Gospel Story Finder

We are grateful President Dallin H. Oaks will be our concluding speaker. When I was a new freshman at Brigham Young University and President Oaks was the new president of Brigham Young University, we spoke together on a panel for parents and prospective students. As I waited nervously for the program to begin, President Oaks leaned over to assure me. With a warm smile, he said he was wearing a red tie because he was celebrating his 40th birthday and was feeling old. To me, as a new freshman, 40 did seem pretty old!

Time continued to go by, and we were extremely content with our lives. We had our two wonderful daughters, had great neighbors, a good job, and life seemed to be going well for us. We started to think that our family would be just the four of us. Afterall, most of our neighbors only had two kids. However, one day as Caryn was putting away the clothes Chrysanne had grown out of, she could not feel peace about giving the little clothes away. She was also about to turn 40, and knew that if we were going to have another child now was the time. Her patriarchal blessing promised that she would bring forth bodies (plural), and at this point we only had the one birth. We truly believed God would fulfill his promises. As Elder Angel Abrea stated, “The faithful Latter-day Saint waits patiently because, certainly, faith, ‘the assurance of things hoped for’, is exercised with the conviction that the promises will be fulfilled ‘in his own time, and in his own way, and according to his own will’” (1992).

We started once again going to see infertility specialists, and were told that the procedure that had the best chance for us in our condition was invitro fertilization. However, this was a very costly procedure, and one that had just a 25% chance of success at Caryn’s age. We moved forward with faith knowing of the Lord’s promise to Caryn, and that we could put our trust in Him. We traveled out of state to a respected clinic and worked with an outstanding physician in this invitro fertilization process. While we were gone, our Bishop felt impressed to look for Caryn in the congregation one Sunday. The Spirit told him, “Sister Houghton needs you to tell her something.” He did not know why, and did not even see my wife in order to follow through with the prompting. Later that week we came back to our home in Oklahoma extremely disheartened, since we just had been told by the fertility clinic that the procedure had not been successful. We had spent tens of thousands of dollars, given up time away from work, put our trust in medicine and the Lord, only to have it end in failure. We were sad and wondered what the Lord wanted us to do in our lives instead.

The following Sunday after sacrament meeting the Bishop asked to see us in his office. He said, “Brother & Sister Houghton, the Lord has strongly prompted me two Sundays in a row to tell you that you will have a son.” We were dumbstruck. We had not told him of our situation, but right then at the moment we knew the Lord understood our anguish and was ready to bless us in our desire. Then in the office the bishop and I laid our hands on my wife’s head and he blessed her with comfort, and promised her that the Lord knew of her desires, and that He would fulfill His promises to her. Two months later we returned to the clinic, buoyed up with the faith we had in the Lord, knowing that he would fulfill His promise to us. Nine months later our little boy, Isaac, was born. Two months after that he accompanied us to Laie when I interviewed for a job here at BYU–Hawaii, and now has grown up as a barefoot local boy.

From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision. The night of the sixth discussion was a very eventful night.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me that you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you, and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and that you will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know that the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t too happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees in the kitchen and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of miles away from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. It was a very clear voice that just said, “You’re to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on October 12, 1995.

A llie threw a few pencils in her backpack and zipped it up. She was sliding it off her bed when Mom poked her head through the door.
“Is your backpack ready for school tomorrow?” Mom asked.
“Check,” Allie said.
“Brush your teeth?”
Allie smiled wide. “Check.”
“Say your prayers?”
Allie looked up at the ceiling. “Umm … Not check.”
Mom smiled. “I can pray with you if you want.” She knelt by Allie’s bed. After a moment, Allie knelt down beside her.
“Mom, do I have to pray?” Allie whispered. “I feel so silly. It’s like I’m talking to myself.”
Mom nodded. “I’ve felt that way before too. Whenever I feel like I’m just talking to myself, I imagine Heavenly Father next to me. Then it’s like I’m talking with someone in the same room.”
Allie scrunched her mouth into a frown. Was it really that easy?
“It’s hard that we can’t see Heavenly Father. But I know He’s always listening,” Mom said.
Allie folded her arms and listened to Mom pray. She tried hard to feel that Heavenly Father was next to her. Was He really listening?
On Sunday, Sister Oscar put a big mirror in front of the Primary room. Allie tried to get a better look, but she couldn’t see past a kid making funny faces in the mirror.
Then Sister Oscar stood up. Everyone watched as she pulled a cloth out of a bag.
“We’re going to do an activity today,” she said. “I need everyone to make a line from the mirror to the back of the room.”
All the kids stood up and got in line. Allie stood at the end, and she could see Sister Oscar talking to kids in the front. The line got shorter and shorter until it was finally her turn. Allie stepped up to the mirror.
“What do you see?” Sister Oscar asked.
Allie blinked her eyes. The eyes in the mirror blinked too.
“I see me,” she said.
“That’s right. You see your reflection.”
Then Sister Oscar tied the cloth around Allie’s head like a blindfold. Allie couldn’t see anything.
“Can you see your reflection now?” she asked.
“No,” said Allie.
“Is it still there?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?” asked Sister Oscar.
“Because I’m still in front of the mirror,” Allie said. “I know it’s still there.”
Allie went back to her seat. Sister Oscar stood up at the front of the room.
“Just like your reflection in the mirror, Heavenly Father is with us even when we can’t see Him,” Sister Oscar said. “He is always near us. And the best part is that we can always feel Him close.”
Allie’s arms tingled. Happiness filled her as she realized that what Sister Oscar said was true!
That night Allie was brushing her hair in the bathroom. Mom knocked on the door.
“Are you almost ready for family prayer?” she asked. “It’s your turn to say it.”
Allie looked at herself in the mirror. She imagined Heavenly Father smiling back at her.
“Check!” Allie said.

Finally, seek to serve others while experiencing trials. During the time Josh was being treated for cancer, he was granted a wish from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Perhaps you have heard of that organization. They were famously highlighted a year or so ago when a five-year-old battling leukemia wished he could be Batman for a day, and so he helped save San Francisco from the Riddler, while tens of thousands gathered to watch and cheer him on. It was a touching experience that has since been made into a film.

In our case, Josh could ask for anything he wanted, and his brothers and sister chimed in on what he should wish for—including meeting NBA great Lebron James, going to Disneyland, or going on a Caribbean cruise. However, when we went to Josh and discussed his wish with him alone—away from his siblings—we discovered that he had already decided what he wanted. He said that so much of the year had been focused on him and his treatment, that he decided he wanted to give his wish away to his siblings. It was the first time in Make-A-Wish's history in the state of Idaho that someone gave what they termed a "give-back" wish. His wish was to give his siblings a surprise Christmas. We were amazed about his request, and we tried to determine whether this is what he really wanted--but he assured us that this was what he wanted most.

He spent weeks gathering information about what his brothers and sister wanted for Christmas, and then spent several days in Salt Lake City after one of his chemotherapy treatments shopping for presents. It was a great distraction from his own suffering. We will never forget that Christmas as long as we live! Josh—all dressed up in a Santa suit—handing out presents to his siblings.

In giving his "wish" away to his family, I believe that it helped Josh have time where he could distract himself from his own burdens, and have joy in witnessing the happiness of others.

My grandmother Firl Bagley was born in Charleston, Utah. Charleston is the small town at the far end of Deer Creek where you turn to go to Midway. She was the tenth of eleven children. Her family decided to move to Victor, Idaho, when she was young. Her mother was ill, and they left her in Salt Lake City to recover. However, her mother died when Firl was four years old. Firl’s dad could not take care of a farm and eleven kids by himself, so Firl was put in a foster home with a German couple. This couple raised her in Victor until she left to go to Sugar City to high school.

Howard met Firl in a very interesting way. Firl was in front of the church on a Sunday morning and noticed that a small child had fallen and scraped a knee. Firl reached her first, picked her up, and loved her. Howard was a young returned missionary with black curly hair, a beautiful smile, and a twinkle in his eye. He said to himself, “That girl is going to be my wife.”

Sammy Snake was busy crawling out of his old, dry skin when Hosea Hamster scampered by. “Ha-ha!” laughed Hosea. “Sammy, you certainly look funny—like a worm crawling out of its cocoon.”
Sammy Snake turned to his old friend and replied, “Snakes always shed their skins in the springtime.”
“I don’t see why you should shed your skin. Your old one looked just fine to me,” said Hosea.
“Every year I grow bigger so my skin becomes too small,” Sammy explained. “In the winter I hibernate, and I grow a new skin under the old one while I’m asleep. When I wake up in the springtime my old skin is dry. It splits along my belly and I crawl out of it. It’s like being born again every year.”
Hosea looked puzzled and replied, “Sure sounds like a lot of trouble to me. Why don’t you just stretch your old skin? That’s what I do. Watch this!” He puffed out his cheeks, making his little round face look like a fuzzy Ping-Pong ball.
“No, no! You don’t understand,” cried Sammy, a little exasperated. “My skin doesn’t stretch like yours. It has to be hard and tough so it won’t tear when I crawl over sharp rocks. My skin needs to be strong enough to protect me from the hot sand and from Benny Badger or he could bite through it with his sharp teeth.”
“I see,” replied Hosea. “A skin that can do all those things couldn’t be expected to stretch too.”
Hosea sat on his hind legs and watched Sammy wiggle and squirm.
Finally all his old skin came off. As Sammy crawled free of the skin, he gave a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad that job is over for another year. Boy, am I hungry! I’m hungry enough to eat a. …” His beady eyes fixed on the plump little hamster sitting in front of him.
Hosea caught the message. Quick as a wink, he scurried down the path to safety. He paused for a moment and turned to say, “So long, Sammy. I’ll see you later—maybe we can play after you’ve had your dinner!”

May I just offer one or two more thoughts. One of our Latter-day Saint men during World War II was over in England. He had gone to an officer’s club where they were holding a riotous kind of celebration. He noticed off to the side a young British officer who didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all. So he walked over to him and said, “You don’t seem to be enjoying this kind of a party.” And this young British officer straightened himself a few inches taller than he was before and replied, “No, sir, I can’t engage in this kind of a party, because, you see, I belong to the royal household of England.”

As our Latter-day Saint boy walked away he said to himself, “Neither can I, because I belong to the royal household of the kingdom of God.” Do you realize that, you young people? There are things that you cannot and must not do if you remember your heritage.

It was almost the end of the month, and I had visited every sister on my new visiting teaching list except one. I’d never met Joan (name has been changed). She did not attend church, and in the recent past, she had not wanted to have contact with the Church.

I had made many phone calls to her home throughout the month, but they were always greeted by her answering machine, no matter what time I called. I left several voice messages, introducing myself as her new visiting teacher, telling her I was looking forward to meeting her, and asking her to return my call. But Joan never called back.

With only a few days left in the month, I decided to drop by Joan’s home unannounced with a plate of muffins. But as I drove up and down the busy highway near her street, I realized that none of the numbers on the houses matched the address I had been given for her. I became increasingly frustrated, thinking, “Why am I doing this? She probably won’t even be home, and if I leave the muffins on her porch, some dog will most likely eat them.” Finally I checked my ward directory and discovered that Joan’s address on my visiting teaching list was incorrect. With the correct address, I found the home within minutes.

Armed with my muffins, I walked toward Joan’s house. I hesitated when I saw a big No Trespassing sign but cautiously continued toward her porch. I rang the doorbell two times. No answer. Thinking, “Well, at least I tried,” I left the muffins and my note near Joan’s front door.

That evening at dinner, I mentioned to my family my apparently wasted hour attempting to reach this faceless, voiceless, impossible-to-contact sister. During the meal the phone rang. Contrary to our mealtime practice, I answered it. The woman on the phone identified herself as Joan. Suddenly feeling as though I had been reunited with a friend, rather than the stranger she was, I whooped, “Joan! I’ve wanted to hear your voice for so long! I’m so excited you’ve called!”

Joan explained that she hadn’t returned my calls because of recent turmoil in her life. She continued, “Today I was at the courthouse, feeling defeated and humiliated as I stood in front of the judge and my estranged husband. When I drove home, I prayed, ‘God, I feel so worthless and unloved.’ Sobbing, I asked, ‘If You love me, please show me.’

“When I reached home, there before my eyes, as though a miracle from God, was a plate of muffins and a note saying, ‘I’m thinking of you. Love, your visiting teacher.’ It was as if God were saying to me that He loved me. I just wanted you to know that I know God used you to answer my prayer today.”

Since that day Joan has become my friend. We have read the scriptures and prayed together, and she has joined me at church. She has been a gift to me, teaching me never to give up when serving the Lord.

Most musicians don’t take up a new instrument and play a concert tour nine months later—especially if they’re 12 years old. John Mitton, a Salem, Oregon, deacon, started on the piano at five and added violin study at six. It wasn’t until September 1974 that he went to work on the organ, but he proved so adept that he spent last summer touring Europe, giving more than 50 concerts.
John, accompanied by his teacher, William Fawk, traveled throughout Germany, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, France, and Denmark playing the works of Bach, Purcell, Lubeck, and others.
In Austria, John played at the 10th century Abbey of Seckau near Vienna, and his concert was broadcast throughout the country. He was also a guest of the Vienna Boys’ Choir and attended music classes where they were studying a Beethoven mass. John was invited to return and play a concert with the Choir this summer at the Imperial Chapel. In Palermo, Italy, one of the cathedral directors took away the wine glass customarily given organists, noting that a “Mormon organist,” as John was referred to throughout his tour, wouldn’t need it.
John and his teacher were honored at a dinner given by the U.S. Consul General of Italy before a concert at the six-manual organ at the Monreal Basilica. Throughout his tour John received invitations from music professors as well as the public to return for additional concerts.
Prior to his tour John got some good experience playing before an audience as the Salem Fourth Ward Primary organist. He also played at many Church meetings and community programs. John also plays the violin in his school orchestra and keeps up his piano study.
But music doesn’t occupy all of John’s time. He’s studying Spanish. He’s a ham radio buff and substitutes frequently on a paper route. Last summer John and other Salem Scouts did a 50-miler, camping five days near the beach and hiking out every day. Of course, music was one of John’s first merit badges.
John’s interest in music is part of a family tradition. His great grandfather, Samuel Bailey Mitton, was a tabernacle organist, and one of his compositions, “Awake! O Ye People, the Savior Is Coming” is in our hymnbook. His mother, the former Ewan Harbrecht, was a soloist with the Tabernacle Choir and toured Europe 20 years ahead of John. Sister Elizabeth, 17, is a violist; brother David, 15, is a cellist and bass guitarist; and Esther, 6, is following John on the piano and organ.
John is planning on serving a mission for the Church. He also would like to study organ on the college level and perhaps teach someday. Motivation is no problem for him. “Playing the organ is a challenge; it’s also a rewarding experience. My parents and teacher never have to make me practice. I do it because I know I’ll get better. Having the opportunity to tour Europe is a real incentive in itself.”
Last summer John and his family visited Salt Lake City and met Tabernacle organists Alexander Schreiner and Roy M. Darley and former director of the Tabernacle Choir J. Spencer Cornwall. Brother Cornwall told John that he was endowed with a great gift and must be humble and grateful because it is a gift from the Lord.
At home in Salem, John is practicing baroque pieces two hours a day on his stake center’s organ in preparation for this summer’s concert tour. He’s looking forward to playing some of the world’s most magnificent organs as well as enjoying some of his favorite foods—bratwurst, Wiener schnitzel, and pommefrites, the German version of an American favorite, French fries.

My little brother, Max, saw the ad in the paper. “What is a donation?” he asked as he turned the paper into a miniature tent. “It’s kind of like a present that helps someone,” I explained. “Like when Mom gives cans of soup to the food pantry.”
“The new shelter wants donations. It needs clothes and toys.”
“Why don’t you donate your stuffed animals?” I teased. “They’re taking over our bedroom.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, collapsing his tent and giving me a big grin. Then he jumped up and ran off with the newspaper to show Mom. She thought it would be a wonderful idea if everyone in the family found some things to give to the homeless shelter. The next day, she brought home a big empty box from work, and we started to fill it. Max began asking me so many questions that I wondered how he managed to breathe.
“Do you think there’s a kid at the shelter who would like a toy lion?” Max dug through his mountain of animals. “Or do you think the kid would like a zebra better?”
“Either one would be fine,” I said as I sorted through my closet. I had some puzzles I never put together anymore, and all the pieces were still there. I put them in my pile for the box.
“Maybe there’s a kid who collects teddy bears, like me,” Max thought aloud. “Maybe I should give a teddy bear.”
“That sounds like a good idea, too,” I said, adding a game to my pile.
“But everyone always gets bears,” Max decided. He took a fluffy white dog off his bed. “Do you think that someone would like sleeping with my dog? He’s soft, like a big furry pillow.”
“Sure, Max,” I agreed. “Do you want to put him into the box?”
Max stared at the dog for a minute. “No,” he finally said. “Not this dog.” He plopped the dog back on his bed and started sorting through his toys again.
I smiled to myself, thinking, Max likes the idea of donating a toy, but he doesn’t really want to give any of his stuffed animals away.
“What about some books?” I suggested. “You have lots of them that you’ve already read a zillion times.”
Max got up and pulled some books from his bottom shelf. He opened one and slowly looked at the pictures. Then he put it back. “No,” he said, “I don’t want to give someone a book.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something,” I said, picking up my pile. But I wondered if Max would part with anything. He was a real collector.
That night, Max went through his toys over and over. He’d put something into the box, and then he’d take it out again. Finally he asked Mom if she could wait a day for his donation. I didn’t think another day would help Max decide any more easily, but Mom just smiled and said, “That’s fine.”
The next morning, Max got up early and ate breakfast.
“Did you forget it’s Saturday?” I asked as he pulled on a jacket. “There’s no school today.”
“I know,” he said with a mysterious smile. He didn’t let my teasing bother him one bit. “Mom’s taking me on an errand.”
“Don’t forget to put your donation into the box today,” I reminded him.
“I’ll do that later.”
I finished my breakfast and headed out to play a game of basketball with my friends. When I came home for lunch, Max was waiting for me.
“Come and see my donation,” he said, tugging at my hand the second I stepped through the front door.
“Just a minute,” I said as he pulled hard. “If you stretch my arm much more, I’ll be able to tie my shoes without bending over.”
“Please,” he begged.
“OK, I’m coming.” I wondered what toy Max had finally decided to part with.
He pulled me down the hall and into the kitchen. I didn’t have to look into the box to see his donation, because it stuck out of the top. It was an enormous tiger with velvet orange fur. I’d never seen such a humongous stuffed animal before. “Where did that come from?” I asked.
“I bought it with some money I had saved up. I wanted to put something in the box that I liked best of all, but none of my toys seemed special enough. Don’t you think someone is going to really like it?”
“Yes, I sure do!” In that short moment, Max taught me a lot about giving. Even though he didn’t know the person who would receive his gift, and even though he didn’t have such an amazing big tiger for himself, Max just cared about giving his best.
“Come on, Max, Old Buddy,” I said. “I think you can help me. I want to donate a few more things to that box myself. What do you think a seventh grader would like best of all?”

We also met a faithful sister who came to New York from Haiti to be treated for cancer. During her stays, the ward council did everything it could to help her and make sure she had what she needed, including transportation to and from her treatments. We were blessed to serve and visit her during this time. We hoped for a better ending, but she passed away.
Those two experiences represent what the ward did for people—help them and lift them. We are grateful for these and other remarkable experiences.

I was sitting at a table with some friends in our middle school cafeteria when the topic of Christ’s Second Coming came up. My friends were not very religious, but they had been to church enough times to have heard of the prophesied event. They also knew that I went to church regularly and that I had a firm belief in the Savior.
We talked about it for a while, and in response to their questions I told them that no one knows exactly when Christ will come again. One of my friends turned to me and said quite seriously, “Jade, if the Second Coming happens soon and Jesus Christ comes, I may not recognize Him. Will you point Him out to me?”
Of course I said I would, and we started talking about other things.
My friends have probably never thought about that conversation again, but I have thought of it many times. Based on what I said and did, my friends assumed that I knew the Savior. In fact they counted on me to know Him! But do I really? Could I answer yes to Alma’s question, “Have ye received his image in your countenance” (Alma 5:14)?
That casual question asked by my friend has caused me to evaluate my relationship with the Savior many times. For example, is my personal prayer and scripture study meaningful enough that it brings me closer to Him? I hope so. And I hope that one day when Christ does come, I can stand before Him with a pure heart and clean hands. Then not only will I be able to easily recognize Him, but He will be able to recognize me because I will have His image engraven upon my countenance (see Alma 5:19).

Q: How important is physical training for a big game? I’ve heard coaches talk about trying to outrun your opponent in a game.
Freed: That’s what I used to do when I was young. I tried to beat people by outrunning them, and I did win many matches that way; but when I played a big hitter who could control a big serve and follow it to the net, he would always beat me. Then I got older and started doing the same thing myself, and I won more than I did when I was trying to outrun my opponents. Today the top college teams do roadwork in addition to their tennis playing. When I was with the Davis Cup team, I had our kids do some running whenever I could. Rope-jumping is another good exercise for tennis players.

June 5, 1976, began early for the Ashcraft family in Wilford, Idaho. It was Wayne’s twelfth birthday, and it turned out to be an unexpectedly eventful Saturday for him and thousands of people in and around Rexburg, Idaho. By evening of that same day the Ashcrafts had lost their new three-month-old home, and their land and farm equipment were ruined when later that morning the Teton Dam broke, spreading disaster throughout the valley. But the Ashcraft family was safe.
Sister Ashcraft, Cara Lynn (4) and Greg (2) were in Salt Lake City, visiting relatives.
Meanwhile in Wilford, sprinkler pipes for irrigating had to be moved and ditches dug that day so Ronald (13), Wayne (12), Kaleen (11), Cynthia (10), and Renee (9) helped.
The girls had never moved pipe before. “I really didn’t want to help,” Kaleen admitted. “I wanted to go to a Primary activity instead. But Dad came and got us up, and by nine o’clock we’d moved all the pipes and were digging ditches.”
“Dad had told me to take a shovel and clean out a ditch, and I was just taking my time,” Wayne shyly admitted. “I figured I’d be through before Dad got back to the pickup. He had to check the water and everything first.
“Later when I was done, I met Dad and we got on the tractor and headed toward the road.
“Our neighbor, Roger Weber, was out in the field chasing his horses. He started shouting something, and Dad shut the tractor off so we could hear. Roger told us the dam was breaking.”
“We thought we had about an hour,” Ronald added, “so I took the tractor down to the other end of the field. Then we all got in the pickup and headed home.
“We were about a mile from our house when another neighbor said we couldn’t go any farther. Dad said, ‘Oh, surely I can make it home.’
“Our neighbor said, ‘You’d be foolish to try.’ But Dad wanted to try anyway.
“We went about a quarter mile and just around the corner we saw Virgil Wad’s spud pit go. Turning the pickup around, we saw Dean Dawes’ place being covered by the water. We headed next for Bischoff’s spud pit, then decided to go for higher ground.
“We started for the hill on one side of the valley, but the water began coming, so we went to the other side. We had to hurry because the road was in the valley.”
From that hill the Ashcraft family watched the water go around them and then hit their home. Stunned by what they were seeing, Wayne suggested that he and his brother and sisters go off by themselves to pray. Cynthia said, “I got in the back of the pickup, knelt down by a tire, and prayed. After that I thought, Everything’s going to be OK. The water will start to go down.”
But it didn’t.
Just then some airplanes flew over the area. One of the planes spotted the families below stranded on the hill. The pilot flew back to the airport in St. Anthony and returned in a military plane that landed in a grainfield. The Ashcrafts and others climbed aboard and were taken to St. Anthony.
The Ashcraft family lost their home and all of their earthly possessions except a little football belonging to Greg that they found downstream from their home several miles. But today they are happy they are alive and together and are thankful for all the help they have received.
The people of the Idaho flood area feel blessed. The Church through its welfare program has provided them with food, clothing, and shelter. Church members have opened up their homes and their hearts to the stricken families.
The Ashcrafts plan to return to their once fertile land, now covered by many feet of sand and gravel. There they will live in two trailer houses until they can build a new home.
This family will always remember one important lesson—to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. When Cynthia asked her father why he insisted on taking them with him that Saturday morning, he said he had a feeling that he should take them.
And Cynthia understood!

Illustration by Dan Burr
I remember it was your typical ward Christmas party: tables covered with red and green butcher paper, dinner served on paper plates, little children running around, and the happy sound of ward members chatting. Somehow, someone had managed to quiet things down to give a blessing on the food, and then everyone ate. The program was about to start.
It wasn’t my ward. I had gone with a friend to her ward party, so I didn’t know many people. We had wanted to leave early, but her mom convinced us to stay for the program.
The first number on the program was by the Primary children, who walked onto the stage wearing gold-tinsel halos on their heads. They sang a song then bumped and giggled their way offstage, leaving a trail of gold tinsel in their wake.
Two pianists then played joyous songs. The first pianist played “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” (Hymns, no. 202) without missing a note. The other, a young boy, sat down at the piano and looked mournfully over his shoulder at his mom, who began to quietly count the beat. The boy sighed, turned to the instrument, and played his best version of “Up on the Housetop.”
Next on the program was one of my favorite songs—“C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s.”
I looked up to see a sister with stooped shoulders and one hand held close to her body, walking with an awkward stride to stand beside the piano. She stood with one hip lower than the other and offered a lopsided smile before she began. I admit I wrongfully wondered if the song would be any good.
“When I was but a youngster, Christmas meant one thing,” she sang. The song went on to tell how a child learns how to spell Christmas and discovers what the holiday is really about.
“C is for the Christ child, born upon this day; H for herald angels.”
Her mouth was slack on one side, and she had difficulty forming the words.
“R means our Redeemer; I means Israel; S is for the star.”
Cautiously I looked around the room and studied the faces of her ward members. No one seemed embarrassed. In fact, they sat smiling and listening contentedly.
“T is for three wise men … ; M is for the manger.”
She continued singing and turned her face upward, fixing her eyes on a spot somewhere on the ceiling. After a few moments I looked up too, but I saw only ceiling tiles. When I glanced back at her, though, I noticed tears gleaming in her eyes.
“A is for all He stands for; S means shepherds came.”
When she finished, the hall filled with applause. Her cheeks flushed red. As she made her way back to her seat, hands reached out to touch her arm or shoulder as ward members expressed genuine gratitude. One sister, sitting close to me, told her what a nice job she had done, to which she quietly replied, “Thank you. I hope He liked it.”
He? To whom had she been singing? Even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. I realized she hadn’t been singing to anyone in the room. She hadn’t performed for the approval of the audience. She had sung to the Savior to praise Him.
Many Christmases have passed since that ward party, and I’ve heard the song “C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s” performed by many well-trained voices. But the version I heard that Christmas, sung by one whose performance was out of the ordinary but truly heartfelt, is the one I remember best.

The fourth element of the framework is to recognize what God has already revealed to you personally, while being open to further revelation from Him. If God has answered a question and the circumstances have not changed, why would we expect the answer to be different? Joseph Smith stumbled into this problematic scenario in 1828. The first portion of the Book of Mormon had been translated, when Martin Harris, a benefactor and early scribe, asked Joseph for permission to take the translated pages and show them to his wife. Unsure of what to do, Joseph prayed for guidance. The Lord told him not to let Martin take the pages.

Martin requested that Joseph ask God again. Joseph did so, and the answer was, not surprisingly, the same. But Martin begged Joseph to ask a third time, and Joseph did so. This time God did not say no. Instead, it was as though God said, “Joseph, you know how I feel about this, but you have your agency to choose.” Feeling himself relieved of the constraint, Joseph decided to allow Martin to take 116 manuscript pages and show them to a few family members. The translated pages were lost and never recovered. The Lord severely rebuked Joseph.

One of Sam Potaka’s daughters, Una Tsaclis, had become a family history expert. She had researched hundreds of ancestors, including her husband’s Greek progenitors. Because there are few members of the Church in Greece, her family history work was unique.
My wife and I were invited to go to the New Zealand temple with Una and other family members to perform sealings for their ancestors. It was an unforgettable temple experience. We realized that not only had many family members joined the Church because a good man listened to the Spirit and gave a ride to two missionaries, but now those family members and their children were performing temple ordinances for hundreds of Greek and Maori ancestors who had passed away without the opportunity of hearing the gospel. The Lord’s mathematics multiplies the opportunities to share and accept the gospel both in this life and after death.

Teaching English in Wuhan, China, was an amazing experience. I had always wanted to go somewhere and do something service oriented, and this was the perfect opportunity. I was part of a volunteer program organized by a college professor. I found that I loved teaching. Even more, I loved getting to know the students, the Chinese teachers, and the other volunteers. But one thing was tough for me.
We signed contracts as we joined the program stating that we couldn’t say anything about religion. If we did we would be sent home. I spent a lot of time thinking about that. I cared a lot about these people. They were my friends now, and they didn’t have the gospel. But I kept my promise.
When I returned to Brigham Young University, however, I found myself thinking that although I had given service, I still had more I wanted to give. I kept thinking how much I would like to teach people the gospel so they could know what I know. I spent a whole semester thinking about applying to serve a full-time mission. I have always wanted to serve, but I needed to know that’s what the Lord wanted me to do.
I received good advice from my brother and my two brothers-in-law, just by speaking with them about their own mission experiences that were so life-changing. And I talked with my dad, because not only is he my dad, but he’s also my home-ward bishop. No one ever made me feel pressured or pushed. They just encouraged me to listen to the Spirit and do what was right.
I fasted. I prayed. I searched my soul. And I listened to general conference. When I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give his address, “Now Is the Time to Serve a Mission!” it seemed that the Lord was speaking directly to me through him. (See Ensign, May 2006, 87.)
I made the decision to submit my application. I was excited, but I was also a little scared. I think much of the anxiety came from not knowing where I was going to go. My father called me several times up at school, giving me words of encouragement. I think my experience was bringing back memories of his mission, and he had a lot of neat experiences to share.
Even though I was at school, I asked for my call to be sent to my parents’ home in Tempe, Arizona. When the envelope arrived, my dad set up a conference call, so there was my family in Tempe, Tucson, and Mesa. We all sang the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” and I was definitely wondering where that would be. But as soon as my mom read I was going to Asunción, Paraguay, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. I haven’t had a moment’s worry since. I know that’s where the Lord wants me to go, 100 percent. And this time as I go to serve, I don’t have to worry—I can talk about the gospel with everyone I meet.
“With reference to young sister missionaries, there has been some misunderstanding of earlier counsel regarding single sisters serving as missionaries. We need some young women. They perform a remarkable work. They can get in homes where the elders cannot. But it should be kept in mind that young sisters are not under obligation to go on missions. They should not feel that they have a duty comparable to that of young men, but some will wish to go. If so, they should counsel with their bishop as well as their parents.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “To the Bishops of the Church,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, June 2004, 27.

God is anxious to help us feel His love wherever we are. Let me give an example.

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.