Gospel Story Finder

I have been persuaded to tell a story that involves my experience. Perhaps the lesson I learned from it might be of some help to you.
In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Army Air Corps with the rank of private. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, shivering and at the same time trying to stay awake, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable, long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions.
I was engaged to be married and knew that I could not support a wife on a private’s pay. I felt I needed to become an officer. In a day or two following my all-night vigil, I filed my application for Officer’s Candidate School. Shortly thereafter, on the appointed day, I was summoned, along with some others, before the board of inquiry, whose job it was to look into my qualifications and aptitude. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had served a mission for the Church in South America. I was twenty-two years of age and in good physical health. Possessing only these few qualifications, I was grateful to be able to put on my application that I had been a missionary for the Church.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Practically all of the questions centered on my missionary service and my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer asking these last questions was a hardened career soldier. He did not look like he had prayed very often. I pondered, Would I give him offense if I answered as I truly believed? Should I give a noncontroversial answer and simply say that prayer is a personal matter? I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and kitchen duty, but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate and responded that I did pray and that I felt officers might seek divine guidance, as some truly great generals had done. I added that officers at appropriate times should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, including prayer, if the occasion requires.
More interesting questions came from my examiners. “In times of war should not the moral code be relaxed?” one high-ranking officer asked. “Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home in normal situations?”
Here was a chance to equivocate, to make a good impression by being really broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught, had tried to live by, and had taught to others. I thought to myself, Here go my chances to become an officer. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could still be faithful to my beliefs and respond by saying that I had my own beliefs on the subject of morality but did not wish to impose my views on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. I knew perfectly well what the scriptures say about fornication and adultery.
I could not delay my answer any longer and responded to the question simply by saying, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
There were a few more questions testing, I think, whether or not I was trying to live and behave as we of our faith represent to the world. I left the hearing resigned to the fact that the officers who had asked these questions concerning our beliefs would not like the answers I had given and would surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my complete astonishment the score opposite my name read “95 percent.” I was amazed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School and was promoted to the rank of corporal to get into the school. I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we “lived happily ever after.”

Throughout the scriptures, and indeed in the writings of thoughtful Christians through the centuries, we find examples of how Christ’s message of light and salvation can spiritually and physically sustain us. As a young priest traveling in Italy in 1833, Englishman John Henry Newman encountered emotional and physical darkness when illness detained him there for several weeks. He became deeply discouraged, and a nurse who saw his tears asked what troubled him. All he could reply was that he was sure God had work for him to do in England. Aching to return home, he finally found passage on a small boat.
Not long after the ship set sail, thick fog descended and obscured the hazardous cliffs surrounding them. Trapped for a week in the damp, gray darkness, the ship unable to travel forward or back, Newman pled for his Savior’s help as he penned the words we now know as the hymn “Lead, Kindly Light.”
Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom; …
The night is dark, and I am far from home; …
Keep thou my feet; …
one step enough for me.
(Hymns, no. 97)
This hymn echoes a truth our hearts confirm: though trials may extinguish other sources of light, Christ will illuminate our path, “keep our feet,” and show us the way home. For as the Savior has promised, “he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness” (John 8:12).

As the Simarróns shared the gospel with Chachi friends and neighbors, however, a serious conflict developed. Some Chachis felt that Virgilio Simarrón’s beliefs made him a heretic and even considered violence against him. Others felt that, as a governor, he should not participate in a new faith that might divide the people. With this concern, they took him to be tried by the communal council. It would be one of the most difficult experiences of Virgilio’s life.
Wilson relates what happened: “The council, in full assembly, told my father, ‘You will remain as our governor if you renounce the Church of Jesus Christ; you must retract.’ My father said, ‘I made a commitment to God, and when a man makes a commitment to God, it is not retractable. I cannot give up the Church. If you think I’m a governor who has divided the Chachi people, then oh my people, choose you this day another one in my place.’ Then I saw the scene of my father crying. The council was in total silence for more than five minutes—nobody said anything. Then someone said, ‘Then Governor, leave.’ Slowly my father stood, so my mom, my sister, and I went down and left the council.”

Last October my mom told my siblings and me to listen to ward business that Sunday instead of drawing. So when sacrament meeting started, I paid close attention to the opening prayer and the hymn. Once that was over, the person conducting the meeting asked the bishop to stand up. Then he said the bishop was being released.
He asked my dad, who was first counselor at the time, to stand up. Then he announced that my dad was going to be the new bishop!
I was really worried that something about my dad would change drastically. I had always thought bishops were people who were formal and serious, most unlike my dad. That they had perfectly well-behaved kids who sat quietly on the bench every week. That was not my family.
But I realized that bishops aren’t men with perfect families. They aren’t men who are solemn and serious. They are men with the priesthood. Men with strong, good testimonies.
I don’t know why the Lord chose my dad to be the bishop, but I know that He has His reasons. And I know that my dad did change … but not into a stiff and serious man I didn’t know. I could tell his testimony grew.
And so did mine.

I was born in Utah, but most of my memories begin in Boston, Massachusetts. I do have a faint recollection at age two and a half of a white-topped buggy with my grandfather in the driver’s seat. My parents, myself, and my six-month-old brother were being taken to the nearest railway station forty miles away. My next recollection is looking out of a rain-streaked window from a hotel room in Boston. I see in memory the round drops of rain rolling down the window as I pressed my nose against the cold glass.
During my life I have found that it is very important for children to listen carefully to their parents. They can learn much from them. My father was a music student in Boston. He sat at a rented piano and played the music of Edvard Grieg, Frederic Chopin, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Robert Schumann. I can still hear that music and over the years I have learned to play most of it myself. It has added greatly to my appreciation of the world into which I was born. Those beautiful sounds have made a great contribution to my life, crowding out many of the uglier sounds we occasionally hear.
Best of all, I remember sitting on my mother’s lap, hearing her tell me the story of the boy prophet Joseph Smith, who went into the woods to pray. Near our apartment were many churches. I heard their bells and saw their domes and steeples when we took walks together. So when Mother told me of Joseph’s concern over which church he should join, I was able to understand his confusion before the First Vision.
I distinctly remember my mother telling me in those early years that everything I said or thought or did was in some almost magical way recorded—that someday I would have to be judged according to what I had said, thought, and done. This did not frighten me, but it gave me a growing sense of responsibility for my actions. Today with cassettes, video tapes, and other inventions, I have gained a fuller understanding of what she was telling me about the record of my life.
I hope that you will have the experience of being taught to read by your parents. Since my father was busy at the New England Conservatory of Music all day, my mother taught me to read when I was about four years old. One day we walked down Huntington Avenue to the shops in the center of Boston. We went to the publishing house of Little, Brown and Company. There we were shown a lot of children’s books. Mother bought several that were suitable for my ability. One was an attractive little primer that inspired my imagination. It was called The Brownie Book, a story about imaginary little creatures who did good deeds and went on a trip to the moon! I could see the moon out of our window at night. It seemed such an important object in the sky. The idea of anybody going to the moon brought many stimulating thoughts to my eager, young imagination.
Another book was a primer describing the coming of the Pilgrim fathers, the establishment of the American colonies, and the development of the nation into which I had been born. I was deeply impressed by it.
About this time, President Joseph F. Smith and his counselors in the First Presidency suggested to members of the Church that they hold a family home evening once each week. Accordingly, my father would gather us around a little table after supper to read the Book of Mormon. We read it from cover to cover that year. Because Mother had taught me to read, I was privileged to take my turn in reading aloud. What excitement I experienced as we approached the Third book of Nephi and the coming of the Savior! With feelings of sadness we continued through the books of Mormon, Ether, and Moroni. These feelings were strongly reinforced by my father.
Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in the Parowan Ward in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father.” It was published in modified form in the old Primary songbook as arranged by Henry E. Giles.
Hearing this music and reading the Book of Mormon in these early years with my parents made a forceful impression upon my mind as to the reality and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I hope that each of you will watch and listen carefully to what your parents say and do. I pray they will teach you well. I also hope that the music you hear in your home will be uplifting and inspiring, because we believe that “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” (A of F 1:13.) The place to begin with good things is at home with your family.
Finally, let us all remember the commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” (Ex. 20:12.)

“Now, what do we hear in the gospel which we have received? A voice of gladness! A voice of mercy from heaven; and a voice of truth out of the earth; … a voice of gladness for the living and the dead; glad tidings of great joy.”
Brothers and sisters, it is almost impossible to hear these words from the Prophet Joseph Smith and not break out into a great big smile!
Joseph’s jubilant expression truly captures the full and majestic joy found in God our Heavenly Father’s great plan of happiness, for He has assured us, “Men are, that they might have joy.”
We all shouted for joy in our premortal life when we heard God’s plan of happiness, and we continue to shout for joy here as we live according to His plan. But what exactly was the context for this happy declaration from the Prophet? What spurred these deep and heartfelt emotions?
The Prophet Joseph had been teaching about baptism for the dead. This was indeed a glorious revelation that was received with great joy. When Church members first learned that they could be baptized for their deceased loved ones, they rejoiced. Wilford Woodruff said, “The moment I heard of it, my soul leaped [for] joy!”
Baptism for our deceased loved ones wasn’t the only truth the Lord would reveal and restore. There were a host of other gifts, or endowments, that God had been eager to bestow upon His sons and daughters.
These other gifts included priesthood authority, covenants and ordinances, marriages that could last forever, the sealing of children to their parents within the family of God, and ultimately the blessing of returning home to the presence of God, our Heavenly Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ. All these blessings were made possible through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Because God considered these to be among His highest and holiest blessings, He instructed that sacred buildings be erected where He could confer these precious gifts upon His children. These buildings would be His home on earth. These buildings would be temples where that which was sealed or bound on earth in His name, by His word, and with His authority would be bound in the heavens.
As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.
Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.
At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”
What a powerful observation. This man was not moved simply by the exquisite craftsmanship of the temple but rather by the stunning and profound doctrine that families are united and sealed to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.
We should not be surprised, then, when even someone not of our faith recognizes the majesty of what happens in the temple. What could become common or routine for us is sometimes seen in its splendor and majesty by those who hear it or feel it for the very first time.
Although temples had existed anciently, with the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the building of temples has been one of the highest priorities of all prophets since the Prophet Joseph Smith. And it is easy to understand why.
When the Prophet Joseph was teaching about baptism for the dead, he revealed another great truth. He taught: “Let me assure you that these are principles in relation to the dead and the living that cannot be lightly passed over, as pertaining to our salvation. For their salvation is necessary and essential to our salvation, … they without us cannot be made perfect—neither can we without our dead be made perfect.”
As we can see, the need for temples and the work that is done for both the living and the dead become very clear.
The adversary is on the alert. His power is threatened by the ordinances and covenants performed in temples, and he does anything he can to try to stop the work. Why? Because he knows of the power that comes from this sacred work. As each new temple is dedicated, the saving power of Jesus Christ expands throughout the world to counteract the efforts of the adversary and to redeem us as we come unto Him. As temples and covenant keepers grow in number, the adversary grows weaker.
In the early days of the Church, some would worry when a new temple would be announced, for they would say, “We never began to build a temple without the bells of hell starting to ring.” But Brigham Young courageously retorted, “I want to hear them ring again.”
In this mortal life, we will never escape the war, but we can have power over the enemy. That power and strength come from Jesus Christ as we make and keep temple covenants.
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “The time is coming when those who do not obey the Lord will be separated from those who do. Our safest insurance is to continue to be worthy of admission to His holy house.”
Here are some additional blessings God has promised us through His prophet:
Do you need miracles? Our prophet has said: “I promise you that the Lord will bring the miracles He knows you need as you make sacrifices to serve and worship in His temples.”
Do you need the healing and strengthening power of the Savior Jesus Christ? President Nelson reassures us that “everything taught in the temple … increases our understanding of Jesus Christ. … As we keep our covenants, He endows us with His healing, strengthening power. And oh, how we will need His power in the days ahead.”
On the first Palm Sunday, as Jesus Christ triumphantly entered Jerusalem, a multitude of His disciples “rejoice[d] and praise[d] God with a loud voice … saying, Blessed be the King that cometh in the name of the Lord.”
How fitting that on Palm Sunday of 1836, the Kirtland Temple was being dedicated. On that occasion the disciples of Jesus Christ were rejoicing as well. In that dedicatory prayer, the Prophet Joseph Smith declared these words of praise:
“O Lord God Almighty, hear us … and answer us from heaven, … where thou sittest enthroned, with glory, honor, power, majesty, [and] might. …
“… Help us by the power of thy Spirit, that we may mingle our voices with those bright, shining seraphs around thy throne, with acclamations of praise, singing Hosanna to God and the Lamb!
“And let these … thy saints shout aloud for joy.”
Brothers and sisters, today on this Palm Sunday, let us as disciples of Jesus Christ also praise our holy God and rejoice in His goodness to us. “What do we hear in the gospel which we have received?” Truly “a voice of gladness!”
I witness that you will feel joy more and more as you enter the holy temples of the Lord. I witness that you will experience the joy He in turn has for you, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My dad had said that we could go away for the weekend—just him and me. We were going to camp up at Muskrat Bridge Park. Then Dad lost his job.
He had worked for Mr. Stapley at the warehouse on Fulmer Street, but it burned down last month. All the money that Dad had been saving went for my little sister, Elizabeth. She was born the day after the fire. Mom had had to go to the hospital two weeks before Elizabeth was born, because of complications. Then our car broke down, and we couldn’t afford to get it fixed right away. Mom is better now, though, and Elizabeth is just fine.
We had a family council and talked about us not having enough money and about Dad’s not having found another job yet. Dad said that the Church was going to help us with food for a while. Then he stopped talking, and his eyes got all watery. That had happened before, when he bore his testimony one fast Sunday.
I went and got the money that I’d been saving to buy a hamster and gave it to Dad. It wasn’t very much—one dollar and seventy-six cents—but it was all that I had. I told him that I wanted to help.
Dad didn’t say anything. He just pulled me close to him and held me longer than I could ever remember. I think that he was crying again, because my cheek felt wet.
After supper that night Dad asked me if I wanted to sleep out in our backyard. It’s a lot smaller than any campground at Muskrat Bridge Park, but the sky looked just as big in the yard as it did there. And there weren’t any more stars there than there were right here, only these weren’t quite as bright.
We lay in our sleeping bags and looked at the sky. We saw a shooting star. It seemed to go by about as fast as summer did. And that was too fast.
We talked, too, about lots of things. Like Grandma Chaboude’s laughing spells. One time she laughed so long and hard that she cried more tears than most people do when somebody they love dies. We talked about how far dandelions can fly. We wondered aloud about the dent in the blade of the old cavalry sword that was handed down to Dad from his Great-Great-Great-Uncle Wakefield. Had the dent been made during a battle in the War Between the States?
Most of all we talked about something else that was on my mind. I told Dad that I had been praying all week for something to happen so that we could still go to Muskrat Bridge Park. But nothing had happened. And looking up into the night sky and seeing how really big space was and how really small I was, I started thinking that maybe I was too little for God to bother with.
Dad turned his head toward me, his lips turning up into a smile as high as the points of the skinny moon. “God hears everyone’s prayers, Nathan,” he said. “And that includes children’s. Maybe especially children’s. And when a person prays with all his heart, he receives answers.”
“But I didn’t get an answer!”
Dad took a small crawly thing off my pillow and put it on the lawn. I think that maybe he was giving me time to think. I looked over at Dad, and he was staring up at the stars, looking harder at them than I’d ever seen him look at anything before. His eyes were shiny, like the leaves on our cherry tree on frosty mornings. Then he looked at me in a gentle way. “You are a child of God,” he said softly. “That means that you are very special. Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do—and I love you with all my heart and soul.
“The Lord created this whole world for you,” he continued. “Our Elder Brother Jesus gave His life for you—and for all of us. So don’t ever think that you are too small for God to bother with. Heavenly Father is happy when you’re happy. And so am I.”
Now that I think about it, I guess that it isn’t important where Dad and I spend time together. In fact, I’m glad that we camped out in our backyard. I liked it just as much as I would have at Muskrat Bridge Park. Maybe even more—because we talked about some pretty important stuff that night that we might not have discussed at the park because things would have been different. I would have gotten a “yes” answer to my prayer and not wondered about things. But as it was, we had spent a special night together. Just me, my dad, and the stars.

John Edward sat looking at pebbles on the road in front of his house. He could hear his mother calling him, but he didn’t answer.
“John! John Edward! Come home for lunch,” Mother called.
But John Edward did not answer. He had something important to do. With a twig he turned over a pinkish flat stone and rolled out a black bug.
“John Edward!” his mother called again. She sounded closer this time.
“John Edward, why don’t you answer me?” Mother asked standing in front of him. “It seems to me I’ve called you at least a hundred times!”
John Edward didn’t say anything.
After lunch John Edward sat in the corner of the basement fruit room studying the glass jars. Some jars had peaches in them, but some of them were empty. John Edward rubbed his finger in the dust along the outside of a bottle.
“John! John Edward!” his mother called. Her voice sounded as if she were really cross.
John Edward blew into an empty jar. The dust poofed out in a little cloud and made him cough.
Just then John Edward heard the slap, slap of his mother’s shoes on the cement floor. And then she was standing in front of him.
“John Edward,” Mother began, “why don’t you come when I call you? I don’t call you unless I need you and I need you right now. I’ve called you at least a hundred times!”
John Edward wondered about that. Mother always said she had called John Edward a hundred times. This morning, he remembered, Mother had called him nine or ten times. That wasn’t very many. And after lunch he was sure, really sure, that she hadn’t called him more than twenty times. Well, maybe thirty, but no more. Certainly not a hundred!
After supper John Edward sat in the kitchen rolling marbles under the stove. He had a notebook and a pencil by his foot. About bedtime he heard his mother call from upstairs.
“John Edward!”
That’s once, John thought as he made a little mark on the notebook. He rolled a yellow marble under the stove.
“John Edward!”
Another mark in the notebook and clink, a blue and orange marble under the stove.
His mother called again and again while John Edward counted the marks. Only twenty-five. He lay down on his back and looked at a crack in the ceiling because he had run out of marbles.
“John Edward, John Edward!”
Mother called and called. John Edward drew more lines on the notebook. Now there were forty-six lines. He lay back down on the floor and listened.
His mother’s voice began to sound low and strange, as if she had a cold. Her voice became hoarser and softer until John Edward could hardly hear her, and then she stopped calling. Eighty-one marks. She had called only eighty-one times.
Suddenly he heard the quick thuff, thuff of his mother’s bedroom slippers across the floor and felt himself being pulled up. “John Edward,” Mother whispered. “Why, why, why don’t you come when I call you? I’ve called you at least a hundred times!”
John proudly held up his notebook. “You called me only eighty-one times,” he smiled.
John’s mother looked at him for a long time.
At last she began to laugh softly. “You’re right. I’m sure I’ve never called you a hundred times,” Mother whispered. “If I had, I wouldn’t be able to talk at all. Yes, you’re right, John Edward. But why do I ever have to call you more than once?”
John Edward had never thought about that. Usually Mother had a soft happy voice. He didn’t want her to be hoarse and whisper all the time.
So that’s why John Edward began to listen and answer the first time his mother called him.
And that’s why his mother’s soft happy voice returned.

Hello. My name is Corbett Carrel. I am eleven years old and in the fifth grade. I enjoy school very much and love academic challenges. When my teacher, Mr. Scullin, explained to our class that we would each have the opportunity to compete in a geography bee, I became very excited. I was hopeful that I would perform well and have the opportunity to advance to the second level.
On the first day of the competition, I did very well, answering four out of six questions correctly. I was very encouraged about the competition. On the second day, I was given the final question of the round. Needless to say, I was nervous. At this point I was in second place and needed to answer the final question correctly in order to advance to the next level.
The time had arrived. It was my turn. When I was able to answer the question given to me correctly, I was very excited. I was in a strong position to move to the next level. But I knew that I had had an unfair advantage. I had accidently seen the answer to that question earlier in the day on my teacher’s answer sheet. I had a difficult decision to make. I knew deep inside that I had to choose the right, just like my CTR ring reminds me to do every day.
At the end of the school day, I went to my teacher and explained the situation to him. He was very impressed with my honesty. He was so impressed that he gave me two additional questions to answer. Unfortunately I did not know the answers and did not advance to the second level. I was disappointed but felt good inside about my decision to choose the right.
That night I told my mom about the geography bee. She said that she was very proud of my choice and so was Jesus. Advancing to the next level would not have been worth it. I know my choice was right and that I was really a winner.

Nathan slid around in his hard wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. He yanked at his tie and scratched his neck. His clothes were so itchy. It was boiling in this room! This was no time for a piano recital.
“Welcome,” Mrs. Kendall said to the audience. Nathan’s piano teacher was nice. He didn’t mind playing for her, but for all these people? Nathan sat stiff in his seat. He cleared his mind and tried to imagine the room empty.
“We’re so pleased to have such a large audience …” Mrs. Kendall’s voice drained out of Nathan’s head. When did he have to play? He looked down at the program. He had to go second! Now he really didn’t want to play his piece anymore.
“Hey,” Mom leaned down and whispered in Nathan’s ear. “Are you nervous?”
“Not really,” Nathan said. Somehow he thought saying he was afraid would make it worse.
“Good. You’ve practiced really hard. You’ll do great.”
Nathan slumped down in his seat. What good would all his practice do if he froze up now?
“And remember,” Mom said, leaning down again, “it always helps to say a little prayer and ask Heavenly Father for help.”
Mrs. Kendall announced the first performer, and the audience clapped as Cassie sat down at the piano. How could she look so calm? Her fingers glided through her song.
Nathan’s heart was pounding, and his hands felt cold and stiff. How could he play the piano if his fingers were numb?
Cassie lifted her hands off the piano keys. The audience clapped, and Cassie bowed.
“And now we’ll hear from Nathan Gibbs, playing …” Nathan’s heart skipped a few beats. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. He walked like a zombie to the piano. It looked so much bigger than before. Was it bigger? What was it his mom had told him to do? Oh, right. Nathan sat down on the bench and closed his eyes for a moment. Heavenly Father, I’ve practiced really hard. Please help me perform the way I practiced. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
He took a deep breath, positioned his fingers for the first notes, and pressed down. Nathan couldn’t even think what came next, but his fingers remembered. His hands glided through scales and chords as if they had a mind of their own. Oops! One wrong note in that scale. His heart did a little jump, but his fingers kept going, just as he had practiced so many times. Near the end, he felt almost as calm as if he were playing in an empty room.
Finally he reached the last chord and held out the final notes. He slid his hands off the piano and let out a long breath as people began clapping.
Nathan beamed as he slid off the piano bench. He quickly lowered his head for a bow and hopped down the stairs.
“Great job,” Dad said after the recital was over. “I knew you’d be awesome.”
Nathan felt his cheeks go a little red, but he had a warm feeling inside.
“Ice cream for everyone!” Dad said.
His sister gave Nathan a high five. “You were really good.”
“Thanks.”
“I knew you’d be fine,” Mom said. She put her arm around Nathan. “And you played beautifully. There’s nothing a little practice can’t do.”
“And a little prayer,” Nathan said.
Mom squeezed him tight.
As they walked out of the recital room, Nathan said another prayer. Thank you, Heavenly Father. I couldn’t have done it without Thee.

Another lesson I learned on the football field was at the bottom of a pile of 10 other players. It was the Rocky Mountain Conference championship game, and the play called for me to run the ball up the middle to score the go-ahead touchdown. I took the handoff and plunged into the line. I knew I was close to the goal line, but I didn’t know how close. Although I was pinned at the bottom of the pile, I reached my fingers forward a couple of inches and I could feel it. The goal line was two inches away.
At that moment I was tempted to push the ball forward. I could have done it. And when the refs finally pulled the players off the pile, I would have been a hero. No one would have ever known.
I had dreamed of this moment from the time I was a boy. And it was right there within my reach. But then I remembered the words of my mother. “Joseph,” she had often said to me, “do what is right, no matter the consequence. Do what is right and things will turn out OK.”
I wanted so desperately to score that touchdown. But more than being a hero in the eyes of my friends, I wanted to be a hero in the eyes of my mother. And so I left the ball where it was—two inches from the goal line.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a defining experience. Had I moved the ball, I could have been a champion for a moment, but the reward of temporary glory would have carried with it too steep and too lasting a price. It would have engraved upon my conscience a scar that would have stayed with me the remainder of my life. I knew I must do what is right.

One day I was complaining to my mom about how boring sacrament meeting was. I felt that it was just for adults and that it didn’t help me at all.
My mom told me it was boring because I wasn’t really trying to learn. She said that if I would pray before sacrament meeting to understand the talks and then really try to listen, I would hear the answers to questions I had. She also said the Spirit could help me understand the message in a way that would make the talk just for me.
I wasn’t really sure if that would happen, but I decided to give it a try the next Sunday. When I got up Sunday morning I prayed to learn something in sacrament meeting. Then right before sacrament meeting began, I prayed about it again. During the talks I tried really hard to listen and understand, instead of thinking my own thoughts as I usually did.
I couldn’t believe it! The first talk was about receiving personal direction from the speakers in sacrament meeting. As the meeting went on, I felt like every speaker was saying exactly what I needed to hear, and I felt the Spirit telling me that the things I heard were true.
Now I look forward to sacrament meeting because I know I will always learn something if I go with the right attitude.

Some people have to go through an inner change to make room for the Holy Ghost in their lives. For example, as a teenager I didn’t feel the Spirit in church meetings and often wondered why I was there. However, being married and becoming a mother developed my love and compassion, strengthened my testimony of Heavenly Father, and made me more receptive to a loving and compassionate Spirit.

Alexandra Sievers, 22Langenhorn Ward, Neumünster Germany Stake

Another student wrote of her service in these terms:

For my service I spent the day sewing a baby dress. My sewing machine rarely comes off the shelf during the school year, so I was grateful to have time to do this. I’m going to take the dress home and have my mom give it to someone who can use it. This project is meaningful to me because of a little girl I used to babysit. Her mother had a life full of poor decisions, so my family kept the baby about half of the time so that she would be safe. After a couple of years the baby was taken from her mother and put in foster care, so we never got to see her after that. I think about her a lot and wonder about all the things she went without because of her situation. I used to sew dresses for her, but now that she is no longer part of my life, I like to sew for other children who are also in need.

But our eagerness to declare this message is not merely the result of a sense of spiritual duty. Rather, our desire to share the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with you is a reflection of how important these truths are to us. I believe I can best describe why we are so forthright in seeking to explain our beliefs to you through an experience my wife and I had many years ago with two of our sons.
One evening Susan and I stood near a window in our home and watched two of our little boys playing outside. During the course of their adventures, the younger of the two boys was injured slightly in a small accident. We quickly recognized that he was not seriously hurt, and we decided not to provide immediate assistance. We wanted to observe and see if any of our family discussions about brotherly kindness had sunk in. What happened next was both interesting and instructive.
The older brother consoled and carefully helped the younger brother back into the house. Susan and I had positioned ourselves near the kitchen so we could see what next took place, and we were prepared to intervene immediately if additional bodily harm seemed likely or a serious accident was imminent.
The older brother dragged a chair to the kitchen sink. He climbed up on the chair, assisted his brother onto the chair, turned on the water, and proceeded to pour a large quantity of dishwashing soap onto the scratched arm of his little brother. He did his best to gently wash away the dirt. The reaction of the little brother to this procedure can only be described accurately using language from the holy scriptures: “And they shall have cause to howl, and weep, and wail, and gnash their teeth” (Mosiah 16:2). And did that little boy howl!
After the scrubbing was finished, the arm was carefully dried with a towel. Eventually the screaming stopped. The older brother next climbed up onto the kitchen counter, opened a cabinet, and found a new tube of medicated ointment. Though the scratches on his little brother were not large or extensive, the older brother applied almost all of the ointment in the tube to the entire injured arm. The screaming did not resume, as the little brother clearly liked the soothing effect of the ointment much more than he appreciated the cleansing effect of the dishwashing soap.
The older brother returned again to the cabinet in which he had found the ointment and located a new box of sterile bandages. He then unwrapped and put bandages all up and down his brother’s arm—from the wrist to the elbow. With the emergency resolved, and with soap bubbles, ointment, and wrappers all over the kitchen, the two little boys hopped down from the chair with bright smiles and happy faces.
What happened next is most important. The injured brother gathered up the remaining bandages and the almost empty tube of ointment, and he went back outside. He quickly sought out his friends and began to put ointment and bandages on their arms. Susan and I both were struck by the sincerity, enthusiasm, and rapidity of his response.
Why did that little boy do what he did? Please note that he immediately and intuitively wanted to give to his friends the very thing that had helped him when he was hurt. That little boy did not have to be urged, challenged, prompted, or goaded to act. His desire to share was the natural consequence of a most helpful and beneficial personal experience.

As a boy, David O. McKay wanted to know for himself that Joseph Smith was a prophet. One day while looking for cattle, he got off his horse and knelt under a serviceberry bush.
He asked Heavenly Father for a spiritual witness, then waited for something wonderful to happen. Nothing did.
David: If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.
Disappointed, he got back on his horse and rode away.

It was just another day of flooding after heavy rains hit southern Louisiana. But when Esther Cox’s two-year-old son, Matthew, fell into the deep, swift current of a nearby ditch, it became the worst day of her life. By the time Esther’s husband, George, found Matthew, he had been in the water for 15 minutes.
The waiting room at the hospital was overflowing with members supporting us. When our bishop came to the hospital and gave Matthew a blessing, all I could remember were the words that Matthew was “going to be fine”—but not in my time, in God’s time. I felt comfort. We prayed and we just knew everything would be OK. No matter what Matthew’s issues would be, we had faith that it would be fine.
They call Matthew’s condition “near drowning with hypoxia,” which means brain damage from lack of oxygen. It was the worst day of my life, but Heavenly Father gave him back to me. He’s still my baby. I’ve been taking care of him for 20 years. We have our ups and downs, but he’s a blessing. He’s great. And Heavenly Father has helped me through it all.
“No matter what Matthew’s issues would be, we had faith that it would be fine. And it has been,” says Esther. “Heavenly Father has helped me through it all.”

When her husband confessed betraying her, one sister prayed for help in forgiving him and sought relief as she studied the scriptures and attended the temple. “As I look back,” she writes, “I realize that it was during those long, prayerful moments that I tapped into a life-giving source of comfort from my loving Heavenly Father. I sense that he was not standing by glaring at me for not having accomplished forgiveness yet; rather he was sorrowing with me as I wept. He loved me. … I had always viewed the Atonement as a means of making repentance work for the sinner. I had not realized that it also makes it possible for the one sinned against to receive into his or her heart the sweet peace of forgiving” (“My Journey to Forgiving,” Ensign, February 1997, 43).

As their faith in Jesus Christ sustains Tamton and his family in times of need, it also comforts them in times of sorrow. Several years ago one of their sons died while fishing for octopus. He was only 22, but he suffered a heart attack alone out in the ocean.
Tamton’s eyes get moist as he speaks of his son. “The news broke our hearts,” he says. But then his eyes brighten. “We want him sealed to us.” When Tune was their district president, he taught Tamton and Taake about the priesthood and its power to seal families together forever in the temple. They are eager to go.
But with few resources, they have yet to see a temple let alone visit one. Still, Tamton and Taake are trying to find a way. Tune says that if they die before they go to the temple, he will make sure their work is done for them. He encourages them to fill out the necessary family records. Perhaps their children will be able to do the temple work they cannot.

Think about the kind of home wherein Joseph was reared. He saw his parents kneeling in prayer. He knew his mother went to the grove to pray to Heavenly Father. The family read from the Bible. They sang hymns, and they discussed the scriptures. The children were brought up in an atmosphere of love and faith. They worked together, and they had fun together. There was loyalty between the children and their parents. After Joseph Smith experienced the First Vision, he said, “. . . I went home.”[2] He found his mother there. He leaned against the fireplace and began to share his experience with her. His mother listened to him. She asked him questions, and she believed her son. His mother shared in his sorrows, in his suffering, in his persecutions, and in his success and joys. She gave continued encouragement, support, and strength to her son.

Joseph Smith Sr. was in tune with the Spirit too. He knew that his young son spoke the truth. He, too, endured persecution and ridicule because of his son’s experience. Yet he was unwavering as he lovingly supported and defended his son.

Through the things that Joseph and his family suffered, they gained strength. When neighbors and friends ridiculed Joseph, he would always turn to his family and home for support.