Gospel Story Finder

When I was 11, my family had to leave East Germany. We moved to Frankfurt, West Germany. Until my father could find a job like he had before, he and my mother operated a laundry to make a living, and I was the laundry delivery boy. I saw some shiny red bicycles, and I wished I could have one to make my deliveries. But I needed a heavy-duty bicycle to pull the cart with the laundry on it. I rode around pulling that heavy laundry cart before school and after school. It was hard to see the other children play, especially during the winter months. But everybody in our family had to work hard, and I knew I was an important part of the family business. I felt needed and valued.

Some time ago I had the privilege of attending a stake conference in the company of President Spencer W. Kimball. He was not the president of the Church at that time. Elder Kimball worked tirelessly holding one meeting after another until late Saturday night. On Sunday we held a meeting with bishoprics and high councilors at 8:00 A.M. This was followed by the general session, a meeting with the seventies quorum, an interview with the patriarch, the dedication of a chapel, and a talk to the seminary students in the evening. We went to the stake president’s home about 9:00 P.M. to wait for our plane that did not leave until nearly 11:00 P.M. The kindly stake president’s wife wanted to fix us dinner. Elder Kimball said, “Please, all I need is a bowl of milk and some of your homemade bread to break up in it.” These are not men to be conquered.

Kiyoko hurried as fast as she could. The wind was strong today and the feel of a storm was everywhere. But she didn’t think about the storm. Winds like this meant spring and spring meant the kite contest and the contest meant Otosan (Father) and Kenji would be busy building a kite. And this year Kiyoko was determined to be part of the kite making and kite flying. Then she ran into the house.
“What is the hurry?” Okaason (Mother) asked.
“There is a wind today!” Kiyoko called back.
“And you are making it all yourself.” Okaasan laughed. “Slow down or you will start a typhoon!”
Kiyoko went into her bedroom and opened her book. Homework must be done, everything done, so there would be no excuse for her not to help. After dinner she helped Okaasan with the dishes, then she went to the table where Kenji and Otosan had started working.
“Don’t bother us!” Kenji said half-seriously. “We are busy.”
“I came to help,” Kiyoko said, undaunted.
“Girls do not help with the kites. This is for otosans and sons,” Kenji laughed. “Go arrange your flowers.”
Kiyoko felt a sting inside her throat. “I can help! I even have a good idea for a fine kite.”
Kenji laughed even harder. “Girls do not build kites!”
“Why not?” his sister asked.
“Because only the boys and their otosans make kites,” Kenji insisted.
“It is no rule,” Kiyoko said as nicely as she could.
“Kiyoko is right and so are you,” Otosan said to Kenji. “For many years it has been the otosan and his son who made and flew kites, but it is no rule.”
Kenji started to protest, but Otosan gave him a quick look that Kenji knew meant, “It is enough!”
He said no more, but Kiyoko could tell that her brother was upset.
Father and Kiyoko worked all evening, drawing plans and deciding which materials and colors would make the best kite for the contest. And while they worked they laughed and talked, but Kenji only listened and watched. Then, even before they were finished he left and went to his room.
“What is wrong with Kenji?” Okaasan asked. “He is not sick is he? He did not act well tonight.”
“He does not think a girl should help with the kite,” Kiyoko said. “But he will see. I can build and fly a kite as well as any boy.”
The next week was filled with work on the kite, but every time Kiyoko and Otosan started working, Kenji would find an excuse not to help.
Soon the kite was finished and Kenji had not helped on it at all. It was a beautiful catfish kite with a huge mouth and scary teeth and big eyes painted on its sides. Kiyoko was sure it was the most beautiful kite in the whole world, but Kenji said that it was just ordinary and that it probably wouldn’t even fly.
“You will see!” Kiyoko almost shouted. “It will win the prize for the best design and for the most beautiful and the highest-flying kite in the contest.”
Kenji only laughed and Kiyoko felt hurt. She hadn’t meant to make her brother so resentful. She had only wanted to help, not to take over, but Kenji would have nothing to do with the project.
It’s not my fault, Kiyoko decided as Kenji left the room. He could have helped make the kite. But her thoughts made no difference. Inside she was not happy. She knew how important the annual kite making was to Kenji.
The next day a gentle wind came so Kiyoko and Otosan took the kite out for its first flight. The park was crowded with boys and otosans and kites.
“Where is Kenji?” Makoto asked as they passed him.
“I don’t know,” Kiyoko answered.
“He said he would rather work in the garden,” Otosan added.
“But he hates to work in the garden!” Makoto exclaimed in surprise.
“I only know what he said,” Otosan replied.
Makoto laughed. “Hiroshi, did you hear?” he shouted. “Kenji has been replaced by his sister! A girl flying a kite!” Many boys laughed and even a few otosans.
Kiyoko’s face grew hot as the anger rose inside of her. “This is my kite. There is no rule that says a girl cannot enter the contest!” she defended.
“No rule, but poor Kenji!” Makoto laughed again.
“Poor Kenji,” Hiroshi repeated.
The boys walked on, leaving Otosan and Kiyoko alone.
“What do they mean, ‘Poor Kenji’?” Kiyoko asked.
“You do not know?” Otosan asked, looking at her closely.
“No,” Kiyoko answered. Otosan shook his head but made no reply.
Kiyoko was more determined now than ever that their kite would be the best. “I will be the first girl to win the kite contest. I’ll show them,” she declared.
“There are more important things than just showing others,” Otosan said quietly.
Kiyoko was startled. “What?”
“For many, many years otosans and sons have built kites and flown them in the contest. I did so with my otosan and he with his.”
“But I thought you said it was all right and you let me help!” Kiyoko exclaimed.
“It was not for me to say yes or no. As you say, ‘it is no rule.’ If flying in the kite contest is that important to you, then you should do it. It is your decision, not mine. But tell me, Kiyoko, what is more important to you—the contest or your brother’s happiness?”
Kiyoko was sad. “I guess you did not want me to help you either.”
“No, that is not so. I have enjoyed your help, but just as you and Okaasan look forward each year to the flower-arranging contest, Kenji and I look forward to the kite contest.”
Kiyoko felt a little heartsick. She had never considered that part of it. I would feel terrible if Kenji tried to help with the flowers. And it would not be because he was a boy, but because that’s a special time for me and Okaasan to be together.
“I think I understand now,” Kiyoko said softly.
“There are many things we do together as a family,” Otosan said, “but there are also times when not everyone of us is included.”
Kiyoko had only wanted to fly her kite, but she had hurt Kenji. What should I do now? she wondered. It was a hard decision, but finally she knew what she must do.
“I have some homework,” she said. “I’d better go do it.”
“You can stay if you really want to, Kiyoko,” Otosan said.
“I thank you, but I must go.” Quickly she ran home, making lots of noise as she walked through the garden.
Kenji looked up and laughed. “You couldn’t get it up? See, a girl cannot fly a kite.”
For a moment Kiyoko was hurt by his words, but now she understood why he spoke as he did.
“It is up,” she said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m tired of kites,” Kiyoko said, trying to sound convincing. Then she turned and ran into the house so Kenji would not see her tears.
Kiyoko watched out the window as her brother ran to join Otosan. “It is a good kite.” she said. “Kenji and Otosan will win many prizes. I know now that it does not matter if a boy or a girl flies it. Otosan and I will do other things together—now it is their time.”

A Laurel wrote of her desire to respond to President Hinckley’s words about missionary work. Her personal message was to be a missionary by being a better example to her friends. At first she found this difficult to do, but she didn’t give up. Finally, she changed her habits successfully.
She writes: “We got out of school early and all went to a friend’s house to watch a video. They wanted to watch one that was rated R and they said it wasn’t that bad. I was going to go along with it because I was sick of being the one to always be good. Luckily, one of the guys spoke up against it, refusing to watch it. I felt an overwhelming relief. But then they watched a PG-13 movie that was probably just as bad. I tried my hardest to talk them out of it, but couldn’t. I should have gone home, but didn’t. I regret it. That night in my prayers I promised the Lord to be a better example to my friends. Since then I’ve cut some words out of my speech. I’ve quit sluffing [skipping school], and some of my friends have stopped now too. I suggest better movies, and every time they choose something I’d rather not see, I leave.”

Avery pressed her yellow crayon onto the paper. It was art time in class, and Avery was drawing a picture of herself with little flowers on her shirt. She drew six petals on each flower because six was her favorite number.
Avery put down her crayon and smiled at her drawing. It was perfect! Then she noticed that Jeremy, the boy who sat next to her, was frowning. He was hunched over in his seat. Avery smiled at him, but he didn’t look at her.
“What did you draw?” she asked. “Can I see?”
Jeremy didn’t say anything. He covered up his paper with his red-and-white striped sleeve.
Later Avery and her class went to lunch. Avery sat down with a group of friends. She saw Jeremy sitting alone at another table. His eyes were big, looking around at everyone. He looked sad. Avery thought about how Jeremy usually played alone at recess. What could she do to help him feel better?
That night Avery prayed and told Heavenly Father about Jeremy. She asked Heavenly Father to help her know what to do. She stayed still even after she said “amen,” just thinking.
Then she had an idea! Avery grabbed some crayons and paper. She drew a picture of herself and Jeremy playing with a basketball. They had big smiles on their faces! Avery carefully colored four red stripes on Jeremy’s shirt. Then she wrote Jeremy’s name at the top of the picture.
When she was done, she ran to the kitchen. “Look, Mom!” She held up the picture so Mom could see.
“That’s a happy picture,” Mom said.
Avery smiled. “It’s for Jeremy. He’s in my class. I hope he likes it.”
Avery looked at her drawing again. “Can I have a piece of candy?” she asked. “I want to tape it to the picture.”
Mom smiled and pulled out a box from the cupboard. It was filled with little candies of all colors. Avery picked a red-and-white peppermint and taped it to the corner of the picture.
When Avery got to school the next day, she gave the picture to Jeremy.
“This is for you,” she said. “I hope we can be friends.”
Jeremy took the picture and looked at it. Then he grinned.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve never gotten a present from a friend before.”
Avery’s heart felt happy. “Do you want to play with me at recess?” she asked.
Jeremy held up the picture. His smile was as big as the one in the drawing. “We can play basketball!”

That trust gave her strength when Brigham departed for a mission to Great Britain in 1839 just 10 days after Mary Ann gave birth to their daughter Alice. For the 20 months that followed, Mary Ann and their six children struggled with illness and poverty. They survived primarily on corn bread, milk, and a few garden vegetables.4 Mary Ann managed to find a little work to support her family. “It has been so difficult to obtain work,” she lamented. “But I am thankful for a comfortable Shelter from the Storm.” This attitude of thanksgiving even amid trying circumstances helped sustain Mary Ann while her husband was half a world away. “I will thank my Heavenly Father for all the blessings I receive and pray the Lord to continue his mercies with us.”5 Giving thanks and trusting in the Lord was a lesson she learned while Brigham was gone. It “is a great thing,” she wrote to Brigham, to “trust in the Lord.”6
While Brigham spread the gospel message on many missions away from home, Mary Ann furthered the work of the Lord at home, raising her children, running the household alone, and caring for her neighbors. Though it was challenging, she maintained her trust that Brigham was where he was supposed to be. “I well know the Lord has called you to go far away to proclaim his everlasting gospel,” she told him. So she relied on the Lord’s “assisting grace” and did not “feel to repine” at her situation.7
Instead, she rejoiced in Brigham’s efforts: “I am glad to hear the work of the Lord is prospering in England; it gives me much joy.”8 Like Alma in the Book of Mormon, she found a fuller joy in the successful work of others—a work to which she contributed (see Alma 29:14).

The first full-time missionary called from the Bahamas was Keith Dean. He joined the Church while attending school at Brigham Young University—Hawaii. “I had no intentions of joining the Church,” he said, “and I dodged the missionaries for the first two months I was there.” But after hearing the missionary discussions and having a spiritual confirmation of the truthfulness of the gospel, he was baptized 5 December 1981. Three years later, Elder Dean served in the California Fresno Mission. Now Brother Dean and his wife, Winnie, have three children, and he serves as elders quorum president in the Nassau Branch.

“You can do it! You can do it!” fellow Scouts shouted as a 14-year-old comrade strained to complete one more pull-up within the time limit. Every muscle in his face grimaced with the effort; sweat glistened on his face and neck. As he brought his chin near the bar, his forearms and biceps started shaking—but he made his tenth try successful just as the whistle blew. Amid cheers, he dropped to the ground and the next patrol member hoisted himself into place.
The timed pull-up event was just one in a series of physical challenges Scouts faced as they moved from station to station during three days of competition. Broad jumping, rope climbing, push-ups, sit-ups, an obstacle course, three-legged bucket race, slingshot marksmanship, aquatics, frisbee golf, and travois building and racing (carrying an “injured” passenger), along with other races and relays, tested the athletic ability of individuals and patrols.

My dear young friends, we hope you are enjoying your years at Brigham Young University. As you grow older you will look back on this season of your life as one of the sweet experiences in your preparation for eternity. Please know that we have confidence in you. We pray for you. Only through the quality of your lives, your achievements, your faith, and devotion can you justify the expenditure of the widow’s mite to provide this religious and secular education for you. I know of the heartache of thousands who are not so privileged. I have a beautiful, gifted, intelligent granddaughter who applied for admission to Brigham Young University and was not accepted because her grades were just a whisker below the minimum requirements. It made all of our family feel bad, but she has fully recovered. She has gone to another university and is getting a good education, and she will be married to an exceptionally fine young man in the Salt Lake Temple in just a few weeks.

The young couple’s courtship was interrupted when Elder Benson was called to the British Isles Mission. When he returned, he lost no time in proposing.
But Flora had a timetable of her own, and “Not yet” was her answer. She felt this young man needed a good education to be prepared for the great future ahead of him. Besides, she had received her own call to the Hawaiian Mission. She served twenty months, part of the time teaching in the Church schools; for the last eight months, her mother was her missionary companion.
One of young Sister Amussen’s mission duties was working part-time in the Hawaiian Temple. One night, as she was getting ready to leave, she discovered everyone else was gone. Her walk to the mission home was through a dense forest and by a camp where some dangerous incidents had occurred. She feared for her safety.
Before leaving the temple, Flora prayed for the Lord’s protection. As she stepped outside, a circle of light appeared and surrounded her. That radiance shone around and ahead of her as she walked through the forest, past the camp, and to the steps of the mission home, disappearing as she slipped safely inside. She has since felt encircled with security and guidance many times as she has trusted in the Lord, though never as literally as that night in a land far from home.
Returning from her mission, Flora prepared to marry Ezra Taft Benson, who by then had graduated from Brigham Young University. On 10 September 1926, Flora Amussen left a handsome monthly allowance to begin married life on a meager subsistence with her beloved T.
“I had inherited from my father quite a portion of worldly goods in stocks and dividends,” Sister Benson explains. “I turned all of this over to my widowed mother at the time of my marriage. I chose to marry a man who was rich spiritually, not materially. I preferred that whatever positions of honor or material things would come to us we would achieve together, starting at the bottom.”
Hours after the ceremony, the newlyweds left Salt Lake City to take a seventy-dollar-a-month postgraduate scholarship at Iowa State College at Ames, Iowa. They traveled east in a used Ford Model T pickup truck that contained all their earthly possessions, camping along the way in a leaky tent.
While her husband worked on his Master of Science degree, Sister Benson took courses in home economics. The couple learned new ways to make their money stretch through the month, always taking out seven dollars first to pay the Lord his tenth. “The lessons I learned were priceless,” Sister Benson recalls. “Money could not buy them. We lived on the Lord’s help and the love that bound us together.”
A few weeks after their marriage, “T” felt they needed some recreation and suggested a tennis game. “I tell you, I never was beaten so badly in my life at anything,” President Benson laughs. “I said, ‘Where did you learn to play like that?’ Flora replied, ‘Oh, I won the women’s singles championship at Utah State Agricultural College.’ I hadn’t known that.”
After Brother Benson’s graduation, the Bensons moved to a farm in Whitney, Idaho. “We had a heavy debt on the farm,” President Benson remembers. “It took hard work, budgeting, and planning to meet our obligations. Sometimes we would just get a cow paid for, and then we would have to sell it to pay the doctor for the arrival of a precious baby.”
But the Lord did not leave the young family on the farm for long. Brother Benson’s interests soon took him to Preston, then Boise, Idaho; then to California, for additional schooling; and eventually to Washington, D.C. It was his call to the Council of the Twelve in 1943 that brought them back to Salt Lake City.
Just two years later, at the close of World War II, Elder Benson was called by President George Albert Smith to go to Europe to reorganize the Church there and to distribute badly needed food, clothing, and medical supplies. President Smith lived near the Benson family and promised to watch over Sister Benson and the children while Elder Benson was away.
Although her health was severely tested during the ten months he was gone, Sister Benson’s steadfastness never wavered. Three months after Elder Benson left, their nineteen-month-old daughter, Beth, became seriously ill with pneumonia. Sister Benson’s constant faith and tireless nursing, accompanied by priesthood blessings, restored Beth to health.
Another chapter in the Bensons’ life began a few years later when Elder Benson, with the encouragement of President David O. McKay, accepted an appointment as United States Secretary of Agriculture under President Eisenhower. Sister Benson cheerfully moved her family to the nation’s capital, focusing her time and energies on her family and shunning much of the Washington social scene.
But on one occasion, as a missionary effort, Sister Benson decided to give a luncheon for Mrs. Eisenhower and the other wives of the president’s advisers. As was common practice in the Benson household, no outside help was hired for the affair. She and her four daughters spent weeks carefully planning a menu, cleaning their home, preparing entertainment, and reviewing etiquette and protocol.
If Sister Benson worried that her guests would miss the coffee, cigarettes, and card playing which normally were part of such affairs, she needn’t have. The cocktails made from ginger ale and home-bottled apricot juice were a great success, as was the entertainment—a choir from Brigham Young University that was touring the east coast.
“The most exciting part was the beautiful letters we received afterward from the women, telling us what a thrill it was to experience a touch of ‘Mormonism’ and what wonderful youth the singers were,” Sister Benson remembers.
Those Washington years, fraught with controversy and criticism over agricultural policy made Secretary Benson the target for more organized and sustained criticism than anyone else in high government office. Yet he was known for his peaceful manner and ability to stay cool under pressure.
What was his secret? American Magazine identified it as his home and family life, and more specifically Sister Benson. “[Secretary Benson] has gathered from both his religion and his close family life a strength and serenity that’s … unique in public life. … Flora is considered to be the pivot on which the family moves. Friends of the family agree that she acts as a leavening influence on her husband.” (American Magazine, June 1954, pp. 109–10.)
Her husband, children, and Church have been the principal focal points of Sister Benson’s life. Her husband has been absent from home at least half of their married life, leaving much of the family responsibility on her willing shoulders. She often declined invitations, even one from the President of the United States, when she felt she was needed at home.
“I would be willing to live in a log cabin if I could have my family and the gospel,” Sister Benson claims, then adds with a semi-serious wink, “Well, if the cabin is clean and I can have curtains at the windows.”
The Bensons’ family includes son Reed, his wife, May, and their nine children of Provo, Utah; son Mark, his wife, Lela, and their six children of Salt Lake City; daughter Barbara, her husband, Robert Walker, and their five children of Calgary, Alberta, Canada; daughter Beverly, her husband, James Parker, and their four children of Burke, Virginia; daughter Bonnie her husband, Lowell Madsen, and their six children of Littleton, Colorado; and daughter Beth, her husband, David Burton, and their four children of Salt Lake City. In addition, they have twenty great-grandchildren.
“I wanted a dozen children, but had to settle for a choice half dozen,” Sister Benson, says, adding, “If we just would have had twins every time, we would have made it.”
In her patriarchal blessing, given when Flora was only eighteen months old, she was promised that men would not be able to deceive her. That promise has been fulfilled in her discernment and unerring judgment. On meeting a person for the first time, she often relates her impressions to her husband, only to have those feelings shown to be correct at a later time.
“Mother has the ability to hear the whisperings of the Spirit,” agrees Reed. “Whenever she says, ‘I feel you should do such and such,’ I listen to her, because so many times she has been right. I have often walked into a room to find her on her knees, praying. I know that when she prays for you, you have a direct line of help.”
The Bensons enjoy one another’s company now more than ever, still going on frequent drives in the mountains, eating ice cream at a favorite spot, and singing and dancing together. Each day Sister Benson reads the Book of Mormon aloud to her husband, after which they discuss what they have read.
Both agree that one of the greatest strengths of their marriage is the absolute love and trust each has in the other. “I have never, never had any question about Flora’s loyalty,” President Benson stresses. Each is still happiest when they are together.
After singing “There’s a Long, Long Trail Winding” and “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” at a recent family gathering, President Benson smiled at his wife of sixty years, declaring, “You’d think we were still in love … and we are.”

PUSH (People United for Self Help) found the LDS young people in the Phoenix area were really pulling for them when they donated a 35-horse power tractor.
The youth conducted an “Operation Identification” in which they etched a homeowner’s license number on all valuable items and personal possessions to raise money for the cause. They also held car washes, and served breakfasts and dinners to raise funds.
Through the youths’ help approximately 100 disabled, low-income workers and their families will be markedly more productive on their five-acre vegetable tract. For two years the members of PUSH together with their wives and children have dug, cultivated, planted, and weeded the land. Their work will be much more efficient through the use of the tractor.
Other money-raising activities of the young church members were Slave Auctions, in which services were bid for at random, and meals, which ranged from pancakes to spaghetti.
The project was one of several suggested by city officials when approached by the Phoenix youth as to suggestions for community service projects. The challenge to raise the tractor funds came from the five stake presidents in the area.

Our children need to understand the principle of agency and the significance of the choices they make. I remember a time when I was in high school and wanted to drop out of a type class because it was too hard for me. I hated that class. I begged my parents to sign the form giving their permission for me to drop the class from my schedule. My father explained over and over all the reasons why he thought I should stay in the class. He said, “It’s important to stay with something once you begin it, especially when it’s hard. You need to work and try to do your best.” Finally in desperation he said, “I’ve told you how I feel, and now, Ruth, the decision is up to you. I’ll sign the paper if you want me to.” After spending a sleepless night fighting off my desire to do what I wanted, I finally chose to stay in the class. Although I struggled with typing for the rest of the year, I’m glad I stayed, and I’m especially glad for the counsel of my father. He helped me to understand my options. He was clear on how he felt about the matter, but he didn’t force me.

Speaking in a BYU devotional, Sister Neill Marriott shared that when she and her siblings were little growing up in Louisiana, their dad regularly promised his kids that if they were ready and waiting for him, he would take them swimming when he got home from work. At 5 p.m. on most summer afternoons, she and her brothers would stand on the hot cement, towels around their necks, looking earnestly down the street. She said, “Even the hot pavement couldn’t break our concentration—though sometimes we would jump back to the cool grass of the front yard for a moment, we would not shift our gaze from the far corner of the street.” When her dad’s car rounded the corner, they would cheer. Jumping up and down. Her dad would get out of the car, pulling his tie off, and say “I’ll be right back.” Soon he returned with his swimming suit and off they went to the pool. “[Now] why did three young kids stay so sharply focused? Why were we so certain we would get to go swimming?” Sister Marriott asked. “Because we knew our father.” [2]

Last year’s Mutual theme, “Arise and Shine Forth,” reminded me of a girl I went to high school with named Lisa. She was a cheerleader. It was a large school, and I didn’t know her well.

One Saturday night I went to a farewell party for Lisa and her younger sister, who were moving to Idaho. Some kids were drinking alcohol, and they repeatedly offered beer to Lisa and her sister. I even heard one person shout, “Come on, just one drink! It’s your party, just one drink for us!”

But Lisa and her sister both refused the drinks. They just smiled and said no. I thought being a popular cheerleader meant that you did the “popular” thing—drink. I wasn’t a member of the Church then, but their strength and courage surprised me.

It was two weeks before Christmas, and the familiar stress of the season was upon me. I had presents to buy, a tree to decorate, and gifts to deliver.
For several months I had felt overwhelmed by the daily tasks that face a mother of five young children. I had even felt mechanical in my church attendance as I wrestled with my little ones on the bench. I longed for an increase of the Spirit and of spiritual experiences in my life.
About this time, my sister purchased a new home in a neighboring state and was trying to get things settled before Christmas. That would be a lot of work for any family, but for hers it would be even more difficult. My sister was eight months pregnant, a mother of two small children, and the caregiver of her quadriplegic husband.
Realizing the struggle she faced, I called her to see how things were progressing. She was optimistic about the move and hopeful that members of her new ward would be supportive. After our conversation I hung up the phone, wishing her good luck and wondering how I could help from 400 miles (650 km) away.
That evening, the thought kept coming to my mind that I needed to be there to help. But as I looked at my schedule, I dismissed the thought and went to bed.
The next morning, I awoke with the same prompting. The feeling was so strong this time that I could not deny it. I called my husband and said, “I need to go help my sister.” Without hesitation, he responded, “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
I called my sister, told her my plans, and booked a flight for that afternoon. I quickly packed my suitcase, kissed my children goodbye, and headed to the airport.
Over the next three days, I unpacked boxes, organized rooms, and helped decorate a Christmas tree. After most of the boxes were unpacked, I sat with my sister and her family, admiring their pretty tree. My five-year-old niece, pleased that her family was ready for Christmas, exclaimed, “This is going to be a great Christmas!”
As I flew home, I knew that by giving part of myself to this sweet family, I had felt the Spirit, which I had been yearning to feel. It came because I had served others.

Elder Tyler Dawson and I were asked to reopen the area of Katlehong, south of Johannesburg, in 1994. South Africa was undergoing political and social changes, and it was a period of great uncertainty and violence.
The missionaries had been pulled out of Katlehong for safety reasons a few years before, and we were asked to return and assist the members as possible.
There were some rules though. We lived in a neighborhood outside of our area, and we were not allowed in Katlehong at night, nor were we allowed to walk from home to home; instead, we were only allowed to drive to and from member and investigator homes. We were to phone the police each morning to ask whether it would be safe for us to enter our area. It rarely was safe, and the police would often encourage us to stay away.
Being new to the area, we asked a young man who was the branch president’s son to show us where the members lived. He was reluctant to join us and asked for time to think about it. He later contacted us and agreed to assist us, so we arranged to pick him up from school.
We drove to the agreed spot and he came out from behind a tree, dived in through the back door of the car, and lay down in the footwell. Elder Dawson and I looked at each other somewhat confused and I offered the front seat so that he could have a better view of where we were driving, but he insisted that he was comfortable. Occasionally he would lift his head and direct us as needed. Sometimes he would join us in a member’s home, but at other homes he would stay in the car. We did not press him on this and were just grateful for his help. In this way we got to meet the members of Katlehong. We dropped the young man off at home after a few hours.
I was transferred out of the area but through a series of coincidences happened to pass through a few months later and was able to visit the branch on a Sunday when this young man who had shown us around was giving a talk. I now understand that Heavenly Father wanted me to learn a few things. The young man spoke humbly and sincerely of the experience he had of being asked to show the missionaries around and said that when he was first asked he was very worried because he knew that if he was recognized he could be killed, but he trusted that God would watch over and protect him, and he had faith that he needed to do the Lord’s work, and so he had agreed.
I sat in the congregation astonished at what I had heard. For me he had just been a kid with a bad attitude. That day I began to understand what we had really asked of him and the courage it took for him to answer.

Elder Merrill C. Oaks, formerly of the Seventy, tells of an experience he had while serving as a bishop. A young woman in his ward was praying to know if she should marry the young man she was dating, but she didn’t feel she had received an answer.

Elder Oaks urged her to continue praying, but he also counseled her to decide for herself. “I told her she was expecting the Lord to make the decision for her,” he said, “but He won’t do that. Even a decision as important as marriage requires us to exercise our own agency. …

“I told her she must exercise her own agency by studying it out in her mind, making a tentative decision, and then asking the Lord for a confirmation of her decision.”

She eventually got her answer, explaining, “I just began to feel [more and more positive], and I knew that my prayers were being answered” (“How to Get an Answer,” New Era, Aug. 2001, 47).

A recent letter from some concerned parents is typical of some others I have received. It illustrates some of the problems to which I refer. This letter reads:
Dear President Smith:
Some time ago we received a phone call from our daughter. She is in the army. She was crying over the phone. In fact, she was almost hysterical. She felt she had not one friend on earth. Those she thought were her friends had deserted her and were in fact persecuting her unmercifully—for one reason, because she is a Mormon. To say “we were in despair” is an understatement.

A second letter was enclosed with the letter from these parents, and let me read it to you in part:
I am your daughter’s Relief Society visiting teacher. My companion and I were at first unable to locate her. When we did, we found a depressed and mixed-up young lady. I’m not connected with the military, and I soon had my eyes opened to the unfortunate circumstances in which young girls in the military may find themselves. How very difficult it would be to keep gospel standards in my mind when one was continually subject to the rowdy, cigarette-filled barracks, the regimentation of being dumped into a job for which one is neither suited nor trained.

Since that initial visit, and on following visits as she became aware of the Church here, a distinct change came over her. As far as her work would permit, she attended many ward functions, and all were aware of her friendly presence. One could almost measure the light that came back into her lovely eyes. She began to smile as she realized that people cared.

You’re going to be welcoming home a very special daughter, and I shall miss her because she is my friend. I shall always be grateful to her for showing me the change that can come into one’s life when he grasps firmly the iron rod.

As a boy Elder Hales loved baseball. In high school he became the pitcher for the school’s baseball team. Once he lost three games in a row, one to nothing. One of the games was a no-hitter. The school newspaper had an article called “Hard-Luck Hales Loses Again.”
Robert told his coach he was going to quit. His coach told him that he just needed to stop wearing out his arm. He was pitching fastballs before the games to show off. Robert listened. The next game he pitched so well that the other team never scored a single run. Because he listened to his coach, he was able to play better. Robert learned that listening to Heavenly Father is like that too. When we listen to Heavenly Father, we can do well.

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.