Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago, I went on my first assignment as a newly called General Authority Seventy. Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was my senior companion and it was a chance for me to observe and to learn as he presided over a stake conference in Minnesota. On Saturday, we had a meeting with many wonderful sisters from the auxiliaries in the stake. The chapel and cultural hall were filled as these sisters came, anxious to be taught and edified by an apostle of the Lord. The teaching by Elder Rasband was inspired and focused on Christ. At a certain point, while Elder Rasband was conducting this session in a question-and-answer format, I felt a strong spiritual impression as a sister asked a question, recalling a personal experience that would have been a perfect response. At that very moment, while Elder Rasband was standing at the pulpit, he turned to me and asked, “Elder Palmer, is there something you want to say?” I marveled and asked myself, “How did he do that?”
A couple of years later while in a question-and-answer session with leaders and wives in Johannesburg—led by Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—I once again had the exact same experience. A long time after the meeting had started and while sitting quietly some distance away, I again felt a spiritual prompting regarding a question asked and felt an impression that it should be shared but did not want to interrupt. At that precise moment Elder Bednar turned to me and asked if there was something I wished to add. Once again, after giving my response, I silently asked myself, “How did he know to do that? How did he know at the very instant an impression had been received by someone else, that he should turn to them and invite them to share it?” The next day I told Elder Bednar what had happened and asked, “How did you do that?” He simply smiled and said, “You know the answer.”
Earlier in the week, we had been together in Kinshasa for an amazing young adult meeting, which filled every room in the stake center and overflowed into a large outdoor seating area. The questions were excellent and the teaching so inspired. I was sitting off to one side when—during the second hour of the meeting—Elder Bednar came over and quietly whispered for me to go into one of the other rooms where young adults were watching by broadcast, and ask if anyone had a question they would like to ask Elder Bednar. I entered one of the rooms where they were reverently watching, and as I began to ask if anyone had a question, they pointed to a bishop who was walking up to me and who then handed me half a dozen pages of questions he had already collected from all the rooms. I was astonished and asked why he did that (knowing no one had told him to do so). He simply said he knew we would be coming and felt it was the right thing to do. The Lord is in charge and through His Spirit clearly orchestrated all aspects of that extraordinary experience with thousands of excited young adults so anxious to see and learn from an Apostle of the Lord.

On his thirty-third birthday, Wilford Woodruff was preaching in the town of Hanley, England. He was extremely successful in that location, and so he was surprised when the Lord inspired him to go southward, where he was literally directed to the John Benbow farm just outside of Birmingham. A group known as the United Brethren had banded together and were praying for the Lord to send messengers with the fulness of the gospel.
From this group alone, Elder Woodruff baptized 45 preachers and 160 members of the congregation. One of the policemen who was sent to arrest Elder Woodruff for preaching the gospel joined the Church himself after listening to this dynamic missionary speak. Two local officials from the Church of England who went to spy on the meetings also ended up asking for baptism at his hand.
Wilford Woodruff brought 336 people into the Church in the year 1840. Then, responding to the call of President Joseph Smith, he and the other Brethren set sail for home, bringing with them a boatload of converts.

I grew up in Krasnodar, Russia. As a young girl, I was baptized in a Christian church that was part of my culture. I knew that Jesus Christ was real, but I wasn’t very active in my religion.
A few years later, I met missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I gained a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and entered into a covenant with God through baptism—a covenant to serve God, keep His commandments, and be willing to take the name of Jesus Christ upon me and always remember Him.
When I was first baptized, my life was going well! I loved God, Jesus Christ, and the Church. I loved the gospel so much that I wanted to share my feelings with my classmates. But when I did, I was met with opposition. Because of how others treated me for my faith, I had to switch schools. And I had to travel the path as a disciple of Christ mostly alone.
I was able to manage this for a while. I spent time with my few friends and the missionaries. My testimony was strong, but after I graduated and moved to a new city, I was a bit more cautious about sharing my faith because of my past negative experiences.
I started to focus less and less on the gospel. During this time, even though I didn’t prioritize the gospel much, I still expected God to give me a helping hand with my struggles. But when those blessings I expected didn’t come, I decided I didn’t want to wait for His direction anymore.
One missed church meeting turned into three, which turned into months of not going. This led to me making small decisions that went against gospel standards, which eventually turned into a series of bigger choices. Before I knew it, I had been living outside the Church for five years and had never felt so distant from God.
In the back of my mind, I knew I had made covenants, and I still had a fragment of a testimony. But I pushed those thoughts away because it was uncomfortable to acknowledge that I was not living in line with the gospel.
Eventually, I reached a breaking point, where I was experiencing a spiritual famine. I knew I had to return to God—nothing was bringing me true happiness or fulfillment. However, the journey back to Him seemed too overwhelming to start. I wanted to be the person I was five years ago, the one who had such strong faith, but I felt lost.
I wondered if there was even a way back.
Finally, I worked up the courage to act. The path back seemed so difficult to take alone, but I remembered that I wasn’t alone. As Deuteronomy 31:6 says, “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid … : for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”
As soon as I decided to turn toward Jesus Christ again, miracles continued to guide me back to the covenant path. Because of the covenants we make with God, if we choose to return to Him and repent with an honest heart, He will honor and renew those covenants with us.
My small but intentional acts of repentance helped me find renewal through Jesus Christ. And by studying the words of my patriarchal blessing, praying to my Father in Heaven, and doing those simple things that bring us closer to Christ, I gained confidence that the Savior was changing me for the better.
As Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently shared, “As you walk the covenant path, from baptism to the temple and throughout life, I promise you power to go against the natural worldly flow—power to learn, power to repent and be sanctified, and power to find hope, comfort, and even joy as you face life’s challenges.”
As someone who fell away from the covenant path and later returned, I can testify that this is true.
If you feel like you are too far away from the gospel to return, you are not! I felt lost too, but as you remain focused on Jesus Christ, He will guide you.
All you need to do is trust Him.

“Our first location there was in a log stable belonging to a widow White. Some blocks east of what was known as the Temple block. This hovel was made of a small class of crooked poles, between which I often crept instead of raising the quilt hung over the doorway. This part … at that time was thickly covered with blackberry bushes mixed with oak and hazel brush. Our family were all sick with chills and fever (familiarly known as the shakes) except my mother.
“From this Mormon home … Brother George A. [Smith] started as an Apostle on his mission to England, he having to be lifted into the wagon, as he was too weak to walk. This was in September, 1839. Before leaving he placed in my hand his last quarter of a dollar with a request to get mother some tea. The next day the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum visited us and administered to us all, father being delirious from the effects of the fever. Their words comforted us greatly, as they said in the name of the Lord you all shall be well again. Upon leaving the hovel Joseph placed his slippers upon my mother’s feet and sprang upon his horse from the doorway and rode home barefoot. The next day Joseph removed father to his own house and nursed him until he recovered.”3
“A few days after her [Oliver’s mother’s] death, which was the third in Nauvoo [then called Commerce], Brother Joseph seeing that we still grew worse, told William that we would all die if we stayed there, and that he must take the team and bring us down to his own house. So he took us all into his own family, but me, he sent to Hiram Clarks, about twenty rods distant, yes forty rods. Here I spent an awful summer, the most dreadful I ever experienced, or ever expect to, in that way. My ague was attended with the Cortivical Rheumatics the most painful of all afflictions wherewith I was ever afflicted. Every other day I had the ague, and the days between, the rheumatics raged. Thus I passed days and almost weeks. …”4

For many years we have been conducting a home Relief Society once a week in our small town in Spain. Since the majority who attend are women of other faiths, at first we avoided teaching the doctrinal lessons in the Relief Society manuals. But gradually we began including Spiritual Living lessons.
One morning I prayerfully searched for a topic that would inspire the women. “What should the women hear this week, Father?” I prayed.
Then I came across a lesson on prayer and fasting. I felt inspired that this one should be given, but I also wondered how the idea of fasting would come across to those who were not members of the Church. I decided to follow the inspiration, having learned long ago not to question the promptings of the Spirit.
The class went well, and many mistaken ideas and doubts were cleared up. The women began to understand that fasting, used together with prayer, is a powerful tool anyone can use. As I was leaving, a woman who rarely attended our meetings came up to me and asked, “Can I fast, too?”
“Why of course you can, Manoli,” I replied. “Anyone can fast, Heavenly Father makes no distinctions among his children.”
Manoli was visibly upset as she continued. “You see, my mother has been in a mental hospital for two years. She has become worse lately and doesn’t even recognize me or my sister. We feel so helpless going to see her. It hurts me so much to see her like that.”
I told Manoli I would begin a fast with her. We started with a prayer. As we got up from our knees, I explained that Heavenly Father always answers prayers and fasting, but in his time and in his way.
The next day Manoli’s sister told Manoli that the hospital staff had stopped giving their mother her regular sedatives because her condition had markedly improved. She was free from the agony she had experienced previously and was peacefully lying in bed. She died the following day, but Manoli was comforted by the assurance that her mother was still enjoying peace and freedom from pain.
I learned a great deal from this experience. I know that Heavenly Father had Manoli in mind when he inspired me to give a lesson that prepared two sisters for their mother’s death.

As I think about Lehi’s circumstances, I am able to connect his experience to my own opportunity when I first received the restored gospel of Jesus Christ by being baptized and had begun understanding that I was a child of God and that I can become like God. I was only fifteen years old when I began learning the gospel from missionaries. In order to commit to be baptized and to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt that I would have to discontinue some of the traditions and practices that were deeply rooted in Buddhism and Shintoism. To my family, joining the Church and becoming a follower of Jesus Christ seemed so foreign. They must have thought I was simply a rebellious teenage boy.

Instead, I hoped that living the gospel of Jesus Christ might help me honor my father and mother better, and I hoped that they might eventually appreciate the truths I had found. This was a confusing situation for a young boy, but I was so comforted by the words of Jesus Christ, and I found much joy and peace by adhering to His message. What gave me courage were the words of Jesus Christ when He said:

Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.11

For me, following the Savior by being baptized became my application of leaving my own Jerusalem and becoming “a new creature” in Christ.12 Even though at that time my parents did not like the choice I had made, over time they supported my decision to follow the Savior. More than thirty years later, my mother chose to follow the Savior by being baptized and becoming a member of the Church.

Sometimes the least likely prospects turn out to be the most receptive. Sherilyn Oakey and some friends were feeling crestfallen one day because a friend had just refused a gift subscription. “Well, I’ll take it,” a voice behind them said. They looked and then they had to look again. The voice belonged to one of the most anti-Mormon students in the whole school. She hasn’t shown much interest in the Church yet, but she now reads and enjoys the New Era.

Some 50 years ago I became an assistant Scoutmaster in a little country town in southern Idaho. What a challenge it was to work with and to lead 24 boys in the first Scout troop in this little rural community. Talk about rewards for effort! Every day of my life has been enriched by that association and service. I wish time permitted me to tell you the satisfying story of those 24 lively, sometimes mischievous, but wonderful boys. I have been rewarded tenfold. I think I will divert just long enough to tell you one little experience.
In those days each ward was expected to have a boys’ chorus, and the bishop would often invite the Scoutmaster to lead it. So it was in our case.
For weeks, before and after Scout meetings, we prepared, and finally the time came when we would meet in competition with the other wards in the stake.
We were successful in winning over the 11 wards, and then we were to meet the winners of six other stakes of the Cache Valley at Logan, Utah. It was a great experience to go down to the great city of Logan, a city of about 10,000 people. Many of those boys had never been 25 miles from home. I shall never forget approaching that great building, the tabernacle in Logan. We went inside and drew for position, and to the increase of our anxiety we drew last place.
Finally the time came for our group to march up to the platform. As the accompanist played “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” those 24 boys went up the aisle and formed a half-moon on the stage, while I crouched down between a couple of benches to try and give them some leadership. I got a great thrill as those 24 boys sang together, and of course, you can well appreciate I would not be telling this story had we not won in Logan.
We went home literally walking on air! We were so happy that our little community of 50 families had won over the other stakes and wards of the valley.
Monday night was Scout meeting, and shortly after the meeting opened one of the boys reminded me that in a moment of great anxiety or weakness, I don’t know which, I had promised that if we were successful in winning the contest, I would take them on a 35-mile hike over the mountain to Bear Lake. Well, of course, a promise made is a debt unpaid.
We began planning our hike, and during the meeting one little 12-year-old raised his hand and very formally said, “Mr. Scoutmaster, I would like to make a motion.” That was a new thing in Scouting, or it was for me. I said, “All right, what?” He said, “I’d like to make a motion, so we will not be bothered with combs and brushes on this trip, that we all clip our hair off.”
I noticed three or four older boys starting to squirm in their seats. They had reached that very critical age in life when they were beginning to take notice of the girls, and a clipped head, they knew, would be no asset to them with the women. We put the question to a vote, and it carried with these three or four older boys dissenting. Then it was agreed that if they didn’t submit willingly, there were other ways of enforcing the rules of the troop, and they submitted. Then, true to form, never forgetting, one of them said, “How about the Scoutmasters?”
It was our turn to squirm. But the following Saturday at the county seat, two Scoutmasters took their places in the barber’s chair while the barber very gleefully went over each head with the clippers. As he neared the end of the job, he said, “Now, if you fellows would let me shave your heads, I would do it for nothing.” And so we started on that hike—24 boys with heads clipped and two Scoutmasters with heads shaven.
Well, it was a glorious three weeks together with those wonderful boys out in the hills and in the mountains and on the lake. I wish I could take the time to relate the life of each one of those boys from that time until the present; I am proud of them. One of the joys of working with boys is the fact that you do get your pay as you go along. You have an opportunity to observe the results of your leadership daily as you work with them through the years and watch them grow into stalwart manhood, accepting eagerly its challenges and responsibilities.

“Why do I still remember my sins?” asked the woman who sat in my office. She was distraught, yet she had an earnest desire to understand.
At the time, I was serving as a mission president, and this sister had come to seek my counsel on a matter that had troubled her for some time.
She told me that years earlier, she had committed a serious sin. She had confessed to her appropriate priesthood leader and had followed counsel in seeking forgiveness from the Lord, the Church, and the individuals involved. She had changed her life and was now obeying the commandments. Still, the things she had done returned to her mind from time to time.
“The Lord has said that when we repent, we are forgiven,” she said, “and he remembers our sins no more. [See D&C 58:42.] But if I still remember my sins, that must mean I have not fully repented and that the Lord has not forgiven me. What more can I do? How will I ever know that the Lord has forgiven me?”
I asked her a few questions and became convinced that her attitude was one of repentance, obedience, and sincerity. Then I invited her to open the scriptures. Together, we read the Lord’s commands to forgive one another and to forgive all mankind. I told her that if we must forgive one another, we must also forgive ourselves.
She accepted the principle of forgiving others, but the idea of forgiving herself was still very difficult for her. Other scriptures brought similar responses. She was not comforted.
Next, we began to read about the principle of faith in Jesus Christ. Although I prayed silently that the Lord would direct our conversation, I was unaware that the Spirit would soon teach us with great impact. I felt prompted to turn to the Book of Mormon, to Alma chapter 36, which I was currently reading in my own personal scripture study.
I asked her to read aloud the words of Alma the Younger to his son Helaman: “And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world” (verse 17). The scripture sounded as if it were directed specifically to her! It was interesting to note that as Alma remembered his sins, he also remembered the Atonement.
She continued to read: “Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death” (verse 18). This sister’s cries were the same as Alma’s!
Then she read verse 19: “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my [sins] no more.”
The words jumped off the page at me. She had read it wrong! The word was not sins.
I asked her to read the verse again. The Spirit whispered to me that she was about to receive an answer to the question that had caused her such anguish.
Without removing her eyes from the page, she silently reread the verse. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she came to a realization. Softly, with her voice difficult to control, she now read aloud: “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.” (Italics added.)
Her eyes were filled not with tears of anguish, but rather of joy, understanding, and acceptance.

I’m no dummy—or at least that’s what I thought. I knew that after a mission the next really important thing is marriage. That’s scary—so a year before I returned, I made a list of what I wanted in a wife.
Everyone knows that a couple with both partners completely committed to the gospel is more likely to be happy and stay married, so I planned to look for a girl with a solid foundation in the Church. I named the trait “unshakable gospel stability” and put it number one on my list. Smart, attractive, and talented were on the list too, but the cute stuff is easy. I wasn’t sure how to tell if a girl was unshakable.
Humility aside, I was quite sure of my own unshakability. After all, I’m a fourth-generation Mormon from Manti, Utah. My family is active, and I’m descended from pioneer stock, so I figured my gospel foundation was on bedrock. Generations of tradition are bound to help a person keep close to the Church. With that in mind, I decided the safest thing I could do was find a girl with a background just like mine.
Now don’t get me wrong. I think converts are great. They have enthusiasm—fire, I guess you’d call it. But as a missionary I had worked in little branches of the Church with impressive membership lists and only a few active members. I didn’t want to risk marrying someone with a flame that might go out.
After my mission, I enrolled at BYU and dated a bit. I wasn’t really looking to get married, but I kept my list in my pocket just in case. Then I met Beverly at my family home evening group. What a fireball! She was so excited to be at BYU that she could hardly contain herself. She was smart and cute, too, and so much fun that I volunteered to help her with her Book of Mormon homework.
“So,” I said casually, “where are you from?”
“California,” she replied, looking me straight in the eye. “And yes, I am a convert.”
I winced to hear those two “C” words in the same sentence.
“Have you been a member long?” I asked.
“Not long,” she admitted.
I made a mental note not to get emotionally involved until I was sure about her. But then she started questioning me.
“What callings have you had in the Church?” she wanted to know.
We compared notes. She had taught Primary, been a pianist, conducted the ward choir, directed a ward play, and been on the stake youth council. I had been LDSSA president—I was pretty proud of that because almost everyone in my high school was enrolled in released-time seminary. Bev didn’t seem impressed. There were only ten or fifteen students in her early-morning seminary class, and they took turns being president.
“I got up every morning at 5:30 to go to class,” she told me. I ducked my head and wondered if I would have done that.
By the time general conference came around we were seeing each other nearly every day. It was just as friends, you understand. I didn’t want to get serious. We went to church together every Sunday, but when she invited me to take her to the Tabernacle to see the prophet in person, I was a little reluctant.
“It’s awfully crowded,” I complained. “Why don’t we watch the sessions on television?”
“It’s a promise I made to myself,” she said in her determined way. “I may not be in Utah for very long, and I’m not going to miss seeing general conference in person.”
We went to conference. One thing led to another, and I invited her to drive to Manti to meet my mother.
The Manti Temple is a beautiful white limestone building that stands on a hill so you can see it from one end of the valley to the other. The pageant on the temple grounds is our summer youth program. Everyone has a chance to participate, and loudspeakers broadcast the sound all over town so that anyone who cares to listen soon has the script memorized.
I pointed out the temple as soon as we drove into the valley. Bev caught her breath when she saw it. “Oh,” she said, “it glows. I’d love to feel that influence every day.”
The Manti cemetery is beside the temple hill. I showed Bev the grave of my great-grandfather who helped build the temple.
“This is wonderful,” Bev said.
Bev won my mother over immediately. While they were chatting, I took out my list and read it again. I realized I was getting a little attached and began to panic. Was Beverly unshakable? I was going to have to decide.
“It must have been great to raise your family here where the Church is so strong,” I heard Bev tell my mother. “I wish my family were members.”
After dinner, Mom showed Beverly her collection of genealogy pictures. She stopped at the photo of her Grandmother Hansen and told her how Grandma’s family disowned her when she joined the Church in Denmark.
“We’re very proud of these pioneers,” Mom remarked. “They all made great sacrifices for the gospel.” Then she looked directly at me. “Each of them was a convert to the Church.”
“You know,” I said to Bev as we left town. “One of the things I really love about you is your enthusiasm for the gospel.”
“And I’m impressed with your family’s strong gospel traditions,” she replied. “You ought to be proud of your pioneer ancestors.”
“I am,” I said truthfully. But my thoughts were elsewhere. Unshakability doesn’t come from other people; it’s a personal choice. Being descended from pioneers is good, I decided. But wouldn’t it be great to be married to one?

When I was 13, I was so cool. My shoes were always untied, and my pants could have fit twice as many legs as I had. The more average I appeared, the more popular I became. It seemed the most impressive thing I could do was nothing. At times I felt like doing something, but I rarely gave in, for I was cool.
In my life, I had a number of activities and abilities that I felt were anti-cool. Some of my “faults” were my ability to play the piano and get good grades. Perhaps my greatest hitch was my involvement in Scouting, seen by some kids at school as less than cool. After all, Scouts advocate doing a good turn daily. If someone asked about Scouting, I would quickly change the subject.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy camping and other activities. I just didn’t want my peers to know that I enjoyed such things. If that knowledge ever spread, I knew that my cool friends would begin drifting away.
As winter arrived, my troop helped with the Scouting for Food drive. The Scouts advertised the food drive and collected the food by going around neighborhoods, usually dressed in their Scout uniforms. I felt I could not possibly participate. Someone might see me, delivering a fatal blow to my popularity. My parents, however, decided I needed to go.
As I walked out the door that day, I made every effort to keep a negative attitude. I eventually concluded that I would simply stay low in the cab of the truck and pass the time looking over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t spotted by anyone of importance.
The other guys passed the time in between houses throwing snowballs, telling jokes, and goofing around. That’s how it started. A little crack in my armor began. Jokes that started out seeming juvenile and annoying began to give me the chuckles, and I returned snowballs with snowballs instead of cold glares. By the end of our route, I was laughing while riding in the truck and racing to pick up the most food. Fortunately, I completely forgot that such simple pleasures were “beneath me.”
When I got dropped off in front of my house, I said good-bye and jaunted cheerfully into the kitchen, completely forgetting about my earlier lack of enthusiasm. My mom asked me how it had been, and I replied, “I had a great time.”
Just after these words slipped out of my mouth, I realized what I had done. How could I have told my mother this, of all things? I quickly tried to cover my mistake, coming back with, “Well, it was okay,” hoping that perhaps she would somehow not remember my initial response.
Looking back on this experience, I gained a few things from it. My search for peer approval was ridiculous. I decided that acting cool all the time really wasn’t cool. It didn’t benefit anyone, and it wasn’t any fun. When I acted disinterested, life was unexciting. Enjoyment, as it turned out, was independent of popularity. Who would have thought that? I gave this theory a test during the next week of school by making an effort to enjoy life rather than ignore it. This test was a great success. I had fun.
My Scouting experience taught me that I controlled whether or not I enjoyed myself in any situation—or in life. Attitude really is everything.

But Rigmor does not see her willingness to speak up as especially courageous. “I don’t really need courage,” says Sister Heistø. “I just think, ‘Oh, here is something I can do.’” One day, for example, she picked up the newspaper and read an interesting article in which Georg Fredrik Rieber-Mohn, the attorney general of Norway, lamented the state of family life and cultural values in Norway. He warned that the pursuit of materialism could destroy the country and called for the state church to teach values with authority.
Sister Heistø thought the attorney general needed to know that a church is already doing the very things he advocated and that its name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So she wrote a letter to him.
A week later, the attorney general himself called, asking Sister Heistø to meet with him. As a result, she spent several hours explaining the Church to Mr. Rieber-Mohn. “I think the Lord knows two things about me,” says Sister Heistø. “He knows I am not afraid of other people. Why should I be? … And,” she adds, smiling, “he knows I can talk.”

When his children were young, Juan José Resanovich of Argentina turned to the Book of Mormon when he had questions about how to teach and raise his children. “My wife and I searched its pages for inspiration for our children, and we always found answers,” he wrote.

The Resanoviches taught their children obedience by pointing them to Nephi’s example in 1 Nephi 3:5–6:

“Thy brothers murmur, saying it is a hard thing which I have required of them; but behold I have not required it of them, but it is a commandment of the Lord.

“Therefore go, my son, and thou shalt be favored of the Lord, because thou hast not murmured.”

“We taught our children that Nephi respected his earthly parents and the things of God,” wrote Juan. “We made a goal that as a family we would have Nephi’s attitude of respect and obedience.

“Each of our children served a mission. We did not have to convince them to serve. They have been good students, good friends, and good children. Our family has a lot to improve, but the Book of Mormon is a tremendous help in reaching our goals.”

But yesterday, as I thought about how busy I would be, I indulged in a dose of self-pity—until I opened the Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt and started reading where I had left off. Elder Pratt had been taken prisoner, along with Joseph and Hyrum Smith and others, during difficult days in Missouri. After being taken to Independence, the Brethren were confined to a hotel to sleep on the floor with a block of wood for a pillow.
One cold, snowy morning Elder Pratt arose and, unnoticed, slipped out of the hotel. He made his way eastward through town and into adjacent fields. After walking about a mile (1.6 km), Elder Pratt entered a forest, the falling snow covering his tracks and the trees hiding his presence.
He reflected on his predicament. To continue eastward meant escape into another state, where he could send for his family. To return to the hotel meant incarceration and accusations of high crimes. Tempted to escape, Elder Pratt thought of the “storm of trouble, or even of death” he would cause the other prisoners if he left.
In his quandary, a scriptural thought struck him: “He that will seek to save his life shall lose it; but he that will lose his life for my sake shall find it again, even life eternal” (see Mark 8:35; D&C 98:13).
Elder Pratt returned to the hotel. Months of arduous incarceration would follow—without family, fellowship of the Saints, or the ability to serve in his apostolic calling.1

Years ago, one of my daughters, who was about seven years old at the time, had a friend over at our home for a play date. The two of them were playing pretend.

When my wife went to check on them, she observed that they were pretending to shoot each other. She explained to them that she was thrilled that they were using their imaginations and playing pretend but that it was not a good idea to pretend to shoot each other. “We don’t shoot people in real life, and so we don’t pretend to shoot them either,” she said.

The children nodded, and my wife left them to resume playing.

A little while later she went to check on them again, and again they were shooting each other. Patiently, my wife said, “I thought I told you that we don’t pretend to shoot people.”

My daughter responded, “I know, but now we are pretending that you didn’t say that.”

Pretending—a form of playing—allows us the liberty to imagine and live in, even if only momentarily and subjunctively, someplace better and purer than our current reality. It is the lifeblood of creativity and invention, but it also provides us with the liberty to suspend authority, defy spiritual law, and practice sin. Playing can be dangerous.

Illustrations by Jim Madsen
“The Lord my shepherd is …” Music swirled around Jane Elizabeth Manning, but she couldn’t focus on the words. She was looking at her hands, deep in thought.
She had joined the Presbyterian church a year ago. But she still felt like something was missing. I’m searching for something more, she thought. But what could that be?
After the church meeting ended, Jane drifted outside with the rest of the congregation. The leaves were beginning to turn red and gold. Sunlight glinted off the nearby Norwalk River.
“A traveling missionary has come to town,” a man was saying. “He’s a Mormon, and he says God is speaking to prophets again.”
Jane stopped to listen. Could this be what she was searching for?
“Prophets?” another man scoffed. “Like from the Bible? Who would go listen to such a message?”
“I would!” Jane blurted out. A few people turned to stare at her, including the pastor. Jane felt her cheeks grow warm.
The pastor frowned. “I don’t think you should go hear him. It’s foolishness, that’s what. Do you understand?” When she said nothing, he nodded and moved to speak with someone else. Jane watched him leave and then hurried home.
Home wasn’t where Mamma and her brothers and sisters lived. It was at the Fitches’ farm. She had gone to live there as a servant when she was just six years old. Every day she worked hard, helping Mrs. Fitch with the washing, ironing, and cooking. She usually got up before the sun. She built the fire, kneaded bread, and churned the butter. Whenever she could, she went to visit her own family.
A few days later, Jane was still thinking about the missionary while she was hanging up Mr. Fitch’s shirts to dry. The clothes flapped in the brisk breeze.
The pastor had told her not her to go, and yet … she needed to. She needed to see if this Mormon could help her find the truth she was searching for. By the time she finished hanging the clothes, she had made up her mind. She would go to the meeting, no matter what anyone else said.
On Sunday, Jane woke at dawn, put on her nicest dress, and walked alone to the meeting hall. She quietly slipped onto a wooden bench at the back of the hall. Jane smiled when she saw how many people were there. It seemed she was not the only one looking for something more!
The room quieted when Elder Wandell stood. The next hour passed quickly as he spoke about the Book of Mormon and a prophet named Joseph. He said people could be baptized by immersion, just as Christ was. And he talked about the Saints gathering to a faraway city called Nauvoo. By the end of the meeting, Jane’s heart felt so full she could hardly breathe.
That night, Jane visited her family.
“And what did you think of the missionary’s message?” her mother asked when Jane explained how she had spent her Sunday.
“I am fully convinced he presented the true gospel,” Jane said. “I must embrace it. I am going to be baptized next Sunday.”
“Baptized? You’re joining another church?” her brother, Isaac, asked, pulling up a chair.
“Yes! It’s what I’ve been searching for. It’s true.”
Isaac could tell she was serious. “So what happens next?” he asked quietly. “What will you do after you’re baptized?”
“I’ll gather with the Saints,” Jane said. “I’m going to Nauvoo.”
To be continued …

The rodeo chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat on the horse in perfect form, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild animal.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.
Now Zane is serving a mission in Brazil and teaching the gospel to people in Portuguese. And he says, “I wouldn’t trade this mission experience for anything—even a national professional rodeo championship.”
It was in June of 1990 that Zane Davis secured the award as the national collegiate all-around cowboy of the year in the College National Finals Rodeo in Bozeman, Montana. Although only a freshman at the College of Southern Idaho, Zane didn’t get to the number-one spot by simply riding a few wild horses and winning a few competitions. Zane’s training started before he could walk, when his father, Shawn Davis (a three-time National Finals Rodeo saddle bronc world champion), took him along to rodeos across North America.
At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the eight- to twelve-year-old cowboys. But since he was too young to compete, he was only allowed to demonstrate his riding skill. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs and climbed aboard a rather angry calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the time limit before falling off.
He entered his next rodeo when he was only five, and this time a pony bucked him off. But he still walked away with third-place honors. Hundreds of rodeos later, Zane had earned an impressive array of saddles, belt buckles, trophies, and cash prizes. The success came as a result of hard work.
Each day at his parents’ ranch in Idaho, Zane exercised by doing eighty sit-ups, twenty pull-ups, and four hundred push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping ten to twenty calves and practicing once a week for each riding event. Also, before each rodeo, Zane asked his father for a father’s blessing. Zane says, “I feel that these blessings kept me from getting injured on many occasions; and when I was injured, I recovered remarkably fast.”
Zane adds that obeying the Word of Wisdom has been a great blessing in his life. “Other cowboys who drink and take drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is that he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo, he had to ride a bull that had thrown off all the college-age riders who had tried to ride it. But Zane, only thirteen years old, got on the bull and rode him in three out of five attempts. “I don’t remember ever being really frightened at a rodeo,” said Zane. “A little fear is always good for you, but too much fear is not good. If you have a little fear, you plan better. If you have too much fear, you may get out of control.”
One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. Colleges all over the United States were recruiting him. Although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane wrote home from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three times at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”
In his life, Zane has ridden a thousand wild horses and roped a thousand calves. Rodeo became easy to him. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father—who was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
Zane’s mission in Brazil was not easy. He underwent the shock of learning a new language and living in a different culture. But Zane improved daily. And on his mission he learned firsthand that his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

In 1846, Drusilla’s family again were forced to run from the danger of an angry mob. They traveled 300 miles from Nauvoo to Council Bluff, Iowa. There, the US Army asked Brigham Young to provide soldiers to march to California and fight in the war against Mexico.

Drusilla records:
My oldest son William wanted to join up. At first, I refused to let him go. I needed William to help me on the trek west. My husband was an invalid, my next son was only six years old.
When I was alone, the whisperings of the spirit said to me: ‘Are you afraid to trust the God of Israel? Has he not been with you in all your trials? Has He not provided for your wants?’ Then I acknowledged the hand of God in all His goodness to me.
I decided to let William go. I thought I might never have my family together again. I had no photograph of him, but I took one in my mind and said to myself, if I never see you again until the morning of the resurrection, I shall know you are my child.9

I wonder if Drusilla initially focused on why she couldn’t let William go. He was only 16, not even old enough to enlist. Besides she needed him. Her husband was paralyzed from the neck down. Her children were young. But then I notice how she changed her focus. In my head I hear her say, “I can’t stop William. I can’t heal my husband. What can I do? Take a picture of William in my mind. I can do that. I can do that.”

My new husband and I knew the importance of family home evening in helping families learn to love each other and grow together, but our children were grown and on their own. It was hard for us to hold a family night until we decided to invite my husband’s mother. At the time my mother-in-law was 74 years old and belonged to another church. She worked in a flower shop and scarcely ventured from her routine of going to work and then home.
At first she was a little hesitant to come because she knew nothing of our faith, but now she looks forward to Monday nights. We share dinners, laughter, and music and have become very close. We know that she does not want us to try to convert her, but she does allow us to share stories about our faith. One evening I read a talk from one of the Church leaders. We all felt the Spirit. We have had opportunities to show her the Ensign, and she looks at every page. We have taught her what temples are for, and she has watched Church videos. We do these things sparingly, as the Spirit guides us.
Before one of our family home evenings, I asked her to teach the lesson. She brought pictures of herself when she was young and of my husband when he was a baby. I heard stories of aunts, uncles, grandmas, and grandpas. The happiness in her eyes as she relived these experiences made my heart almost burst. I realized then that the commandment to have family home evening is divine instruction from our Father in Heaven.
Many doors have been opened for my mother-in-law to learn things pertaining to the gospel. I don’t know that she will become a member of the Church during her life on earth, but I do know that our family has been strengthened and our love increased.
Dani Jeanne Stevens, Logan Ward, Huntington West Virginia Stake

After the play, it was time to eat. And there’s no better place than a pioneer town for an old-fashioned barbecue followed by a square dance. A cowpoke in a big black hat manned the grill and fed the crowd; then everyone paraded to the grandstand for some do-si-dos and Virginia reels. Along the way, many of the volunteers (who had now changed work clothes for pioneer duds) stopped to explore the shops and museums. Even though most of the shops weren’t manned yet (the tourist season was still a month or two away), the artifacts and architecture were interesting.
The square dance continued until desert winds whipped up a dust storm that flipped the record from the turntable and sent the crowd scurrying for cover. When the breeze softened, however, and the fury turned to a mild rain, the dancing continued despite the weather.
“There are a lot more people at Young Adult activities than there were in my Mutual class, and I haven’t known most of them all my life, like I have the kids in my Mutual class,” 17-year-old Gregg Tunney of the Ninth Ward commented. “It’s challenging to try to meet everyone, but it’s a great opportunity to make new friends.”
“Now that I’m in college, I can look back at my first experiences with the Young Adult program and see what a difference it made for me,” Reuben said. “It helped me adjust to a new time in my life by giving me an anchor in the storm. It helped me look at life in a new way, to be more aware of the spiritual side, to get ready to go on a mission. A lot of kids come out of high school worried about their future. One of the best things to help them sort it all out is to get involved with Young Adults.”
The fellowshipping, it seemed, had gone well. When a heavier rain finally halted the dance, a large portion of the volunteers regrouped at a local seminary teacher’s home just to relax, and the group included both brand-new and seasoned Young Adults.
The evening began with guitar playing and song singing, shifted to story telling, then evolved into a discussion of the day’s activities. Then the mood became even more serious, and an impromptu testimony meeting began. Each person wanted a turn to express gratitude, not just for a fun day’s activities, but for the fellowship of the gospel. Each person in turn stood and bore testimony of Jesus Christ, of the fact that he lives, and of a desire to serve him and love him.
“They spoke of Christ as if they knew him, because they do,” the seminary teacher, Brother Kent Rappleye, said.
“What a wonderful way to end a day of service,” said Trudy Ivie, 17, of the 31st Ward. “I can see a lot of things I need to do to get closer to my Father in Heaven. And I believe activity in Young Adults will help me.
“I made a lot of friends today through the freedom and friendliness they shared. Doing a lot of things together helped—the seriousness with the fun, the work with the play, the service. Each one at the right time. Seeing people under different conditions, then sitting down and talking with them, made you feel like part of a great big family.”
There were many successes that day in Phoenix. Pioneer Arizona put on a new face for tourists. A couple of people initiated or renewed interest in the Church. But also important was the warmth of friendship felt by new graduates from high school and seminary as they continued the rough transition from adolescence to adulthood. They knew they had found a place where they belonged.