Gospel Story Finder

When I was young, my family and my Primary teachers asked me if I was going to go on a mission when I was older. I always said yes. When I was 12 years old, I was ordained to the office of deacon. My leaders started saying that I would be going on a mission in just seven years. It seemed so far away.
When I was ordained a teacher, the reminders of an upcoming mission became more frequent. When I was ordained a priest, they became even more frequent. I started to get worried because I had only three years left.
I liked the idea of going on a mission, as some of my older brothers had done. But the thought of being away from my family for two years in another part of the world was frightening. I realized that I was afraid to go on a mission because I didn’t have a strong desire to go.
I told Francisca, my sister, about my problem, and she sat down next to me and said, “Isaí, I understand what you’re saying, and I have just two things to say to you. The first is that a mission is where people can have the Spirit 100 percent of the time when their eye is single to the glory of God. The second thing is to ask the Lord to help your desire to go on a mission grow. The Lord will help you.”
I followed her advice and started to pray that my desire to serve a mission would become strong.
April 6, 2000, was a day of decision for me because that was the day my home teaching companion left to go on his mission. I went to the airport to see him off. When he got on the plane, I felt a nervous excitement about doing the same thing. But instead of feeling afraid, I had a feeling of peace. I concluded that these feelings were the answer to my prayers. I knew the Lord wanted me to serve a mission. From that day on, I had a firm desire to go on a mission when I was 19.
I was called to serve in the California San Jose Mission, and I have just recently returned. My years there were the best of my life. I found that even though I was far away from my family, when I had hard times or needed help, the Spirit of the Lord comforted and helped me. I came to know and love my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I could say with certainty that the Book of Mormon is true. My testimony of living prophets and of the Restoration grew. I came to love the people I was serving. And I learned that the gift of tongues is real—because I learned to speak and teach in English.
What I thought would be a big sacrifice became the greatest blessing in my life.

“We can show love for others by doing kind things. Do something nice for somebody you love, and leave a heart where they will find it,” Cassi’s teacher told them as she handed three red hearts to each class member.
Cassi took her hearts home. Mommy hadn’t had time to make her bed before church. Cassi made Mommy’s bed and put a heart on the pillow.
“Thank you!” Mommy hugged Cassi. “When you make my bed, I feel happy.” Cassi felt happy too.
Cassi’s dog, Floppy, was whining. He was thirsty. Cassi filled his dish and put a heart beside it. Floppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he drank. He was happy.
Cassie had one heart left. Who else did she love? Daddy, of course, but he was out of town for two whole weeks, and she wanted to do something else nice for someone sooner than that. She thought hard all week. She loved Heavenly Father, but how could she do something nice for Him?
On Sunday, Cassi knew what to do! She took her last heart to church to remind her of her plan. She listened to her teacher. She was reverent during sacrament meeting. And when she went home, she drew pictures of her favorite story in the Book of Mormon, put the last red heart with them, and gave them to Mommy to send to a missionary.

Curt’s record is impressive, too. He placed second in the wheelchair division in April 1977 and again in 1978 at the Boston Marathon in Massachusetts. He completed the 26-mile, 385-yard race in two hours, 34 minutes, and 15 seconds. That’s right! Over 26 miles!

The Boston Marathon is the biggest and oldest race in the U.S. This is it’s 83rd year, and only the top athletes are selected to participate. This year there were 20 wheelchair competitors racing in temperatures below 40° Fahrenheit. Five of the athletes had to be hospitalized for a brief period after the race for hypothermia. Curt says, “After the first mile of soaring downhill, each wheelchair contestant was covered with mud and water from the chairs in front.” He also explains that wheelchair marathoners have more problems than regular runners because their circulation is poorer.
The wheelchair winner of the Boston Marathon this year was Ken Archer, a Mormon from Akron, Ohio. Curt says: “Ken is one of the greatest fellows I’ll ever meet. When he won, he came across the finish line with his hands raised in triumph and his head bowed in humility.”
In 1977 Curt placed in every event in Denver, taking two first places in the 100-yard dash and the mile push. In San Diego he placed either second or third in five events. At San Jose, he took first in the 100 meters, breaking the world record. He also placed third in lawn bowling and discus and fourth in shotput.
The same year, Curt placed first in the wheelchair division at both the Deseret News Marathon in Salt Lake and the Pioneer Marathon in St. George, Utah. In 1978 he took first in the New York City Marathon and now holds the national record in the 1500-meter run.
Curt was voted Most Outstanding Athlete in 1978 and 1979 at the Denver Rocky Mountain Regional.

Both Mike and Curt are also involved in their careers. Mike has counseled at the State Hospital in Provo, worked as a draftsman for the Bureau of Reclamation, and is now majoring in health sciences at BYU. His goal is to coach college basketball.
Curt has gained experiences in various jobs. He was a resident assistant at Ricks College, an insurance salesman, a desk clerk at a motel, a switchboard operator, and an insurance clerk for a hospital. Now he works at Handicapped Awareness, Inc. in Provo. He graduated with a B.S. degree in psychology from BYU in 1978 and is in the process of getting his masters in rehabilitation administration.
Church activities form another part of their lives. Mike works with the Explorers in the Alpine Fourth Ward, Alpine Utah Stake. He and a couple of other members in the stake took the Explorers to the National Explorer Olympics at Fort Collins, Colorado, for a week in August 1978. Mike coached basketball and helped coach volleyball during the Olympics. Mike says some of the Explorers in his ward like to double date with Jan and him.
Curt and Bonnie are members of the Provo West Stake, Sunset Third Ward. Curt was the elders quorum president in a previous ward and is now the first counselor in the quorum presidency. Bonnie has served as a Relief Society president. Now she is the first counselor in the Young Women organization.
Service is another important part of their lives. To earn money for a specially equipped bus for the handicapped in Utah County, Mike and Curt earned pledges and then wheeled 115 miles around Utah Lake in 16 hours. As a sidelight they shattered the world record which was 108 miles in eight days.
In May of 1978, Curt wheeled 284 miles from Cedar City, Utah, to Salt Lake City in five days, raising nearly twelve thousand dollars in pledges for Easter Seals.
Both athletes have spoken to large groups on a number of occasions. Mike addressed the Orem High School student body during their Freedom Week. He told the students they could go as far up as they want to in life, or they could stand still and not progress at all. Mike says, “The choice is theirs. We live in a country with that freedom. The degree of excellence we attain depends mainly on how willing we are to work.”
Last July, Curt was the keynote speaker during the National Olympic Academy at BYU. He has spoken across the United States at meets and says: “I’ve really seen a lot of the country. If I’ve impressed just a few people the way that I’ve been impressed by others, then it’s been a blessing to be in a wheelchair.”
Curt says traveling has also provided an opportunity for missionary work. He was invited to a party in Boston for 50 top athletes. When asked why he wouldn’t drink, he had the opportunity to share the gospel.
Curt finds it interesting that people are so concerned about what to do and say when they meet a handicapped person. He says that usually it’s what people don’t say that hurts. For example, when a child runs up and asks why he doesn’t have any legs, Curt wishes the parents would let him answer the question rather than hushing the child and rushing off. He explains, “The child grows up feeling he shouldn’t associate with the handicapped, and that’s not good for either one.”
Mike has some advice of his own, and he says it applies to everyone, whether they’re handicapped or not. First, he says, he doesn’t like quitters. Then he adds: “Don’t be afraid to try things you think you might not be able to do. Whatever you want, go after it one hundred and ten percent. Whether your goals concern work, church, school, jobs, marriage, or whatever, just don’t, don’t, don’t ever quit!”

Sarah sat in her room playing with her dolls. She was changing them into their best clothes for a Christmas party she was hosting. Everyone was invited: Mr. Snuggles, the teddy bear; Chocolate and Caramel, the raccoon twins; Lady Juniper, the ladybug; and many of their friends.
As Sarah began to introduce her guests to each other, Mom walked into the room.
“Sarah, Dad and I were talking about what service we could do this Christmas. We thought we could give gifts to the children’s home down the road.”
“OK,” Sarah said.
“We were wondering if you would like to donate some of your toys,” Mom said. “I know that it would mean a lot to the children. They probably won’t be getting many new toys for Christmas.”
“But I don’t want to get rid of my toys! I love them all!” Sarah said.
“What about this stuffed cow?” Mom asked.
“Not Moo-Moo!”
“I’ve never seen you play with her. Are you sure you want to keep her?”
“What if I decide I want to play with her after I give her away? Then I won’t have her anymore!” Sarah said.
“The purpose of serving is to think about the needs of others before yourself,” Mom said. “When you make a sacrifice to help someone else, you are becoming more like Jesus Christ.”
“I am?” Sarah asked. “How?”
“What did Jesus do when He was on the earth?”
“He helped people.”
“Right! He spent His life serving others,” Mom said.
“So if I give away something important to me to help others, I am being like Jesus?” Sarah asked.
“Exactly,” Mom said.
Sarah knew Mom was right, but she was still a little nervous about giving up Moo-Moo.
That weekend, Sarah and Mom and Dad went to the children’s home with a big bag of gifts. As the children opened their presents, their smiles grew bigger and bigger.
One little girl picked up a box wrapped in shiny red paper. Sarah watched as the girl carefully unwrapped the present. Inside the box was the stuffed cow.
“Her name is Moo-Moo,” Sarah said to the girl. “And she loves parties.”
A smile spread across the face of the little girl. She hugged Moo-Moo tight and looked up at Sarah. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve never had my own stuffed animal before.” The girl skipped away with her new toy.
Sarah felt happy. She imagined Jesus must have felt happy too when He helped people.
“I want to come back next Christmas,” Sarah said as she and her parents left the children’s home. “I think I have more toys I can give away next year.”

One Sunday evening, all of the youth and their parents were invited to a meeting to launch Moroni’s Promise. It was the young, valiant captains of ten who gave the vision, reviewed the promise (see Moro. 10:3–5), spoke of agency and obedience, explained the program, and called for volunteers to join one of their teams.
One young captain of ten, Michelle Gardner, referred to the promise made by President Gordon B. Hinkley to all the members of the Church who read the Book of Mormon. He promised those who read daily that “there will come into your lives and into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to his commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God” (Ensign, Nov. 1979, p. 9).
Appealing to the youth for whom she now felt a keen sense of responsibility, she added her own personal testimony. “I know when I read each day, especially when I study and don’t just skim over what I’m reading, I do feel a greater desire to live the commandments and to have the Spirit of the Lord in my life.”
Individualized packets were provided which included the quote from Moroni printed on parchment ready for framing, a system for recording progress, recommended target dates, helpful study methods, a promise of celebration stations, and a letter to be sent to a trusted friend or relative requesting support and continuous encouragement during the coming months as they read the Book of Mormon. An application form was also provided requesting the parent’s signature as well as the signature of a member of the bishopric.
Each participant was invited to add his or her own signature as an indication of willingness to be diligent in endeavoring to reach the goal of having read the entire Book of Mormon within the set time limit. This could be accomplished by reading approximately 16 pages per week. A captain of ten also signed the application indicating a willingness to be in touch each week to determine progress and provide encouragement to each member of his or her team.
Individual progress was not a public matter. However, increased interest was awakened when the aggregate “scores” of the teams were recorded on an attractive chart that was periodically displayed in the chapel foyer with pictures of various activities.
As eager participants finished the last verse of Alma 63, “And thus ended the account of Alma,” they would rush, regardless of the hour, to Sister Bonnie Guthrie, who helped with the records, assisted in making calls for captains as needed, and dispensed T-shirts to each one finishing the book of Alma. The T-shirts with “STOMP” (for “Students Trying Out Moroni’s Promise”) printed in bold letters across the front provided the incentive that urged many through the pages of Alma.
A celebration station was an event scheduled at regular intervals along the way to give strong incentives and provide continuous encouragement to the captains, who in turn, inspired their team members as they made their weekly contacts. The captains were to then give an accounting to the specialist in a brief weekly meeting following sacrament meeting. Many, many extra calls at various times were required to accomplish this necessary follow-up.
As the group completed Alma, a celebration station was scheduled. The snow had been falling all night, and it was unseasonably cold, but nothing would daunt the plans for the scheduled tree planting celebration. A flowering cherry tree had been selected. The hole was dug, and all ward members were invited to gather at the church.
Robert Davis stood before the group holding a scroll containing all the names of those who at that time had finished reading Alma. He rolled the scroll, put it in a plastic-coated container, sealed it, and then respectfully placed it in the hole at the base of the tree and explained, “You’re probably wondering why we are planting a tree. If you will recall in Alma the planting of a seed which became a tree has meaning because of the analogy to a growing testimony.” He then read Alma 32:27–41, “But if ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life.”
On Mother’s Day following sacrament meeting, the entire ward was invited to gather around the flagpole for yet another celebration station. Richard Newman and Mike Bettilyon, both captains of ten, unfolded the beautifully designed flag with the large dark blue letters “Moroni’s Promise” centered in a white open field.
There were other names on that flag also. Those who had finished the Book of Helaman had added their signatures to the flag as an official Mother’s Day record. Bishop Bradford reminded everyone of the stripling warriors who did not fear death for they had been taught by their mothers that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them (see Alma 56:47). The captains attached the flag and pulled the ropes raising it to the very top of the long silver pole. Hearts were opened and feelings were tender as expressed by a younger member of the group, who whispering to a friend close by, said, “My name is on that flag,” and his friend responded reverently, “So is mine.”
By now the flowering cherry tree planted earlier was bursting into bloom nearby as a reminder of growing testimonies.
What difference has all this effort made? There have been 120 readers, 38 adults and 82 youth, participating in Moroni’s Promise.
Thirteen-year-old Wid Covey, standing before an audience, volunteered his testimony, “I’m thankful for this Moroni’s Promise program because it helps me understand the scriptures. When I sit down with my dad to read the Book of Mormon he helps me understand about it also. I’m thankful for Michelle Gardner. She calls me every week, and it helps me a lot and she encourages me.”
Sister Margaret Kirkham reported, “Our whole family looks forward to Richard Newman, our captain of ten, coming to encourage us. This project has been a great influence to our entire family.”
Bishop Bradford reflected on the past eight months. “It has made a great difference. There are few activities that could have unified our youth as well as this. I can’t say that all our youth now have a strong personal testimony of the Book of Mormon, but it’s a super beginning. With the help of our inspired specialist, a great number of young people will be better missionaries in every aspect of their lives, and all of them are better prepared to withstand the evils of the world.”

But, our story does not end there. It goes on to an event in his life and that of his wife, the former Aurelia Campo Barata of Llorente, Samar Province, in the setting of the Rocky Mountains, U.S.A.
Sometime in the first week of September, 1977, Bro. Odulio took a long lingering look at his car—a car that served him well and one that he had taken care of with his own hands as an experienced mechanic. It had to go to the best offeror at a price dictated by a quick-sale situation. Other personal effects also had to go at bargain prices. The reason: he had a goal to be sealed with his wife in a temple of the Lord, and the opportunity to go came when he was designated a participant in the October 1977 Conference in Salt Lake City.
On September 27, Bro. and Sis. Odulio left Philippine soil for the first time in their lives. On October 5, the very day Sis. Odulio celebrated her 40th birthday, they were sealed for eternity in the Salt Lake Temple together with their unborn child (she was then 7 months pregnant). Three days later, on October 8, Bro. Odulio also observed his 40th birthday. Husband and wife had the best birthday celebration ever in a setting that had been their cherished dream since their conversion to the Church.

For Nepali families, drinking tea with milk first thing in the morning is an ingrained tradition. In every home and every tiny shop along every narrow street, small stoves brew tea. To begin to follow the Word of Wisdom has been difficult for many of these young converts.
When Deepak Shrestha’s older brother, who was the first missionary to serve from Nepal, told him the Church was the greatest thing in the world, Deepak was interested. Then his brother challenged him to live the Word of Wisdom. Deepak quickly felt the wisdom of this advice because “it affects the future.” The result of that decision has been the start of Deepak’s strong and continually growing testimony of the gospel.

Several years ago, I received a phone call from an elderly couple who had a desire to make a philanthropic contribution to BYU-Idaho. He in his 90s and she in her 80s, were a little leery of making the two-hour drive into Rexburg and asked if someone from our office could come visit them. I agreed to meet them at their home the following week. On the day that I drove to their home, I thought about what this visit would be like. We receive various kinds of gifts for BYU-Idaho, and we deal with people in all different situations in life. We even encourage faculty, staff and students to participate at whatever level they feel comfortable.

The key is just to participate. (By the way, you can all consider yourselves solicited now, so when our callers call you can say, well, Chris has already asked.) Sometimes it's as simple as a personal check. Often it's more complicated. Would today's visit with this couple bring a gift of cash, or perhaps a piece of their farm in the way of land, equipment, or livestock? Maybe they wanted to discuss various ways they could include BYU-Idaho in their will. Whatever it was, as you know, I was ready.

After a long drive and a few wrong turns, I finally found my way to their home. I pulled into the driveway, parked my car, and made my way to the door. The man of the house met me at the door. In his outreached hand was an old, worn-out, over-sized coat. His greeting to me was simple, "Here, put this on." Then with a smile and a slap on the back, he continued, "We don't want you to get dirty, now do we? Follow me."

Now, I'm no stranger to hard work or dirt. But I was a little curious to see where he was taking me. Over the next several hours, we moved his washer and dryer. We moved the refrigerator. We worked in his garage and in his garden. We pulled weeds and pruned trees. We spend time in his living room, where he showed me books he had written, pictures of vegetables that he had entered in the county fair and won blue ribbons. He even showed me a couple of rugs hanging on his wall, that also were county fair, blue ribbon winners.

During that time we talked about his life. I learned about a humble job, supplemented by a simple farm. I learned that he and his wife never had the opportunity to have children of their own, but welcomed into their home 26 foster children, several of which they would eventually adopt. No stranger to heartache or hard times, he talked about missions and his love for the gospel. The only time I saw the slightest bit of disappointment was when he talked about being recently released from a calling that he loved--that of Assistant Scout Master. In his words, "I just couldn't do the over-nighters anymore."

Finally, after I'm sure he thought I had worked hard enough, we sat down with his wife at the kitchen table. He pulled out his checkbook and wrote what I would consider to be a very substantial check to the University. That alone would have been a great story to tell you. However, that is not the story I'm supposed to tell. As he was writing this check, all I could think about were the trials that this man and his wife had faced over the years, yet they seemed so happy, so willing to serve. In the end, I couldn't help but to ask him how he stayed so positive throughout his life. He gave me a priceless grin, looked at his wife, looked back at me and simply said, "Brother Chris, I choose joy."

About two years ago, I received another call from that same elderly couple I mentioned earlier. They had moved to Idaho Falls to a nursing home. For the first time, the Brother seems a little anxious. There was a concern in his voice. He wanted to meet as soon as possible. When we arrived at their home, we quickly sat down and he quizzed us thoroughly. Would we promise them that his wife would be protected? Had he done enough to take care of her? Would we help oversee their funds to make sure that she would have enough? We assured him that he had been frugal and smart, that she would be fine. We promised that we would come and sit and talk, that we would always be there. When we were done, he didn't have to say it. But I'm sure I heard it. I'm certain he whispered, "Chris, my joy is full."

Two days later, he passed away. He fought his fight, and he chose joy.

As a social worker working as a child abuse investigator in Southern California, I was assigned to work in the drug unit of a local government agency. One of my duties was to provide services to new mothers who had delivered drug exposed babies. My job was to help the mothers identify their problems, overcome their substance abuse issues, and to reunify with their babies which had been removed from their care. On one occasion, I had a young mother on my caseload that suffered from a severe heroin addiction. She had given birth to a baby boy just days earlier while under the influence of this damaging substance. At her request, I met her next to a trash dumpster in a back alley of a rundown neighborhood. There sitting on the curb she told me that she knew what she was doing was wrong. She knew of the dangers she was inflicting upon herself and her unborn child. She explained to me that she had never wanted to have children due to her current lifestyle, but now it was too late. Now she was a mother. With tears in her eyes she asked me if I could help her become the best mother to her child. I knew she was talking about her divine nature, but she could not know of this—she only felt it. She knew of the important role of being a mother to this new baby and she had work to do to get there. I went on to help her get into a drug treatment program, a parenting class, and counseling. I assisted her along the way. Several years later a co-worker ran into her and she recognized her badge. It was the same type that I had worn when I worked with her. She asked this co-worker to let me know that she was working fulltime and that her son was doing well in her care. She wanted to let me know that she was thankful that I had treated her with respect and like a friend when nobody else would.

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

In 2006, I attended a general priesthood meeting in our stake. A senior missionary couple—I’ll call them the Gardners—came to talk to our stake.

Elder Gardner spoke about the blessings of paying fast offerings. He explained how, throughout his life, he had learned that when he didn’t have any ideas on how to make more money, he received the following counsel from his wife: We need to increase the amount of fast offerings. Elder Gardner told his wife they needed more money, not less! Nevertheless, he decided to follow her advice and increase the amount of fast offerings. During his powerful and profound message, I received an impression to triple our fast offerings. I even wrote the total in my notes.

At dinner that night, I explained to Andrea the experience I had, told her my feelings, and showed her the number I had written in my notes. She stopped eating, looked at me, and asked, “Do we have the money to pay that amount?” I said, “That’s what I felt,” and she immediately said, “If you felt it, let’s do it!”

So, the following day, on Sunday, I grabbed the donation envelope and tripled our fast offering.

The next day at work, I received a call from the human resources manager, who told me, “Mr. Spannaus, we had miscalculated some of the deductions we take from your salary, and we need to reimburse you this amount of money.” To my surprise, the amount was the new fast offering amount for an entire year.

Perhaps some of you may think that it would have happened anyway. To me, this was another testimony that the Lord does not need our money; He needs our heart and will, and He can multiply our blessings any number of times—according to what He determines is expedient for us.

I want to testify to all of you that fasting develops generosity, and when you develop this generosity, he blesses you abundantly. I promise you that if you try it, you will see the hand of the Lord in your life.

Suddenly it started to rain. At first it was a soft, gentle rain that did not bother Tommy as he milked the cow and helped his father feed the oxen. Later, when they started to pitch the tent, the rain came down in fierce, angry sheets that bit into Tommy’s shoulders. The wind blew so hard that it wrenched the tent out of their hands.
“We’ll have to do without the tent tonight,” Father finally decided.
“Where will you and Mamma sleep?” asked Tommy. “My wagon is too full of corn and wheat for anybody to sleep there.”
“You and Betsy can sleep with Mamma in the other wagon,” answered his father, “and I will make a bed underneath it for me.”
“I will sleep under the wagon,” said Tommy quietly.
Father did not answer at once, but Tommy knew by the pressure of his hand that he was proud that his son had offered. Finally Father quietly said, “I’ll help you gather pine boughs to put on the ground so your bed won’t sink into the mud.”
Tommy was glad when they had enough pine boughs, because it was difficult to cut them in the stinging rain. Over these pine boughs he and his father put the folded tent, leaving enough of it free on each side to pull over the bedroll so Tommy would not get wet.
When the bed was ready, Tommy crawled into it. At first it was frightening to be alone in the storm. Never had he heard such loud thunder, and the lightning flashes were so close that he could see small fires appear in the tops of the trees where lightning had hit. Even though he knew the heavy rain would soon put them out, Tommy was afraid. What if the lightning should strike the wagon where the others are sleeping? he asked himself. He wanted to call out to his father for comfort, but he didn’t want anyone to know that he was afraid.
I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me, he said to himself. And he did. Tommy almost expected his prayer to be answered by the thunder and lightning stopping. Instead it was answered by Tommy not being afraid any more.
Then Tommy began to enjoy the storm. It was almost as if giant fireworks were everywhere. Instead of wanting to go to sleep, he wanted to stay awake so he would not miss any of it. But since the storm lasted all night, Tommy’s eyes finally closed. He did not open them again until he felt water lapping at his feet and discovered that the little creek beside which they had camped had become a raging torrent during the night.
Excitedly Tommy called out to his father, “The creek has overflowed and the back wheels of the wagon are standing in the water!”
Tommy’s father was out of the wagon in an instant. When he saw the situation, he helped Tommy pull the bed out from under the wagon and then hitched up both teams of oxen to pull the wagon out of the water. The ground was so slippery the oxen could not get a foothold.
“We will have to build a corduroy road,” said Tommy’s father.
To do this, Tommy and his father cut down many trees. They trimmed off the limbs and laid the poles side by side, close to and in front of the wagon; then with willows they bound each log tightly to the next one so they would not roll. When this was finished, they packed tough grass and pine needles on top of the poles so the oxen’s hoofs could not slip into the cracks.
Finally they coaxed the frightened oxen up onto the corduroy road and hitched them to the wagon. Father spoke to the oxen in a soothing tone, “Steady now, pull together.”
The oxen did pull together. The heavy wagon wheels rolled out of the mud, onto the tough grass, over the corduroy road, and up onto the road that the Camp of Israel would be traveling that day.
Tommy shouted, “Hooray!” and he could see by the look on his mother’s face that she was proud of her two “men.”

Luke arrived in 1983, a month after we had moved to Solihull in the West Midlands.
Luke has Down syndrome and was born with a heart defect that needed open-heart surgery when he was 15 months old. We now know that the operation was made possible by the work that President Russell M. Nelson and others did in inventing a machine that made open-heart surgery possible. How grateful we are for that. Luke survived and was miraculously discharged five days after the operation rather than the two weeks that had been expected. He grew up being much loved by his family and Church family. He doesn’t speak, has a hearing challenge and severe learning disabilities, but these didn’t hold him back. He was baptised at the age of 12 and received the Aaronic Priesthood at the age of 15. He now holds the office of a priest. We moved to Malvern in 2013 and he loved fulfilling his priesthood duties in the Worcester Ward.

I went to the movies with some friends of mine from church. When we entered the mall, we were given a ticket for the parking lot. After the movie ended, we realized that we had lost the parking ticket. At first we thought we could just pay for the ticket, but none of us had the 180 pesos needed for the fine.
The consequence of not paying for parking was leaving the car at the mall to get towed, which would be even more expensive. Despair overcame my friends, especially the one who was driving since the car belonged to his father. I stepped away to say a prayer. I asked Heavenly Father with all my faith and humility to provide us a way to resolve our problem and return safely to our homes. I will never forget what happened just seconds after I finished my prayer.
As I was walking back toward the car, someone behind me started calling my name. It was Francisco, a friend from high school. He asked what I was doing, and I told him what had happened. Without hesitation, he got out his wallet and gave me enough money to pay for the lost ticket. This act of kindness was an immediate response to my supplications to Heavenly Father.
Francisco may never know what a great help he was, but I know that I will be deeply grateful for the rest of my life.

It all started—where else?—at church. It was fun for the family to get together and sing, and they began doing it at stake and ward functions in Oregon. Then one day a man asked them how much they’d charge to perform elsewhere. They said $25, and their professional careers were born.
Some families do jigsaw puzzles together; some ride bikes. The Potters performed—at fairs, shopping malls, civic events, that type of thing. It was fun, gave them some confidence, and kept them close. But suddenly, through a frightening turn of events, their performing became a life-or-death matter.
One day when Tuhk was modeling shorts, his mother noticed some terrible bruises on his legs, and they wouldn’t heal. A doctor’s checkup revealed the worst—he had leukemia. It would take a bone marrow transplant and over $100,000 to save his life.
Now the Potters were performing, without Tuhk, to earn money to help their little brother live. What they made didn’t go far, but the publicity they received did. Their ward, stake, and community rallied around them. Soon an offer came from the City of Hope, a medical facility in California, to donate Tuhk’s transplant and treatment.
The family sped south. All the Potter kids tested positive to be bone marrow donors, but Tarrish was selected. They went through weeks of fasting and prayer while their brother went through surgery and chemotherapy, part of it in strict isolation. That was especially hard on Tuhk.
They were also involved in weeks of missionary work. There was another family at the same hospital, up from Mexico, whose son Victor was in the same condition as Tuhk. Victor didn’t make it, but the family was able to bear the tragedy with the comfort of the gospel the Potters had shared with them. They were baptized, and when they returned to Mexico, the father eventually became a bishop.
The Potter family was elated when they found that Tuhk’s leukemia had finally gone into remission. When you meet him now, telling funny riddles or playing with Ninja Turtles, you’d never guess he’d once come so close to death.
But his malady had brought the whole family to the Los Angeles area, and since they were in one of the media capitals of the world, the kids decided to try their hand at something they were already good at—acting, modeling, performing. It worked. One by one, they began landing roles.
In a family with six children, you’d think there would be enough sibling rivalry without having to deal with the envy of one person getting more roles than another. But the Potters are amazingly supportive of each other. They love to watch the videotapes of each other’s commercials and parts, and they watch them over and over again, exclaiming, “Look—there he/she is! That’s a great one!”
Sometimes, two of the Potters are up for the same part. A while back Triskin landed a part as a veejay on Kidsongs, a Disney show that both she and Tarrish had tried out for. But there aren’t hard feelings. “You don’t get jealous; you just get sad,” says Tarrish. “It’s not your sister’s fault she got the part. You don’t hate her for it. It’s better that one of us gets it than none of us.”
The Potters’ living room walls are covered with framed pictures and mementos of all the work they’ve done. They will explain them to you if you ask, but they won’t automatically steer you toward their own. “That’s Tylee, that’s Talon, oh, and there’s me,” Trek will tell you, as he points to various frames on the walls.
Trek, 12, gets the most parts at the moment, but you’d never know it from his attitude. The money the kids make goes into a common fund. And after you subtract tithing, taxes, transportation, agents’ fees, managers’ fees, Screen Actors Guild fees, money for acting/voice/dance lessons, plus a myriad of other expenses, their profession might not seem as lucrative as you thought.
But hopefully it will be enough to pay for their missions and their college educations. The Potters take advanced classes now, and while a few of them would like to stay in show business, they realize college is important. “I’d like to be a vet or do something with animals,” says Triskin. “You can’t really depend on acting.”
But for now, they can depend on acting for something to talk about around the dinner table and for something to encourage each other about. Oh, and it does provide for a Ninja Turtle or two, a Game Boy, roller skates—a few little luxuries like that.
The Potters go to their auditions stoically, usually toting backpacks full of homework to do while they wait for their names to be called. If Trek doesn’t get a part today, maybe Tuhk will. And maybe they’ll start filming that movie tomorrow that Triskin has been promised a lead in. It’s only a matter of time before one of them hears those magic words, “Thanks, kid—you’re exactly what we need. We’ll see you at the studio on Saturday.” For the Potters, one person’s victory is everybody’s victory.

“Don’t forget this is fast Sunday.” Hearing my mother’s reminder was like hearing a judge pronounce “ten years to life.” Wandering out to the kitchen on a Sunday morning and discovering that the table was bare and there was no bacon smell made me want to crawl right back under the covers. How could a word like fast be associated with something that seems to drag on forever?
I remember fast Sundays spent pacing the kitchen floor as I tried to justify eating just a little something. “I need to take something for a headache, but I can’t take aspirin on an empty stomach.” When I persisted with my grumbling, good old Mom always said, “We don’t force anyone to fast around here. You are free to eat whenever you choose.” Sure. Eat while everyone else is fasting. And feel like a total jerk.
After a while, I learned not to complain and not to hover around the pantry. Instead, I’d go outside and mess around, or go to a far corner of the house and dive into the Sunday paper or a book—anything to take my mind off my stomach.
And so I fasted. At least I went without food and drink for two meals. I had been told I was old enough to fast, so I suffered through it, one Sunday a month. Rewarding? About like a forced run in gym class. It’s painful and unpleasant, and when you get through, all you have is the satisfaction that you toughed it out. Until—
Until one Sunday. I don’t know what got into me. (It certainly wasn’t pancakes! Might have been a past Sunday School lesson, though.) At any rate, I decided that I would really see if I could get something out of fasting besides killer breath. Why go through the discomfort and come away with nothing more than relief that it’s over?
So when I woke up that Sunday morning, I made a deliberate effort to be pleasant and patient. I didn’t prowl the kitchen, growling like an echo of my stomach. Yes, I spent some time reading the Sunday paper, but I also spent time (and effort) in the scriptures. When I went off to my room, it was not to sulk, but to pray—for patience, for understanding, and for an increase of testimony.
My mouth still tasted like something small and furry had hibernated in it. But mouthwash helped. My stomach still threw tantrums for a while. But then the hunger pangs faded into the background, partly because I was tuning them out, and partly because my body seemed to shift into another gear.
As the day progressed, I actually became happy. (No, it wasn’t delirium.) In fast and testimony meeting I found myself watching the speakers and listening to their testimonies, rather than watching the clock and listening to my stomach. Being there felt good. When dinner time finally arrived, I discovered that I was able to sit calmly. A new sense of self-control allowed me to eat reasonably, instead of giving way to the usual gluttony of the “feast of the fast over.”
On the fast Sundays that followed, I often had to relearn the same lessons. It’s so easy to let the stomach control moods, thoughts, temper. And it’s easy to go through the motions and discomfort of fasting without finding joy in it. But as I persevered, I continued to learn to actually enjoy fasting.
A few years later, in the mission field, proper fasting became even more important as I sought the blessings of the Spirit. Of course, I still had a missionary’s appreciation for food. In fact, one day our new zone leader leaned toward me over the lunch table, glanced down at my well-stocked plate, and said, “I’ll bet you really hate to fast, don’t you, Elder?”
My mouth was full of food, so all I could do was dumbly shake my head. But no. I no longer hated to fast.
Before I had really put myself into it, really looked for the rewards of fasting, I wouldn’t have understood what the Lord was talking about when he said:
“Verily, this is fasting and prayer, or in other words, rejoicing and prayer” (D&C 59:14; italics added).
But now I understand: There are rewards that go far beyond the meager satisfaction of just having endured.

Lisa groaned as Chelsea’s hand flew into the air. This would be Chelsea’s seventh comment during this class alone. Lisa tried to ignore her grumbling stomach and force a polite smile on her face as Sister Beldon invited Chelsea to speak.
“When I was seven we went to a dog show. I just loved all the dogs we saw, so I know just what you mean.”
Lisa stifled a laugh. Her Laurel teacher had been talking about how the power of love can change lives. Couldn’t Chelsea understand that the lesson didn’t have anything to do with dogs? If Chelsea’s comments ever had anything to do with the lesson topic, it wouldn’t be so frustrating to have her in class.
The bell rang, and Lisa sighed with relief. The Sunday afternoon church schedule always made her so hungry. As soon as the prayer was said she rushed from her class. Unfortunately, she was intercepted.
“Hello, Lisa. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a few minutes?”
Lisa had to remind herself how much she liked her new bishop before she could bring herself to cheerfully say, “Of course. Just let me tell my parents, so they won’t worry.”
Bishop Jacobson asked her a few questions about her honors classes and her cheerleading and then got to the point.
“Lisa, we’d like to call you to be Laurel class president. We’ve prayed and feel that you are the one the Lord would like for the job at this time. Will you be willing to accept this call?”
Lisa’s heart jumped with excitement. She had been a class counselor before but never a president. “Of course. I’ve always wanted to be class president.”
The bishop gave her a sharp look. “This job might be harder than you expect. The girls in your class—and even the younger girls in the Young Women program—really look up to the Laurel class president. You’ll have a big responsibility to be a role model as well as a leader.”
“I can do it.”
“Great. I have confidence in your ability. Your first responsibility as president will be to choose your counselors and secretary.”
“That’s easy. I want—”
The bishop held up his hand. “No, Lisa. That’s not how it’s done. I want you to go home and make a list of all the girls in your class. Write them all down, so you can really discover who Heavenly Father wants you to choose. Then I want you to think very seriously about your choices and, most importantly, I want you to pray. Heavenly Father has the final say, not you.”
Lisa bit her lip. Maybe the bishop was right. This job was harder than she thought. Still, she knew she could do it, and she was sure Heavenly Father would be willing to let her have her two best friends as counselors. They were smart and creative and would be a terrific help in planning activities.
As soon as she got home, she looked longingly at the dinner her mother was setting out. Her stomach hated late Sunday meetings, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to settle down to eat. The bishop’s words about responsibility were still ringing in her ears, and she wanted to get started right away.
“Mom, would it be all right if I just grabbed a piece of fruit and went to my room? I’ll eat later, after I’ve chosen my counselors.”
Her mother agreed, and Lisa hurried to her room, chewing on an apple as she went. Lisa closed her door and thought.
How should she start? The list. The bishop had said to make a list. Lisa wrote the names of eight girls in her class: Karen, Allyson, Lindsey, Carla, Amy, Denise, Janet, and Shari.
Lisa studied the list. The choices seemed obvious to her. Her best friend, Allyson, would be a perfect first counselor; and since the Laurels seemed to get put in charge of a lot of parties, she wanted Lindsey as her second counselor. Even the deacons liked Lindsey’s parties.
Lisa knelt down and began to pray. She explained why Allyson and Lindsey seemed like the best choices to her and asked for Heavenly Father’s approval.
She received quick approval for Allyson as first counselor, but somehow the confirmation of Lindsey as second counselor just wouldn’t come. Lisa tried again, explaining to Heavenly Father why Lindsey was the perfect choice for second counselor, but she soon began to feel Lindsey should be secretary. That was fine with Lisa, but who could be the second counselor?
Lisa picked up her list and tried again. She decided to pray about Carla. Still nothing. Resolutely, Lisa went down the list, but still no feelings of approval came.
“Heavenly Father, I have to choose someone. The bishop needs an answer. Who do you want?” Would someone new move into the ward tomorrow who was right for the job? She studied her list again.
Was someone missing? Only Chelsea, but she couldn’t choose Chelsea anyway. Chelsea couldn’t read or even speak clearly. Lisa wasn’t sure just how, but she thought Chelsea might be mentally handicapped.
As Lisa started to put down her pencil, the bishop’s words nagged her. “Write them all down,” he had said. Had he guessed she might leave Chelsea out? Lisa sighed and wrote Chelsea’s name on the list. Should she pray about Chelsea for the job? How could she have Chelsea as a counselor? Everyone would think she was crazy, and, anyway, Chelsea would never be able to do everything a counselor would have to do. The others would end up doing all her work for her, and they certainly didn’t have time for that.
Lisa looked at her list again. There was no one else left. She got back down on her knees and began to pray. For a long time, she felt nothing, so she tried again. Gradually, she found herself really wanting an answer and not just doing her job.
That’s when the answer came. She felt a peace stronger than any she had felt before, and she knew Chelsea was the right choice for second counselor.
Lisa paused to thank her Father in Heaven for his help and then hurried off to satisfy her growling stomach.
The next Sunday, Lisa was surprised to realize that for once she was not hungry. “I guess my stomach’s filled with butterflies,” she whispered to her mother, as she entered the Young Women’s room.
Lisa was pleased to see the smiles on the faces of the other girls as her name was announced as Laurel president. Then she steeled herself as her counselors were announced.
“And as second counselor, we’ve called Chelsea Stanton.”
The eyes of every young woman in the room turned to Lisa in shock. She saw several of the girls whisper to each other. Then she groaned. Chelsea’s hand was raised. The bishop smiled and invited Chelsea to the front of the room.
Lisa caught her breath as she got her first good look at Chelsea. She had tears streaming from her eyes as she stood with the bishop’s arm around her shoulders.
“I just wanted to tell Lisa how happy I am to be her counselor. I never thought I could have a calling because of my disabilities, but now I do have one. I guess I even have a friend, and I’m going to be a good counselor and work hard. Thank you.”
Lisa looked around at her friends. Then she stood up and hugged Chelsea.
“Thank you, Chelsea. I can really use a good counselor—and a good friend. I’m glad you accepted.”
As Lisa returned to her seat, she felt so good, she couldn’t help but smile. The bishop had been right. This job really was teaching her a lot, but it was worth it. Nobody could ever have too many friends.

I had been on my mission in Taiwan only a few months when Sister Newton was preparing to return home. Several sisters were visiting with her on the eve of her departure, and someone asked, “What’s the most important thing you’ve learned on your mission?” After a moment’s reflection, Sister Newton replied, “I’ve learned about the joy of serving the Lord. If I’m called to be the light-bulb changer when I go home, I’m going to do it to the very best of my ability!”

Living in Port Alberni, an industrial town on Vancouver Island, Canada, with few Church members, I grew up fascinated by Utah. I especially loved the missionaries. My family even collected the rectangular address cards the missionaries handed out. Each had a photo of the Salt Lake Temple or some other temple, as well as the missionary’s home address and ward. Listed on the back were the Articles of Faith.
To my young imagination, these cards were like travel posters showing beautiful scenes from faraway lands. Visiting places like Temple Square, however, seemed impossible. For a young boy from a poor family, Utah may as well have been on the moon.
But when my oldest brother, Mundi, married and settled in Salt Lake City, my world began to shrink. Then when my other brother, Laurence, attended BYU after his mission, it shrank a little more. After Mundi and his wife had settled in Salt Lake City, I asked my parents if I could visit them there.
“If you save up for the bus ticket, I guess you’re old enough,” my dad said. They even called Mundi and his wife, who both said it would be fine if I visited them for a few weeks the following summer.
Only one major hurdle remained: the bus ticket. The round-trip fare was $75.00, a fortune to a 15-year-old without a job. Still, I did odd jobs when I could and saved most everything I made. By March I had put away $45.00.
About that time my dad retired, and we moved to the other side of Victoria. My family started attending the local branch that met each Sunday at the nearby Women’s Auxiliary Hall—an old weathered building that smelled of damp wood. Our branch was so small the adult leaders had to do many things. My dad was a counselor in the Sunday School presidency. He was also a Sunday School teacher and the priesthood instructor. My mother handled the music and helped with the Primary. A couple of boys and myself administered the sacrament, and everyone gave talks.
At that time, Church buildings were paid for partly by the local members. Unbeknownst to me, the district presidency was on a drive to fund Vancouver Island’s second chapel. They hoped this building would one day become the island’s first stake center. They were visiting each branch, beginning at our little Sunday School.
“We’re building the foundation for the Lord’s Church to grow in this area,” one of the brethren said. “To accomplish this, every one of us will need to sacrifice.”
I listened intently. It was always interesting, if not a little intimidating, when the leaders visited. I usually hung on their every word.
“We’ve worked out suggested assessments for every mother and father and for every child,” he said. He listed off assessments of several hundred dollars from each set of parents and an assessment of $45.00 from each child. “We know this will be hard for you, but we promise you will be blessed for it,” he concluded.
It seemed too much of a coincidence. I had exactly $45.00 back at the house, representing most of my ticket to Utah. Between Sunday School and priesthood meeting, I ran home and grabbed the money. In the exhilaration of the moment, my long awaited trip to Utah was completely forgotten. I walked up to the brother from the district presidency and handed him the $45.00.
What happened next took me completely by surprise. The man looked at me, almost dumbfounded. Before we began the next meeting, he took the stand and asked everyone to sit down.
“It’s not easy to ask members to sacrifice,” he began, “and I’ve felt very discouraged these past few weeks about having to do it. I guess my own faith was weak. But a young man in your midst has just given me every cent he has because the Lord asked for it,” he said. “And I know that he will be blessed because of it.”
I heard later that he stood before all the branches on the island and used my example again and again to inspire the membership. Ironically, I hadn’t given my decision a moment’s thought. The Lord needed exactly what I had, so I gave it.
I didn’t give my Utah trip any more thought either. Although I had wanted to go for as long as I could remember, I didn’t feel disappointed. I figured my blessing was how good I felt inside. And, for the moment, that was more than enough.
Then, just before summer vacation began, an unexpected phone call came. It was Sister Hackwell, the mother of Billy, one of my Church friends.
“I’m driving to Utah in a few weeks to visit Faye and Anita [her two married daughters] and wondered if Jim wanted to come along?” she asked. “Mundi could pick him up at Anita’s, and he and Billy could keep each other company on the way.” I could go to Utah, after all. I knew immediately that the Lord had blessed me even more than the brother from the district presidency had promised he would.

The first initial rejections I received in my courtship with Christiane made me a little discouraged. I had just about decided to begin a fruitful career as a young single adult in the Church. One day I had a special spiritual impression. I was participating in an ordinance in the Swiss Temple when I heard a voice in my heart saying something to this effect: “Erich, if you do not seriously strive to marry and enter into the new and everlasting covenant, all these teachings and promised blessings really make no difference for you.” It was a wake-up call that I received at the very young age of twenty-one, and from that moment I tried even harder to be worthy of that blessing.