Gospel Story Finder

True conversion changes lives. One young woman wrote how unhappy her home life had been when she was a little girl. She wrote, “I felt it keenly when my mother and younger brothers and sisters suffered from the savage temper of a drunken father.” When she was 14, someone told her that one of God’s commandments was to honor her parents. In pondering how she could do this, she was impressed to study, to become a good student, and to be the best daughter in town.

Nothing much changed in the home, but she still felt to continue with her objectives and at age 18 left home to undertake some special studies. Three weeks later she went home to visit, and she recalled:

“My mother met me crying. I thought something terrible had happened, but she hugged me and said, ‘Since you went away to study, your father hasn’t had anything to drink.’

“… My mother said that the night I left, some Mormon missionaries had come. …

“My father became like a little child. I could see repentance and humility in his eyes. He had changed completely. He had given up smoking and drinking all at once, and tried to keep the commandments the missionaries taught him. He treated me like a queen, and he treated my mother and my brothers and sisters like royalty.

“… Our whole family was baptized. … My father, at age 40, became the best father in the world.”

One day while I was reading Saints: The Story of the Church of Jesus Christ in the Latter Days, I came across a remarkable story about a woman of the early Restoration. Eunice Franklin seemed to have my same questions and worries.
Eunice was baptized in New York by a missionary named Elijah Able. She had been truly converted to the gospel at her baptism. But then, after Elijah left for Canada to preach, Eunice began to doubt the gospel and what she had once known to be true. She began to wonder if Joseph Smith really was a prophet and if the Book of Mormon was true scripture. She lost many nights of sleep, thinking she may have been deceived.
The Lord showed Eunice’s struggle to Elijah in a dream, and he immediately returned to New York. When he knocked on her door, Eunice was stunned—she had been planning on telling him she no longer believed when she saw him again. Instead, she let him in. When Elijah invited her to his sermon that evening, she hesitated and didn’t want to go. But she eventually gave in and went to listen to what he had to say.
At his sermon, Elijah quoted 1 Peter 4:12, which says to “think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you.” The fiery trial that had sought to destroy Eunice’s faith could not succeed—as Eunice heard Elijah speak, her doubts melted away. Saints tells it this way: “The certainty she had once felt flooded back.”3
Eunice’s experience struck me, and I’ve reflected on it again and again. Just like Eunice, I learned from Elijah’s simple and powerful words. We should “think it not strange” to have questions about our faith. It’s completely OK. While truth may have once seemed to pour down from heaven, there may be later moments where we feel a spiritual drought. We might wonder if we ever truly felt the rain. With no answers or confirmations yet given, we can continue to pray for the rain of revelation. We can seek a witness to know that what was true yesterday is still true today. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “If it was right when you prayed about it and trusted it and lived for it, it is right now. … Face your doubts. Master your fears.”4
By opening the door to her missionary friend again, even when she wondered why she should, Eunice reopened her heart. The Lord could again reach Eunice and help her feel a confirmation of all that she once knew. In a similar way, each of us can leave the door open to faith even when struggling with doubts. We can keep doing what’s right and seeking revelation—even when we’re unsure why exactly we’re doing it.
I know that as we keep our doors and hearts open to truth, God will help us feel what’s real and what’s not through the Holy Ghost. Our spiritual experiences will be undeniable in the moment. And every moment after that, when we feel doubts creeping back in, we can remind ourselves of how we felt. Just as it did for Eunice, our certainty about gospel truths can come flooding back.

Years later, our family had grown to five children, including our youngest, Spencer.
Once, when Spencer was six years old, my wife and I went away for just a few days and left the children with a babysitter. When we returned home, I sat down with Spencer and asked him how everything had gone while we were away.
He told me that he’d had a hard time sleeping. When I asked why he didn’t sleep well, he thought about it and said he did not know.
Later that evening our family began our nightly routine of reading the Book of Mormon together.
Suddenly Spencer exclaimed, “That’s it!” I asked what he was talking about. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep very well at night.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” I asked.
“We didn’t read the scriptures at night while you were gone, and I like how the scriptures make me feel.”
Spencer had learned that reading the scriptures every day brings us the comfort, peace, and guidance of the Holy Ghost.

A short time ago little Ruby was born into our family. As I looked into her sweet face, I marveled at the knowledge that before she came to earth, she lived in the presence of our Heavenly Father. She had accepted His great plan of happiness and chose to follow Him and Jesus Christ, our Savior. Because of her decision, she was permitted to come to earth to experience mortality and progress toward eternal life. With her spirit united with her body, Ruby has entered a time of learning in which she can prove herself, choose to follow Christ, and prepare to be worthy of eternal life.
Ruby came to this earth pure, but as part of the plan, she will face trials and temptations and she will make mistakes. Through our Savior’s Atonement, however, Ruby can be forgiven, receive a fulness of joy, and be pure again—ready to live forever in the presence of our Heavenly Father.
A few hours after her birth, I was privileged to hold this precious child in my arms. I said to her mother, "Oh, we have to teach Ruby how to be a virtuous woman, pure and priceless as her name implies."
Her mother replied, "I am starting today."

Indeed, the real challenges had begun after they’d arrived in New York. In order to get to the Missouri River, where they would be outfitted with a small wagon, they had to ride the train in open cattle cars because all other kinds of cars were being used in the Civil War. At times there was barely standing room in the cattle cars! Some passengers sat in the doorways, their legs dangling precariously over the edge. The pungent odors of so many people traveling in such crowded conditions, mixed with the stench the cattle had left behind, made the journey very unpleasant.
Not only were the cattle cars crowded and uncomfortable, but also dangers abounded. Once, sparks from the wood-burning engine flew wildly about and set some of the passengers’ clothing on fire. Fortunately the flames were quickly smothered by nearby travelers.
Times like this evening, when the train stopped for a while, were a blessing—families could eat together away from the noisy crowds and the heat and smell of the cattle cars. Keturah and Keziah especially enjoyed running and stretching their legs, breathing fresh air, and not worrying about soot or sparks from the engine. Even baby Edward cooed and smiled when Eliza placed him on a blanket in the cool shade of a bush before preparing dinner.
The call of “All aboard!” interrupted their meal. Hastily the family gathered their few belongings, and Eliza told Keziah and Keturah to take their father’s hands.
Turning to pick up baby Edward, Eliza’s heart leaped into her throat. Her precious babe was not where she had laid him just an hour earlier! Keziah and Keturah said that they hadn’t moved their baby brother while playing. Frantically the family began to search the nearby bushes. While she searched, Eliza fervently prayed for Heavenly Father’s help in finding her son.
“All aboard!” sounded in Eliza’s ears again. The train was about to leave!
Suddenly a flash of lightning lit the sky, and she saw where her sleeping son lay. Scooping him up, she gratefully thanked Heavenly Father for His loving and watchful care.
It didn’t matter to Eliza that she had sacrificed much for the gospel, or that she would ride many more miles in cattle cars before walking west alongside a wagon for hundreds of miles more. She was just grateful for the gospel and the knowledge it gave her of a loving Heavenly Father Who was watching over her and her family.

Mother and I were the best of friends. On my first day of school, Mother said good-bye and I started to walk to school, which was a half mile away. I remember turning back and seeing Mother standing on the porch, watching me go. I was the youngest, and, knowing that she wouldn’t be around very long, she must have had deep feelings about seeing me leave. I ran back and gave her a hug and a kiss four separate times before I finally went to school.
I remember lying on the bed with Mother in the early evenings, particularly the summer evenings. She loved to go to bed early and listen to the birds sing and watch the sun fading outside the window of our home.
Mother taught me the gospel. One time we had a cloudburst, and the ditch out back overflowed its banks. Our house was on a little rise, but there were at least three feet of water around it. Father was farming at a place called Dry Lake. I remember kneeling with Mother and praying that we would not be flooded and that Father would get home. About four or five hours later, the downpour stopped and Father came home. It had flooded where he was too. Water had been up to his waist, but he’d been preserved. I was very impressed with the power of prayer.
Mother was very great on service. Many times I took fresh cinnamon rolls or other baked goodies that she’d made to the school bus driver as he came by our home. His wife had died. That’s just one example of what Mother did even when she was suffering.
She prepared me for her death, too, lavishing love on me. She used to look at her legs that were so swollen that they had cracked open and make jokes about them. She assured me that she would have no pain where she was going. She said, “I’ll see you baptized. I promise.” That brought a great deal of comfort to me.
My father baptized me on my eighth birthday in the dammed up ditch in back of our home. It was the first of November, and I still remember how cold the water was. Mother went into a coma the day after my baptism and died four days later.
I remember crying when I was told that Mother had died. Everyone was crying. My older sister, Mae, who was about nineteen or twenty and was a registered nurse, said, “Malcolm, I’ll be your mother.” She kept that promise.

Also let us remember that through any illness or difficult challenge, there is still much in life to be hopeful about and grateful for. We are infinitely more than our limitations or our afflictions! Stephanie Clark Nielson and her family have been our friends for more than 30 years. On August 16, 2008, Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash and subsequent fire that scarred her so horrifically that only her painted toenails were recognizable when family members came to indentify the victims. There was almost no chance Stephanie could live. After three months in a sleep-induced coma, she awoke to see herself. With that, the psyche-scarring and horrendous depression came. Having four children under the age of seven, Stephanie did not want them to see her ever again. She felt it would be better not to live. “I thought it would be easier,” Stephanie once told me in my office, “if they just forgot about me and I quietly slipped out of their life.”

But to her eternal credit, and with the prayers of her husband, family, friends, four beautiful children, and a fifth born to the Nielsons just 18 months ago, Stephanie fought her way back from the abyss of self-destruction to be one of the most popular “mommy bloggers” in the nation, openly declaring to the four million who follow her blog that her “divine purpose” in life is to be a mom and to cherish every day she has been given on this beautiful earth.

One day my cousin Jeff came over to play. We played under the back porch. Jeff had a little dump truck and I had a windup tractor. Mom gave us an empty cereal box and we made houses and roads.
I wanted to make another road. Jeff was using the shovel, so I took Woody out of my pocket and started to dig. Woody dug nice roads. I kept making the road longer and longer until I hit a rock and then SNAP! I picked up the piece that had broken off and tried to fix Woody, but it was no use. I felt like crying, but Jeff was there.
“It’s just a dumb stick,” Jeff said.
I put Woody’s broken pieces under the porch steps and kept on playing. When Jeff went home, I crawled under the porch and got the pieces.
“I’m sorry, Woody,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything. I put him in the cereal box and carried him down to where we planted the flower and made a hole. Then I put Woody in the hole and covered him up.
He was a good stick and I miss him a lot.

My first attempt at doing recreational activities with my siblings was rough, to say the least. But a turning point for me was a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaves were every color, and the amusement park was fun, but moments of curt words, selfish actions, and teasing gone wrong often dampened the mood. Before we left, my sister and I hiked up a small hill and sat quietly as we listened to the nature around us. It was the first time in a while that we had sat without quarreling, quietly discussing the days ahead and our current struggles. The Spirit was present, bringing peace I had forgotten.
I started to try to go out of my way to talk to my siblings, ask them about their day, give them a hug—just be involved in their life. I helped my youngest, autistic brother with his homework. I helped my youngest sister make grammar flash cards and create silly rhymes to memorize the different parts of speech. On her next test she had improved by more than 20 points and received her highest test grade. The joy I felt from those moments was different and more profound than I had expected. Being in a family can be hard, but in times likes those it is all worth it. Those little moments lead to ones of fun, games, and laughter; and I have felt a new unity in my family.
Emily C., 17, North Carolina, USA

All of this does not begin to count the individual acts of kindness and support—gifts of food, clothing, money, care, and a thousand other forms of comfort and compassion—by which we may participate in the Christlike work of redemption. As a boy I witnessed my own mother’s actions to redeem a woman in need. Many years ago when her children were young, my mother underwent a serious operation that nearly took her life and left her bedridden much of the time for nearly a year. During this time, family and ward members helped Mother and our family. For additional help, the ward Relief Society president, Sister Abraham, recommended that my parents hire a woman in the ward who desperately needed work. In recounting this story, I will use the fictional names Sara and Annie for this woman and her daughter. This is my mother’s account:
“I can see it as plain as if it were only yesterday. There I lay in bed, and Sister Abraham brought Sara to the bedroom door. My heart sank. There stood the least attractive person I had ever met—so thin; scraggly, unkempt hair; round-shouldered; head bowed looking at the floor. She wore an old housedress four sizes too big. She wouldn’t look up and spoke so softly I couldn’t hear her. Hiding behind her was a little girl about three years old. What in the world was I to do with this creature? After they left the room, I cried and cried. I needed help, not more problems. Sister Abraham stayed awhile with her, and they soon whipped the house into shape and prepared some good meals. Sister Abraham asked me to try it for a few days, [saying] that this girl had had a really hard time and needed help.
“The next morning when Sara came, I finally got her to come over by the bed where I could hear her. She asked what I wanted her to do. I told her and then said, ‘But the most important thing is my boys; spend time with them, read to them—they are more important than the house.’ She was a good cook and kept the house clean, the washing done, and she was good to the boys.
“Through the weeks, I learned Sara’s story. [Because she was hard of hearing, she didn’t do well in school and eventually dropped out. She married young to a dissolute man. Annie was born and became the joy of Sara’s life. One winter night her husband came home drunk, forced Sara and Annie into the car in their bedclothes, and then dropped them off by the side of the highway. They never saw him again. Barefoot and freezing, Sara and Annie walked several miles to her mother’s home.] Her mother agreed to let them stay in exchange for doing all the housework and cooking, and caring for her sister and brother who were in high school.
“We took Sara to an ear doctor, and she got a hearing aid. … We got her to take adult schooling, and she got her high school diploma. She went to night school and later graduated from college and taught special education. She bought a little home. Annie was married in the temple and had two children. Sara eventually had some operations on her ears and was finally able to hear well. Years later she retired and served a mission. … Sara thanked us often and said she learned so much from me, especially when I told her that my sons were more important than the house. She said it taught her to be that way with Annie. … Sara is a very special woman.”

Jaslyn Simpson took a leap of faith in a Beehive class of only two young women. The Beehive adviser in the Crofton Downs Ward, Wellington New Zealand Stake, challenged the Beehives, as part of a lesson on missionary work, to invite a friend to church. And Jaslyn decided she would do it.
“I knew there was something missing in Amy’s life,” Jaslyn says, “so I knew I should introduce her to the gospel.” Jaslyn’s small act of love triggered a major change in the life of her best friend, Amy Valentine. Amy came to church with Jaslyn at the first invitation. She kept coming to Sunday meetings and weeknight activities for the next two months, until Jaslyn and her family moved to Sydney, Australia.
“I had never really had a Christian background. I had no idea how to pray or anything,” Amy says. “But before Jaslyn and her family moved, I decided I was going to keep going to church without them. By then, I knew some other people at church.”
One of those people was Michelle Broczek, the other Beehive in the Crofton Downs Ward. Michelle invited Amy to take the missionary discussions in her home and, with her parents’ approval, Amy was baptized when she was 13. That was five years ago.

I have been persuaded, almost against my better judgment, to tell a story. I ask for your indulgence and forgiveness because it involves my experience. Hopefully, the lesson I learned from it might be of some help to you.
In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Air Force as a private soldier. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, shivering, and at the same time trying to stay awake, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions.
I was engaged to be married, and knew that I could not support a wife on a private’s pay of $50 per month. I felt I needed to become an officer. In a day or two, following my all-night vigil, I filed my application for officer’s school. Shortly thereafter, on the appointed day, I was summoned, along with some others, before the Board of Inquiry looking into my qualifications and aptitude. My qualifications were sparse, but I had had two years of College and had finished a mission for the Church in South America. I was twenty-two years of age and in good physical health. Possessing only these few qualifications, I was grateful to be able to put on my application that I had been a missionary for the Church.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ Board of Inquiry took a very surprising turn. Practically all of the questions centered upon my missionary service and my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer propounding these last questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he had prayed very often. I pondered, “Would I give him offense if I answered how I truly believed? Should I give a non-controversial answer and simply say that prayer is a personal matter?” I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and k.p., but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate, and responded that I did pray and that I felt officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. I added that officers at appropriate times should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, if the occasion requires, including prayer.
More interesting questions came from my examiners. “In time of war should not the moral code be relaxed?” one high-ranking officer asked. “Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
Here was a chance to equivocate, to make some points and be really broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I tried to live by, had been taught, and myself had taught. I thought to myself, “Here go my chances to become an officer.” The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could still be faithful to my beliefs and respond by saying that I had my own beliefs on the subject of morality but did not wish to impose my views on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. I knew perfectly well what the scriptures say about fornication and adultery.
I could not delay my answer any longer, and responded to the question about the double standard of morality simply by saying, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
There were a few more questions, I think about whether or not I was trying to live and behave as we of our faith represent to the world. I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers who had asked these questions concerning our beliefs would not like the answers I had given, and surely they would score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my complete astonishment the score opposite my name read “95 percent.” I was amazed. I was in the first group taken for officers’ school, and had to be promoted to corporal to get into the school. I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we lived happily ever after.
This was one of the most critical crossroads of my life, one of very many times when I have had to stand up, search my soul, and like all of you, be identified. Not all of the experiences in my life when I have had to stand up and be counted turned out the way I wanted them to, but they have always strengthened my faith and helped me adjust to the other occasions when the result was different.
From that and many other experiences, I learned that even though others do not share your beliefs, in fact may be hostile to them, they will respect you if you are willing to stand up and be counted.

In the middle of her tenth summer, Cassie decided to have a Great Adventure.
“A Great Adventure? What’s that?” Morgan, her best friend, asked.
“It’s like when my big brother does things with the Boy Scouts,” Cassie said. “They work and save money and then do really fun things, like boating or camping or horseback riding.”
“Wow!” Morgan exclaimed. “What will you do?”
Cassie thought for a moment. “I think I’ll spend a whole day at the amusement park, ride on every ride, and have all the cotton candy I want.”
“Sounds great—can I come, too?”
“Sure. We can have a Great Adventure together. But you’ll have to help earn the money for it.”
“OK. What can we do to earn money?”
“Lots of things. Let’s make a list.” Cassie took out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Let’s see—we can mow lawns, baby-sit, and collect aluminum cans.”
“Walk dogs, sell lemonade, and weed gardens,” Morgan added.
“That’s probably enough ideas to get started,” Cassie said. “Let’s meet at my house every Saturday and see how much money we earned during the week.”
“Great!” Morgan’s eyes gleamed. “I can almost taste the cotton candy already.”
On Saturday Cassie brought out a big glass jar and set it on the kitchen table. “OK, Morgan, let’s see what you have.”
Morgan reached into her backpack and brought out a bag of homemade cookies.
Cassie looked puzzled. “What are those for?”
“That’s what I made this week,” Morgan said quietly.
“What?”
“Mrs. Burke gave them to me for mowing her lawn. I couldn’t ask her for money. She can’t even afford to fix her old lawnmower.”
“All right,” Cassie said. “I understand. Here’s my haul.” She dropped a handful of coins into the jar. “I made it recycling pop cans. I did have fifty cents more, but the lady at the recycling center looked so hot that I bought her a cold drink.”
Morgan sighed. “That’s OK.”
Cassie smiled. “We’ll do better next week. You’ll see.”
The next week Morgan dropped a few dollars into the jar. “I opened my lemonade stand,” she said.
Cassie laid down some wilted flowers. “They weren’t wilted when Mr. Jeffries gave them to me,” she explained. “I got them for weeding his flower patch.”
“That’s nice,” Morgan said without enthusiasm.
The next week Morgan plopped a big zucchini onto the kitchen table. “Don’t tell me,” Cassie said. “You weeded someone’s garden.”
“Uh-huh. Mom’s going to make zucchini bread to sell at my lemonade stand. I’ll make tons of money. What do you have?”
Cassie slowly pulled from her pocket a ten-dollar bill.
Morgan’s eyes lit up. “That’s terrific! Where did it come from?”
Cassie frowned. “I walked Mrs. Peterson’s dog every day this week. But I hated to take her money. Her dog is sick, and she can’t even afford to buy its medicine.”
“Maybe it’ll get better with all the exercise you gave it,” Morgan suggested hopefully.
Cassie shrugged. “Maybe.”
The next week Morgan brought thirteen dollars from her lemonade stand, and Cassie made fifteen dollars baby-sitting.
Morgan grinned. “Now the money’s really rolling in!”
“But not fast enough,” Cassie pointed out. “It’s almost the last week of summer vacation, and we don’t have nearly enough money for our Great Adventure.”
“We could still buy all the cotton candy we could eat,” Morgan said.
“Or we could avoid a stomachache and do something better with our money.”
“Like what?”
“Like pay for a sick dog’s medicine.”
“Do we have enough?” Morgan’s eyes got big.
“I think so. Let’s count it up.”
They were still several dollars short.
“We have to earn more,” Cassie said. “My brother is going to Scout camp this week and said he’d pay me to do his paper route.”
“I’ll ask my dad if I can wash the car and clean out the garage,” Morgan said.
“Great! See you next week.”
The next Saturday, when Cassie and Morgan counted up their money, they were excited to find out that they had more than enough for the medicine. They hurried right over to Mrs. Peterson’s house and gave her the money. Mrs. Peterson got tears in her eyes and hugged them again and again. Then she gave them some homemade cookies.
As they walked down the street, Cassie said, “Isn’t this where it all began?”
“Whu whub beguab?” Morgan asked, her mouth full of cookie.
“Our Great Adventure. It really started when someone gave us cookies instead of money.”
“Oh, yeah.” Morgan thought for a minute. “What should we do with the extra money? Still want to get cotton candy?”
“No.” Cassie bit into a cookie. “These are much better than cotton candy. I was thinking we should save our money.”
“For what?”
“For next summer’s Great Adventure.”
“Next summer?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe we could cross the ocean on a cruise ship.”
“Or maybe get Mrs. Burke’s lawnmower fixed?”
“That would also be a Great Adventure.” Cassie grinned. “Don’t you think so?”
Morgan nodded. “I can hardly wait.”

I owe much of my happiness to a man I have never met. He was one of my great-grandparents. He left me a priceless heritage of hope.

His name was Heinrich Eyring. He was born into a wealthy family in Germany, but both of his parents died when he was young. He was left without any money. He felt that his best hope was in going to the United States. He moved to Missouri. There he worked with a man who was a Latter-day Saint. He gave Heinrich a copy of a Church pamphlet. Heinrich read it and studied every word he could find about the Latter-day Saints. He prayed to know if there really were angels that appeared to men, whether there was a living prophet, and whether he had found a true religion. After two months of careful study and prayer, Heinrich was told in a dream that he should be baptized. On March 11, 1855, Heinrich was baptized in a pool of rainwater.

Heinrich left a written history for his descendants. In that history I can feel his love for those of us who would follow. I feel his hope that his descendants might choose to follow him on the path back to our heavenly home. He knew it would not be one choice to make, but many small choices.

Like my ancestor Heinrich, you may be the first in your family to make sacred covenants.

Heinrich was a pioneer in President Eyring’s family. Who are the pioneers in your family? Look at the pictures below. One shows a pioneer family in the early days of the Church. The other shows a pioneer family today. What is the same about both pictures? What is different?

“Mother was an accomplished musician. She was a noted singer when my father met her while on assignment as a reporter for the Deseret News. He was covering a Tabernacle Choir concert in which my mother was a guest soloist. He was immediately impressed with her, and theirs was a storybook romance. While my parents may have had differences of opinion, as children we were never aware of any. They always supported each other, and we learned early that we couldn’t play one against the other.”

I still remember one:
“An older boy and his young companion were walking along a road which led through a field. They saw an old coat and a badly worn pair of men’s shoes by the roadside, and in the distance they saw the owner working in the field.
“The younger boy suggested that they hide the shoes, conceal themselves, and watch the perplexity on the owner’s face when he returned.
“The older boy … thought that would not be so good. He said the owner must be a very poor man. So, after talking the matter over, at his suggestion, they concluded to try another experiment. Instead of hiding the shoes, they would put a silver dollar in each one and … see what the owner did when he discovered the money. So they did that.
“Pretty soon the man returned from the field, put on his coat, slipped one foot into a shoe, felt something hard, took it out and found a silver dollar. Wonder and surprise [shone] upon his face. He looked at the dollar again and again, turned around and could see nobody, then proceeded to put on the other shoe; when to his great surprise he found another dollar. His feelings overcame him. … He knelt down and offered aloud a prayer of thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife being sick and helpless and his children without bread. … He fervently thanked the Lord for this bounty from unknown hands and evoked the blessing of heaven upon those who gave him this needed help.
“The boys remained [hidden] until he had gone.” They had been touched by his prayer and felt something warm within their hearts. As they left to walk down the road, one said to the other, “Don’t you have a good feeling?” (Adapted from Bryant S. Hinckley, Not by Bread Alone, 95).

As December and the holidays approached, I knew it was going to be difficult. My dad had passed away just four months before, leaving only my mom and me at home. At the same time, I was lucky to be at a stake conference where President Hinckley made a surprise visit. He bore his testimony and expressed his love. He said: “Do you feel gloomy? Lift your eyes. Stand on your feet. Sing songs of Christmas. Be positive.” These few words meant so much to me. I knew if I did my best at this hard time in my life, things would work out. What President Hinckley said did not take away my pain, but it helped me understand that I needed to be happy and help my mom and family be happy.
After the meeting, the congregation stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” (Hymns, no. 19). The strength and spirit of love in that building were incredible. After we left the church, we pulled up to a stoplight and amazingly we were right next to President Hinckley. We were so excited and waved to him. When he waved back, you could feel his love. We hadn’t touched or talked to him, but the love I felt from him was strong and unforgettable.

I remember the Sunday when I first learned about President Hinckley’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year. Two weeks before, as part of a challenge from my Young Women president, I had finished reading the Book of Mormon in 65 days—the approximate time it took Joseph Smith to translate it. It averaged out to be about nine pages per day, and I had struggled to finish it in time. Now here I was sitting in sacrament meeting, listening to a letter asking me to read it again.
I started to think: “I’m going to be so busy this year in school; I’m not going to have time to read more than one page a day. President Hinckley just wanted us to read it this year, and I already did that. I’m sure he would understand.” By the time the sacrament was over, I had rationalized my way out of the challenge.
It was fast and testimony meeting that Sunday, and many people talked about the blessings that come from scripture reading. “I’ll still read my scriptures regularly,” I thought to myself.
The next person to get up was a friend of mine. I listened complacently until he mentioned the Book of Mormon challenge.
“It’s going to be hard,” he said. “But the prophet asked us to do it, and whatever the prophet says, goes.”
Whatever the prophet says, goes. That statement hit me hard. What had I been thinking? It wasn’t just anyone who had asked us to read the Book of Mormon; it was a prophet, the Lord’s messenger. If an angel appeared to me, I would listen. This wasn’t any different. I was going to obey President Hinckley, no matter what it took.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, and I know I made the right decision. I don’t have any spectacular stories to tell about reading it, but I know that the experience as a whole strengthened my testimony. I was really busy that year, and having a goal motivated me to read my scriptures every day.
“Whatever the prophet says, goes” has sort of become a motto for me. When I am tempted with things such as immodesty or inappropriate movies, I think back to that memorable fast and testimony meeting.
I’m glad I was paying attention that day. I’m also glad that my friend got up and bore his testimony and that the Spirit carried his words into my heart.

“One time my mother told me that I could have a birthday party and invite anyone I wanted. We decided that eight children would be about right. But when I got to school and looked at all the children in my class, I couldn’t decide whom not to invite, so I invited all of them without saying anything to Mother. Instead of eight children at the party, there were forty-four! She just laughed about it and put some cupcakes into the oven. By the time we had played our games, she was able to serve them all something. A lot of mothers would have been upset over the situation, but not mine.”

The puppy was slobbering all over my clothes and nibbling my hands with his sharp baby teeth as we sat alone outside in the dark. The disorder and disarray of my home and the piles of dirty dishes and laundry made me want to run screaming into the night. I felt crushed by the burden of my general household tasks.
Then my calling as Relief Society president, never far from my attention, came to mind. I thought of all the sisters I needed to encourage, the tasks I needed to do, the meetings I needed to organize, the lessons I needed to teach, the interviews I needed to have.
Then I thought of each of my five children. They needed me to teach them, to guide them, to help them gain faith and strength.
I remembered our exchange student and her needs. I was still learning how to develop a friendship with her and was finding it hard to bridge the cultural divide and find a common ground.
Then I considered my husband and how little time I had been able to give him lately. I could see he was struggling and needed me too.
I didn’t know how to fit it all in. I couldn’t take all these heavy burdens anymore. My strength was spent.
I pleaded with my Father in Heaven for help with all I was carrying.
The soft response came. “What would you have me take away?”
It shot through my heart like lightning.
“Take away?”
I did the mental math. My house, despite the disorder, was mine. I was so grateful for it. I had painted its walls, built shelves, and made it a home. I would hate to have it taken away. I would keep that burden with a grateful heart.
I reviewed my calling as Relief Society president. It was heavy and took much of my time, but it was helping me grow. I had learned so much, and I loved the sisters so deeply now. I wanted to learn more, and I knew I had promised to serve the Lord willingly. I would gratefully keep this burden too.
Next, thoughts of each of my precious children penetrated my heart. I love being a mother. I am so grateful I could bring these wonderful spirits into the world and watch them grow and develop. They each have a permanent place in my heart. I want them all with me on this journey of learning and growing and loving. What heartache I would feel to lose any of them.
Even though developing a relationship with our exchange student was sometimes a struggle, she was teaching me about a new culture, and I was enjoying the experience. I could see how loved and valued she was to our family. She was becoming as dear to me as my own children, and I wanted her in my life. She needed to stay.
My dear husband was my helpmeet through it all. He encouraged me and helped me carry the heavy load. I couldn’t imagine life without him by my side. What a blessing he was.
The puppy crawled about at my feet. He was my newest burden. He had come to us very sick and with a broken leg. We had prayed as a family for him to be healed. Slowly, he had gotten better, and now I watched him happily attempt to stand and to crawl. He stumbled a bit still, and I knew I would need to spend many hours helping him walk and run. He was the most obvious thing to give up, but I loved this little bundle of slobber too. Cheerfully I would accept this burden as well.
I felt humbled. With a new perspective, each of the burdens fit well into my heart. I did not want any to be taken away. I bowed in gratitude to my Father in Heaven for this lesson. I told Him I wanted to keep what I had been given and I thanked Him.
My steps were lighter and my future felt brighter as I carried the puppy inside that night. While my burdens had not been lifted, I had been shown what I had forgotten: each of these “burdens” was actually a blessing and evidence of God’s love for me. I also knew that I did not have to carry them alone—as I turned to Him, the Savior would strengthen me and offer me His rest (see Matthew 11:28–30).
The author lives in Idaho.