divine, who cultivates her mind and constantly enlarges the horizon of her understanding, who nurtures her spirit with everlasting truth” (“Understanding Our Divine Nature,” Liahona, Feb. 2002, 24; “Our Responsibility to Our Young Women,” Ensign, Sept. 1988, 11).

My first Sunday as a student in Paris, France, I marveled at the diversity of my new ward. Conducting Relief Society was a lovely woman from Eastern Europe. Some sisters from West Africa graciously lent me their hymnbook. An Asian woman who had painstakingly translated her lesson into French led one of the most heartfelt lessons I had ever heard. Although I was a young American living 5,000 miles (8,045 km) from my hometown, I felt at home among the good women of the Church. We came from France, Cambodia, Ivory Coast, Ukraine, and the United States—but differences in age and culture didn’t matter. A spirit of sisterhood united us.

Some years ago, when I was serving as a bishop in a ward in Arizona, we had an unusual group of teenagers. Most of them had the courage to do what was right. They stayed close to each other and helped each other when things got tough. Most of them went to a high school close by. In numbers, they were really only a handful of the total student body. They met a girl at the school who was not a member of the Church. Her circumstances were unusual, for she was deaf. She also had a defective heart. The only way she could know what you were saying was to watch your lips and read them. She sat in the front of each class so she could see the teachers speak. She was a good student, but when you can’t hear and can’t be active, it’s hard for you to be a part of what is going on. You’re sort of a spectator rather than a participant. She was a spectator watching from the sidelines.
The young people from the ward were friendly to her and invited her into their circle. She responded to their kindness. One step led to another, and with her parents’ permission she was finally invited to receive the missionary lessons in one of the homes. She was taught by two nineteen-year-old elders not much older than she. She liked what she heard; she believed what she heard; she felt good inside. The day was set for her baptism. We were all invited to go. Dressed in white, she and one of the missionaries entered the water, and she was baptized as he said, calling her by name, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” (D&C 20:73.)
The next step was for her to be confirmed. Some of us stood in the circle as priesthood hands were placed on her head. I was aware that she couldn’t see the lips of the one confirming her. And she wouldn’t be able to hear the blessing he might give. I listened carefully because I wanted to invite her into my office later, where she could see me talk, and tell her what had been said.
A nineteen-year-old elder was the voice as she was confirmed a member of the Church. He then continued with a blessing. As he spoke, he began to make her promises that I thought were unusual. In fact, I became a little uneasy at his words. He continued the blessing, and I began to feel a calm spirit of peace as he spoke. Later, I sat in front of her and said, “I want to tell you of the blessing the elder gave you. It was tremendous.”
She paused, and with moistened eyes said, “Bishop, I heard the blessing.”
She had been healed. She could now hear, and her heart was beating normally. She could now participate more fully in the gospel and in the blessings of life.
There are many lessons to learn from this story. The one I would like you Aaronic Priesthood bearers to remember is this: Here was a nineteen-year-old missionary, an elder holding the holy Melchizedek Priesthood. He had prepared himself for a mission. He had made himself worthy to be an instrument in the hands of the Lord to perform a miracle. So, as he stood with his hands on her head, he felt an impression—a heavenly message, if you please—telling him there was a special blessing for this young woman and he had been chosen to deliver it.
He listened. He obeyed. And through the authority and power of the priesthood, a young life was made whole.