Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago, a friend of mine who was serving at the time as a stake president was out of work. He struggled hard to find employment, without success. Part of the problem was that he was nearly fifty years old, and many potential employers turned him down as qualified but too old. After several fruitless months, job interviews fell away to zero. After nearly a year out of work, the family’s savings were exhausted and their supply of food and other essentials was nearly all used up. My friend’s self-confidence had eroded to the vanishing point. Finally, he got another job interview. It went well, but the interviewer was undecided, influenced as others had been by my friend’s age. Finally, a senior partner in the firm intervened. “Hire him,” he declared. “He’s a Mormon stake president; he won’t steal from us.” Integrity is the jewel in the crown of character!

As a young boy, I went on a rafting trip on the Colorado River. A wonderful adviser said, “On this rapid, I want you to be the ‘tiller’ (the one who steers the raft).” The adviser, whom I admired because of his physical strength and spiritual integrity, took a much less significant position in the raft, handed me the oar, and said, “Now it’s your turn.”

We calculated how we would run the rapid, and then we ran it. I broke two paddles in the rapid, but with the help of a well-prepared crew, we met the challenge safely. I thought, There’s an adviser who understands. It was a remarkable example of a trusting priesthood adviser raising a young man’s potential for service. He was there to hand us the oar, not just steer for us. It helped me gain self-confidence.

Insight Number One
When he was thirty years old, Roland Crabtree was sprawled under an army truck in his little garage. A Cadillac pulled in, and the driver asked if the boss was around. “I hollered out that I’d be through in a minute,” said Brother Crabtree. The customer responded politely, “Take your time, I just want to talk to you about a job.”
The car had trouble with the left rear wheel. Several other garages had refused help. Brother Crabtree fixed the wheel. It took three and a half hours and nine dollars worth of parts. He charged him eighteen dollars. The man gave Brother Crabtree a thousand dollars and told him to keep the change. He refused; he said there wasn’t that much to it.

Fifteen-year-old Andy Tuitupou’s feet left the court long enough to grab the rebound during basketball practice. Gliding through the air, Andy was confident—he was good-looking, popular, active in his teachers quorum in our Utah ward, and a member of the school basketball team. But when his feet touched the ground again, his life changed. His strong body crashed to the floor—never to walk again.
Surgeons pinned and cast Andy’s broken leg. Pain became his constant companion. Long days, determination, and patience seemed to bring only more suffering. Although Andy gave it his all, physical therapists weren’t able to help him learn to walk again.
In desperation Paul and Carolyn Tuitupou, Andy’s parents, took him to a hospital where skilled surgeons operated and found the source of Andy’s intense pain: bone cancer. Andy made the difficult decision to have the doctors amputate his leg. Whatever the price, he wanted to beat the cancer.
Several days after the amputation, Andy asked me—his bishop—if he could receive his patriarchal blessing. I wondered what a blessing would hold for a young man facing possible death. I rushed to my office to get a patriarchal blessing recommend. Then I jumped in my car and headed for Andy’s bedside, where I found him waiting patiently for his interview. I asked Andy where he was getting his obvious strength and peace. “From the things I learned in family home evening,” he answered without hesitation. Andy was worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
As I visited with him throughout the next few months, I saw him as a brother who loved his family, friends, the gospel, and life. Although his spiritual health was strong, his physical well-being seemed only to worsen. Chemotherapy treatments left him violently nauseated for four or five days each week.
All hopes of a cure were dashed when a tumor in Andy’s hip erupted. His lungs began failing as cancerous tumors started their deadly invasion. But Andy wasn’t content to watch life pass him by. With the help of a devoted Scout leader, Andy soon fulfilled the requirements for his Eagle Award.
During one of my routine visits with this young member of my ward, I felt prompted to set up a formal appointment for his annual priesthood interview on the next Sunday.
On Sunday I headed for the hospital and found Andy in agony with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly sat by his bedside. After several minutes of listening to Andy’s labored breathing, I heard him whisper, “Bishop, are you going to interview me?”
After a tender prayer, I began the interview.
“Andy, are you morally clean?”
“Yes.”
“Do you honor your priesthood?”
“Yes.”
Our interview was a spiritual feast. After I asked him all my questions, he had one for me: “Bishop, how many priesthood blessings can I have?”
“As many as you want,” I said.
A few days later, I awoke to a ringing telephone.
“Andy is pretty bad. Can you come over?” Carolyn Tuitupou asked.
When I reached my friend, he asked for a blessing and then said, “I want to go home.”
As his humbled bishop, I placed my hands on my young friend’s head and knew Andy was nearing the end of his mission on earth. I asked the Lord to please take Andy home if it was His will.
After the blessing, I held Andy’s hand and said to him, “It’s okay to go home, little brother; it’s okay to go home.”
Before he went home, though, he had a few things to finish. Andy’s pain subsided, and breathing became easier, enabling him to talk to each of his brothers and his sister privately. He expressed his love to each of them and challenged his brothers to serve missions.
When I talked to him again, I asked him what he wanted me to tell the youth in the ward.
“Tell them you don’t have to be ‘cool’ for your friends; real friends don’t care if you’re ‘cool,’” he said.
Andy called several special people on the phone to say good-bye. He called an aunt he was close to and wanted to challenge her to become active in the Church again. Afraid of offending her, he didn’t quite have the courage to do it.
I looked at Andy and knew I had one last calling for him.
“Andy, will you serve as a ward missionary?”
Andy smiled. “Yes.”
I once again placed my hands on his head. After I set him apart, I gave him his first assignment: “Andy, I want you to get on the phone and bear your testimony to your aunt.”
I left the room, and he went to work—an honorable missionary.
Throughout the day, friends and neighbors dropped by to see Andy. Because it is traditional in the Tongan culture to sing in front of the home of someone who is dying, a member of the ward organized a group to come later that evening and honor Andy by singing on the Tuitupous’ front lawn.
Midafternoon, Andy’s breathing became very labored. His father and I laid our hands on his head. Brother Tuitupou pleaded with Heavenly Father to allow his son to return home. Andy died in his mother’s arms.
Their front yard was soon full of ward members singing Andy’s favorite hymn, “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, number 219). Music surrounded the home, and the family wept as love filled their hearts.
Although the Tuitupou family said an early good-bye to their son and brother, they knew they had been given much: the chance to love and learn from Andy.

The last paragraph of the declaration is as important as the earlier ones. The signers of the Declaration of Independence pledged everything they owned, including their lives and their sacred honor, in order for America to become a free nation. Today we enjoy the blessings of a free land because of their sacrifice. The signers knew the risks when they put their names on the document. The declaration represented an act of treason against the British Crown. The penalty was death by hanging if caught. Each became a hunted man.

One of the signers, Francis Lewis, a delegate from New York,
saw his home plundered and his estates completely destroyed by British soldiers. His wife was captured and treated with brutality. Though she was later exchanged for two British prisoners through the efforts of Congress, she died from her abuse. [Rush Limbaugh Jr., “Lives, Fortunes, Sacred Honor,” Reader’s Digest, July 1998, 165]
Other signers experienced similar fates. Some lost their lives. Some of their family members lost theirs. Many lost their fortunes in support of the patriotic cause. But all of them were true to the promise of loyalty to their new country and to each other.

Six young adults from different faiths formed a panel on 10 September 2020 for a Zoom activity organised by the Altrincham Interfaith Group.
‘Young Voices’ was an opportunity to hear the views of younger members of a diverse society. James Viner, from the Manchester England Stake, recently returned from serving as a volunteer missionary to South Africa, had the opportunity to represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Other faiths represented were Islam, Baha’i, Hinduism, Judaism, and Roman Catholicism.
“How important are your holy books to you considering that they were written so long ago?” was the question posed to James, and the Hindu and Jewish representatives. Their common answer was that they deemed their scriptures to be relevant to today.
All the panellists agreed that youth had a responsibility to present their faith in a vibrant way. All wanted to help others.
Other questions addressed science, religion and discrimination. James said that in his school years, that others found him weird because he went to church.
The panellists were thanked for their sensitive and stimulating contributions. They gave hope for a future world, one with young people like them.

Young men in Uganda start playing football as small boys, using tightly bound branches for a ball. Ever since he was very young, Dennis had a gift for the sport, and his high school gave him a scholarship to play for their team. After he completed high school, a professional team offered him pay, room, and board. It was a dream come true, but Dennis knew this would likely interfere with his plans to go on a mission later in the year.
Dennis’s desire to do what his Heavenly Father wanted him to do was so strong that he did not even want to be tempted to remain on the team when the time would arrive for him to serve a mission. Many people questioned his choice, but Dennis is certain he made the right decision—for himself and others. “My two little brothers and my little sister were just baptized,” he says. “I never thought my sister would hear the gospel. When I see God doing miracles in my family, it gives me a bright hope for my future.”

“Doing what’s required” has been Jo’s guideline for the last five years. Before that, his legs were the same as most people’s—active. Then came a blood clot in his spine. Only one in a million people ever suffer from this problem. Usually they are middle-aged, and they suffer brain damage—or death.
Jo survived, perfectly normal except for his legs.
Despite frequent hospitalization, he has become more and more cheerful. And as he has relied on priesthood blessings, he has developed a testimony that now makes him a powerful missionary.
Looking back, Jo has a clear picture of that critical moment in his life. “I was prepared, through promptings of the Spirit, for the information that my legs would always be paralysed,” he says. “So when the doctor solemnly said, ‘I have something to tell you,’ I thought it must be, ‘Sorry, there’s no hope. You’re going to die.’ When he said, ‘You’ll never walk again,’ it was a relief. I could accept that.”
That was the easy part. But adapting and learning to do everything differently has not been so easy. So Jo developed ways of dealing with setbacks. His favourite saying when things get tough is, “You can either laugh or cry. But if you laugh, people like you better.”
Jo did progress, becoming more and more independent and mobile.

My friend Annika had been hanging out with me and my other Latter-day Saint friends for a few years. Because she spent so much time with us, she learned many things about our standards and what we believe in.
One night I was texting Annika about the gospel and decided it was the perfect opportunity to share my testimony with her. I also felt like I should invite her to come to church. I was a little nervous that she would say no, but I knew that I was doing the right thing and that it would be OK no matter what. I texted her my testimony and asked her to come to church, and she said yes!
The Sunday that Annika came to church, we were studying about the Godhead. She already knew most of the other youth in the class, so we all worked together to help her learn. If she didn’t understand something, we tried to explain it to her. This led to great discussions where most everyone was commenting. Because so many people were sharing ideas, Annika felt comfortable asking questions and got to hear pieces of her friends’ testimonies.
During the lesson, Annika was overwhelmed with joy and peace because she felt the Holy Ghost. She learned that Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three separate beings, and she learned a little bit about the plan of salvation. She also learned that Heavenly Father loves us so much that He sent His Son to earth to die for us, and she learned how much Christ loves us, because He atoned for us.
At the end of the lesson, my Sunday School teacher invited us to go home and look up scriptures that could help us learn more about the Godhead. I completed this assignment. Later, during a discussion with Annika and the missionaries, I talked about the scriptures I found.
It was a wonderful experience to watch Annika learn about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost. It made me realize how many people don’t know about the Godhead. Just like Annika and I did, we can all grow closer to Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost when we learn more about Them.

Doesn’t he realize he’s making us late for an appointment with the best family I’ve ever taught? my mind screamed as I turned my bike around. I was a missionary in the Taiwan Taipei Mission, and my new companion, Elder Loo, was lagging behind as usual.
I found him talking to a woman who was angrily holding a thick stick in one hand and clenching the arm of a small, whimpering boy with the other. I listened as Elder Loo tried to talk her out of beating the boy. She left without the stick.
When we finally arrived at our destination, my companion taught the family about “the first and great commandment,” to love the Lord. “And the second is like unto it,” he read, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:38–39).
I flinched. Although I had taught this discussion many times, it was as if I were hearing the scripture for the first time. I would have helped that little boy if we hadn’t been late, I rationalized. But I couldn’t convince myself.
Following a beautiful discussion on sacrifice and service, we made our way to our next appointment. But before we got far, I realized I was again alone. Elder Loo was helping a drunken man who had wrecked his motorcycle.
As we peddled slowly through the crowded market, my companion stopped again. I watched as he knelt by a crying child who appeared to be lost. The child’s eyes were red and puffy, and his face was streaked with tears. We didn’t leave until Elder Loo had assurances from people who said they would locate the boy’s parents.
I followed in silence, my mind racing. Why hadn’t I noticed the crying child? Or the motorcyclist? Why did he see things I missed?
Then it dawned on me. He saw opportunities to serve because he looked for them. He didn’t trail behind because he was just enjoying the scenery; he was looking for people in need.
I wondered what I would see if I really looked.
The next morning I didn’t race ahead of my companion. We rode side by side, looking, listening, and ready to serve.
Since then, whenever I think no one needs my help, I slow down and take another look. It’s amazing what I see.

I wanted to write to testify how true a paragraph is in “Hold On” (Oct. 1992). It says “Pornography is especially dangerous and addictive.” The article goes on to say pornography breaks down your self-discipline and causes you to become desensitized. This is so true. I was seven when I started reading pornographic magazines. Over time, it just became all consuming. I started stealing, using drugs and alcohol, and I committed rape. I’m getting treatment for my problems, and I am working on repenting for what I’ve done. But it’s a long way back. For me, pornography has been more addictive than any drug. I encourage everyone to not learn the way I did.
Name Withheld

Elder Thomas S. Monson
Some years ago, President Lee, directed by inspiration and revelation, called Dewitt J. Paul to serve as patriarch in one of the eastern stakes of the Church. The call humbled beyond words both Brother and Sister Paul. They wondered. They worried. They prayed for assurance and heavenly confirmation. Such did not come suddenly.
The vote of the people demonstrated their supporting approval. Then came the time for ordination. In a basement room situated two floors beneath the meeting hall in which the conference was held, Dewitt Paul nervously sat on a chair and, with a silent prayer in his heart, awaited his ordination. President Harold B. Lee then placed his hands upon the head of the newly called patriarch and began to speak. Peace replaced turmoil. Faith overcame doubt. Seated next to Sister Paul was a lifelong friend to whom Sister Paul had confided her concern. During the pronouncement of the blessing and ordination, she opened her eyes. As she did so she saw a ray of light shining upon President Lee as he placed his hands upon the head of Brother Paul. At the conclusion of the blessing, she hastened to tell Brother Lee of this confirmation of a call. She recounted how she saw the sunshine form the ray of light and how it brought a bright glow to the hands of President Lee. “Indeed, this is to you a confirmation of a sacred call,” said President Lee, “for as you look about this basement room, there is no window through which the sun might beam its rays.” Precious are the hands of a prophet.

When I was about six years old, I had an adventure I’ll never forget. Mom and Dad decided to raise chickens and sell the eggs to earn money. Every day Mom or Dad would take me to the chicken coop to gather eggs. One day Mom needed my help.
“Bobby, I need two eggs for a cake I’m making,” Mom said. “I know we already gathered the eggs today, but do you think you could go and find two more for me?”
“I will, Mom,” I said. “I’ll find those eggs for you.”
This was the first time I had searched for eggs by myself. It made me feel important. Off I went to begin my search. I went inside the chicken coop, first looking in all the corners because that’s where Dad usually found eggs. But there weren’t any. I peered into a nesting box—there was an egg! I was reaching for it when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rooster enter the chicken coop. My throat went dry. In my excitement to gather eggs, I had forgotten about the roosters.
We had big white roosters that didn’t like people. They would chase us and peck us with their sharp beaks. Usually Dad or Mom was with me and would chase them away. But now no one was there to help me.
“Stay there, rooster. Just stay there,” I muttered under my breath as I backed toward the door, keeping my eyes on the rooster. I carefully moved past the rooster until I got to the doorway. The rooster’s bright eyes watched me, but I thought I could get away by backing out and running to the house.
I turned, and outside I saw two other roosters facing me. I was surrounded! If I went back in, the two would follow me. If I tried to run, they would all chase and attack me. I didn’t know what to do. Tears filled my eyes. No one was around to help me—except Heavenly Father.
Mom always said if I needed help, I should kneel and pray and Heavenly Father would be there. Even though the roosters were surrounding me, even though they were coming closer, I dropped to my knees. Trembling, I began to pray.
“Heavenly Father, please help me get away from these roosters. Don’t let them peck me. Please make the roosters go away.”
I ended my prayer, wiped my tears, and slowly got to my feet. As soon as I stood up, a sound came from my mouth: “Putt putt putt … putt putt putt,” like the sound a tractor makes. It surprised me. The roosters stopped, looked startled, and suddenly turned their tails toward me and ran away.
I hadn’t thought to make the sound myself. I knew the Holy Ghost had put the idea into my mind. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. I was safe. I quickly gathered two eggs and then hurried to the house to tell Mom what had happened. She was proud of me for remembering to pray when I needed help.
I was happy that I could help Mom with an important job, and I was even happier to know that Heavenly Father is always near and will always hear and answer our prayers.

I have many memories of my boyhood days. Anticipating Sunday dinner was one of them. Just as we children hovered at our so-called starvation level and sat anxiously at the table with the aroma of roast beef filling the room, Mother would say to me, “Tommy, before we eat, take this plate of food I’ve prepared down the street to Old Bob, and then hurry back.”

I could never understand why we couldn’t first eat and later deliver his plate of food. I never questioned aloud but would run down to his house and then wait anxiously as Bob’s aged feet brought him eventually to the door. Then I would hand him the plate of food. He would present to me the clean plate from the previous Sunday and offer me a dime as pay for my services. My answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.” He would then run his wrinkled hand through my blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.”

You know, I think I never did tell her. I sort of felt Mother didn’t need to be told. She seemed to sense his gratitude. I remember, too, that Sunday dinner always seemed to taste a bit better after I had returned from my errand.3

Brenna was crying. She sat in a barber’s chair, hair pulled back, her ponytail just moments away from being cut off. The hairdresser holding the scissors was crying. Those watching the scene were also in tears.
Snip! Brenna’s long hair, which had taken years to grow out, was gone. Her ponytail would now become a gift, a donation to an organization called Locks of Love. It would be combined with other donated hair and made into wigs for children who had lost their hair because of cancer treatment or who suffer from alopecia, a permanent hair-loss condition.
Brenna Reaney is just one of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, Torrance California Stake, who donated hair. For Brenna, the sacrifice of her long hair represented something concrete she could do to help Jessica James, one of her friends from the ward. Jessica, 17, had been diagnosed with aplastic anemia, a life threatening illness that would require chemotherapy treatment. At first, the girls were upset that Jessica would lose her beautiful long hair. But after Jessica had a brain hemorrhage and sank into a coma, they quickly realized that they had not understood the full spectrum of what was important. As Peggy Kirts, a member of the ward, said, “It’s been a very helpless couple of months, with everyone wanting to help and not really knowing what to do or how to do it.”
The girls would visit Jessica in the hospital as she struggled to awaken from the coma and learn again to communicate. While there, they saw many little bald children in the same area of the hospital undergoing treatment. They read to Jessica and sat with her, but they felt that they wanted to do more.
Sister Kirts, a professional hairdresser, met a family who had come to her salon for haircuts. They were donating their hair as their family’s Christmas project. From them she got the information about donating hair and did a little research. A minimum of 10 inches of hair was needed, bound in a ponytail. Especially needed was fine, light colored hair that would be more appropriate for children’s wigs.
With some hesitation, Sister Kirts presented the idea to the girls in her ward. It wouldn’t help Jessica directly, but the donation of their hair would help other girls and boys. At first, the thought was stunning. Ten inches! That was so much. “They were petrified at first,” said Sister Kirts. “I didn’t want to pressure them. But later that day, the phone just started ringing. And, one at a time, the girls called and said, ‘I’m in.’ I couldn’t believe that they would do it.”
The word spread through the ward. Even two little girls from Primary joined the Young Women in donating their hair. The local newspaper and a television station covered the event because so many girls were donating their hair at the same time. And at Christmastime, people could not help but compare this event to O. Henry’s story “Gift of the Magi,” about a young couple who each gives up the thing they value most to buy a gift for the other. In the story, the young wife sells her long hair to buy a chain for her husband’s heirloom watch. He, in turn, sells the watch to buy combs for his wife’s beautiful hair.
After the young women’s story aired on the news and was printed in the newspaper, the salon offered to cut the hair of anyone who wanted to donate it. Dozens of people responded. “Teenagers have so much power for good or for bad,” said Sister Kirts. “For these people who came to donate their hair, their biggest reason was that if an 18-year-old girl can do this, I can too.”
Rachael Ward, another of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, was a little frightened to go back to school after Christmas vacation with her new short hair. “It was awful waiting for that day. Everyone noticed my hair, even people I didn’t know before. A lot of people looked at me differently. They said it made them realize that people really do good deeds for each other. It’s not just a story on television. That made me feel good.”
Rachael’s friend Brittanie Streetmaker also donated her hair. “I was nervous, but now whenever I look in the mirror, I think of a little girl who will be so happy to have a cute styled wig. My friends ask me if I miss my hair, and I say I do, but I don’t regret it for a second.”
Editor’s note: Jessica is home from the hospital. She still suffers from partial paralysis and is continuing treatment for aplastic anemia. She loves the way the girls sacrificed to help others.

Amanda stood at the front window of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage and searched the angry white-capped sea again. There was still no sign of her father’s whaleboat. High waves crashed against the rocks, sending white spray high into the air before the wind snatched it away.
If only the storm hadn’t come up, she thought, Father would have been back with the doctor by now.
Baby Jonathan cried fretfully, and Amanda heard Mother’s soft, soothing voice as she comforted him. Then Mother called her name.
Amanda turned and hurried into the bedroom. “Is Jonathan any better?” she asked hopefully.
“His fever is still high,” Mother answered with a worried frown. She looked worn-out from her all-night vigil. Now it was late afternoon. As she replaced the damp cloth on Jonathan’s forehead, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Please bring me a basin of fresh water, Amanda. The cool cloths seem to help.”
Amanda hurried to the kitchen and drew a pan of water from the pump. A sudden gust of wind drove rain against the windowpanes.
The storm is getting worse, Amanda thought. But father is a strong man; he can row for miles without getting tired. And with the doctor’s help, they will make it safely. They just have to!
Amanda carried the basin of water into the bedroom and set it on the low stool beside Jonathan’s bed. “Father will be here soon,” she said, attempting a cheerful tone.
“If only this storm would pass,” Mother said. She wrung out a cloth in the cold water and wiped Jonathan’s flushed face, then laid the cloth on his forehead. A moment later Jonathan closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep. Amanda tiptoed from the room and closed the door softly.
The cottage seemed extra dark and dismal. Amanda put another log on the fire, to make the room more cheerful. Father and Dr. Benton will be hungry when they get here, she thought. Mother had planned to make stew for supper, so Amanda went into the kitchen and rekindled the fire in the cookstove.
Rain drummed on the roof, and the wind howled around the cottage. Amanda tried not to think about the storm as she prepared the meat and vegetables and put the stew on to simmer. Then she mixed a big batch of corn bread and put it into the oven to bake.
Time passed slowly, but finally the corn bread was out of the oven and cooling, and the stew was thick and rich. The mouth-watering smells made Amanda hungry. It was long past suppertime, and her father still had not come. Amanda lit the lamps and added another log to the fire in the fireplace. She opened the bedroom door quietly and entered with a lighted candle when she heard Jonathan whimpering. “Supper is ready,” she whispered. “Shall I bring you something to eat?”
Mother set the flickering candle on the nightstand and shook her head. “I must have dozed. Is your father back with the doctor yet?” she asked as she bent over the baby.
“No,” Amanda answered. “And it’s almost dark.”
Suddenly Mother put her hand to her face and gasped. “The beacon! Oh, Amanda, how could I have forgotten! The beacon must be lit!”
“Do you want me to stay with Jonathan?” Amanda asked.
Her mother shook her head. “You will have to light the beacon tonight. I can’t leave him.”
Fear tingled down Amanda’s spine at the thought of climbing the circular staircase to the lighthouse tower, more than fifty feet above the ground. When father became lighthouse keeper last spring, she had tried to climb up and watch him light the lamps. But she could never force herself to climb to the top of the tower. “I—I can’t,” Amanda whispered.
“You must!” her mother insisted. “Your father’s life and the lives of many others may depend on that light tonight. Be sure to trim the wicks and polish the reflectors before you fill the reservoirs of the lamps with oil and light them. Go quickly, dear. You must not waste another minute!”
Amanda hurried to the kitchen and got Father’s lantern. Her hand trembled as she lit it. Then she wrapped her shawl tightly around her head and shoulders and stepped out into the storm. The wind tore at her skirt as she started up the long path to the lighthouse. She leaned into the wind and struggled up the hill. When Amanda reached the lighthouse at last, she opened the door and quickly stepped inside. It was a relief to be out of the storm.
Amanda held her lantern high. In the middle of the floor the circular staircase disappeared up into the darkness above. Amanda felt like she was standing at the bottom of a deep well. Her heart beat wildly.
“This time I must climb to the top,” she said as she grasped the handrail and started to climb. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the iron steps as she went round and round, climbing higher and higher. A wave of dizziness swept over her. Amanda clung tightly to the cold handrail and waited for the feeling to pass. She wanted desperately to run down the steps and back to the warm, cozy cottage.
“You must light the beacon!” she told herself sternly. “Somewhere out there in that awful storm Father may be watching for the light to guide him home.” She tried to force herself to let go of the handrail, but her fingers seemed to be frozen in place.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help me to find the courage to go on,” she prayed. Slowly her fingers loosened their grip. She took a step up, then another.
When she reached the top, Amanda didn’t even take time to breathe a sigh of relief. Quickly she set to work trimming the wicks of the nine lamps and polishing the big shiny reflectors. She found the can of oil for the lamps, then carefully filled and lit each one.
Taking her lantern, Amanda slowly wound her way down the staircase and out into the storm again. When she reached the porch, she stopped and looked back at the long fingers of light reaching out over the raging water. She wondered how far it could be seen in the storm. “The beacon is lit,” she said softly when she reached her mother.
Mother put her arm around Amanda. “You were very brave, dear. I know how much you dread heights. Go and have something to eat now.”
Amanda had finished supper and washed the dishes when she heard footsteps on the back porch. She rushed to open the door. “Father!” she cried. “And Dr. Benton! I’m so glad you’re safe! I was afraid you were lost in the storm.”
“We were until we saw the beacon,” Father said.
The two men took off their oilskins and left them on the porch. They warmed themselves by the fire for just a moment, then hurried in to see Jonathan. Amanda curled up in a chair by the fireplace to wait.
When she opened her eyes again, it was morning and her father was shaking her gently. “I thought you would like to know that you saved three lives last night,” he said. “Jonathan’s fever just broke. Dr. Benton told me he is going to get well.”

Let me share another experience. In our home our children liked to do jigsaw puzzles. We have probably all had the opportunity to do a puzzle. Some are made up of many small pieces. I remember that one of our children (I won’t give his name in order to protect his identity) used to focus on the individual pieces, and when one did not fit in the place where he thought it should, he would become angry and assume it was no good and want to throw it away. He finally learned to do the puzzle when he understood that each small piece had its place in the final picture, even when he did not know where it fit at a given moment.

One evening President Kimball stayed late at the office, and so I continued working at my desk. It turned out that he was going to a dinner at the Lion House at 6:30 and was waiting for Sister Kimball to come and meet him so they could go to the dinner together. About 5:30, he urged me to go home, but I told him that I would stay as long as he did. He insisted, so I said, “I am torn between doing my duty to stay close to you and doing what you ask me to do.” He looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “They both ought to be the same, hadn’t they?”

I gained a better view and understanding of this heavenly law by climbing atop my parents' shoulders when I was 12 years old.

I loved snow skiing and found myself in a sporting goods store standing in front of a rack of brand new skis. One particular pair of skis seemed to call out my name, sing the Sirens' captivating song, and whisper, "Buy me!" I knew at that moment that I was meant to call these skis my own. Unfortunately, I didn't have the funds for a cheeseburger, let alone a pair of skis. So I found my mother in the mall, brought her to the sporting goods store, and stood her in front of the skis so she too could receive revelation and do what every inspired mother should do--buy skis for their beloved children. I stood next to her looking at the skis, waiting for the big moment. Nothing! No whispers, no singing, no light shining on the skis, nothing! Undeterred, I made my emotional plea, asking her to fulfill my dreams, and reminded her of her role as a good, honorable mother. Nothing! I told her it was her duty to help her children to be happy. Nothing! She finally turned, looked at me, and said calmly, "Matt, you'll appreciate these skis more if you earn the money to buy them yourself."

What? I tried in vain to convince her that I would appreciate the skis if she bought them, and besides, where would I be able to earn money--I was 12 years old! Since Mom said no, then obviously I should ask Dad. Nothing! Well, actually he did say, "Matt, you'll appreciate these skis more if you earn the money to buy them yourself."

I was convinced this was a conspiracy. Not long afterward, I found work on a local farm. I pulled and shucked garlic, fed chickens, and helped load the farmer's truck for market at 5:00 a.m. A neighbor saw me working early in the morning and asked if I was interested in stocking frozen foods at a local grocery store after my farming chores. This led to another person asking if I wanted to stock all the potato chips in the store as well. Obviously there were no child labor laws when I was young, and I wasn't complaining.

I was able to scrape together enough money for a down payment to hold the skis, and then every two weeks, I walked to the mall and made a small payment on the skis. I would ask if I could see the skis, and the salesperson would bring them out from the storeroom. Oh, sweet reunion! After spending some quality time together, I would hand the skis back, wave longingly goodbye, and get back to work. It took a year to earn enough money to take those skis home. I have owned many pairs of skis in my lifetime. But there was only one pair that was never sold, given away, or sent to the local thrift store. It is this pair.

I learned that the old-school pioneer law of the harvest really did work. It took much longer than I hoped, but in due season the reward did come. It was much harder than I expected, but I fainted not. Or, in other words, I didn't quit or stop, even though I had no idea when the harvest would actually come.

I learned something else about the law of the harvest that I didn't quite bank on. Oh, I got the skis that I worked for, but I also received much, much more. For example, my mother and father were right. I did appreciate these skis more because I did buy them myself. I also harvested something of even greater and lasting value. I reaped a knowledge that I could find solutions to my challenges, that I could do difficult things, and that I could endure much better than I thought I could. I harvested experience, grit, and a determination that continues to bless me to this day.

Moving forward in life requires faith. That is part of the plan. President Packer shared this experience:

Shortly after I was called as a General Authority, I went to Elder Harold B. Lee for counsel. He listened very carefully to my problem and suggested that I see President David O. McKay. President McKay counseled me as to the direction I should go. I was very willing to be obedient but saw no way possible for me to do as he counseled me to do.

I returned to Elder Lee and told him that I saw no way to move in the direction I was counseled to go. He said, “The trouble with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.” I replied that I would like to see at least a step or two ahead. Then came the lesson of a lifetime: “You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you.” Then he quoted these 18 words from the Book of Mormon:

“Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” [Ether 12:6].10