Gospel Story Finder

I served as president of the Fiji Suva Mission. One day on the island of Kiribati I was walking with two elders when a man came up to us. He was drunk. I wanted to chase him off, but he saw my name tag and called me by name. “President Tefan, I would like you and your missionaries to come to dinner at my home.”
I thought, “Uh-oh, maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” I turned to the elders and asked, “How do you feel? Would you like to accept the invitation?” They said that they would like to go. I felt impressed to accept his offer.
The following night we all had a nice Chinese dinner—chicken, fish, other meats, and noodles. The missionaries were happy because it was a change from their daily menu of fish and rice. At the end of the dinner, I thanked the man and said, “Now I have a gift I would like to offer you. Would you like these missionaries to teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?”
He said he wasn’t interested but the missionaries could teach his wife and 18-year-old son. Three months later the son was baptized. One year later the wife was baptized, and her husband started attending church. He asked me for a blessing to help him stop smoking and drinking, and he was able to quit. The last time I visited that family, the son had been admitted to Brigham Young University–Hawaii on a full-tuition scholarship and had also received a mission call to Hong Kong.
When I think back on my experience with that family, I’m glad that I didn’t chase the “drunk man” away but instead followed the prompting of the Spirit to accept the dinner invitation, open my mouth, and ask him to hear the gospel.

“Since childhood it has been very easy for me to believe in the reality of the visions of the Prophet Joseph Smith,” said President David O. McKay to a Tabernacle audience six months after he became president of the Church in 1951. Then, vividly recalling a childhood experience on the family farm in Huntsville, Utah, he continued:
“When [I was] a very young child in the home of my youth, I was afraid [one] night … Father was away with the herd or on some mission, … [and] I could not sleep … I imagined I heard noises around the house. Mother was away in another room. Thomas E. [his younger brother] by my side was sleeping soundly … I became terribly fearful, and I decided that I would do as my parents had taught me to do—pray. I thought I could not pray without getting out of bed and kneeling, and that was a terrible test.
“But I finally did bring myself to get out of bed and kneel and pray to God to protect Mother and the family. And a voice as clearly to me as mine is to you said, ‘Don’t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you.’ Where it came from, what it was, I am not saying. You may judge. To me it was a direct answer, and there came an assurance that I should never be hurt in bed at night.”

At 5:40 in the morning, when most people are still asleep, Jay McKinley and Amy Fuqua of the Monroe Branch of the Mobile Alabama Stake are at church with their scriptures and seminary manuals. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) said that seminary is one of the most significant experiences that any youth can have, and he encouraged youth to “regularly attend seminary and be a seminary graduate.”1 It is a while until sunrise, but these two students and their teacher know the importance of the blessings they receive from following the prophet’s counsel to become seminary graduates.
“Sometimes it is really hard to get up at 4:45 a.m., but it’s totally worth it,” says Amy. “I love the feeling I get when I have the Spirit with me so early.” All three agree that the early starts are tiring and hard to manage, but all know that the benefits of early morning gospel study far outweigh the challenge of juggling each of their schedules, chores, and lives on top of seminary. Amy says, “When I think about it, having class at 5:40 a.m. isn’t a sacrifice at all.” The opportunity to learn more about the Savior is worth every effort, she says.
Jay and Amy’s seminary teacher, Sister Miranda Smith, agrees, and Jay says, “I have to go to bed earlier than normal in order to get up around 4:30 a.m. Sometimes when I have a lot of homework, my big brother will take over my chores.” In Monroe, seminary really is a group effort, even for those who don’t attend seminary. One of the reasons for the early seminary is that Jay’s school is an hour’s bus drive away and his bus driver picks him up from the chapel immediately after seminary.
One of the benefits gained from the early start is the friendship that comes from spending quality time together. “Sister Smith, Amy, and I have become close. We really didn’t hang out together, even at church, unless we had to,” says Jay. “Now we like being around each other and really are friends.”
Of course friendship is not the only reason for being in seminary; the true goal is the gospel knowledge that comes from studying the scriptures. All three who attend the class can see the benefits. Sister Smith says the best thing about early-morning seminary is “getting to start and end my day with a gospel lesson.” Not only is she the seminary teacher, but she is also a mother of four and a Cub Scout den leader, so she normally waits for her children to go to bed so that she can have some quiet time to study the lessons and prepare for the next day’s class.
Amy agrees that seminary has brought many spiritual benefits into her life. “I have a better understanding of the scriptures,” she says. “Sometimes during the day I find myself thinking about scripture masteries I’ve learned, especially Moses 1:39.”
When asked what their favorite lessons from the past few months have been, both Amy and Jay agree that they enjoyed the lessons about Nephi’s journey to the promised land with his family in 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi. Jay says these chapters have been the most memorable so far.
“Whenever I read those chapters, I think about how I can make it through any trial that is placed in my way. Just like it says in 1 Nephi 3:7, ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ He had such great faith and trust in the Lord, and in turn the Lord placed great trust in him. That is something that I want.”
Jay and Amy’s efforts have not been lost on Sister Smith. Not only does she get up to teach them, but she is also inspired by her students. “They are definitely the reason I keep doing this,” Sister Smith says. “I know they expect me to be there just as much as I expect them to be there. I’ve enjoyed seeing Amy and Jay grow in the gospel this year. Amy has been a member only for a few short years. She’s always excited about the gospel and has a beautiful testimony. Jay tends to be a little quieter, but I know he has a strong testimony and knowledge of the gospel as well.”
So what is it like to have early-morning seminary earlier than most schools have their classes? Jay says, “I find that I have more peace and patience as I go through school and other activities. It is such a blessing to have the scriptures in my life.” Jay, Amy, and Sister Smith are forgivably tired at times but cheerful and positive about regularly attending seminary. They find strength and comfort in overcoming obstacles and fulfilling a prophet’s advice to be seminary graduates.

“When I was eleven, the Fourth of July was a real big event in Spanish Fork. World War II had begun, and the whole town was having a parade to send off the men who were leaving to serve in the war. The night before the Fourth I went outside to play. I sat on the porch, and my mother said, ‘You’re not going to go anywhere, are you?’ I said, ‘No, I’ll stay here.’
“Then my friend Mark came across the street and said, ‘I have a big box of firecrackers. Let’s go up to Janet’s and show the girls how to light them!’ I forgot that my mother had asked me to stay home. The only thought in my mind was to go up to Janet’s and light some firecrackers.
“We lighted all the firecrackers that would light, and the remainder we put in a cardboard box and set on fire. Mark and I were both burned in the resulting explosion. In fact, our faces, chests, hands, and arms were burned so severely that it didn’t look like we were going to make it.
“Sister Hill, Janet’s mother, came out when she heard the explosion, and she saw five kids on fire. Somehow the fires were put out, and she calmly took us into the house, knelt us down in the living room, and offered a prayer. Then she called the doctor, and we went down to Dr. Moody’s office.
“He operated on my face to put it back together. Before he started, I asked my father to give me a blessing. Dr. Moody was also an elder, so the two of them administered to me. My father said in the blessing that if I would have faith, the Lord would make me well. You have to remember that at that time my father was an alcoholic. But when he said that the Lord would make me well, I knew it was true.
“Then Dr. Moody began to work on me. I didn’t have any anesthetic because they were afraid of shock. into my mind came the words of one of my mother’s favorite hymns:
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)
“I couldn’t speak, but I could hum. For the whole two and a half to three hours while the doctor was trying to fix my face, I hummed that hymn. When he was finished with me, I looked just like a mummy. My face and arms were all wrapped up with bandages. It appeared that I had lost the sight of one eye and severely damaged the other. My hands were as black as shoe leather, and they were hard and crinkled.
“All five of us were healed and back in school in the fall. Janet had a severely damaged finger, Mark had burns on his face, as I did, and on his arms, but we were all back in school. Someone in the ward had placed our names on the prayer roll in the temple. To Mother that was tantamount to saying, ‘Don’t worry, if your names are on the prayer roll in the temple, you can just count on being healed.’ And we were.”

In 1978, Elder Marvin J. Ashton of the Quorum of the Twelve published a valuable book for young and old entitled What Is Your Destination? He expressed concern that many become confused in their journey through life. Some may be lost, on the other hand, because they think they have arrived! Elder Ashton mentioned examples of fundamental guidelines such as temple marriage, mission calls, education, and opportunities for service, pointing out that progress “is a continuing process, not a state of arrival.”
Decisions determine and regulate our progress. We make them every day. To make wise ones, it is important to have goals, objectives, purposes, a sense of direction, constant reevaluation and reckoning. Following missionary service in the British Isles, I wrote some goals for the next 20 years of my life on a yellow pad of paper. I still have that pad. Nearly all of the goals I set have been exceeded. I was blessed to be guided by the principle Elder Ashton outlined, namely that “it is a continuing process, not a state of arrival.” One objective outlined was not achieved, but that was something beyond my control. The Lord saw fit not to grant that particular blessing. However, it was compensated for in many, many other ways.
The teachings and practices of the Church provide very significant guidelines: clean living, that we may have health and strength, joy and happiness on earth; baptism, reminding us of our status and accountability; the gift of the Holy Ghost, our striving to really receive and benefit from this personage whose mission is to guide us into all truth; missionary service; temple marriage; a useful and productive life of service through work; family and children; constant self-improvement to equip us for better service to our fellowmen. The gospel principles of faith and repentance are the keys to (1) achievement, (2) correction of mistakes, and (3) reevaluation of where we are going.
To make decisions, the best formula I have found is prayer, study, work, seeking wise counsel, and then doing something about it. May I offer a few examples.
Entering Roosevelt Junior High School in Salt Lake City required some important decisions for me. One September day I was confronted with new choices! What subjects to take? Thus far my schooling had been prescribed. We had gone at 9:00 A.M. and followed through the day with what was presented in our homeroom. Now we were to change classes each period, going from room to room. Should I take Algebra A and B, or a course called Mathematics? Or, something called General Science? English, physical education, and some selections were prescribed. But there was remarkable latitude in other choices. I could take U.S. History, or something called Civics. I could elect to study Spanish, Latin, or French. Some of us had the benefit of prior consultation with our parents. In line with their counsel, I was left with the choices I have indicated.
I also discussed my choices with two classmates. One was the son of a University of Utah professor of history. The other was a future doctor of medicine, whose older brothers had already attended the University of Utah and had gone through “the mill.” Both were wise young men. I benefited by discussion with them. After a few hours, I made my choices: Algebra A with Miss Cora D. Patterson, continuing the second semester with Algebra B, the binomial theorem, factoring, and other algebraic systems. I elected Spanish, a modern language, with Miss Grace Hogan as teacher. Assignments to stake conferences in Mexico and Latin-America have been assisted by that choice. Third period found me in U.S. History, a subject I dearly loved, with Miss M. Hulbert. Then came the luncheon break. Period four was physical education, under E. V. Howell. Period five in English brought Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar with Mrs. Jessie Hutchinson. Sixth period I elected music. I found my way to the room where Mrs. Matilda W. Cahoon presided.
This challenge of choices continued throughout high school and the university years following. The same process of consultation with parents and fellow students, prayer, study, and working it out in my own mind, produced the selections. In later years it was a great blessing to have elected in the ninth grade to study geometry, under Miss Snyder, and especially Ancient History under an excellent teacher, Miss Welthea M. Learned. I learned much of the history of the classical Middle East, Greece, and Rome and became acquainted with architectural and art forms that have enriched my life.
The decision to go on a mission had been made long before the call was received. Prayerful effort and study had helped me to qualify. That decision, blessed with the support of my parents and family, has brought the greatest blessings and some of the greatest experiences of my life.
A big decision following my mission was a career. What should I do? A new position opened with the Union Pacific Railroad Company as a passenger representative. After two months, other choices confronted me. An opportunity came to return to ZCMI in its finance division, plus part-time work as an early morning seminary teacher serving Salt Lake East High School; or to work as a mathematics teacher in Tucson, Arizona, High School, or as director of music at the Box Elder High School in Brigham City. I made it a matter of study and prayer. On an eventful afternoon I walked over to Temple Square during my lunch hour for a special, quiet prayer. The decision followed. The formula—prayer, study, work, consultation with parents and trusted friends—produced results.
The decision for graduate school came next. Harvard? The University of Chicago? London School of Economics? University of California at Berkeley? UCLA? I wrote to them all and was guided in the final decision by financial considerations and some sound counsel from a revered loved one. UCLA at that time had all of the advantages of the great prestige of the University of California, plus a new vital campus with extraordinarily high standards. I applied and was admitted and during the next three years was blessed with a loving wife, two children, part-time work, fellowships and assistantships, and a PhD.
So it has gone through life. I have faced decisions of whether or not to return to Utah State University in Logan, Utah, from Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania; accept an overseas appointment in Greece and Turkey; become the cultural attaché at the embassy in India; or serve in several university presidencies. In each case I was guided by the careful process indicated. These occupational choices often represented something expressed in Robert Frost’s poem.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. …
I took the one …
And that has made all the difference.
(“The Road Not Taken” in The Poetry of Robert Frost, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1969, p. 105)
I have learned that if we follow the guidelines afforded by the gospel, we will always be on solid ground.
You, too, may be guided in your choice of subjects to study, in what you should major in at college, in your choice of occupation, in the choice of friends and your eternal companion. As Elder Ashton wrote in his book, “You can get there from here!”

And so, as resurrection and death and life are important to achieving perfection, so also is birth. And with the thought, my mind comes back again to Bethlehem, the Bethlehem of today. My wife and our group move about with the surging crowds, we are jostled and pushed. We are nearly drowned in the ocean of innumerable bodies and faces. It is hard to concentrate upon the sacred reason for our coming. There is little on the hill which can stir our reverence or satisfy our longing to be alone with our thoughts.
We have our taxi take us to the hill overlooking the shepherds’ field. Below us in the little valley is the field of Boaz and Ruth. Before us is the undulating area where shepherds once watched their sheep. On the brow of the hill is a cave opening out over the little valley. There, tradition says, the shepherds slept and watched on that eventful night. An open cave could protect them from the night’s coolness, yet still they could watch their flocks. There, gazing into the valley, the only place near Bethlehem where we could find privacy, we stood in the dark, looking out into the starry sky as did the shepherds.
Did not the angels sing that night? We, too, seemed to hear faint music, not loud, but in symphonic harmony it deeply penetrated our hearts. We seemed to hear singing in unison, the unforgettable melody, the cry of the ages: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14).
As the strains of the heavenly words merged with our hearts, we four sang. After singing “Far, far away on Judea’s plains, shepherds of old hear the joyous strains,” (Hymns No. 33) we stood close together in the starlighted night with our wraps pulled tightly about us—physically close, mentally close, spiritually close, emotionally close; and we communed. No lights but the twinkling lanterns in the heavens, no sound but the whispering of our subdued voices. Our Father seemed to be very near. His Son seemed close. We prayed. More in unison than a single voice, our four hearts poured out love and gratitude that rose to mingle with the prayers of all mankind that night.
We prayed our gratitude. We prayed our love. Like the raising of the flood gate releasing the long confined pent up waters behind a dam, voices almost inaudible, mellowed with reverence, softened by the intangible forces of the heavenly world, we sincerely gave a prayer of thanksgiving: grateful, Father, that we know so positively that thou dost live; that we know the babe born here was in reality thy Son; grateful that thy Church program is real, workable and exalting. We told him we knew him, we loved him, we would follow him. We repledged to his cause our lives, our all.

Ellen was a young girl who really gained an understanding of repentance. While at the store, she took an item without paying for it. But when she got home, she felt miserable. She confided in her mother: “I’m so sorry I took it; will you take it back for me?”
Her mother said, “I can’t repent for you, Ellen. You must repent yourself. You will have to take it back and say you are sorry.”
It was hard, but she did it. “This is my first repentance,” Ellen said. “I’m glad I know how to make things right.”

One Sunday afternoon when I was a bishop, a very disillusioned woman came to talk with me. She and her large family had recently moved into our ward. She told me that while she was growing up she had been taught many times that if she lived a faithful life and sought spiritual guidance, she would find her “one and only eternal companion,” and that temple marriage and righteous living would guarantee her a successful marriage. She had tried to follow this counsel, but after many years of an apparently happy marriage, her husband abandoned her for another woman, leaving her with many children and no financial foundation.
“What went wrong?” she asked. “Doesn’t God keep his promises?”
After attending to her feelings of pain and confusion, I reassured her of God’s love and suggested that the problem wasn’t with God or with her, but with her former husband—and with people who had led her to believe some things that just aren’t so.

While Sister Carole M. Stephens was driving with her granddaughter, Chloe kept getting out of her seat. She didn’t want to wear a seatbelt! Sister Stephens said she wanted Chloe to wear a seatbelt because she loved her and wanted her to be safe. This time, Chloe stayed in her seat. This is like commandments. Sometimes it may feel like they are holding us back, but God gives them to us because He loves us and wants us to be safe.

Tonight the missionaries came for dinner. The dog barked when they rang the
doorbell.
“Stop that barking, Fifi!” my brother, Malcolm said. He opened the door, still
muttering, “Honestly, that dog thinks she’s human! I, Malcolm the Magnificent,” he
said to the elders, “welcome you to our splendid meal tonight.”
“Hello, young men. Come in out of that chilly air,” Uncle Otto said. “Pay no atten-
tion to Fifi, Elder Brown. A bark and a sniff is her way of saying hi.”
My sister, Ernestine, came in with a tray of burnt little sausages and dried-up
vegetables. “First are the appetizers!” she said proudly. The elders ate them up.
“Now, everyone,” Mom said, “please allow the elders to sit down at the table.”
“Even though I’ve seen the main course, I don’t know exactly what tonight’s
entree is. Mom likes unusual things,” Malcolm said.
“Especially when the missionaries come!” I added.
“Yes, this should be fun,” Uncle Otto said. “I think I heard a moo now and then in
the kitchen this afternoon.”
The elders laughed.
When my sister brought out the dessert, she tripped and the lime gelatin splatted
across the table.
“Look at that green goo flow, Ernestine!” Uncle Otto chuckled. “May I ask you for
that recipe?”
By the time the elders left, not a bite of food was left. Elder Gomez said, “This was
the best meal we’ve had this month so far! I very much hope that you’ll invite us
again soon.”

Winter is a cold time of year in the Russia Moscow Mission. To a missionary this sometimes seems true of not only the weather but also the people. They become introverted. Everybody seems to be rushing home after work. People are ill, the roads are terribly slick, and the cold ruthlessly bites every exposed piece of skin. Smiles are rare.
My companion and I found ourselves in these conditions during the winter of 2005. We wanted to cheer people up by sharing our message of faith, hope, and love, but nobody wanted to listen. And to be honest, my mood wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Day after day we walked the cold streets in search of people to teach, freezing our feet to the bone. In spite of the discouraging circumstances, we didn’t want to give up. Christmas was getting close, and we wanted to help people feel the Christmas spirit. But how?
One evening as we were on the train returning home, a small group of musicians walked into the railcar. They played wonderfully, but to my surprise, their performance didn’t have an effect on anybody. Maybe a person or two gave them some pocket change, but the rest just stared out the frosty windows. I felt bad for the performers and gave them a few coins.
Soon we arrived at the station near our apartment and ran home. As soon as I closed the apartment door, the phone rang. I picked it up and recognized the voice of our district leader. That day we were supposed to have thought of ideas for celebrating the Christmas season as missionaries. I had totally forgotten, but I didn’t want him to know that. Straining for an idea, I remembered the group of musicians and suggested that our district could sing Christmas hymns on the trains. I could accompany them on the violin. To my surprise and perhaps dismay, our district leader loved the idea. We decided on a day. “What was I thinking!” I said to myself, remembering that three of the missionaries in our district were tone-deaf.
The day came, and the missionaries met on the platform. The sun had set long ago, and it was terribly cold. My feet were already numb. We rehearsed for about five minutes until the train crept slowly up to the platform. We gladly entered its open doors, getting out of the cold wind and snow. I took my violin out of its case and silently prayed that God would touch the hearts of the listeners.
As we boarded the train, most of the people didn’t pay any attention to us. My fingers hadn’t warmed up yet, so when I started to play, the tone of the violin sounded very simple but very piercing. Suddenly the mood in the railcar changed. It was almost as if something could be felt in the air. The passengers seemed to hold their breath. The other missionaries joined with me, singing the words to “Silent Night”:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.1
While I played and the other missionaries sang, nobody in the railcar spoke a single word. When we finished the hymn, I looked around at people’s faces. Everybody was looking attentively at us. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of several women. It was silent for a minute as nobody wanted to interrupt the moment. Finally a man standing in the back of the railcar exclaimed, “They are Saints, genuine Saints!” Everyone began to applaud.
As we walked down the aisle, many people wanted to give us money. When we didn’t accept it, they became all the more surprised. I heard somebody saying under his breath, “This just doesn’t happen.” One man even tried to give us a thousand rubles and was shocked when we refused the money. Instead, we offered him a pass-along card, which he gladly took. Soon other passengers began asking for pass-along cards. They also asked about the Church and us. It seemed like wherever we looked, our eyes were met with smiling faces and warm greetings. At the end of the railcar, we wished the passengers a merry Christmas and waved good-bye to our new friends.
On the other side of the door, we looked at each other in disbelief. “What just happened?” we asked. Then, with twice as much energy, we entered the next door. At first the passengers didn’t pay any attention to us, but after we performed the hymn, they had the same miraculous reaction. For the rest of the evening, we made our way through the railcars, experiencing the same thing in each one. Never before had I seen such acceptance and love.
Returning home that night, I realized that I had experienced a miracle wrought by music, a message about the Savior, and the spirit of Christmas. Even in the coldest times of our lives, we can be comforted by the Lord’s presence. How blessed I was to have seen how drastically people can change under the influence of the Spirit. I will always remember that evening and treasure it in my heart. May the Spirit forever work such miracles!

Illustration by Vlad Gusev
I was in the middle of the Forbidden City in Beijing, China. Only minutes before, I had been surrounded by friends and teachers, but I was suddenly completely and utterly alone.
I immediately understood the danger I was in. A solitary 15-year-old American stood out like a sore thumb in the bustling palace museum. I had come to China with other high school classmates on a school-sponsored trip, and our teachers and guides had warned us numerous times about the possible dangers of touring a foreign country if we were not careful.
I walked around the area, pushing through crowds of tourists—Chinese and foreigner alike—and stood on my tiptoes trying to look for the matching red and white shirts that each member of our group wore. But I saw nothing. Somehow, my group had slipped away without me and I had no idea what direction they had gone in. I sat down and watched the entrances and exits. Ten minutes passed, then 30, then 45. No one from my group appeared.
Someone grabbed my hand. I looked up to see a short woman with slightly crazed eyes and long fingernails. She pulled at my hand. “Follow me,” she said in broken English. “Pretty girl, follow me.”
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Get back,” I yelled, pulling my hand back. Before she could grab it again, I raced through an exit and entered another section of the city.
I ran for a while until I was even more lost than before. I sat on a nearby step, away from the groups of people, and started to cry. I knew a few words of Chinese but certainly not enough to get directions back to our hotel, somewhere on the other side of the sprawling city of Beijing. And at this point, I was not even sure where an exit was.
Amid tears, I started to pray. I admitted that I had been foolish to wander from the group, even for a moment, and I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me find a way back to my group.
I stood up and walked back in the general direction I had come from. I did not receive any immediate revelation—and I was unsure of what that revelation would sound or feel like even if I did receive it. I had felt the Spirit before, a warm feeling after serving someone or hearing a talk in church, but I had never felt anything specific—certainly not directions on where to go. I started walking forward uncertainly, continuing the prayer in my heart.
I finally reached a fork in the road. I started to go right when I heard a voice whisper, “Stay.”
The voice was so soft that I almost disregarded it completely as one of my own thoughts. But it contained a sureness that I certainly didn’t feel at the moment. “Sit on that bench,” the voice said. I looked up and saw a bench in the middle of the fork. I went over and sat down. Only three minutes later, a familiar white and red shirt appeared in the crowd and waved toward me. It was our tour guide for the day.
I jumped up from the bench I was sitting on. I was so happy I almost hugged the woman.
“We have been looking for you for an hour!” she said. “Where were you?”
As she led me back to my group, I explained to her where I had been, starting with my separation from the group and ending with my decision to sit down instead of going right at the fork in the road.
“You’re very lucky,” she said. “If you had gone right at that turn, it would have taken you in the opposite direction from the rest of the group. The city is so big, I would never have been able to find you.”
I left China a few weeks later, managing to not get lost again during the trip, but I have thought back many times to the moment when I heard the voice of the Spirit whisper to me. It was not the kind of prompting I had received before, but it is what the Lord knew I needed in order to avoid going down a wrong path. I also recognized how easy it would have been to ignore it if I had not been listening.
Since that day, I have heard the Spirit many times in many different ways, warning me of both physical and spiritual danger. Sometimes I have seen the consequences of following or disobeying that voice like I did that first day in the Forbidden City. More often, I haven’t been able to see the results. But I have learned that when I humble myself and am willing to listen, the Lord will help me recognize the Spirit’s promptings and He will guide me back to where I need to be. With Him, I am never alone.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Those reactions justified my confidence in the scriptures. The returned missionary who had resented the assignment wrote, “I have rediscovered an exciting adventure. I have once again astonished myself with the wonder of learning and understanding the gospel as it has been presented to us by the prophets. The gospel has become even more relevant in these last few weeks than ever before. I understand more clearly that faith and the strength of one’s testimony are things that vary from day to day and must be kept current.”

The other students’ responses were equally enthusiastic. It was apparent that scripture study affected them just as it affected the ancient prophets. It vitalized their prayers, improved their sensitivity to spiritual things, increased their productivity, strengthened their self-mastery, and changed their attitude toward life.

One student spoke of a more sensitive conscience: “It seemed to have a residual effect on my conscience of not letting me rationalize so easily . … Especially since I had become engaged, I had noticed that I was trying to rationalize a few things, play it close to the line between black and white. I don’t say reading the scriptures was the only influence, but I am glad for their influence.”

Several students spoke of a new spirituality. A law student wrote: “One significant thing distinguishing the past year for me is the matter of scripture as a means of maintaining spiritual sensitivity. The results have been so undeniably stimulating to the spirit that I am now confident that daily scripture study shall be a life-long pursuit.”

A girl active in her sorority found that scripture reading helped her stay spiritual at school: “Well, I decided that if I promised to read the scriptures for thirty days, I would do it for thirty days—which wouldn’t do me too much good. So I promised to do it for the rest of my life. That was about six months ago. I’ve almost read the Book of Mormon three times since then and oh the difference! It has made possible the thing that I have always thought impossible, which is to be spiritual during the school year.”

Some students who had never enjoyed the scriptures discovered what a delight they could be. Wrote one girl, “I have tried to read the Book of Mormon many times, and each time felt that something was lacking. I had to force myself because I didn’t enjoy it and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. This year I’ve loved every minute of reading the scriptures. I now read the Book of Mormon every morning, and I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I thought it would be terribly hard to get in the habit of reading every morning, but it hasn’t been.”

Another wrote: “I am one who often used to ‘tune out’ when scriptures were read, not purposely, just automatically, and also one of those people who has never read the Book of Mormon. I started to read it two or three times but never got past 2 Nephi. … my whole attitude toward the scriptures and even the gospel itself has changed. Not that I didn’t feel a testimony before, but my testimony was built on faith and not scriptural knowledge. Now I feel that I have a much better understanding of the gospel and how it applies to me personally. Every time I read the scriptures at home or when we read them in class, I feel a closeness to God and Jesus Christ and more of a desire to do good. Even my prayers have changed, and I’ve only read through Enos.”

Students discovered that the scriptures brought them closer to God and made their whole lives happier. A boy living in the dorms wrote: “When I read scriptures out of the Book of Mormon, it seemed as though my whole day went more smoothly. I was happier with people. My life became cleaner. I would pray night and morning, which was hard to do before. I can control habits easier and ignore social pressures that are in the dorms. I really can’t explain the feelings I have, but all I know is that I feel closer to God.”

My father, Katsuhiro Kajiyama, is a humble and talented artist, professor, and an amazing father and grandfather. He is the epitome of Christlike light, love, and faith. However, my father’s life was not always filled with such light and hope. He is a survivor of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan. In this tragic event, his mother and brother, and many family members were killed. This is the last picture my father has with his family, taken eight months before the bombing.

On the morning of August 6, 1945, my father heard a loud air raid siren piercing the air, he ran and crouched by the school door. Suddenly an intense light appeared as if a “thousand flash photos had been taken.” There was a thunderous blast and a force so strong that the entire building shook. The world was filled with pandemonium and hysteria. Buildings were in flames, thick smoke engulfed virtually everything, and frenzied crying and screaming filled the air. During this fearful state, my father longed for his mother’s comfort and gentle touch. By some miracle his mother was able to locate my father through the rubble and chaos. In the midst of this devastation, even though severely injured and burned, my grandmother searched tirelessly for my father. It was his mother’s final act of love to find her son and bring him home. And, 20 pain-filled days later she died.

My father was tormented by the images of the pain and death of the bombing and losing his mother and brother. He longed to hear “the sweet, gentle call” of his mother. “It seemed that [he] would never find peace in this cruel and harsh existence.” But God did not forget him, and one day on a streetcar while headed to school, my father saw two gaijin (foreign), American missionaries. My father did not usually see foreigners, but if he did, he avoided them because they reminded him of the war and filled him with deep pain and sadness. However, on this day, a missionary, Elder Gary Roper, did something so small and simple that changed my father’s life forever—he smiled at my father. Yes, a SMILE! This act caught my father’s attention, it caused him to drop his veil of darkness and allowed the light of Christ to reach him. This simple act invited God’s light in, and my father agreed to hear the missionaries, attended church, was baptized, served a mission in Japan, attended BYU–Hawaii and BYU Provo, met my mother, Hilda Kajiyama, and was sealed in the Salt Lake Temple, then raised a beautiful family!

There was an old man in our ward who was visually impaired and couldn’t come to church. He is good friends with my dad, and I felt prompted to help him.
One of my friends and I got permission from my bishop to take the sacrament to him every Sunday. While I was doing that, I realized that sometimes he needed someone to iron his clothes. Then I realized he wasn’t able to do Come, Follow Me or read the Book of Mormon, so I read aloud to him.
The more I tried to be aware of ways to serve, the more I found things I could do to make a difference. This man has now moved away to be with his daughters, but I felt peace when I served him.
When Christ came to earth, He came to serve. I know that by serving this man, I was getting closer to my Savior.

“Hurry!” seven-year-old Ryan called to his friend Ben as they burst through the door of Ryan’s house. He and Ben walked home from school together every day, and Ben stayed at Ryan’s house until his mother got home from work.
“Hi, Mom,” Ryan said, grabbing a slice of banana bread off of the counter.
Ryan’s mother smiled and handed Ben a slice of his own. She gave Ryan a hug as both boys dropped their backpacks and sped into the computer room. The boys were allowed 20 minutes of computer time when they came home from school, and they couldn’t wait to play their favorite game.
“It’s my turn first,” Ryan said. He flopped into the tall red chair and slid “Monster Trucks” into the computer. It was Ryan’s favorite game, and they played it every day.
“Yeeee-ha!” Ben shouted as he watched Ryan’s blue computer truck jump over three cars. Ryan gunned the truck up the side of a tall mountain.
Ben jumped up and down and yelled whenever Ryan’s truck did any death-defying stunt. But as Ben got more excited, he began yelling words that made Ryan frown. Ryan cringed as Ben took the Lord’s name in vain.
The day before, Ryan had spoken to his mother about Ben’s language.
“Ben and his family aren’t members of the Church,” his mother had explained, “so he doesn’t understand that it’s bad to say those words.”
Still, hearing Ben swear took all the fun out of the game. Then Ryan had an idea. What if he taught Ben that it was wrong to take the Lord’s name in vain?
The next time Ben swore, Ryan stopped playing and turned to face his friend. “It’s not nice to say those words,” he said.
Ben looked surprised.
Ryan moved out of the chair so Ben could take a turn on the computer. He said, “It’s called taking the Lord’s name in vain. It’s like insulting Him, and it hurts me to hear you do it.”
Ben shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll stop saying them.” Then he grabbed the computer controls and clicked on his red truck.
Ben used good language for the rest of the afternoon, and Ryan’s smile grew bigger and bigger. He and Ben were best friends, and he was sure that Ben would try hard not to take the Lord’s name in vain again. Now this wouldn’t stand in the way of either their fun or their friendship.

Jeffrey didn’t even remember waking up—he just slipped from pleasant dreams to smelling Mom’s cooking. He wiggled his feet between the sheets as he listened to her distant, busy, kitchen sounds.
Later that morning, after his mother had gone visiting teaching, Jeffrey repeated her instructions over and over to himself. “I won’t be gone long,” she had said, “and I’ll be right next door if you need me. There is one thing I would like you to help me with while I’m gone—and two things I want you to not do.”
The thing Mom wanted him to do was one of Jeffrey’s favorites—the dishes. And the not-do things were easy—he wasn’t to eat any cookies or watch TV.
Just before she left, his mother had hugged him and then stretched her arms out wide. “This much,” she’d said. Jeffrey had smiled and stretched his arms out, too. “This much, Mom.”
Once, when Jeffrey was much smaller—he was almost seven now—his mother had asked him how much he loved her. He had flung his arms as wide as he could and said proudly, “This much!” That gesture had become one of their private messages to each other.
Jeffrey stood on the kitchen stool, washing the dishes with a sponge and setting them in the warm rinse water. He felt important for doing something to help Mom. As he worked, he thought, I won’t take a cookie, of course, but I wonder if they’re cowboy cookies?
Cowboy cookies were his favorite. Mom made them with oatmeal, coconut, semisweet chocolate, and raisins. He looked at the bear-shaped cookie jar on the far end of the counter. “I’m not going to take one,” he said aloud, “but I wonder … ?”
He moved his stool, climbed up to the counter, and pulled the jar to him. As he lifted the lid, the welcome smell reached him almost as quickly as his memory of it. Yep, they’re cowboy cookies all right!
His tummy grumbled, wanting one. “Nope, I won’t,” he told his tummy. But as he looked into the jar, he saw a bump on the side of one cookie—you know, the little bump that sticks out so that the cookie isn’t quite round. Mom probably wouldn’t mind if I just ate that, he thought.
Almost on their own, his fingers picked up the cookie and removed the little chunk from its side. It was a short move from there to his mouth. Mmmm, it was good! He set the cookie back in the jar, but now it had a ragged dent in its side. When Mom sees that, she won’t like how it looks. He took the cookie out and looked in the jar. That looked better. He put the lid back on, returned the jar to its place, and climbed off the stool, cookie in hand.
Jeffrey never thought that he would eat a cowboy cookie he didn’t like, but as he sat at the table, eating this one, all he could think of was how sad Mom would be if she knew.
He climbed back up to the sink and continued to wash the dishes. At least I didn’t look at the TV. During the day, there weren’t programs on he wanted to watch, anyway. Then he remembered watching cartoons about this time of day at his friend Mark’s home. Mom said no watching TV, and I’m not going to. But, he thought, I can just check to see if that channel with the cartoons is on our television.
He dried his hands on his apron, went to the television, and turned it on. It came to life with older people doing boring, older-people things. He turned to the station he thought Mark had had on. There were the cartoons! He watched the captivating characters scurry across the screen. As he burst out in laughter at them, his feet, as if on their own, backed him onto the couch.
He was only there a moment, he was sure, when he heard steps coming up the walk! It must be Mom! He shot up from the couch, shut off the TV, ran to the sink, and began to wash more dishes.
When his mother had unlocked the door and come in, Jeffrey didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He was ashamed of himself and hoped that she would never know how poorly he had done. He felt even worse when his mother rested her hand on his shoulder and asked, “Jeffrey, are you all right?”
“Yes.” But his voice didn’t even convince him.
Mom sat down at the kitchen table. “Come here,” she gently requested. “You know what?”
“What?”
“You have chocolate on your face.”
Jeffrey didn’t even try to wipe it off. He just sat down heavily on the chair next to her and hung his head.
“What happened, little buddy?”
The story poured out in a flood of tears. As she listened, she tenderly pulled him over onto her lap and rocked him back and forth. After a while she gently asked, “Do you know why you didn’t do what you really wanted to do?”
Jeffrey didn’t know. He wished that he did, and he told her so.
“Do you love me?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom—you know I do.”
“How much?”
He smiled a little. “More than this.” He opened his arms wide.
“Then,” she said, “let me tell you an important truth. You must promise never to forget it, and you must use it.”
He nodded, listening to her closely.
“OK,” she said, “Here it is: We will never arrive at the place we don’t want to go, if we don’t take the first step to get there.”
“Yeah?” Jeffrey waited for her to tell him the rest.
“That’s it.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mom explained, “There are things you will not want to do because they make you sad. And there are things you will want to do because they make you happy. No matter how hard the first step seems that takes you to happiness, once you take it, everything gets easier.
“And,” she continued, “no matter how easy or safe the first step to sadness seems, don’t take it. Then you will never get to where you don’t want to be. You see, you fooled yourself when you decided to just see if the cookies were cowboy cookies.”
“Ohhhh.” Jeffrey began to understand. If he hadn’t looked in the cookie jar to see if they were cowboy cookies, he wouldn’t have seen the cookie with the bump. Looking was his first step to where he wished he had never gone. He thought of how innocent and small it had seemed to him at the time. “And,” he blurted, “the first step with the TV was when I turned it on to see if there really were cartoons.”
Mom smiled, pleased that he understood. “Every first step we take is always the most important. After we take it, the other steps always come quicker, made stronger by the first one. So, if we never take the first step …”
“… we will never get there,” Jeffrey completed. “And that’s why the first step is the most important step.”
He and Mom sat together quietly for a while. “Will you remember?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, I’ll remember,” he assured her. It was so simple. I won’t fool myself and take the wrong first step again, he promised himself. He turned to Mom. Together, they said, arms stretched wide, “This much!”

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip. I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so that these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said that I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there might be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained.
I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several missionaries from these areas in the field for their entire missions.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate their funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?”
I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning but that there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting while other things are important.
Later the bishop said that he had talked to the young people and that they wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. He asked if they could bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation and if they could have the picture and an article put into the news.
I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”

Several years ago, a couple who was about to marry came to me. They asked for my advice regarding children. I reminded them of the commandment they would receive when they were sealed, and I counseled them that they could keep this commandment in counsel with the Lord. I reminded them that it is a commandment like tithing, Sabbath observance, or other commandments. Once a covenant is made, the question is not whether to keep it but how to keep it in a way that is pleasing to and approved by the Lord.
I watched as they started their marriage. He had a year left of undergraduate studies, and she had another year in a master’s program. They felt directed to have their family immediately—despite the schooling and uncertainty over future jobs. It was not easy or convenient to have a child so soon. He had to search for a job, they had to move, and she had to finish her degree. They faced stress and sacrifice. He had to rush home each day and watch the baby while she completed her thesis and practical training. She studied and wrote between nursing and changing diapers.
The Lord has blessed and prospered them. While many others lost jobs in the economic turndown of 2008, he was retained and promoted. Because they lived frugally, they are out of debt except for a mortgage, and they have since been able to completely pay for a master’s program with no debt. All the while, they have continued to learn the valuable lessons that can come only with parenthood. Bearing children is neither easy nor convenient, but it is a commandment that helps us realize the real blessings of mortality.

I believe that we also experience the miracle of forgiveness. Once a couple drove all the way from one of the central California stakes, came to my office, and said, “We just need half an hour with you.” The husband continued, “At conference you mentioned that every single major transgression must be confessed. Monday after conference my wife and I were sitting at home for home evening, and not a word had been spoken. Then my wife said to me, ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ And I said, ‘Yes, I think I am.’ She said, ‘How soon should we leave?’ And I said, ‘Why not right now?’” So they had climbed into their car and driven the sixteen hours to the Church Office Building.
The man went on, “We have come to confess a major transgression. Forty-three years ago, before we were married, we committed fornication once. My father was the bishop of the ward, and so he didn’t ask us the questions, but just signed our temple recommends. We went to the stake president and he saw that they were signed, so he didn’t ask the questions. We went to the temple unworthily.
“While we were out on our honeymoon we decided that we would make it up to the Lord. We would give every particle of energy all of our lives in order to repent: he couldn’t ask us to do anything we wouldn’t do. We’d pay more than our share of tithing, more than our share of building fund. We would go forth and really serve. We wouldn’t go to the temple that next year because we weren’t worthy.” It was almost a self-imposed restitution program.
“We’ve done that,” he said, “I’ve been a bishop and I’ve been on two high councils. My wife has been stake Relief Society president for six years. We know now—and I guess we’ve known all along, although we have repented—that we still had to confess.”
Normally we send people back to their bishops or stake presidents for such confessions; they do not need to come to the General Authorities, because every single member of the Church has a priesthood leader. But General Authorities are common judges, and so I called President Kimball on the phone and said, “President Kimball, I have this lovely couple in my office.” I explained to him the story of this couple and said, “I feel that they’ve repented. Would you feel all right if I exercised my common judgeship and simply closed this case for these two wonderful people, so they will not have to drive the sixteen hours back to California just to go through this experience again?”
He asked, “Are they still in your office?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Would you bring them right up?”
I know that it shocked me. I said yes, hung up the phone, and said to them, “President Kimball would like to see you in his office right now.” The blood drained from their faces.
I took them up to the twenty-fifth floor, where his office was at that time, and we walked back through the reception area to Arthur Haycock’s office, where Brother Haycock said, “The President is expecting you.”
The President got up from his desk and came to the door to meet us. I introduced him to this lovely couple and said, “President, I need not stay. I’ll run back downstairs. When you’re finished, call me and I’ll come right back up and get them.”
He said, “Bishop, I want you to come in, too.”
I went into his office along with the couple. We sat down in front of his desk, and he went around behind the desk. Then, for three or four minutes, he visited with them tenderly and sweetly about the things he had in his office. Then he turned to the man and said, “Bishop Featherstone has told me about this condition. Have you suffered equal to the transgression?” In other words, “It has been a major transgression; have you suffered?”
Tears came to this brother’s eyes, and he said, “President, we think we have suffered many times more.”
President Kimball asked, “Have you prayed for forgiveness?” The man said, “I have prayed for forgiveness, and my wife has. We haven’t offered a prayer in forty-three years in which we haven’t asked for forgiveness.”
Let me digress here just to say this: Do you know that the President of the Church is the only man on the face of the earth who can actually forgive on behalf of the Lord? The rest of us who are common judges forgive on behalf of the Church, as the Lord’s agents. President Kimball has said that he never uses this authority unless he really knows.
After talking to them and counseling with them, he said finally, “Would you feel all right if I came around and knelt down and had a prayer with you?” He came around from behind his desk. The couple knelt, and we knelt facing the couple. President Kimball offered the prayer and said these words in the very beginning: “Heavenly Father, we love thee.” he said “We love thee” in a way I have never heard it said before. Tears came to my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I could hear them dropping on the carpet, and they sounded like thunder, to me at least.
He continued to pray; and I understood a little better then what an advocate is, because he pleaded for this couple. He felt that they had repented, but he needed to know.
Finally, as he concluded his prayer and stood up, he came over, put his arm through my arm, pulled me close to him, and asked me a question. Do you know, I still do not know what the question was? I never did answer it. All I know is that I turned to him with tears in my eyes and said, “President Kimball, I love you.” And I did—every particle of my heart and soul loved the man President Kimball.
He then went over to this man and said to him, as he shook his hand, “I want you to forgive yourself, and I want you to forgive your wife. I don’t want you ever to think about it again. You are forgiven.” The man put his head down on President Kimball’s shoulder and sobbed. In a few moments President Kimball walked over to the woman, took both of her hands in his, and said, “I want you to forgive yourself. I want you never to think about it again. You are forgiven.”
I could not have had that experience except for the fact that I had tried to walk in the Savior’s footsteps. Every one of you who has had similar experiences has had them because you have tried to walk in his steps.