Gospel Story Finder

Suppose for a moment a man contemplating an exhilarating free fall makes a rash decision and spontaneously jumps from a small plane. After doing so, he quickly realizes the foolishness of his actions. He wants to land safely, but there is an obstacle—the law of gravity. He moves his arms with astounding speed, hoping to fly, but to no avail. He positions his body to float or glide to slow the descent, but the law of gravity is unrelenting and unmerciful. He tries to reason with this basic law of nature: “It was a mistake. I will never do it again.” But his pleas fall on deaf ears. The law of gravity knows no compassion; it makes no exceptions. Fortuitously, though, the man suddenly feels something on his back. His friend in the plane, sensing the moment of foolishness, had placed a parachute there just before the jump. He finds the rip cord and pulls it. Relieved, he floats safely to the ground. We might ask, “Was the law of gravity violated, or did that parachute work within that law to provide a safe landing?”

Just as Joseph could not possibly have understood why the Lord needed him in Egypt, as a slave and then a prisoner, we may have experiences that, without faith and humility, make little or no sense to us. Margaret and I had just such an experience about nine months after returning from our three years presiding over the England London Mission. Reflecting on these unusual events is extremely humbling, as it shows that the Lord trusted us to trust in Him, even though we could not see the divine destination where He would lead us. Let me share the events I’m referring to.

Before leaving for London in July of 2000, Margaret and I sold our Boston home, as we planned to retire to Utah after our mission. But near the end of our mission we felt strong promptings to change our plans and return to Boston to continue my career at Harvard for a few more years. Because we had sold our family home, we needed to find a place to live. After an extensive search, we purchased a small home; just right for the two of us, about a mile from where we had lived for over 20 years before our mission. We moved into this home and immediately went to work, renovating and improving it like we had done to prior homes several times before. For the next eight months, we lived there comfortably.

Then, one Sunday afternoon, while waiting to meet with the Stake President, I received a strong impression from the Spirit that we needed to move. I was shocked! Another move was not in our plans and it made absolutely no sense, given my limited perspective. Yet I knew I had been told that we needed to move!

After my meeting that afternoon, I drove down the street we had lived on for so many years before our mission. I hadn’t been on that street for nearly four years. But as I followed the gentle guidance of the Spirit, I noticed a home for sale across the street from the home we had raised our family in. The thought quickly crossed my mind – “I wonder if that is the house the Lord wants us to buy.”

For two weeks I pondered the impression I’d had, wondering why we needed to move. Unable to make sense of it, but trusting in the Lord with faith and humility, I concluded I just needed to act upon the prompting, and so I told Margaret what had happened. She, too, was shocked, but we both felt we should do as the Lord had prompted, so we put our home on the market and began looking for another.

After a few days of looking, we felt that the house across the street from our previous home was the one we should buy. Now if you knew the Boston housing market, especially at that time, you would have known as I did that this was not a wise financial decision! We had been in our other home for less than a year, and now we were selling it and buying a home larger than the two of us could need, but we felt strongly prompted that it was what the Lord wanted us to do. We were grateful for the Lord’s guidance, even if we did not understand it.

The day after we moved in, Margaret walked next door to the elderly neighbor she had been acquainted with when we had lived on this street before our mission. You might say that Margaret engaged. She knew that this 80-year-old woman, Barbara, had been raised in the Church but had become inactive in college and hadn’t been back to church for over 60 years. When Margaret entered her kitchen that morning, Barbara threw her arms around her and began telling her about her 40-year-old daughter, Karen. Karen was dying of stomach cancer, and she and her husband were now living with Barbara so she could help with Karen’s care.

Before Margaret could even think, she opened her mouth and said, “Barbara, do you think that Karen would like a priesthood blessing?” Without hesitating, Barbara said, “Yes, I know that she would.”

That night a close friend from the ward joined me and we gave Karen a priesthood blessing. It was then that Margaret and I began to understand why the Lord needed us to buy the house next door to Barbara and her dying daughter. A mile away would not have been sufficient for what the Lord needed us to do. Our trust in the Lord had created an amazing opportunity for us.

Within a week, we started sharing the gospel with Karen. She had always wondered about the Church because she knew that her cousins in Utah were members and they were always so happy. We visited with her almost daily, teaching her and comforting her and her mother in any way we could. Karen started attending church with us and loved the people in the ward and everything she was learning. She felt like she was coming home! Within a couple of months she was baptized.

Karen said that the day she was baptized was the happiest day of her life. Even though she only lived three months after her baptism, and she was in daily pain, she was filled with joy and happiness and peace from the Lord. Those last few months of her life were truly a gift from the Lord to her and all of those around her.

We felt in a very small way like Joseph of Egypt. We didn’t know the Lord’s plan, but we trusted Him. And with His guidance we were able to help save a small family struggling with spiritual hunger at a critical time in their lives. That experience became a milestone in all we had learned previously about trusting the Lord.

[One young man] and another Aaronic Priesthood holder were assigned to administer the sacrament to a man who was homebound and very sick. They arrived at his home not realizing that recent medical treatments prevented him from eating any food—even a piece of the sacrament bread. After blessing the bread, the young man presented the sacrament to the frail man. He took a piece of the blessed bread, waited a moment, and then held it against his lips. The young man said when he saw this faithful brother express his reverence for the sacrament, he felt as though he were watching him kiss the feet of the Savior. He could tell that he loved Him.
The significance of the sacrament was impressed upon that young man in an unforgettable way that day. You will have sacred experiences, just as this young man did.

—Melanie Finch, 20, of Idaho Falls, “always wanted to be a nurse.” But after candy striping and a high school vocational program which earned her status as a Certified Nurse’s Assistant, Melanie switched to another field.
“In nursing, you have to associate with just about every kind of person in the world, and have compassion for them all. I found out that’s not always easy to do.”
A year later, however, she became a nursing student again.
“I did a lot of growing during that year,” she said. “I realized just how important it is to take care of people, even if it is hard and dirty. Now I’m dedicated to helping others. And I’m happy to know I’m helping people who really need the help.”

I am the only boy in my family, and I have four sisters. I’m really close with them.
I’ll never forget one night when one of my older sisters helped me gain a testimony. My dad was giving the home evening lesson about testimonies. The whole time I was frustrated with myself because I didn’t feel like I had one.
Later that night, I was reading the scriptures in my room, and my sister came in and asked what was wrong. I was afraid she would make fun of me when I told her, but she didn’t.
We decided to read the First Vision story. I had read it many times before, but not like this. As I read, I had a feeling that’s not easy to describe. It was peaceful, calm, and quiet.
We stopped and said a prayer, and I continued to feel the Spirit. Now I can say I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ restored the Church through him.
I love my sisters because they are good examples and they look after me.
Josh J., Alabama, USA

President David O. McKay (1873–1970) often related an account that occurred while he was a missionary serving in Scotland. He was feeling homesick after being in the mission for just a short time and spent a few hours sightseeing at nearby Stirling Castle. When he and his companion returned from visiting the castle, they passed a building where the stone above the door had a carved inscription of a quotation, usually attributed to Shakespeare, that read, “What-E’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.”
Recalling this experience, President McKay explained: “I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’ Then I thought [about] what we had done that forenoon. We had been sightseeing; we had gained historical instruction and information, it is true, and I was thrilled with it. … However, that was not missionary work. … I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”1
This message was so important and had such an impact on him that President McKay used it as inspiration for the rest of his life. He determined that whatever responsibility he had, he would do his very best.

One of my favorite parts of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is making new friends. I love the opportunity to meet new people of my faith. I love going to seminary, but when I first started, I felt left out. I was the youngest student, and everyone else knew each other. They didn’t speak to me very often. I was secretly battling low self-esteem, but I prayed, and I really felt God’s love for me. I made a goal to get to know the other students better, and I actually came to know how much they cared about me. I know that God wants us to grow and have meaningful relationships. He has provided ways for us to do that through the programs of the Church.

The youth I saw confined to a wheelchair was a startling contrast to the boy I remembered from the year before. I remembered him as a happy, 18-year-old Indian boy whose swift, strong legs had carried him up and down the basketball courts. But that was yesteryear. Today he was in a wheelchair. Today his dark eyes and handsome smile caused me to be amazed at his youthful courage.
I first met Don a couple of years ago and learned that he was a convert to the Church. His widowed mother lived in a remote section of the Navajo Indian reservation, and he was a participant in the Indian student placement program, a program that places Indian children and teenagers in foster homes during the school year so that they may get a better education. His school work was excellent; he played the piano skillfully; and with the same slim brown fingers he could paint beautiful pictures or strum the guitar in accompaniment to his clear soft voice. Don’s personality was pleasant, his standards were high, his testimony strong. He was soon to graduate from high school, and his plans were to spend a short time with his people on the reservation before returning to live with his foster parents, where he would work preparatory to receiving his expected call to the mission field.
Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a small truck with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he expressed the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor told this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he left the room he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was filled with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He eagerly read the words of this book for three days and two nights, resentful of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with his new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps away the feeling of unhappiness.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble prayers to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known cheerfully as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often sang as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for singing and entertainment and patients joined together with singing and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name.
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to get enough courage to ask the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special program was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song sung in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had affected the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the wind of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

“Roberto,” Mama called. “Time for dinner!” Roberto forgot all about the toy cars he was playing with and ran to the table. Papa and Carlos were already sitting in their places. Roberto could smell fideos, his favorite food. He climbed into his seat and reached for the steaming bowl of slippery noodles.
“Roberto, did you forget something?” Papa asked.
Roberto slid down and raced to the sink. He washed his hands and dried them quickly. Mama was just sitting down at the table when Roberto returned. He climbed up on the chair beside her and reached for the noodles again.
This time Mama stopped him. “Roberto, have you forgotten something?” Roberto looked around. Everyone’s arms were folded, and Carlos was bowing his head. Roberto folded his arms and bowed his head, too. Papa asked Carlos to pray.
Roberto heard Carlos thank Heavenly Father for the food, but then Roberto began to think about Mama’s yummy fideos and he didn’t listen to the rest of the prayer. As soon as Carlos said amen, Roberto grabbed the serving spoon. He piled the noodles on his plate until Mama took the spoon away.
“Eat that much,” she said. “Then if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
When he finished all the noodles on his plate, Roberto wasn’t hungry at all. He couldn’t eat one more bite, not even when Mama brought out the flan she had made for dessert. He watched Carlos smile as he spooned the custard into his bowl. Roberto wished everyone would hurry and finish so he could go back to his toys.
At last Papa leaned back and smiled at Mama. “That was wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mama,” Carlos said.
“May I be excused?” Roberto asked.
Roberto played until bedtime. Carlos helped him make buildings and houses out of blocks. They made tunnels to drive their toy cars under. They had almost finished making a city when Mama announced, “Bedtime.”
After Roberto and Carlos said their prayers, Papa told them a story. It was a story from the Bible about when Jesus Christ helped 10 men who were lepers. “Do you know what a leper is, Roberto?” Papa asked. Then he explained: “Lepers are people who are very sick—so sick that sometimes they have to go away and live by themselves. The Savior made the 10 lepers well again so they could go home and live with their families. But only one of the men remembered to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Roberto said. “Why?”
“I don’t know why they didn’t thank Jesus. What do you think, Carlos?” Papa asked.
Carlos thought for a moment. “I think they were so happy to go home they forgot all about it.”
Papa nodded. “And what do you think, Roberto?”
Roberto suddenly jumped out of his bed. “Just a minute,” he said. “I remembered something.” He ran downstairs.
Mama was putting away the dinner dishes. She was surprised to see Roberto. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
“I have to tell you something first. You made my favorite food for me, and I forgot to say thank you,” Roberto explained.
Mama smiled. “You’re welcome. I like to do things for you, especially when you remember to say thank you.”
Roberto ran back upstairs to his bedroom. Carlos was listening to Papa finish the story. “Thank you for playing with me today,” Roberto told Carlos. “And thank you, Papa, for telling me stories about Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” Papa said and turned off the light. “Good night, Roberto. Good night, Carlos.”
But Roberto didn’t go right to sleep. He lay still and thought of the many things he was thankful for. He felt happy, and he wished he could give Heavenly Father a hug. At last he slipped out of bed and said another prayer. This time he really meant it when he thanked Heavenly Father for fideos, for Mama, Papa, and Carlos—and for helping him remember to say thank you.

Some time ago I was speaking at a Know Your Religion lecture in another part of the country. My topic was the same as it is today. Afterward a woman came up and told me that this was the first Church meeting she had been to in more than six years and that she had come only at the urging of a friend. Then she told me why. She and her husband had been unable to have children for several years after marriage. Finally she got pregnant, and they looked forward with great joy to having a child. Shortly before the baby was due, she went into terrible contractions and started to hemorrhage. Her husband rushed her to the hospital barely in time to save her life, but not in time to save the baby. You can imagine their devastation.

About a week after the funeral a sister from the ward came to visit this woman. This neighbor told the woman that she had had a dream the previous night in which it had been revealed to her that if the father had taken the time to give his wife a priesthood blessing before he had rushed her to the hospital, the baby would have lived.

“That was when I stopped going to Church,” the woman told me. “My husband is a faithful priesthood holder, but all he could think about that night was saving my life. I decided that if God would let my child die under such circumstances, I wanted nothing more to do with him.” Then she said this: “But what that woman told me wasn’t from the Lord, was it?”

I shook my head and said no.

What had led her to that conclusion? It came from two quotes I read that night. Let me read them to you now. The first is from an official declaration by the First Presidency: “In secular as well as spiritual affairs, Saints may receive Divine guidance and revelation affecting themselves, but this does not convey authority to direct others” (“A Warning Voice,” pp. 285–86; emphasis added).

The second statement comes from Elder Oaks:

We should understand what can be called the principle of “stewardship in revelation.” . . . Only the president of the Church receives revelation to guide the entire Church. Only the stake president receives revelation for the special guidance of the stake. The person who receives revelation for the ward is the bishop. . . . Individuals can receive revelation to guide their own lives. But when one person purports to receive revelation for another person outside his or her own stewardship . . . you can be sure that such revelations are not from the Lord. [Oaks, “Revelation,” p. 25; emphasis added]

This young mother began to weep then and said: “I am so glad I came tonight. It is time I came back to the Lord.” I am sure the neighbor woman was well-meaning. I am sure that she felt that her dream was from the Lord. But had she understood this principle, she would have known that it wasn’t from God because she had no right to direct the lives of that couple.

Two years passed. One day I asked Roberta if she would travel with me to the city of Foggia, where I was to receive my patriarchal blessing. She agreed to go, mostly because she hadn’t been on a trip in a while.
While Roberta waited in another room, Brother Vincenzo Conforte gave me a wonderful blessing. Afterward, I was so caught up in the Spirit that I completely forgot about Roberta, who must have been feeling like a fish out of water as she waited for me. But Brother Conforte noticed her. When he learned she was not a member of the Church, he humbly knelt by her chair. Looking into her eyes, he bore a sweet and powerful testimony. God truly lived and loved her, he testified, and she could come to know Him through simple prayer.
That testimony touched Roberta’s heart. And it completely changed the way I thought about sharing the gospel with others. With that simple gesture, the patriarch taught me how to be a true witness of God.
Since I had this experience, many of my friends have come into the Church. My friend Roberta is even considering studying the gospel. And I have learned something I will never forget: Whenever we testify of the Savior and His gospel, we must do so with love.

I remember visiting a friend in southern India. We had first come to know him twelve years previously when we went there in response to his request that someone come to baptize him. Ten years prior to that request he had found a missionary tract of the Church, but how or by whom it had come into that part of the world he did not know. He wrote to the Church offices in Salt Lake City. Other Church literature was sent to him which he read.

We did not baptize him when first we met him; he was not ready. But we arranged for him to be taught the gospel and he was baptized some months later.

This man worked as an accountant in a cement plant. His salary was meager. His house was small, but his heart was large and overflowing. Out of a great love for others that came from his understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ, he built a school with his own hands on a piece of ground he bought from his savings. It was a simple rough building; but studying there were some four hundred poor children, each being brought out of the darkness of illiteracy into the light of learning. What this act of love has meant and will mean in their lives is beyond calculation.

Through this one man’s efforts, there were established five small branches of the Church in the rural villages of southern India. The members constructed three or four little buildings, neat and clean. Over the door of each was a sign, in both English and Tamil, that read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” The floors were of concrete and without benches where the people sat together as we met, shared our testimonies, and partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

There are now a little over two hundred members of the Church among the vast millions of India. Some day, someone will write the story of the Church in India. That story will be incomplete unless there is a chapter on my friend who lost himself in the service of others.

When I got my first paycheck for my first real job (at a sandwich shop), I rewarded myself with a shopping spree. I bought some music and a cute outfit. After spending every dollar I’d earned, I thought about my purchases.
“There goes two whole weeks of work,” I thought. And a sick feeling started to grow in my stomach.
As I thought about all those hours of hard work making sandwiches, my superficial purchases hardly seemed worth it. I vowed to be more careful with my money.
So from then on, I saved every penny for college and a possible mission and never bought anything I wanted ever again.
Yeah, right.
I was still a normal teenager who wanted stylish clothes, good music, and fun activities with my friends. But coming from a big family, I knew that if I wanted those things, I would have to save money to pay for them myself.
It might sound impossible, but I found ways to be financially prepared for the future and have fun at the same time—even with a part-time job that didn’t pay very much. Here are some tips on how you can increase your “money smarts.”

Several years ago, as my parents were getting older and slowing down considerably, I invited them to come and visit us in Utah. Mother’s health wasn’t that great, and she responded, “I don’t know if we can come next week because I don’t know what next week will bring. We are just ­living day by day.”
I thought a great deal about that phrase: “We are just living day by day.” Each of us—whether we are nine or ninety—is, in reality, living day by day. I may have plans and goals for weeks and months and years to come, but, nonetheless, my life is in the Lord’s hands. For me, the phrase “living day by day” doesn’t mean that I don’t have a long-range view. In fact, it is just the opposite. Living day by day means doing everything each day with an eternal perspective—­recognizing that today might be the day when I am called home.

Chris watched as a man in a Scout uniform carefully placed six cars at the top of the track. “Our car is in lane two,” Chris whispered to his dad. His stomach was aching. He wished they had stayed home.
“Which one is yours?” Sarah, his sister, asked loudly.
Chris pretended to not hear her, not wanting to draw attention to his car.
But Sarah persisted. “Chris, which one is yours?”
“It’s the one in lane two,” Dad answered her. “The yellow one with the red stripe.”
“Oh!” Sarah exclaimed proudly. She turned to her friend, Brandy, and pointed up at the cars. “That’s my brother’s car. The yellow one with the red stripe.”
Chris looked at his dad. “Will you please make her be quiet?” he begged.
Dad smiled understandingly. “Sarah,” he said, “would you and Brandy get us some cupcakes, please?”
Sarah was delighted with the assignment. She and Brandy hurried off to the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Chris muttered.
“Cheer up, Son,” Dad said, putting his arm around Chris’s shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just the Pinewood Derby.”
Chris forced himself to smile. “You’re right, Dad. We can try again next year.”
Dad nodded. “This year is just for practice. We’ll do better next year.”
When everything was set, the crowd cheered and the races began. Chris didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. He stood up to get a better look as he watched his car win the first race. “We won!” he gasped in disbelief. “Just barely, but we won!”
“I guess the car’s in better shape than I thought,” Dad said.
Sarah and Brandy returned with cupcakes for everyone. “How did your car do, Chris?” Sarah asked.
“It won!” Chris told her happily.
“Really? I thought it was broken.”
“It is,” said Dad. “And the races aren’t over yet. They race the cars six times, once in each lane. Then they average the times. We’ll see how our car holds up.”
The car didn’t hold up very well. It went slower each time it raced. In the last race, Chris’s car crossed the finish line well behind the other cars.
Brother Rogers came over. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What happened? Your car started out great.”
“I’ll show you.” Dad picked up the car and turned it over. The back left wheel was sitting awkwardly on the axle. “Our car had an accident before the race.”
“Oh?”
“My little brother, Adam, threw it,” Chris explained. “I wouldn’t let him play with it, so he grabbed it and threw it.”
“It was a pretty good throw, but a pretty bad landing,” Dad added. “It cracked the wheel and bent the axle. I managed to straighten the axle, but there was nothing I could do about the wheel.”
“And where’s Adam now?” Brother Rogers asked.
“My mom stayed home with him,” Chris said. “She said she didn’t think he would enjoy watching the races. I think maybe she was afraid he would ruin someone else’s car.”
Brother Rogers ruffled Chris’s hair. “I have a little brother. They can be a trial sometimes.”
Chris nodded his head. “That’s for sure. But it wasn’t really his fault. All he wanted to do was roll it across the floor like I was doing. If I had let him have a turn, he wouldn’t have thrown it.”
“Think of it as a learning experience,” Brother Rogers said. “Next time you’ll be more patient with him.”
Chris nodded.
The man in the Scout uniform whistled loudly. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. We have some trophies and ribbons to award to the winners.”
Chris picked up the cupcake Sarah had brought him. “Well, I guess I’ll eat my cupcake now.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ll go get you another one if you want me to.”
“No thanks.”
“I’m sorry your car didn’t win,” Sarah said. “Maybe it will get a prize for being the prettiest.”
Chris shook his head.
Brother Rogers announced the names of the boys with the best overall times. Chris watched as each boy shook hands with Brother Rogers and took his prize. Next, there was an award for the best-looking car. Sarah shook her head sadly when Chris didn’t win.
“We have one more prize,” Brother Rogers announced. “We have a prize for the car with the single best time. And the winner is Chris.”
Chris looked up, surprised. “Me?” he asked, fearing he had heard wrong.
“Yes, you,” Brother Rogers laughed. “Your time in the first race was the fastest time all night.”
Chris hurried up to the podium, wiping the cupcake off his hands as he went. He smiled as Brother Rogers handed him the trophy.
Chris hurried to his seat. “Check it out,” he said proudly, holding the trophy out for his dad to see.
“Let me see!” squealed Sarah. As she reached for the trophy, she lost her balance and started to fall.
Chris and Dad both grabbed Sarah and held her steady as the trophy fell to the ground. It landed with a loud crack, and broke into two pieces.
Chris groaned. “Not again.”
Sarah started to cry. “I’m sorry.”
Dad picked up the pieces. “I’m sure we can glue it back together.”
“What happened?” Brother Rogers asked.
“Just another learning experience,” said Chris. He turned to Sarah. “Don’t feel bad. I know it was an accident. Anyway, it makes sense that my broken car should win a broken trophy.”
Sarah smiled through her tears. “You’re not mad?”
“No, I’m not mad. Let’s see if there are any more cupcakes. I think Adam would love it if we took him one.”

President Marion G. Romney stated it well:
“It is an easy thing to believe in the dead prophets, but it is a greater thing to believe in the living prophets. I will give you an illustration.
“One day when President Grant was living, I sat in my office across the street following a general conference. A man came over to see me, an elderly man. He was very upset about what had been said in this conference by some of the Brethren, including myself. I could tell from his speech that he came from a foreign land. After I had quieted him enough so he would listen, I said, ‘Why did you come to America?’
“‘I came here because a prophet of God told me to come.’
“‘Who was the prophet?’ I continued.
“‘Wilford Woodruff.’
“‘Do you believe Wilford Woodruff was a prophet of God?’
“‘Yes,’ said he.
“‘Do you believe that his successor, President Lorenzo Snow, was a prophet of God?’
“‘Yes, I do.’
“‘Do you believe that President Joseph F. Smith was a prophet of God?’
“‘Yes, sir.’
“Then came the ‘sixty-four dollar question.’ ‘Do you believe that Heber J. Grant is a prophet of God?’
“His answer: ‘I think he ought to keep his mouth shut about old age assistance.’”

When my husband, Joe, told me he wanted to get baptized, I was anything but excited. I had grown up in the Church, but over the years I had struggled with certain ideas and policies. As a young adult, I eventually stopped going to Church meetings and started studying other religions as well as nonreligious lifestyles.
During this time of exploration, I met Joe, and we began living together. My family was concerned about me, but we always had a great relationship. Joe and I often went to family and religious events to support them. We lived this way for four years, and I was happy with it.
Joe and I eventually got married, and soon I became pregnant. During this time, we went to a family reunion with my side of the family. Every day during the reunion, my family held a devotional. Each individual family gave a lesson or bore their testimonies. One devotional was about how amazing my grandparents’ lives had been and what a great role the Church had played in that. Many also talked about how the gospel had brought strength and happiness into their own lives.
When we returned home, Joe was determined to meet with the missionaries. When I asked why, he said, “I need to know for myself what your family members were talking about.” I told him to go ahead. I figured he’d get the basics and then call it good. But after three lessons, Joe wanted to be baptized!
“This is so fast,” I said. “Are you sure you know what it means to be a member of the Church?”
“It means we’re going to go to church and figure it out,” he said with a smile.
I wasn’t terribly excited, but we agreed that he could keep taking the lessons, though he wouldn’t commit to baptism until I was OK with it.
After a few weeks, my feelings about the Church hadn’t changed. But Joe had. He had discovered faith and prayer. He had a sense of peace and confidence that he hadn’t felt before. And it was beautiful to see. I decided that no matter what I was feeling, I couldn’t take this away from him. We determined that if he was going on this journey, we were going to do it together. So Joe got baptized.
A lot of people at the baptism knew I’d been raised in the Church and assumed I must be thrilled. But I felt a mixture of pride in Joe for being so brave, and fear for what this was going to mean for our life together.
I started going to church with Joe, and we made a plan to deal with my concerns. The first step was to identify what, exactly, bothered me about the gospel. We bought a small journal that I brought with me every Sunday. Whenever someone made a comment that irritated me, looked at a scripture with a perspective that I thought seemed odd, or talked about a policy that rubbed me the wrong way, I wrote down my feelings.
I scribbled in that journal for months. I would say things like, “I hate it when people say … ,” “Doesn’t anyone fact-check?” and “That makes no sense to me.” Expressing my feelings as I had them made them easier for me to understand and process. Before, when something bothered me, I would hold on to it all day, and it would poison my church experience. But as I wrote in my journal, I became free to enjoy more of church, in between the moments I struggled with. I was getting more out of it than I had in a long time.
Now that I had identified what bothered me, the next step was determining why these things bugged me. As we would eat Sunday dinner, Joe and I would discuss what I’d written in my journal. Sometimes I would simply say, “This is how I feel. I don’t know why.” Figuring things out took a lot of discussion, personal thought, and prayer. One thing I’ve always believed is that prayer is the most important and accurate source of information on pretty much everything.
Working together, Joe and I realized that when you know who you are and what you believe, it builds a wall of protection around your heart. And so, after a while of writing in my journal and discussing it with Joe and with Heavenly Father, I ran out of criticism regarding the Church.
When the one-year anniversary of Joe’s baptism was approaching, he started asking about going to the temple. Again, my reaction was, “Whoa! Slow down! I’m not ready for that.”
So my patient husband waited. Every now and then, he would slip something into the conversation like, “Honey, I read a great article about the temple. Do you want to read it?” or “Hey, babe, I saw a wonderful video about the temple. Do you want to watch it with me?” His enthusiasm was endearing, but it wasn’t getting me any closer to being ready to go to the temple. Finally, one day he asked me directly what made me feel unprepared.
“You know I had some issues with the Church growing up,” I said. “But I loved going to the temple. Baptism trips were my favorite. I loved the way I felt in the temple, so calm and peaceful. But I don’t know about the rest of the temple. What if someone says or does something that bothers me? What if that ruins going to the temple for me? What would be the point of being a member of the Church if you can’t go to the temple? So I don’t want to go until I’m sure nothing will shake me.”
I found solutions to most of my issues, but I was still struggling with one: how could I be part of a church I didn’t always agree with? This led me to the final step of learning from my journal. I realized I needed to try to understand why other people believe what they believe and say what they say. I needed to know why God had directed the Church to be the way it is today.
I found my answer through my husband. When he first started reading the Book of Mormon, a line from the title page stood out to him: “And now, if there are faults they are the mistakes of men; wherefore, condemn not the things of God.” Joe had quoted this over and over, but now it meant something more to me.
I realized that the Church exists in an imperfect world populated by imperfect people. And that includes me. We all have times when we get things wrong before we get them right. I realized I needed to stop judging others, just as I wouldn’t want them to judge me. We are all on a path of learning and growth.
I also realized that the Church is the Lord’s. It is in His hands. Yes, He works through imperfect people, but He directs His work. He knows what is needed, and when.
After this, I felt ready to go to the temple. I was pleased to find that it felt just as good on that day as it had years before when I had done baptisms. On our third wedding anniversary, my husband and I went to the temple again to be sealed together and have our son sealed to us. It was so sweet and such a happy day. I kept thinking that this was what all families are meant to be—eternal. And I had yet another realization: though there might be policies or doctrines that might take me time to sort out, there are also rare and beautiful truths in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. One is that each of us can actually talk to Heavenly Father and receive answers. Another is that through living prophets, He gives guidance for our day.
Through my experiences, I truly know that revelation for the Church (given through Church leaders) and personal revelation for each of us allow Heavenly Father to guide us through our mistakes and triumphs. As we follow His map for our lives, we can find great happiness in knowing Him and His Son, Jesus Christ (see John 17:3). I am proud to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Elder Perry had a lifelong gift for making friends. When he worked in New York, USA, as a retail executive, he thought his fellow commuters seemed unfriendly. So he decided to shake things up.
One man always stood on the same platform location to wait for the train. He also picked the same seat on the train every day.
To build a friendship, Elder Perry showed up early several days in a row to grab those spots before the man could. At first the man was irritated, but before long, the two were laughing and it turned into a game—a game the whole train station eventually enjoyed as more and more commuters joined in. In time they all grew so close that they sang Christmas carols together at the station. “It livened up the whole platform,” Elder Perry remembered.

My beloved wife, Jeanene, loved doing family history research. When our children were young, she would trade babysitting time with friends so she could have a few hours every few weeks to work on researching our family lines. After our youngest child left home, she recorded in her personal journal: “I have just made a decision and I want to stand up and shout about it. Mike’s old bedroom has become my genealogy workroom. It is well equipped to organize the records and work in. My life will now focus on vital family research and temple name submissions. I am so excited and anxious to get going.”8
Another journal entry reads: “The … miracle for me occurred in the Family History office of Mel Olsen who presented me with a printout of all my known ancestral pedigrees taken from the update of the Ancestral File computerized records sent into the genealogical society. They came mostly from the records of the four generation’s program the Church called for many years ago. I had been overwhelmed with the thought of the huge task ahead of me to gather all my ancestors’ research records from family organizations to get them all in the computer for the first computerized distribution of the Ancestral File. And there they all were, beautiful, organized and laser printed and sitting there on the desk before me. I was so thrilled and so overwhelmed I just sat there stunned and then began to cry I was so happy. … For one who has doggedly, painstakingly researched for thirty years, the computerization of all these records is truly exciting. And when I think of the hundreds of thousands of people who are now or soon will be computerizing huge blocks of censuses and private research disks … I am so excited. It is truly the Lord’s work and He is directing it.”9

Can I just say something quickly about dress and appearance, particularly to you returned missionaries? I remember an experience I had after I’d been home about three weeks. I was going to priesthood meeting, and my sister, who is here today, had bought me a brand-new sport shirt, and I really liked it, and a pair of slacks. I was just going out the door to priesthood meeting when my father was coming from one of his stake meetings and he asked me, “Son, where are you going?” And I said “Dad, you know where I’m going; I am going to priesthood meeting.” And he said, “Like that?” And I thought, I’ve got a new pair of slacks and a new sports shirt. He sat me down in the living room, put his arm around me and taught me a great lesson. He said, “The Lord expects more out of returned missionaries.” And you know, young people, that was 1956. When I’ve been tempted on a hot summer night to go to a sacrament meeting in a white shirt and just a tie; I remember that moment.