Gospel Story Finder

One of our fine stake presidents shared with us the following experience:
“I remember a girl that I had gone to high school with. She was from a good LDS family, but when she was a junior in high school, she began to compromise her standards and principles.
“I remember how stunned I was one afternoon as a group of us were in the back of the bus riding home from school. We were talking about the consequences of sin or transgression, and she flatly announced that she wasn’t worried about committing any sin because her bishop had told her she could easily repent and could be quickly forgiven.
“Well, I was shocked with this flippant attitude that didn’t reflect any understanding of repentance or appreciation of the miracle of forgiveness. I was also sure that she had grossly misunderstood the instruction and counsel of her bishop.”

I remember, as a small boy, sitting on my dad’s lap and hearing him tell me about when he was a boy and how afraid he was of the dark, and how he would wake up in the night and be so frightened that he would jump out of bed and run to his parents’ room. There Grandma would always let him get in bed with her and then everything was alright. I don’t know if it was because of Dad telling me about this or not, but I grew up a total coward. I had, and still do have, a great fear of the dark. I understand why the scriptures relate darkness to that which is not good. My biggest challenge day after day as a boy was going to bed each night because I would have to turn out the light and then get clear across the room and into bed before a booger could get me. I knew they were in the closet and under the bed and behind the curtains. I got so I would start to run, hit the light, take one step inside the room, and then take a huge leap and hit the bed—most of the time! Mother never did know why the springs were broken on that side of the bed. Once in bed, up would go the covers over my head, and there I would lay paralyzed until I went to sleep.

Invariably I would wake up in the middle of the night and figure for sure I was a goner. Finally, when I just couldn’t stand it any longer, I would throw back the covers and leap out of bed so the boogers under the bed couldn’t grab me, race past the closet that must have always had a couple in there, and then run down the hall to Dad and Mother’s bedroom. That hall seemed like it was as long as a football field. Now that I think about it, it was only about ten feet long. But I had to go past the bathroom, the door to the kitchen, and the door to the living room, and you know who was lurking at each of them! Once in the bedroom I could see my dad’s big arm raise in the air with the bed covers in his hand and I would jump in beside him. Down would come the covers and his arm over me. Then I knew there wasn’t a booger in the world big enough to get me. I have often wondered what would have happened if one night my dad would have said, “Bobby, you big boob, get back in your own bed!” I’m afraid it would have caused permanent damage, But he loved me, he understood, and I knew I was safe and secure in the arms of my dad and that he would never turn me away.

I remember just after I joined the Church, a great feeling of confidence came over me. I felt that since I had chosen the Lord’s side, he was on my side. Several remarkable things happened, of which I will recount but two.

Although I had never had the courage to stand on my feet and speak in debate, either at high school or college, I found myself asking my branch president if I might give a talk in sacrament meeting. I still have the notes of that very first talk. It was on faith and works.

A few months after my baptism, a golden opportunity presented itself at my place of work, where I was a management trainee. Again, I had that strong feeling of self-assurance, and I received my first promotion, which set my feet on the management ladder. I found that through my Church membership and the faith it engendered, I overcame the fear of taking responsibility.

What of marriage responsibility? Are there some who delay marriage for fear of the responsibility? When my wife and I were married, we had the magnificent sum of 20 English pounds between us. Although young, we felt ready for the challenges and responsibilities that we knew lay ahead. What a glorious experience it has been now for almost 40 years to shoulder responsibility and struggle together in building a happy home and a wonderful family of ten precious children.

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).

Family planning is probably not easy for most couples. There are always a thousand things to consider and a million things going on in life. Even when you think you have a good plan, one little thing can come along and derail the whole thing.
We are a military family. I am in the U.S. Navy, and everything we do is based on the “needs of the Navy.” We go where the Navy tells us to go when they tell us to go there. About two years ago, my wife, Shanna, and I had our first daughter, Isabelle. While that was a big change, since I was still in flight school, our lives were relatively stable. About a year after Isabelle was born, we felt like it was time to try for another child. I would soon be finishing up flight school and assigned to my first squadron.
We then found out that I would be deployed immediately for about seven months. So we came up with the perfect plan. I would deploy and then we would try and get pregnant as soon as I got back. That would give us the spacing we wanted between our kids, plus there was a very good chance that I would be home for a while. We prayed about it and felt that this was the direction we should take.
One Monday morning I found out that the “needs of the Navy” had changed and I would be going to another squadron, traveling almost constantly for about a year and then going on deployment for another seven months after that. Our plans had changed just like that, and we didn’t know what to do. Shanna still thought that what we had planned would still be the best for us, but I kept telling her that it wouldn’t work with my schedule. We would have to wait until I returned from the deployment, and our children would be much farther apart than we had wanted.
Luckily Shanna trusted that everything would work out if we just showed a little faith. I told her I was fine with that, but I made sure she knew that if we decided to get pregnant as planned, I would be on deployment shortly after, and she would have to have the baby without me. Not only that, but I wouldn’t be around this time to help out with Isabelle. I knew that my wife was tough, but I had no idea just how tough.
We decided to move forward with our plan, and we were blessed to become pregnant quickly. I was gone for at least six months of Shanna’s pregnancy. When she was seven months pregnant, I left on deployment, not expecting to come back until the baby was five or six months old.
One day near Shanna’s due date, I was scheduled for an early morning flight that ended up being canceled, so I went back to bed. A few hours later, my commanding officer (CO) called me to report to his office right away. When I got there, he showed me an email from Shanna saying she was in labor and going to the hospital. Luckily Shanna had the good sense to email both him and me because he gets emails faster than I do. The officer told me I could use his phone, and I was able to be on the phone with Shanna during the labor process, which was much faster and smoother with this baby than with Isabelle. Shanna handled it like a champion, alone and unafraid in the delivery room. Alexis was born without any issues. If my flight hadn’t been cancelled or Shanna hadn’t emailed my CO, I would’ve missed the whole thing and not been able to hear Alexis’s first cries.
We soon found out that I would be coming home for a few weeks on leave. Both of us were thrilled that I got to meet Alexis so much earlier than we expected. It was incredible getting off the airplane and seeing that my family had grown.
Shanna and I both learned an invaluable lesson about faith and putting things in the Lord’s hands. We came up with a plan that we felt would work best for our family and our situation. Things changed that we had no control over, but Shanna taught me that if we feel the confirmation of the Holy Ghost that a plan is right, we should stick with it. All we have to do is come up with a plan with the Lord and show a little faith. It didn’t turn out exactly how we expected, but the Lord made it work by providing many “tender mercies” along the way (see 1 Nephi 1:20).

Our daughter, Emily, describes the darkness of an unanswered request for guidance as being in the middle of a room where there is no glimmer of light. She knows there is a light switch, but its whereabouts are a mystery. She is tempted to stay safely rooted where she is, but choosing safety means never finding the light. So she moves tentatively forward feeling carefully for each step determined to find a wall, because light switches are usually on walls.

I watched Emily apply this metaphor when she neared college graduation; interestingly as she felt her way in the dark, she seemed to develop an internal flashlight whose beam was just bright enough to illuminate her next step. She learned to trust, not just in Heavenly Father, but in her own tuition. This type of strength could not occur if Heavenly Father had laid out her steps in bright LED lights.

When I was young, we had two separate meetings on Sunday: Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the evening. We had to travel to a nearby town for church. When I was about nine years old, the Church members in our town got permission to have a branch Sunday School of our own. We had a little portable organ, and my father, who had helped get the branch Sunday School started, asked me if I would play the music every Sunday. I hadn’t known how to play the organ for very long, and it was hard.
Later, when I was about ten, I was asked to play the music for Primary. My piano teacher, who was also a Primary leader in my ward, encouraged me. I remember being very nervous as I played the Primary songs. But I did it, and I’m glad I did. My parents often expected me to do things that seemed hard at the time, but I think that those things helped me grow up and become more confident.

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

Knock, knock, knock. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. 5:55 a.m. Pound, pound, pound. It sounded like a mallet was being used to beat down the front door of our condo in downtown Nashville. My husband stirred next to me but was too tired from our late night assembling toys and stuffing stockings to get up. It was early Christmas morning, and the warm lights on the tree in the corner greeted me as I stumbled, still half asleep, to the door.
I opened it to see two young police officers with alarm on their faces. They quickly informed me that there was a public safety threat in the area, and we needed to evacuate immediately. Shocked and a bit exasperated, I said, “It’s 20 degrees outside, it’s Christmas, and we have kids—is this really necessary?”
At the mention of my children, one of the officers froze. “You have kids? Please, get them and leave as quickly as you can.” I could see the fear in her eyes.
Right then the Holy Ghost delivered a very clear, stern warning to my heart, and I knew we needed to get out immediately. I hurried to inform my sleeping husband that we had to leave. I was met with the same questions and groggy reluctance I had just expressed myself, when the Holy Ghost’s warning returned to my heart more urgently than before. I began to panic. I had no idea what threat my family was facing, but I knew we were in real danger.
I pulled my four-year-old from his bed while my husband went to get the baby from the crib. Carrying my confused, sleepy son down the hall in my arms, I covered his eyes to preserve the surprise of what Santa had left for him—the scene I thought we would be running toward as soon as we opened our eyes, not running from. As we hurried to the front door, I glanced back with longing at that scene adorning our condominium: Christmas presents glittering under the tree, backed by hanging stockings; gingerbread houses proudly decorated and on display; the kitchen full of our favorite holiday foods, ready for a Christmas feast. All the makings of a joyful celebration for our family.
Still in our pajamas, we bundled our children in whatever coats and shoes were in the entryway; then I grabbed the scantily prepared diaper bag and walked out. I closed the door, expecting to be gone only a short time and eager to return to the magical morning we had planned with our boys.
Moments later, we were in the car pulling away from our building. As we drove down the street, we noticed the flashing lights on emergency vehicles illuminating downtown and looking almost festive against the unusual Christmas snow that had fallen overnight.
Suddenly … boom! In stunned terror, we turned to watch as a blazing fireball engulfed our street and filled the sky. A bomb had detonated in front of our building.
I took this photo of our street moments after the explosion. The bomb detonated 30 feet from the front door of our building.
There were flames, smoke, and hundreds of broken windows, alarms blaring, cars exploding, water pouring out of unknown places, and our beautiful row of historic brick buildings crumbling to the ground.
In an instant, we were left homeless.
Our only physical possessions were now reduced to the clothes on our backs, the diaper bag, and the car we were driving.
The hours that followed were a blur—their phones constantly ringing with calls or pinging with texts from concerned friends and family, most of which we were unable to answer.
In the midst of it all, I felt an urgent need to call my aunt, whom I’ve probably called five times in my entire life. But every time I see her, she always seems to say something that my soul needs.
When she answered, I was surprised by her upbeat and confident response. “Noelle,” she said, “this is a miracle! You got out!” She continued, “This is only the first of many miracles. Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Photograph by Alex Kent / Stringer via Getty Images
I wanted to believe my aunt—to believe in Him. But the grief was real, and the tears were many. The problems seemed too complex to solve, and our hearts seemed too broken to mend. There were times when I would crumble beneath the weight of trying to rebuild an entire life from scratch. I wondered quietly, and desperately, “Will He really lead us now? What will we do if He doesn’t come?” But during the weeks and months following the explosion, we watched in amazement as my aunt’s faithful prediction proved true, and our broken hearts were bound up again and again. I did not know that extreme grief and profound gratitude could co-exist.
Although our hands were empty of the gifts we left under the tree that devastating morning, we were comforted by the words of Moroni that the gifts Christ gives us “never will be done away, even as long as the world shall stand” (Moroni 10:19). Our home was no longer standing, but the Spirit of the Lord stood firmly by our side. In exchange for gifts in wrappings and ribbons, we were blessed with the gift of “the beholding of angels and ministering spirits” (Moroni 10:14).
It is my belief that most of the miracles we see in our lives come through the helping hands of others. We are the workers of many of God’s miracles on the earth. We can often recognize these miracles—these tender mercies—by their timing.
The officers who knocked on our door woke us with just enough time to get our family out.
We drove away to safety—just in time.
In the immediate aftermath, we needed to replace the basic necessities to live, but I was in shock, overwhelmed, and unable to respond to the many wonderful inquiries that came to us of “What do you need? How can we help?” Then came the rescuing phone call from a friend. She said, “I’m standing in the middle of Walmart. I am just going to start saying items that you might need; all you have to do is say yes or no. Shampoo, deodorant, diapers, baby food … ” Her call was inspired, and her list was extensive—and we needed every item.
We had to find a temporary place to live while we looked for a new home. Just as we began our search, a complete stranger reached out to us on Facebook and offered their beautiful guesthouse for us to live in for two months, rent free.
In a blistering real estate market, a couple getting ready to list their home offered it to us, off market, entertaining no other bids. It fit the needs of our family perfectly. Our closing date was set for the day that our temporary housing was ending.
Our friends tirelessly showed up when we needed them, over and over again, to carry us through the endless and complex challenges we faced. They came no matter what time of day or how long we needed them.
I began writing down each of these occurrences, and caught myself questioning some of them: “Are these really miracles? Are these just your garden-variety blessings? Are they even just mere coincidences?”
And then I remembered, it’s all about timing—my timing, your timing, and most important, the Lord’s timing.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said of tender mercies: “I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.”1
Timing was the common thread that connected many of these events. We had been carried through that difficult day and the many that followed by scores of earthly angels—who received specific promptings and promptly acted, performing miracles and tender mercies of every kind.
My aunt promised, “Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Through a series of miraculous events, He did lead us to where we needed to be, when we needed to be there, and to who we needed to become.
My precious family is alive today because miracles happen.
I hope that as we have witnessed and continue to witness miracles, we will become instruments in the Lord’s hands to deliver His miracles to our brothers and sisters—to be His angels of warning, His arms of comfort, His hands of shelter, His eyes of hope, His voice of love.
The author lives in Tennessee.

On my first day in graduate school I was in an economics class where the professor asked each of us to introduce ourselves and tell what university we had graduated from. When I explained I had graduated from Brigham Young University, the professor interrupted the discussion and said, “It’s nice to have another student from BYU.” Then he inquired, “Do you know so and so?” I knew of him. Then he asked if I knew another BYU graduate, whom I did know. After naming several others, he concluded by saying, “They were great BYU students—men of character. It is nice to have you among us.”
I was frankly somewhat embarrassed and uncomfortable with the attention. The professor was crediting the students’ favorable traits to being graduates of BYU when in reality they were LDS students living gospel standards. And what he failed to understand is that we have LDS men and women of this caliber in universities all over the world. Nevertheless, candles had been lit, lights had been shown. Those BYU graduates had set a standard, and I was a little anxious about whether I would be able to maintain it. But I was determined to try to light another candle.

I get scared very easily. To make matters worse, I have an overactive imagination, and it doesn’t take much to make me tense and nervous.
I remember a time when I had a hard time falling asleep at night because I was afraid. I would lie awake thinking about all the bad things that might happen: fires, car accidents, burglaries. Most of the things I worried about were things I had absolutely no control over.
One autumn evening, I found myself home alone. It was a dark, windy night, and my imagination was running wild. I tried watching television, but I couldn’t concentrate on the show. Then I tried calling a few of my friends, but none of them were home.
Finally I realized I needed some help to calm down, so I went to my bedroom and got my scriptures. Before I began reading, I knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father that He would help me get my mind off my fears and that I would be able to concentrate on the scriptures. After my prayer, I crawled into bed and opened my scriptures to the Doctrine and Covenants. I had been reading for only a few minutes when one of the verses suddenly caught my attention: “Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you” (D&C 68:6).
Immediately, I felt a calmness come over me as the realization came to me that, although I could not control the things that were troubling me, my Heavenly Father could. Now whenever I start to feel afraid, I recall the words to that scripture, and I always feel better. I find it comforting to know that the Lord loves me, understands my feelings, and will always be there for me when I need Him.

I met him on the street, and he had changed from when I knew him last. There were streaks of gray in his hair, especially around the temples. But his eyes had that same friendly glow that I knew years ago when he was my explorer leader. My name is Bobby. Economic conditions had caused Jim to move away from our ward and our city, and I had not seen or heard from him for several years.
We dispensed with the usual handshake and threw our arms around each other in a bear hug.
I looked into those warm, friendly eyes, and words that I had stored in my heart came tumbling out.
“Remember our trip to Yellowstone, and especially our pack trip into Heart Lake?” I asked.
We had had 12 boys in our explorer post, and Jim had been the leader. What a leader he was! Each boy loved him like an older brother. As for me? Well, I guess I was different. I was not dishonest, but I had learned that there were ways to get out of work and have other people carry your load.
For example, when we planned our trip to Yellowstone, each member of the post was to make his own trail tent. I didn’t want to bother my mother to do the cutting of the material. So, just by chance mind you, I learned when one of our troop was going to cut his. I just happened to stop by his home, with my material, of course, and his mother just naturally cut out mine.
My mom didn’t like to sew, so I didn’t bother her. Johnny, a post member, had a mother who just loved to sew, and it was no job for me to have Johnny invite me to his home. While I was there his mother sewed up my tent. One of our projects to finance our trip was to collect scrap metal and sell it. On Saturday morning Jim would come around in his old pickup, and away we would go in quest of scrap iron or steel. That stuff was dirty and heavy, so I volunteered to drive the truck. Some of the guys in the post were bigger than me anyway.
Summer came and preparations were completed for the trip to Yellowstone. Each post member had his own trail tent trimmed with his favorite color. A committee was chosen to go with Jim to purchase the food.
What a morning it was when we started on our journey! There was laughter, and back slapping, and all that silly stuff that boys do.
We spent our first night at Old Faithful. We enjoyed the old geyser, but supper that evening was even more enjoyable.
Jim had called for volunteers to peel the potatoes and help prepare the other things, and perhaps it was the camp-robber bird in a nearby tree that took my attention away from cooking chores. There were plenty of other volunteers anyway.
But that supper—I can taste it yet. Chicken cooked in a dutch oven, and potatoes and carrots so tender they wouldn’t stay on a fork. Reflector-oven rolls that just begged for butter. What a meal! What a memory!
The next day we traveled to Lewis Lake, which was the jumping off place for our hike to Heart Lake.
Early in the morning after we saluted the dawn with prayer, Jim had us gather around a picnic table. There, each boy was allotted his share of food—so much bacon, eggs, pancake flour, and so on. Jim explained that we would be gone for three days and that each boy would be responsible for his own food and for the cooking of it.
A bear strolled through the campground, and it got my attention, so maybe Jim’s instructions didn’t sink in too deeply.
Finally, packs on our backs, we headed up the trail toward Heart Lake. We passed a skinny looking cow moose, standing knee deep in water, who wondered what all that boy noise was about. We passed the summit, and as the trail descended toward the lake, we discovered Witch Creek. It was a warm stream that originated in some underground heated spring. There was a spot where it tumbled over a ten-foot bank, creating a beautiful waterfall and a perfect shower for overheated boys.
As if with one thought we threw off our packs and clothes, and with varied yips and squeals we dashed under the shower.
By this time Jim, who was carrying a heavier pack, caught up with us.
He took one amused look at us, then off came his pack and clothes, and soon his happy yips joined ours.
We found a delightful camp spot in a pocket of pines just off the lake shore.
It was time to prepare the evening meal and the post began preparation to cook. I hate cooking. It seems such a useless chore to provide a meal.
I looked at Chubby Lewis, the overweight boy of the post who had an appetite like a wolf cub, and suggested to him that if he would cook my meals, I would give him part of my food as payment.
Chubby jumped at the chance, and everything was lovely until the afternoon of the third day when I discovered all my food was gone.
I couldn’t ask Chubby or any of the other post members for a share of their food because they only had enough for their supper and breakfast the next morning.
I sat down with my back against a pine tree. Across the lake a trout jumped, making rings that turned to silver when touched by the rays of the sun. A gull soared overhead, its white underpart looking like a maverick snowflake against the blue sky. In a nearby pasture a bull elk threw his huge antlers into the air, a picture of majesty and strength.
The breeze was touched with the smell of pine, and the chatter of a squirrel broke the silence. But these things had lost their beauty and meaning because the growling in my stomach was like thunder in a storm. I didn’t realize that Chubby had told Jim of my predicament, but still, when I saw him walking toward me, I knew I was in for a good scolding.
Oh, I know a Scout is supposed to be brave and all of that, but there were tears ready to come, and if Jim had cussed me out, those tears would have fallen like Witch Creek over the bank.
Instead, he took me by the hand and helped me up. Then with his arm around my shoulder he led me to where he was preparing his supper.
He shared with me his beans and a trout he had caught; then he reached into his knapsack and brought out a little package containing two oatmeal cookies, one of which he gave to me. The other he returned to his knapsack.
When the meal was over and the dishes put away, Jim sat down by my side. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like the breeze on the lake.
“Bobby,” he said, “there are certain responsibilities in life we cannot pass on to others. If we try, we will end up being dismal failures. God gave you a talent to be able to sway people with words, but words are empty echoes if not backed up with work and acceptance of responsibilities.”
There was a campfire program that night with songs and the exchange of the day’s experiences. But somehow I couldn’t join in. The words that Jim had spoken were strong in my heart. I knew I had failed as a post member. The program ended and the campfire was dying. Jim had called on one of the boys to say the evening prayer. However, before he could begin the prayer, I stood on my feet, and words touched with tears came tumbling out.
“Fellows, I want to apologize for my actions. I realize I have been a disgrace to the post, but if you will help me, I will try to be a better Scout.”
Morning came, and with the rising sun, a miracle in comradeship. One by one the post members came and shared their meager breakfast with me. One sliver of bacon, a hotcake, a cup of hot chocolate, and other things. Then Jim reached into his knapsack and brought out the other oatmeal cookie.
“Here, Bobby,” he said, “this will help you down the trail.” The trip back to Lewis Lake was uneventful. Soon our duffle was packed in the truck, and we were ready to leave for home. Before we did, however, Jim had us gather in a circle and he uttered a prayer. He first asked for a safe journey home. The words that followed have been a guideline in my life.
“Heavenly Father, we thank thee for all things that are good and lovely, for the friendship we enjoy with each other. May the lessons we have learned on this trip help us as we go through life.”
The years have passed, and I now have a wife and children of my own. I am considered a fairly successful businessman and am active in the Church.
I still know the power of words, but as Jim said, they are empty echoes without work and responsibility. Do I remember Jim? When I greet the dawn and feel the breath of a summer breeze, the memories of that mountain lake and Jim come out of the treasure chest of my heart.

I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and at the age of 16, my dad received a job transfer to Miami, Florida. I had to leave my friends, my school, and everything I knew and move to the other side of the United States. The weather was different, the culture was different; I felt like a fish out of water. My first day of school in Miami was one of the scariest days of my life. Here I was in another state, and I didn’t know anyone but my family, and they weren’t there to help me. I was alone and scared, but I remember praying to make it through each class and each day. Just so you know, I didn’t have a cell phone back then to just text my friends back home. The only way to call them was by long distance, which was expensive, so I couldn’t call my friends very often. We also didn’t have Facebook to just reach out and see what people were doing. It was a very hard time in my life. Slowly, day by day, I made new friends and Miami became my new home. In fact, after high school, I met the love of my life, and we were married and all three of our boys were born in Miami.

Sometimes members appear to feel that fasting and prayer is all that is necessary to receive the answers to their problems. Sometime ago a young lady came into my office concerned because she had fasted and prayed for two days to know if a certain young man should marry her, and she felt that she had received an answer in the affirmative. Shortly thereafter, the young man became engaged to another girl. Her question to me was, “How can this be, since I received an answer that he should marry me?”

Upon further interview it became apparent that there were a number of commandments of which she was certainly aware but was not keeping. It takes more than fasting and prayer. We must begin again; we must repent—confess and forsake our sins. We must study the scriptures, yea, search the scriptures; we must keep the commandments of God, and keep them precisely. For the commandments are calculated to get us in condition so that we can receive light and truth, even intelligence, which is communication from God, our Father, which we so desperately need and which is the only thing of real worth we can take with us when we go.

But a new love was waiting in the wings, and at 12 years of age, Kent was to have his eyes snatched from the delightful snake-harboring ground to the wide, blue, eagle-bearing sky.
One day on a camping trip Kent’s Scoutmaster pointed at a dead cottonwood tree and said, “Hey, guys, there are two eagles!” The two golden eagles perched on skeletal limbs burned their image into an unexposed surface of Kent’s brain and filled his life’s appointment book all in an instant. He came. He saw. He was conquered.
But finding eagles isn’t all that easy until you learn where to look, and it was two years before Kent was able to make a house call. One rainy afternoon in early May he stepped onto a tiny protruding ledge that overhung more than 150 feet of sheer emptiness. As he peered over the edge, the sun burst through the rain clouds, spotlighting the golden hackles of a female eagle on her nest about ten yards down. Seeing Kent, she soared silently away but left behind two eaglets who sat cheeping at him in a blaze of downy sunshine.
Kent says of that instant: “At that moment I was so inspired by the beauty and majesty of the eagles that I felt more alive myself. The air smelled fresher, and the stream far below sparkled more brightly than before. I had simply opened my eyes and had really seen and felt what was around me.”
From eagles Kent’s love spread to all raptors (birds of prey). The fierce independence and aristocratic bearing of these aerial hunters caught his imagination and sent him out during every spare moment to follow their flight and study their habits.
He went to the library too, hunting these feathered sky-riders among the quiet stacks of books. He learned, both from books and experience (he doesn’t believe a book until he has proved it in nature) about the different raptors—where they nested, where they hunted, how they hunted, what their prey was, how they mated, and even how they flew. Before long he could see a bird silhouetted gnat-small on the horizon and name it by its flight pattern. Every time he saw a bird or visited a nest, he took careful scientific notes of everything he observed. He has several PhD dissertations lying unwritten in his notebooks.
During his junior year in high school, Kent dropped out of football and basketball to allow more time for raptor study. He traveled miles and miles searching out nests and roosting areas. He developed the climbing ability of a mountain goat and the stamina of a mustang. Leaving home Friday night after school or well before dawn Saturday morning, getting home well after dark Saturday night, and spending much of the time in between climbing steep mountains at a brisk trot, he found many raptor nests and gradually became a legitimate expert in the field. Weekdays after school also found him in the hills as often as possible.
One of his most rewarding experiences came one winter after a month-long search when he found the winter roosting grounds of bald eagles from Canada and Alaska. “I stood alone in two feet of snow near the bottom of an isolated canyon in west-central Utah, my eyes searching the sky for signs of life. Suddenly, as if by magic, they came, one by one, in pairs, and in small groups. Bald eagles dropped from the tall pine trees to the south and were gradually caught up in thermal drafts of air. Slowly circling higher and higher, traveling on wings of up to eight feet in length, they drifted west in a steady stream of traffic across the sky.”
That summer he carried back-breaking loads of wood and canvas up a towering mountain in order to build a blind from which to observe these eagles during the coming winter. When the snows were deep on the mountain a few months later, he spent hours watching them up close. “I have often crawled out of a warm bed at 3:00 A.M. and hiked up tall mountains through three feet of snow in the dark. Then I have sat cramped and numbed in a dark blind until mid-afternoon. By that time I have begun to wonder what is wrong with me. Suddenly, only 30 feet away and halfway up a scraggly old pine tree, a beautiful bald eagle has landed, and I wonder no longer.”
Kent interrupted his eagle watching to accept a mission call to the Kentucky Louisville Mission, but on his return he was on the road again checking nests.
Kent, like other students of raptors, is especially interested in the predators’ nesting behavior because this is the cycle that stands between the species and extinction.
There is also the mystery of the eternal interplay between the flight and the nest, freedom and responsibility. “An eagle’s freedom is exciting. They can leave the ground any time they want and ride the wind, and yet, like people, they’re tied down with responsibilities. When an eagle has eggs, she’s on the nest for 45 days, and she may leave it for only an hour a day. Eagles must follow their food supply too. They have certain laws they have to live within, but when they get up there and ride that wind, there’s not much that can touch them.”
In Utah, golden eagles begin their courtship flights in January or February, lay eggs from late February through March, and then incubate them from 42 to 45 days, after which the eaglets stay in the nest for from eight to ten weeks before taking to their wings. Kent warns that anyone interested in eagles should simply stay away from the nests during egg laying and incubation because during that period adult eagles are most prone to abandon the nest. Whenever a human being approaches her nest, the female eagle will invariably leave it until he is gone, and even if she returns, exposure to heat or cold can easily destroy the eggs. After the eaglets have hatched, the nest can be safely visited for very short periods of time, but after the eaglets are about seven weeks old, there is serious danger of frightening them off the nest before they are able to fly.
First flight is as breathtaking an experience for eagles as it is for people, and the proud lords of the skyways start out as bumbling, incompetent aviators. They too often crash and break a wing on the first flight and become easy prey to starvation or some four-legged predator. Kent once saw a ten-week-old eagle make its first flight and remembers: “He hopped off the nest as if he knew what he was doing, but all of a sudden he was speeding down toward the opposite cliff and losing altitude fast. You could see the shock in his eyes. His wings were spread out, his primary and secondary feathers flapping back and forth in the breeze. His head was moving back and forth watching the ground and looking back up at the nest—looking everywhere at once. He looked as if he was wondering what he had gotten himself into, whether he had really blown it, but you could also feel his exhilaration and the thrill of his first flight. He dropped down to the mouth of the canyon and hit an updraft that just pushed him right up out of sight. I found him the next day sitting on a tree unhurt.”
Kent realized from day one that it would be unthinkable to put an eagle in a cage like his childhood pet lizards, so he found another way of capturing the wild, free beauty of these magnificent creatures—photography. He seldom goes anywhere without his camera and his 400, 150, and 50 mm lenses. Over the years he has accumulated a fine collection of raptor slides and has organized them into several slide shows guaranteed to make you sad you were not born an eagle. He presents these shows to many groups and enjoys sharing them with people in rest homes and with handicapped children. It is his way of giving wings to people who are the most earthbound.
“I love eagles,” he says, “but people are the most important part of that love. It wouldn’t mean a thing to me if I went out there and filmed all those great things and didn’t have anybody to share it with.”
In photographing raptors, Kent has developed a skill that few people share. If you don’t believe it, go out sometime and photograph a bird moving in and out of focus at eye-blurring speed across blue sky, white clouds, black mountainsides, and blazing patches of snow, all in a few seconds. You’ll be very lucky even to find the thing in your telephoto lens, much less focus it and get the right exposure.
Kent’s delight in all living things has never faded. He still can’t pass up a lizard without stopping and watching. A porcupine is still a miracle. A turtle is still a masterpiece. A raven or a meadowlark is still breathtaking, and snakes still make him shiver as good as they make most of us shiver bad. There are no commonplace animals for Kent; they all bring him joy just by being. It is significant that on the gun rack in his pickup he has hung only a pair of binoculars.
But in spite of his reverence for all things, those binoculars are filled mostly with raptors right now, and Kent has been repaid for his thousands of hours of work with some heart-thumping experiences—a squadron of bald eagles on a winter day, the soaring rise of a Swainson’s hawk, the screaming dive of a prairie falcon, the puppet-like unreality of baby owls. And speaking of owls, he had the privilege of being knocked backwards off a 30-foot cliff by a frightened great horned owl and of having his face bloodied by the fierce attack of another not-at-all frightened member of the species.
He especially remembers one top-of-the-world moment on a peak high in a remote canyon. The granite walls were so buffeted by a tree-toppling wind that day that he had to lie flat to avoid being blown away like a leaf. A golden eagle came floating down onto the highest point on the peak, sorting out the changing, punishing wind with his wings, and somehow keeping an even keel. He stood there a moment looking regally around at the whole world lying beneath his talons as if inspecting his kingdom. “He only touched down for a few seconds, and then he simply opened his wings and turned them back into the wind. He shot up and out of sight like a rocket without ever flapping a wing.”
No one but Kent can say how many hours of sleep or basketball games or TV shows that experience was worth to him, but he isn’t complaining.
There is another aspect to Kent’s studies beyond the intellectual and aesthetic. Living with these magnificent birds has strengthened his testimony of his Creator. One winter day he took an atheist friend to a canyon where he knew there would be eagles. As they stood in the snow watching some 50 bald eagles soar above them, Kent looked at his open-mouthed friend and said quietly, “That didn’t just happen by accident.”
“Boy, I know it!” his friend said, his voice small with awe.
If anybody wants to know why eagles are worth saving, maybe that’s why.

When my husband’s salary was suddenly reduced by 30 percent several years ago, I began to think of ways I could help my family meet our expenses.
I had often organized birthday parties—including dressing up as a clown, providing games, and performing puppet shows—for my two children, and relatives had asked me why I didn’t turn this into a job for other people’s celebrations. Now seemed like a great time to turn their suggestion into action.
I began putting up posters at local businesses. Shortly thereafter Jazmín the Clown had her first job.
It wasn’t a smooth start, however. For the first six months, most of the parties I received requests for were held on Sunday. Everyone, it seemed, needed a clown on the Sabbath! While I had promised the Lord I would never work on the Sabbath, it was discouraging to have to reject work when I needed it so much.
On one occasion I received an offer from the city government to help at the celebration for the Day of the Child, which was to be held on Sunday. The officials offered to pay me well, but I couldn’t break my promise. Some of my friends told me I would never be successful if I didn’t accept work on the Sabbath, but I knew I couldn’t disappoint the Lord. In the face of such opposition, I tried to focus on the promises He has made to those who honor the Sabbath (see D&C 59:9–13).
In time, circumstances began to improve. Now, some years later, I have lots of work on Saturdays and weekdays. I have even been able to persuade some of my clients to change their parties from Sunday to Saturday.
Initially, I wondered if I would be successful when it seemed that so many people treated Sunday like any other day of the week. But now I understand that when we show the Lord we are willing to keep His commandments and do our part, He will provide a way for us to do so.

Today I started today with a story about Nephi accomplishing the great task of building and sailing a large ship. On our campus, we also have an impressive voyaging vessel; it is called 'Iosepa'. This wa'a kaulua, or double-hulled voyaging canoe, was also built by an ohana of community members who constructed this beautiful canoe through faith in the Lord. As the story has been told to me, Iosepa was not built with blueprints, but by divine guidance. Despite the confidence that carvers Tuione Polotu and Kawika Escaran had with this unscientific approach, others doubted that the canoe would be sea worthy without a detailed design plan. Although critics voiced their doubts, the canoe was completed and through succeeding voyages proved, as Nephi's ship of old, that with belief and guidance, anything is possible. I hope you all get a chance to visit this beautiful canoe. It is a reminder to us that great things can be accomplished in our own neighborhoods, our own families, and in our own lives, if we believe in the Master's plan and go forth in confidence to accomplish them.

But just under three months and several blood tests later, I miscarried again—this time only a week before Christmas. Another three months passed and my hopes soared after another positive pregnancy test, only to miscarry a week later—yet another stoplight.
“Even if we have strong faith, many mountains will not be moved. … If all opposition were curtailed, if all maladies were removed, then the primary purposes of the Father’s plan would be frustrated.”2 —Elder David A. Bednar
I got pregnant again, and my next due date was going to land right around the following Christmas. I had a good feeling about this pregnancy. We had seen the heartbeat on an early ultrasound and knew that family members were praying for us. While we were sitting in an endowment session in the temple one day, I had a distinct stream of thoughts: “If I were to lose this pregnancy, would my faith hold up? Of course it would. But of course I won’t have another miscarriage because this time I am ready to accept the Lord’s will no matter what.”
Despite my positive attitude, several weeks later I saw the signs, went in for the ultrasounds, and began the painful process that I felt all too familiar with. My faith did not hold up quite like I had expected. The answers that had sustained me through my previous miscarriages no longer seemed adequate. A wave of depression set in. I felt broken, empty, and even slightly betrayed. My husband and I weren’t the only ones waiting on the Lord; our daughter frequently told us how much she wanted a baby brother or sister. Our hearts ached for her as well. As I turned my vulnerable emotions over to the Lord in fervent prayer, I again received a clear witness that Heavenly Father was very aware of my pain and circumstances and that He loved me. Although my circumstances remained the same, this sweet and simple experience miraculously lightened the burden I felt and gave me the ability to cope and even feel happy as I continued through my day-to-day life. Whatever the future held, I would be OK.
When genetic testing came back several months later with no answers, we again felt confused about the purpose of these setbacks in our lives. I tried my best to set my own desires aside and align my will with the Lord’s, but during the difficult moments my heart would cry out, “What am I supposed to learn from this? I’m trying to do something good! Where is the help I need?”
“Hard is the constant! We all have challenges. The variable is our reaction to the hard.”3 —Elder Stanley G. Ellis
Eight months after my fourth miscarriage and just several weeks after my stressful drive to meet the sister missionaries, I was peacefully waiting at a stoplight on my way home when my answers came. As I watched the cars stopped next to me and the cars making their way down the road ahead of me, I caught an eternal perspective of my life. I suddenly realized that all that mattered in my journey was that I stay on the path that would take me back to my heavenly home. How many “stoplights” I waited at would have no effect on my destination. How I responded to them would.
I began to cherish every stoplight in my life, both metaphorical and literal. Instead of wasted time, each became an opportunity to acquire patience and to gain perspective that comes only through waiting. Just as every red traffic light is paired with a green light in a different direction, I found that every stoplight in my life opened an avenue for growth, just not necessarily in the way I had been planning to grow right then. Instead of dwelling on the disappointments, I began to delight in the opportunity for progress that every unexpected turn of events provided.
“A critical question to ponder is ‘Where do we place our faith?’ Is our faith focused on simply wanting to be relieved of pain and suffering, or is it firmly centered on God the Father and His holy plan and in Jesus the Christ and His Atonement?”4 —Elder Donald L. Hallstrom
Two long years after my first miscarriage, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. In the time leading up to that joyful day for our family, I came to realize that Jesus Christ did not suffer for me in order to remove all suffering from my life. Rather, He suffered so that I could be strengthened through and grow from the challenges I face. Although the heartbreaking moments of loss and the long months of waiting are still painful to remember, they have become a treasure in my life. In those sacred moments, I came to understand how individually the Savior knows my suffering. He succored me in a way that only one who knows my personal sorrows could succor. While the opposition in our lives often seems to thwart our plans for progress, as we turn to the Lord, that opposition can function as the friction that propels us to a higher end: knowing and abiding in the Savior’s perfect love.

Please allow me to tell you a story about my family. As my wife, Karen, mentioned, we have been blessed with four sons and one daughter whom we love very, very, much. Our children are very close in age. When Clay, our youngest, was born, our four other children were ages two, three, four, and five. Karen was a very busy mother.

When Clay and Sid were two and four years old, our family was invited to a friend's home for a barbeque. It was held in their backyard which was nicely landscaped and contained a large swimming pool. As we were seated for dinner on the patio, Sid and Clay removed their sandals to dangle their feet in the water near the pool steps. Soon they started to argue and all too predictably Clay began to complain that Sid had done something to annoy him. Karen got up from her seat and went over to Sid and scolded him by whispering something in his ear.

Our visit with our hosts continued for a few more minutes when Karen suddenly jumped from her seat, and in what seemed like one sweeping movement, ran to the pool and then leaped in fully clothed. She scooped Clay from the bottom and brought him back to the pool's edge. Karen had our baby above the water's surface so fast that I am not sure if he even realized that breathing under water was going to be a problem.

Soon it was apparent that Clay was OK and not the least upset by his walk on the bottom of the pool. At this point, Karen turned to Sid and firmly demanded, "why didn't you help your brother?" Then, with all the frustration that a four-year old could muster, he glared at her and said, "You, told me not to touch him!"

Valentina Aranda, 33 years old, feels blessed to have lived all her life in the same neighborhood in Rome, a city loved throughout the world for its history and art. Her family comes from many different parts of Italy, which enriches her life with varied traditions. She had a promising career in marketing that she set aside to be a full-time mother to her two daughters. Below she shares the story of her conversion at age 21.
It all started with the Book of Mormon, which I saw in my friend’s library. The book made me very curious, and I felt drawn to it. One day I picked it up and began reading it—but it didn’t make sense to me. I told this to my friend’s mother, who said that I should pray before I read it.
The next evening, I prayed and started reading at the beginning of the book. It seemed to be a different book from what I had read the day previous, and I felt something I had never felt before. I talked about it with my friend and told her I would like to go with her family to church the next Sunday.
When I arrived at the church, I immediately felt at home. It was fast and testimony Sunday, and a very strong spirit descended upon me. I’ll never forget that Sunday. That morning I met the missionaries, who began helping me to know the truth. Those two angels were a great gift, and they are still dear friends today.
But my belief in Joseph Smith as a prophet was the greatest, strongest, and firmest testimony I had. I knew right away that he was a prophet of God and that a great mission was entrusted to him, and after the lesson with the missionaries where I learned about the Restoration, I decided to be baptized. Five weeks after my first time attending church, I entered the waters of baptism. How exciting it was!
The Church gave me a new life. I am happy and secure in my decision; I am sealed to my husband and daughters; I have new friends, the truth, the scriptures, the temple, and knees that now know how to kneel to pray.
I await with anticipation the temple here in Rome. I know that it will be a great blessing for me and for many, many brothers and sisters who are waiting for it.

Lush green shrubs and pine forests surround the ancient Mayan ruins of Iximché. Eleven-year-old Jairo Eli Xocop of Comalapa, Guatemala, likes to visit the ruins and talk with his family about their family history and ancestors. Long ago, skilled Cakchiquel stonemasons built these vast fortified cities. Today Jairo is working just as hard to build a foundation of faith and good works in the gospel as he prepares to be ordained a deacon.
A member of the Comalapa Branch in the Chimaltenango Guatemala Stake, Jairo lives in a small town in the mountains where the Cakchiquel language is spoken.
Map by Thomas S. Child
Jairo often has his mind on the calendar. He will be 12 soon and is eager to receive the priesthood and become a member of the deacons quorum. Jairo’s good friend and cousin, César Samuel, 16, goes with him and his family to church every Sunday. Jairo is eager to learn from the full-time missionaries who teach the Aaronic Priesthood class in his branch.
An active and fun-loving boy, Jairo likes to participate with the 30 other children in his branch in Primary. Jairo’s favorite part of Primary is sharing time, but he also likes to sing hymns and listen to his teachers talk about the prophets’ lives.
A sixth-grader, Jairo loves sports, especially the long jump, which he has been practicing for three years. At a school competition, he won second place in both speed-walking and the long jump. He also likes to play soccer.
Jairo is preparing to serve a mission by reading the Book of Mormon and other Church books. He attends all his Church meetings and is saving money in a savings account for his mission.
“Jairo is a smart boy, and he tries very hard to be obedient. If he continues, he will become a faithful man and a strong missionary,” says Jairo’s mom.
Jairo’s sister, Melissa, 20, says she admires the way he gets up every Sunday morning and gets ready quickly so he can walk to church with his cousin César. They arrive on time and sit in one of the front rows.
Jairo is growing day by day. His experiences are laying a foundation for a lifetime of working hard in the service of others.