Gospel Story Finder

By Ann-Sophie and Lawrence Cavin, Scotland, UK
Ann-Sophie: I always wanted to study at a university, but my plans about what to study changed a lot during my teenage years. After finishing high school, I volunteered in a hospital for six months. Since then I loved the idea of being a nurse, but I didn’t think I would be able to do it.
In my ward’s self-reliance class, we were asked to pick a job we would like to have even though we might not have the qualifications. I prayed about what to do, and nursing kept coming into my mind. I decided to follow the promptings of the Lord.
Pursuing this path hasn’t been easy. To get started, I researched the nursing program and what it would take for me to study. I talked to people who went through a similar process. The first time I applied to the nursing program, I was put on the waiting list. But I didn’t give up; I applied again and eventually got in. Sometimes you have to be patient and trust in the Lord as He has His own plan for you.

I had a really bad day at school. As I was leaving, I saw some fifth graders running. They crashed into a poor girl carrying loads of schoolwork, including a school project. The project fell and broke, scattering pieces all over the ground. I ran over to the girl and asked, “Are you OK?” She was almost in tears as she got down on her knees and started scooping pieces of her project into a bag. I noticed that she was carrying glue and asked her if I could help put her masterpiece back together. She nodded in a shy way. I glued it back together and handed it to her. Then I helped her carry her things to her car. Her mom thanked me and gave me a big smile. I ran to my car and hopped in. My mom asked, “How was your day?”
“Perfect!” I said.

Ivor, my third son, was still living in the village. He was destined not to be with me long. He had been born two months early and was so tiny that his mother carried him on a pillow. He grew to manhood but suffered from a heart disease. He was the poet in the family, and even though his health was poor he was always happy. I can hear him yet as he sang to the trees in the woods that bordered our home. I remember that just a few days before his heart failed him that we walked together up into the meadow and we looked across the valley. He took my hand in his and spoke softly. “Listen, Dad,” and across the valley came the plaintive call of a cuckoo bird. “Isn’t it lovely? The cuckoo tells of the coming spring, and soon the meadow will be white with daisies, and the birds will sing joyful tunes. Oh, Dad, its a grand world that God has given us.”
He died in his sleep and was buried beside his mother in the little cemetery on the hill.
The funeral was quite an event in our village. It was the first Latter-day Saint funeral ever conducted there. Many people came out of curiosity, but most came because Ivor was loved and respected. Mr. Jones, the undertaker, in his black suit and top hat drove the wagon with the casket with a pair of black horses.
It was only a short distance to the cemetery, and the mourners walked behind the wagon. Soon the villagers started to sing. At first their voices were quiet like the summer breeze on the mountains. Then as the words came, “Feed me till I want no more,” their voices raised in a great crescendo like waves breaking on a rocky shore. Oh, my people from whom I came, your songs of mourning are still in my heart, and I know that my son and my Bess heard.

My wife and I likewise wanted Jesus Christ’s miraculous compassion to heal our newborn daughter. Doctors had discovered a large mass in her abdominal cavity. They diagnosed her with infantile neuroblastoma. Because she was just two weeks old and the malignant (cancerous) mass was large, her prognosis was not hopeful.

Filled with faith in Christ’s ability to heal her, I gave her a priesthood blessing before we went to the children’s hospital. During that experience, no words came to my mind. It was blank. Seeking to muster any words possible, the only phrase I could utter was, “You are in God’s hands.”

Disheartened by that experience, we headed to the children’s hospital where the medical team would perform surgery to biopsy the mass, see how far it had spread, and determine what, if anything, they could do for our daughter. Before the surgery, I again gave my daughter a priesthood blessing and had the exact same experience as before; I could utter only the words, “you are in God’s hands.”

After handing our daughter to the surgeon, my wife and I wept bitterly. When our bodies were unable to produce any more tears, I sat in frustration. I began to wonder if the compassionate miracle we had sought was not given because my faith or worthiness was insufficient. Why had Christ performed so many amazing acts of compassion for others but would not do so for us?

I felt prompted to read the story of Lazarus found in John 11. The interaction between Christ and Martha stood out to me. It felt like Martha was hoping for the same thing I was hoping for, that it was not too late for my daughter to still be miraculously healed. In response to Martha’s request, Jesus Christ said, “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?” (John 11:25–26)

At this moment, it felt like Jesus Christ was talking to me. I felt that if I had eyes to see, Christ would have been sitting next to me waiting for my reply to His question. As I pondered my answer, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes, I do believe in the Son of God and all that He offers.”

Another question came to mind: “What has Jesus Christ made possible for children who die before the age of accountability?”

Again, in my mind, I replied, “That all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (Doctrine and Covenants 137:10).

“Do you believe this?” was the response. Again, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes.”

The thought came into my mind, “Then you understand that she will be with God and can still become like God. What more do you want for her? You can enjoy that life with her as well when you stay faithful to the temple covenants Jesus Christ has revealed.”

I concluded that the greatest miracle in my life would always be the Atonement of Jesus Christ. There was nothing I wanted more for my daughter than for her to receive all of the blessings Jesus Christ has made available through His atoning sacrifice and sacred temple ordinances. A compassionate miracle was given to us—the miracle that matters the most.

Illustration by Toby Newsome
I will never be able to think about Christmas without thinking about my dad. The two seem inherently connected after years of his meticulous gift giving, tree-chopping, music-playing, cookie-decorating, and utterly festive spirit. So when he died just a few months before last Christmas, I had a hard time feeling anything but sadness and resentment about the wonderful man I had lost. Nobody could parallel his spirit, his enthusiasm, his Christlike love. Or so I thought.
Eventually Christmas Day came around with what seemed to me to be insincere fanfare since my dad wasn’t there. I simply didn’t want to get up: I missed my dad, I missed my family, I missed those nostalgic, apparently perfect Christmas mornings filled with laughter and love and everything I couldn’t imagine feeling without him.
But over the next 12 hours, I discovered exactly how meaningful the holiday could be despite my loss. My entire family got gifts from anonymous members of our ward, everything clearly picked out intentionally. I experienced an outpouring of love from numerous friends and ward members wishing me a merry Christmas through texts or phone calls or surprise presents. I received a dozen assorted homemade gifts from my siblings. I spent time interacting with the family which I had somehow forgotten had experienced the exact same loss I had and which I had frankly ignored for too long.
And somehow every part of the day came together, not just materially but emotionally. I felt people thinking of me, praying that my day would be amazing, and somehow, it was. I felt like my dad was rooting for me, the closest connection I’d had with him since he passed. I felt Jesus Christ’s love permeating every moment of that afternoon. I felt joyful and grateful, and I felt good for the first time in weeks.
I know that my Heavenly Father was looking out for me on that day that initially brought such painful memories. I know my fellow Church members felt impressed to reach out to me because of Heavenly Father’s love. I know that though a crucial part of my family is now gone, it is only temporary, and I will see my dad again. I have a testimony of Jesus Christ that grows ever stronger because of those experiences. And I will never forget the gratitude and love I felt on that incredible Christmas day.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

My name is Michele Blackburn, and I am a senior missionary serving with my husband in the Caribbean Area as technology specialists. We have had a busy two years as we have provided, set up, and supported the members of the Church with technology in their buildings. Early in our mission, I knew that I would be my husband’s technology assistant, but my true passion is for music. Elder Ronald A. Rasband shared, “We need to engage in the activities, service, and lifestyle that will help to strengthen and protect our talents to be used righteously.”1
It wasn’t long into our mission until I realized I should follow this advice. I began teaching piano lessons in our stake once a week with a group of nine students. The class quickly grew to nearly forty students and needed to be divided, so I prayed for guidance and was inspired to realize that talents are gifts that lead us to conversion and to understand the importance of increasing those talents. Elder David A. Bednar suggested this conversion occurs in three parts, “Conversion is an offering of self, of love, and of loyalty we give to God in gratitude for the gift of testimony.”2
I began to see changes occurring in my students as they demonstrated a belief in themselves, completing Elder Bednar’s first step, offering yourself. Their regular attendance created a support system among each other which demonstrated their love for each other. I witnessed the third step, loyalty, from sister Isabel Morel who came every week to support her niece and a friend. Although sister Morel had never played piano during our class, I somehow felt that she knew how to play.
The following week, Sister Morel explained that she knew how to play the piano and she felt prompted to offer her assistance and would be interested in assisting with the class if I needed her. She was another answer to my prayers. Her willingness to act, by offering to share her talent, selflessly serve and love her niece and her friend, were all steps taken towards being more fully converted to our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ.
It is my testimony that our Heavenly Father loves all His children. He has a plan for each of us in this life. He prepares experiences for us that enrich our lives and help our testimonies to grow and our personal conversion to Him to deepen. He provides the assistance we need to accomplish the things He asks us to do. It is my testimony that if we embrace the opportunities He offers, the blessings of heaven will be showered down upon us as our talents are increased, our prayers are answered, and our trust in Heavenly Father grows. How grateful I am for a loving Father in Heaven.

On May 15, 1942, Piet Vlam kissed his wife good-bye and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” As the train carried him through the springtime countryside toward Arnhem, a Dutch city near the German border, his mind was full of his pressing duties as second counselor in the Netherlands Mission. He was impatient to get back to them.
Unfortunately, this trip was unavoidable. As an ex-naval officer in occupied Holland he was required to register in Arnhem with the other Dutch officers.
These all-too-frequent registrations had become a routine, though irritating, part of his life—nothing to worry about. He didn’t suspect as he watched green fields flash past his window that his one-day trip to Arnhem was to be a three-year journey into captivity.
In Arnhem the Dutch officers were informed that they were prisoners of war and were loaded onto trains bound for Germany. As Piet rode through the darkness of discouragement and night on his way to the prison compound at Langwasser, his mind stood somewhere apart from the sweat and metal world around him, wrestling with an unanswerable question: “Why?” The Lord had called him to the mission presidency, and he was needed badly. Why was he being taken away? Every click of the railroad tracks seemed to ask again, “Why?” But there was no answer.
But Piet’s faith was strong. He didn’t really need an answer. He would wait and see.
He didn’t realize till much later that his imprisonment constituted one of the clearest though most unwelcome mission calls in the history of the Church.
One day not long after his arrival at Langwasser, Piet was lying outside the lice-ridden wooden barracks on the camp’s one anemic spot of grass when a fellow prisoner sharing it with him started asking questions about religion. Piet knew exactly how to answer, and this became the first of many religious discussions.
Soon there were many other prisoners who wanted to hear about the Church. Piet couldn’t talk to them in large groups because the guards wouldn’t allow it, so he took two men at a time and walked with them around the camp, mile after mile.
After a few months at Langwasser, the prisoners were transferred to Stanislaw on the Russian-Polish border. Piet made a walk-talk schedule and continued to teach the gospel.
A group of Piet’s most interested investigators asked if they could hold LDS services. They found an empty barracks in a far-off corner of the prison, put a blanket in front of the window for privacy, and set up an old soapbox for a pulpit. They had to do all this in secret because the guards didn’t allow extra meetings.
These services were filled with the Spirit, but they were a little unorthodox. The opening and closing songs were read, since the congregation didn’t dare sing out loud for fear of alerting their guards, and the worshipers had to sneak away afterwards one at a time.
Gospel principles were strictly observed inside the barbed-wire compound. The men observed fast Sunday by giving their meager cup of beans to someone else even though they were already hungry themselves. Many men received a testimony of the gospel while praying through the long nights made sleepless by hunger. One of the most skeptical investigators received a testimony during such a night of fasting. He stood weeping the following day and told of an indescribable feeling of peace that had come over him. He humbly asked that he too might have some small task to help prepare for the Sunday meetings. When Piet asked him to sweep the floor each week, he replied that it would be an honor. “You enter this room,” he said, “and with you the holy priesthood.”
When the men heard about the Mutual Improvement Association, they wanted to hold one of their own, so Piet organized one, calling prisoners to serve as the presidency, secretary, and teacher. They studied the Doctrine and Covenants in their meetings, and Piet later reported that he had never heard that book taught better than it was by these nonmembers.
As the months wore on, the long walks around the camp continued, and men grew strong in the gospel. Their faith helped them to endure. The men developed a deep love for Piet, and one Easter morning they surprised him with an original song entitled “Faith.” It was later included in the official songbook of the Netherlands Mission.
Near the end of the war, the prisoners were moved to Neubrandenburg, Germany, where the Church activities continued. On April 28, 1945, a Russian tank ran down the barbed wire fence, and the camp was liberated. A few weeks later Piet was home with his wife and children. Those of his fellow prisoners who had been willing to receive it took home with them a gift that made the hunger and cold and bedbugs well worth it to them.
Seven of them were later baptized into the Church, and with them many family members. One of Piet’s prison converts later became the first president of the Netherlands Stake.
Piet Vlam was a hard man to distract from his duty. When he was taken away from his mission field, he simply took his mission with him, and many people will be eternally grateful that he did.

“What does ‘Families Are Forever’ mean?” Mia asked. She moved her game piece across the board. She and her best friend, Zoey, were playing a game in Zoey’s living room. On the wall was a picture that said, “Families Are Forever.” Mia liked the sound of that.
“It means that even after you die, you’re still a family,” Zoey explained. She put down a card and moved her game piece.
Mia looked around the room. It looked normal. There were couches, tables, pillows, and a TV. But Zoey’s house felt a little different from her own. “Do you have a forever family?” Mia asked.
Zoey looked up from the game with a smile. “Yes! My mom and dad were married in the temple. So we can be together forever.”
“Is that why your house feels different?” Mia asked.
Zoey looked confused. “Different?”
Mia didn’t know how to explain the feeling in Zoey’s house. It was happy and warm. But that sounded silly to say. “Never mind,” she said. “Let’s keep playing.”
That night Mia couldn’t stop thinking about Zoey’s forever family. She loved the feeling in Zoey’s house. Mia’s family was going to move to Ontario, Canada, in a few days. She wondered how their new house would feel.
“Mom, Zoey’s house feels so happy,” Mia said as Mom tucked her into bed. “I want our new house to feel like that.” Mia thought about how much she loved Mom, Dad, and her little brothers. “I want our family to be forever.”
Mom listened quietly. “I do too,” she said.
The next day, Mom called Zoey’s mom. She found out that Zoey’s family went to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I want to go to that church,” Mia told her parents while they packed. Their house was almost empty now.
“Zoey’s mom said she could help us find their church in Ontario,” Dad said as he taped up a box.
Mia smiled and felt a flutter in her stomach. Maybe their new house could feel as warm and happy as Zoey’s!
Once they were settled in their new house, Mia’s family started going to church. The people there were very nice. Everyone called each other “Brother” and “Sister.” Mia went to Primary with her little brothers. She liked singing songs and reading the scriptures.
Soon two young women came to Mia’s house. Their names were Sister Justin and Sister Ramos, and they were missionaries. They told Mia’s family about Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Book of Mormon. Mia loved hearing about the gospel. Even her brothers sat quietly and listened!
Mia told Sister Ramos and Sister Justin about Zoey’s house. “I want a forever family like Zoey’s.”
“We’re all part of Heavenly Father’s family,” Sister Ramos said. “And we can be sealed to our families in the temple too.”
Soon Mia’s family decided to be baptized.
Zoey and her family drove all the way to Ontario for the baptisms. A year later, they came back again. This time it was because Mia and her family were being sealed in the temple!
The day of the sealing, Mia stood outside the temple with her family, dressed in white. They were all smiling from ear to ear. Mia felt warm and peaceful inside. It was a feeling she had first felt at Zoey’s house, and she wanted to keep it with her forever.

As a teenager, Sister Kalombo Rosette Kamwanya from the D.R. Congo, now serving in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, fasted and prayed for three days to find the direction God wanted her to take. In a remarkable night vision, she was shown two buildings, a chapel and what she now realizes was a temple. She began to search and soon found the chapel she had seen in her dream. The sign said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Sister Kamwanya was baptized and then her mother and her six brothers. Sister Kamwanya said, “When I received the gospel, I felt like a captured bird that had been liberated. My heart was filled with joy. … I had the assurance that God loves me.”9

“My turn!” Johnny called, jumping up and down.
“Yes, Johnny,” said Mom. “What did you do with your Popsicle?”
“First I ate it.” Johnny giggled, showing his red tongue. “And I had to think for a while to get an idea too. As I was thinking, somebody called to me. It was Jeffrey—the boy in my class who has to stay in a wheelchair. He was on the porch of his house and asked me to come over. He seemed pretty sad. I thought that if summer vacation gets boring for me, it must really get boring for him: no bike riding, no baseball, no swimming. So when I went over to his house, I knew what I was going to do with my stick. His mom got me a piece of heavy paper and a pin, and I folded a paper airplane. Then I worked the pin through the middle of the Popsicle stick and stuck it into the nose of the airplane to make a propeller. I gave it to Jeffrey, and do you know what? Even though he has some pretty neat toys, he thought the airplane was great.”
“And you’re pretty great, too,” said Mom. “Good job!”

Ernie is Molly’s closest friend (besides her parents; grandmother; and older sisters, Gerri, Linda, and Sherry, who are grown up and married and living in other towns). Molly named Ernie even before he chose her. Yes, he chose her. He was one of a litter of puppies born to her grandma’s neighbor’s dog. When the puppies were old enough to leave their mother, Molly called, “Here, Ernie,” and he was the one that came! He’s a friendly dog and loves and protects her.

A mother of seven, Margaret Swensen Lifferth emphasizes that parents need to be present for the small moments in the lives of their children. She recalls a time when one of her children, age four, came crying into the house after a disagreement with his playmates. “I just pulled him onto my lap and said, ‘What can we do?’ We figured out that he could take a plate of cookies to his friends, and the problem was solved.
“It is the small moments like these that are really the teaching moments, that set the example of how our children are going to address the world,” she says.

At work, Francisco Lopes (who has since married) was subjected to frequent spiritual tremors. “Some of the people I worked with were skeptical of my beliefs and criticized me for what I believed in,” he says. “They often questioned me, using science that seemed to conflict with our faith.”

Brother Lopes recalls discussions about evolution, DNA, and more. “They did their best to convince me the Church is false,” he says of the questions for which he had few answers. “I had to rely upon my testimony of God and His gospel. I am grateful for that foundation.”

Sometimes, as with Brother Lopes, members are faced with questions to which they don’t have answers. But he didn’t let something he didn’t know shake his faith in something he did know.
“There are things that I don’t know yet. But I don’t question those things because I know that in time God will reveal what I need to know,” Brother Lopes says, “not in my time or when I want it, but when He thinks that it needs to be revealed.”

What does one do when faced with tough questions that don’t seem to have answers?
“Most of our answers are in the scriptures,” says Brother Lopes, who has faced questions not only from friends and co-workers but from his parents, who questioned his decision to join the Church at age 14. “But finding and understanding those answers depends on personal revelation. I can also go to my Church leaders or ask God directly. I’m grateful for the Holy Ghost and a caring Father in Heaven.”

Some fine carpenters from Norway who arrived and settled in Manti were given the assignment of building the roof for the temple. They had never built a roof structure before, but they had experience as shipbuilders. They didn’t know how they would design a roof. Then the thought came to them: “Why don’t we just build a ship? Then, because a well-built ship is solid and secure, if we turn the plans upside down, we’ll have a secure roof.” They set about to plan to construct a ship, and when it was completed, they turned the plan upside down and it became the plan for the roof of the Manti Temple.

I was in a conversation a few years ago about a certain topic that has some political ramifications, but the topic hasn’t really been addressed by the Church or the prophet. The person made a comment that if the prophet ever asked us to do what we were discussing, this person would not do it and for him it would mean that the prophet was no longer a true prophet. I was taken aback and thought that was a very rash decision. But after the conversation, I wondered: was there something that I felt strongly enough about, or that society’s current trends were so powerfully against, that could cause me to reject the prophet?

When a prophet’s counsel clashes with our personal feelings, desires, or convictions, or when that counsel opposes widely held views of society, what is our reaction? Joseph Smith said, “I have tried for a number of years to get the minds of the Saints prepared to receive the things of God; but we frequently see some of them, after suffering all they have for the work of God, will fly to pieces like glass as soon as anything comes that is contrary to their traditions: they cannot stand the fire at all.”3
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, spoke about responding to counsel from prophets:
“When the words of prophets seem repetitive, that should rivet our attention and fill our hearts with gratitude to live in such a blessed time.

“Looking for the path to safety in the counsel of prophets makes sense to those with strong faith. When a prophet speaks, those with little faith may think that they hear only a wise man giving good advice. Then if his counsel seems comfortable and reasonable, squaring with what they want to do, they take it. If it does not, they consider it either faulty advice or they see their circumstances as justifying their being an exception to the counsel. Those without faith may think that they hear only men seeking to exert influence for some selfish motive…

“… The failure to take prophetic counsel lessens our power to take inspired counsel in the future. …

“Every time that I have listened to the counsel of prophets, felt it confirmed in prayer, and then followed it, I have found that I moved toward safety…

“Sometimes we will receive counsel that we cannot understand or that seems not to apply to us, even after careful prayer and thought. Don’t discard the counsel, but hold it close. If someone you trusted handed you what appeared to be nothing more than sand with the promise that it contained gold, you might wisely hold it in your hand awhile, shaking it gently. Every time I have done that with counsel from a prophet, after a time the gold flakes have begun to appear, and I have been grateful.”4
After Samuel the Lamanite described to the people how they had rejected the prophets and listened instead to others who taught them to “walk after the pride of [their] eyes, and do whatsoever [their] heart desire[d]” (Helaman 13:27), he asked two penetrating questions: “How long will ye suffer yourselves to be led by foolish and blind guides?” and “How long will ye choose darkness rather than light?” (Helaman 13:29).
No one would admit they wanted to be led by blind guides. Those who had been misled would not have labeled those who taught them the false philosophies as “blind guides.” In fact, it’s likely that those who did the misleading were often viewed as enlightened, forward-looking, brilliant, and socially aware.
I wonder how some of those blind guides from the Book of Mormon would fit in today. Think of Sherem, who was learned and had a perfect knowledge of the language of the people so he could use much flattery. With his command of the language, it’s certain he would take the Twitter world by storm. He would have many catchy, clever tweets that would be retweeted because he knew just how to turn a phrase or place a barb.
With Nehor’s great strength, costly apparel, and appeal to the people, he would garner a huge following on Instagram—modeling the “good life” without the constraints of commandments and use his pattern of bearing down on the Church and its teachings.
And Korihor would have millions of subscribers to his YouTube channel where he would have the freedom to make fun of believers and teach things that were “pleasing [to] the carnal mind” (Alma 30:53). He would “rise up in great swelling words … and … revile against” (Alma 30:31) the prophets and leaders of the Church. He would gather more subscribers as his message got out that “whatsoever a man did was no crime” (Alma 30:17).
Of course, the underlying current of all their communications would be that there is no Christ. Their teachings are not so modern or original. They are plagiarized from the author of lies. Even Korihor finally admitted that the devil taught him what to say (see Alma 30:53).
When individuals or societies separate themselves from the teachings of the Lord, which come through the prophets, they look for alternate teachings that allow them to live the way they want—without that pesky guilt.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained, “Sadly enough, my young friends, it is a characteristic of our age that if people want any gods at all, they want them to be gods who do not demand much, comfortable gods, smooth gods who not only don’t rock the boat but don’t even row it, gods who pat us on the head, make us giggle, then tell us to run along and pick marigolds.”5
Blind and foolish guides will never lead us to the joys and blessings the Lord would have us receive. As we follow the prophets, we need to be willing to stand up for what is right in the face of scorn and persecution, even if it is not popular.
While blind guides and the scorn of the world try to lead us away from God and his blessings, prophets beckon us to come to the Savior. Prophets don’t try to convince us to worship them but beckon us to worship and draw nearer to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ (see, for example, Lehi in 1 Nephi 8:12).
A few years ago, Jill and I were speaking with President Russell M. Nelson. He asked us if we would be willing to accept a different assignment. President Nelson has always been so kind to us and has treated Jill with great love and respect. After he asked the question about our willingness, Jill said, “We’d do anything for you, President Nelson.” He immediately responded, “Do it for Him.” This was striking for both Jill and me. He taught us a great lesson. President Nelson wanted us to have the proper motives and to keep our eyes where they should be directed.
When we are guided by the prophets, we actually follow the counsel because of Him—the Savior. His grace is sufficient for each of us.
We know of President Nelson’s own willingness to follow prophets throughout his life. He gave up a prestigious career opportunity as a result of counsel from the prophet. As a very busy surgeon with a large family, he studied Chinese because the prophet made a comment about needing members of the Church who could speak Chinese. We know that when President Thomas S. Monson asked the Church members to study the Book of Mormon, President Nelson dove right in. What would the Church or the world be like if each of us were as willing to follow the prophet as President Nelson has been?
I know that there are tremendous blessings as we follow the guidance the Lord gives through His prophets. If what they say clashes with current trends in society, let’s have the courage to follow, sustain, and defend. It won’t always lead to smooth sailing, but it will always lead to promised blessings and personal growth.

Note from police officer Michael Terry: On an early fall morning, while I was on patrol, I received a call that would profoundly alter my life. It became a defining moment, molding my perspective on the kind of priesthood holder I aspired to be—always in a state of worthiness to uphold the priesthood and always prepared to serve the Lord. The following story is a testament to the blessings the Lord provides when we have faith in Him and trust His will.
After yet another marathon day at the office, I made my way home as the city’s lights dimmed. Pausing at a stop sign, lost in thought, I was jolted back to reality with a thunderous BOOM—the sharp impact of a car crashing into mine from behind.
Fortunately, both I and the man who hit me seemed unharmed. We called the local police to file a report, and some caring friends happened upon the scene to check on us. After exchanging our information, the other driver and I went on our way.
As I drove away from the accident site, I didn’t realize I wasn’t just leaving behind shattered glass and metal. The life I had known—my daily routines, household tasks, work projects, and the simple joy of moving without restraint—was about to shift dramatically. This would become my most profound trial of faith, challenging me like nothing had before. While the path ahead was unknown to me, my Heavenly Father had seen it all along, and I was about to discover what lay in store.
The next day, a quiet Saturday, found my husband at work, leaving just the children and me at home. They lost themselves in their play, while I grappled with a persistent headache. Yet the responsibilities of motherhood don’t pause for discomfort. That day, I seemed to be on a mission of some sort: every corner of the house was cleaned, every pile of laundry tackled. Looking back on that day, I realize it was the hand of the Lord guiding me, pushing me to prepare and fortify my family for the challenges ahead.
Sunday’s dawn brought with it a stillness. As my husband, Don, headed out to work at Temple Square for his Church security detail, he gently kissed me goodbye, perhaps not realizing that I was anchored to the bed. As the morning wore on and the time for church drew near, a growing alarm took hold of me. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t sit up, roll over, or even shift my position. I was paralyzed in place.
What I didn’t know was that the minor fender bender had caused a carotid dissection—a tear in the lining of my carotid artery, which led to the formation of a blood clot. A day or so later, that clot traveled to my brain, causing a stroke. My right side was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move at all. I didn’t realize at the time I had suffered a stroke; I thought I had simply slept on my arm the wrong way.
That Sunday morning, my children were getting ready for church, and they assumed I was just sleeping in. My two daughters, Ashlee and Alyssa, came to my bedroom, expecting to see me preparing for church. Instead, they found me lying on the floor, stuck between the bed and the night table, unable to move or speak. While I was trying to talk, nothing came out. In my mind, I was telling them I was OK, but no sound escaped my lips.
In that terrifying moment, they realized the severity of the situation. I heard the sharp, terrified cries of my daughters: “Call 911!” Their panic mirrored my own internal turmoil as I grasped the gravity of their concern.
The terror evident in their voices pierced through me, causing an ache deeper than any physical pain. To them, the sight was terrifying: their mother, usually strong and responsive, now rendered motionless and mute. Inside, I tried to reassure them, silently pleading, “I’m OK; it’s going to be all right. Please don’t cry. I’m here.” But my attempts at comfort remained silent.
Familiar faces soon filled the room: the paramedics, recognizable figures from our tight-knit community; my soon-to-be son-in-law, Trevor Brady, whose concern was palpable; and a young police officer, Mike Terry. Mike is a longtime family friend who, by divine intervention, had been dispatched to the scene. They were frantically trying to lift me from the floor, where I had collapsed in my attempt to rise from the bed.
Despite their help, the gravity of the situation made me feel isolated and overwhelmed. But suddenly the room settled into a hushed calm. These two devoted men, Trevor and Mike, stepped up to their sacred duty. In the exercise of their priesthood authority, they laid their hands upon my head and gave me a blessing. As they began, a profound sense of peace enveloped me, a tranquility I hadn’t felt until that point. I recognized this as the special role and spiritual power given to them from a loving Heavenly Father. Their actions reminded me of the words from Doctrine and Covenants 42:44, 48, reinforcing my belief in the potential for healing:
“The elders of the church, two or more, shall be called, and shall pray for and lay their hands upon them in my name. …
“… He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed.”
While the words they uttered have since faded from my memory, one thing remains clear: the moment they began the blessing, the atmosphere in the room transformed. The weight of anxiety lifted, and it was as if a divine assurance whispered that everything would unfold as it should. I felt immensely grateful to these two selfless servants of our Heavenly Father, whose sincere and worthy actions bestowed upon me a blessing filled with profound love and hope.
I felt assurance that my Heavenly Father was in control. I sensed the love, concern, and compassion coming from these two Melchizedek Priesthood holders, empowered with the authority to bless. From that moment, I relinquished my worries and concerns, entrusting them to my Father in Heaven, confident in His divine guidance and protection. This blessing became a beacon, guiding me to surrender my worries to the Lord, secure in the belief that He would oversee everything.
“Masarvelous” was the first thing Amy said upon regaining the ability to speak and taking a sip of soda. The term has since become a symbol of faith and gratitude for the family.
After three months in the hospital, supplemented with rigorous therapy, I gradually regained my ability to speak and walk, albeit with the aid of a cane and a leg brace.
Today my right arm is still paralyzed, and I have limited functionality in my right leg. Yet in the grand scheme of things, these challenges seem minuscule compared to the overwhelming gratitude I feel for simply being alive. The car accident and resulting stroke have undeniably altered the course of my life, bringing about growth and deepened appreciation for each day.
I attribute the progress in my recovery to the divine intervention of my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, and of course to the two devoted men who, in their worthiness, exercised priesthood authority to bless me. This blessing not only shifted the trajectory of my health but also enriched my life in ways I never could have imagined. My heart swells with gratitude, a sentiment that I hope to carry with me for a lifetime.
Officer Michael Terry greeting Amy Casey.
The author lives in Utah.

A mission is a couple of years in the future, but it’s something 17-year-old Jeremy thinks a lot about now. Where will he be called? Will he have the opportunity to learn a language? What will a mission be like? What more can he do to get ready?
Jeremy Pownall lives in Sydney, Australia, a place known for its famous opera house, great climate, relaxed lifestyle, and surfing. Actually, body-boarding is his passion right now, although he pretty much only gets to go for a few hours early Saturday mornings. He is just getting his mind around the fact that when he goes on his mission he’ll be leaving the beach and the waves behind. After all, a lot of his surf mates have done it. In fact, those mates are the very ones who are the most effective in convincing him that he really can serve a mission and be more than happy about it.
“There’s nothing like an early-morning yarn going to the surf,” he says. “I go with the returned missionaries in the ward and my Young Men leaders. They are great advice givers. All of them say that there will be great experiences in your life, but a mission is the best experience for your life.”
What do a bunch of LDS surfers talk about at the beach? Jeremy smiles slightly and says, “We talk about the waves we’ve caught and the places we’re going to travel to, where we would like to go on a mission or where they’ve been on their missions. The older guys tell us to definitely marry in the temple. And they remind us that we are going to marry the girls we date.” Being surrounded by surf and sand seems to be the right spot for all this good advice to sink in.
Jeremy admits that he really is a listener. And he soaks in the good advice that comes from his mentors, the ones who are a few years ahead of him on the road of life. “They tell me that if I ever do something that I regret, to never feel uncomfortable about going to my bishop or talking to my parents.”
In another instance, at Young Men camp, he listened when someone got up and spoke about his patriarchal blessing. “I hadn’t thought too much about that,” he recalls. “A week later I went for my interview, and a month later I got my patriarchal blessing.”
In talking about his testimony, Jeremy mentions one of his mentors in particular. “He’s one of my dad’s friends from New Zealand. Whenever he comes here, he goes out of his way to take me surfing. It’s a perfect opportunity for us to talk. The talks I’ve had with him are a major part of my conversion story.”
Sometimes it is in the relaxing moments out in the water or on the drive to the beach when what is said is the easiest to listen to. For Jeremy, that’s where his own testimony came into focus.
The next step in his conversion was bearing that testimony. “I think my testimony grew exponentially when I started bearing it more often and more freely. I feel more confident.”
After all, he points out, he does live in the mission field every day. “A lot of people respect me for my morals, especially here in Australia. Here people at 14 will start going to parties, getting drunk, and trying smoking and drugs. They respect me for still being an interesting and outgoing sort of person, yet not doing any of that stuff.”
Jeremy has big plans for the future. His success in school and his interest in learning languages might lead to becoming an ambassador or diplomat. “Everyone complains about how world leaders are doing things at the moment. I think I could do a better job. Maybe they need the Spirit to guide them.”
Jeremy is sensitive to the impressions of the Spirit. He listens to those who have made good choices. He pays attention to his seminary teacher and his youth leaders. And he likes what he hears.
The bottom line is that he is happy. He had a friend tell him once that she envied people from his church because they all seemed to be happy. Jeremy agrees. He says he has always treasured that about the gospel. “I’m blessed to live in Australia. I’m blessed to have a good family and be brought up in the gospel. I don’t want to waste it.”

Again warrants had gone out for the arrests of the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum. Members of the Nauvoo city council were also wanted by the law. On the morning of June 24, this group, with a few loyal friends, left Nauvoo to go to Carthage to turn themselves in. As they left the beautiful city that the Saints had built with their own hands, Joseph looked back and said, “This is the loveliest place and the best people under the heavens.”*
After the Prophet and his company had gone a few miles, they were met by Captain Dunn and a group of Illinois State Militia. The Captain showed Joseph an order to have the Nauvoo Legion give up all the state weapons in their possession. He took Joseph and those with him went back to Nauvoo to see that the order was carried out.
That evening Joseph and his group left again for Carthage. He expressed his feeling that he would never return alive. “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter,” he said, “but I am calm as a summer’s morning. I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men.” Hours later, when the group arrived in Carthage, someone in the angry crowd that met them shouted, “He has seen the last of Nauvoo.”
Early the next morning the men from Nauvoo turned themselves in to the constable. They were soon released on bail, and most of them returned home. Joseph and Hyrum remained behind to speak with the governor, and later that evening they were arrested again on a charge of treason and put in the Carthage Jail. Several of their friends, including Willard Richards, John Taylor, Dan Jones, and Stephen Markham, were allowed to stay with them.
The following day a hearing was held, and a trial date was set for June 29. The brothers were to remain in jail at least until then. During the day Governor Ford promised to protect the prisoners, but that night there was trouble. Joseph and Hyrum and the three men who still remained with them—Willard Richards, John Taylor, and Dan Jones—were able to turn away some angry attackers.
Dan Jones was sent the next morning to tell the Governor of the very real danger that existed, but the Governor took some troops and went to Nauvoo as previously planned, leaving behind to guard the Prophet and his brother those troops who were the most hostile to the Mormons. Brother Jones was not allowed back in the jail.
During the day Joseph wrote a last letter to his family. He told them of his love for them and for his friends, he sent his blessing, and he said that he had done “the best that could be done.” He longed to return to Nauvoo to speak to the Saints one last time, but he was not to be given the chance.
In the afternoon, the prisoners asked John Taylor to sing the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” When he had finished, Joseph asked him to sing it again.
“‘He (Jesus) asked if I for him would die,’” sang Elder Taylor. “‘The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill, But my free spirit cried, “I will!”’”
Just after five o’clock, the angry mob that had gathered outside attacked. The jail was stormed, and shots were fired. Hyrum was the first to die, and Joseph cried out, “Oh, dear Brother Hyrum!” Moments later he, too, was struck, and he fell from the window to the courtyard below. Elder Taylor, though badly wounded, survived, as did Elder Richards. It was they who sent word of the tragedy to the Saints in Nauvoo.
The Lord’s chosen prophet was dead. He who had spoken with the Lord, he who had received the priesthood from heavenly beings, he who had translated the Book of Mormon and reestablished the Church of Jesus Christ on the earth had been struck down. His attackers thought that with his death his work, too, would end. They thought that with the death of its prophet, the Church was also destroyed.
But they were wrong. Joseph had done his work well, and he had sealed his testimony with his blood. Another would be chosen by the Lord to lead the Church, and then another, and then another. Today, 150 years after his death, the Church restored through him, beginning in a little cabin in upper New York state, has more than eight million members. The book he translated is being taken to every corner of the earth, and the priesthood power he was given remains to bless not only the Saints but all the world.

President Hinckley’s optimism also influenced his sense of humor—an upbeat, congenial wit that built affinity with others. One time he stayed with a stake president whose family lived in an old schoolhouse that they had converted into a home. That night, a classroom served as President Hinckley’s bedroom.
During stake conference the next day, he quipped, “I [have] slept on a great many occasions in classrooms before—but never in a bed.”8

“Ah, summertime!” Jim said to himself, stretching his lanky arms high above his head as he yawned his best thank-goodness-school’s-out-now-I-can-take-it-easy-I-love-summer-but-I’m-getting-bored-already yawn. He had been on vacation for two days. Most of his friends had left town with their families on vacations or already had summer jobs, and Jim wanted to work, too. But he was worried. He was 17, and that can be a tough age to find employment.
Across town, Tom was knocking on doors, again. He’d been at it not just since 8 A.M., but since March. “How is a 15-year-old supposed to get a job?” he asked himself. “Everyone I talk to tells me they have to give the work to the older kids. What am I supposed to do?”
Tom and Jim walked down the same sidewalk, saw the same “help wanted” sign, walked into the same office, and waited for the same man. When he came, he gave them both the same answer—the position had been filled an hour ago by a college student home for the summer.
The two frustrated job hunters sat next to each other on the curb outside.
“There’s got to be a way to get around this,” Tom exclaimed. “Too bad we can’t go into business for ourselves.”
“That’s it!” Jim jumped up. “We’ll dig up our own jobs. There’s got to be something other people don’t want to do, if we think about it hard enough … something like emptying garbage cans.”
“Oh, come on!” Tom said.
“No, really. Look, if we both worked together, we could get all the neighbors around your house, and all the neighbors around my house. We’d carry their trash cans out for them the night before the garbage man comes. Then we could come around the next day and wash all the cans out. If we kept everything clean and if we were really dependable, people would hire us to do it.”
“Maybe you’re right. My cousin used to make sack lunches for her dad. He rode to work in a car pool, and the other men liked his lunches—she always put a little extra treat inside or wrote him a note. Pretty soon she was making lunches for everyone in the car pool, and they each paid her. Maybe we could do something like that,” Tom said. He was starting to catch Jim’s excitement, but Jim issued a friendly word of caution.
“We might have to get a license if we start a restaurant business,” he grinned.
“Even for a lemonade stand?” Tom shot back. They both laughed.