Gospel Story Finder

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who would make a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture—chairs—and one wall decoration—a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. And some of my teachers were satisfied that that was true, too.

But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and helped put under a tree. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. In fact, there were some times when his voice was not quiet at all—he did shout, I’ll have to admit in his presence—but he built up my mathematics, and he built up me. To do this took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time he had spent earlier when he had the chances you have now. Because he had spent time then, he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me. And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy who has let me sit down with him this year. We’ve rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on his report card. But I’ll tell you what’s improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under the tree for Stuart this year has half the chance of becoming a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.

In my early twenties, I faced a difficult decision and asked a friend for a priesthood blessing. He asked what the Lord had already told me, and I admitted that I could feel the presence of the Spirit but couldn't discern specific revelation. He then asked if I had ever asked the Lord to teach me what it felt like when He was speaking to me? I hadn't. But that night, I began to ask the Lord to teach me the language of revelation.
That was forty years ago, and over time I have come to know that what President Boyd K. Packer taught is true: That "if all you know is what you see with your natural eyes and hear with your natural ears, then you will not know very much."

One year the young women in my ward participated in an interesting experiment related to dressing modestly. Here’s an account of one young woman who learned about this gospel principle and applied it to her life.
Anna Larsen* was excited that her turn to shop for clothes had finally come. Sister Jensen, her Laurel adviser, had taken each girl in the class shopping to learn a modesty lesson. Anna wasn’t sure what to expect.
When they arrived at the store, Sister Jensen asked Anna to pick out three outfits. As they walked to the dressing room, Sister Jensen said, “After you’ve put on an outfit, come out. Be prepared to have your eyes opened.”
Intrigued by her leader’s directions, Anna put on the sleeveless button-down shirt and hip-hugging skirt. When she walked out, Sister Jensen motioned her to the mirrors. “Now we’re going to play a game.”
“I doubt the clerks would be happy with me playing in their clothes before I’ve bought them,” Anna said.
Sister Jensen laughed and shook her head. “We’re going to play ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.’”
Anna looked skeptical.
“I’m serious,” Sister Jensen said. “Let’s start with your head.”
Anna put her hands on her head and saw her shirt pull up, baring her skin. “Oops,” she gasped, tugging it back down.
Sister Jensen put Anna’s hands back up. “That’s part of the game. You see how much your shirt lifts up? Now try shoulders,” Sister Jensen said.
When Anna dropped her hands to her shoulders she noticed even more showing inside the armholes. She also saw the shirt straining at the buttons.
“Now bend over and touch your knees and toes,” Sister Jensen advised.
Between her shirt and skirt was a two-inch gap. “Wow,” Anna said.
“I know,” Sister Jensen said. “Now, go try on the next outfit.”
After repeating the game twice more, Anna’s mood dimmed. None of her outfits had completely passed the “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” test.
“Don’t worry,” Sister Jensen said. “There’s hope. You just have to know how to put things together.” For the next hour Sister Jensen showed Anna how to layer different clothes to make them modest and stylish. She then challenged Anna to look through her closet and see if any changes needed to be made.
Later that night Anna looked at the mess on her bed. It had been overwhelming trying everything on to see what was modest or immodest. With a sigh she picked up one particular pile and carried it to her mom.
“Mom, I was wondering if I could donate these clothes.”
“Sure, honey. Why?” her mom replied.
Anna smiled. “Have you ever played ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes’?”

President Boyd K. Packer has counseled us to have a hymn memorized so that when an inappropriate thought comes into our minds, we can replace it with a hymn. In applying this instruction, a friend of mine explained: “One day I left my office for lunch. After I had walked for about two blocks, I noticed that I had been humming ‘my song’: ‘I Am a Child of God.’ As I chained my thoughts back several hundred yards, I realized that as I had crossed the street from my office, a young woman, inappropriately clothed, had crossed in front of me. Immediately, subconsciously, the words and music of ‘I Am a Child of God’ began to roll through my mind—to displace inappropriate thoughts.” That day my friend learned a great lesson about his ability to control his thoughts.

I skipped up the sidewalk to the church wearing the new white dress Grandma bought me for my special day. The afternoon was warm, and the air was fresh. Flowers were beginning to bloom. Spring was finally here. I held Mom’s hand as we walked through the door. “This is a great day,” I said.
“It sure is, Megan.” Mom squeezed my hand and gave me one of those winks she saves for when she’s really happy. I was about to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I felt wonderful.
Inside the church, I changed into a white jumpsuit, and Mom put my hair in a braid so it wouldn’t float to the top of the water. Then we took our seats for the baptismal service. Everyone sat quietly while Sister Larsen played hymns and Primary songs on the piano. Even my baby sister sat still. After the opening prayer, my big brother Preston and Grandpa Larsen sang my favorite Primary song, “I Am a Child of God.”* As I sang I knew that Heavenly Father loves me. I was grateful that He blessed me with a family that loves me.
When it was Grandpa Ochsenhirt’s turn to give his talk, he spoke directly to me. “The Holy Ghost will help you learn what is right and wrong so that you can make the right choices,” he said. “He will also give you the strength to choose the right. And if you try to keep Heavenly Father’s commandments, the Holy Ghost will be with you as a constant companion.”
When it was time for me to be baptized, I walked down the stairs to meet my dad in the baptismal font. My heart felt large and warm. I glanced at Mom and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Dad smiled at me, hugged me, and helped me stand the way he had shown me. Then he said the simple prayer and lowered me under the water. Afterward, Mom met me at the top of the stairs with a towel. She wrapped it around me and squeezed me tight.
“I have a great feeling inside, Mom,” I said.
She hugged me again. “That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you’re doing the right thing.”
After I changed out of my wet clothes, the men in the family who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood laid their hands on my head. They confirmed me a member of the Church and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I seemed to be surrounded by a peaceful glow.

When I found out that our stake was going to produce a musical show I was filled with the desire to participate. I had been in many plays, but since becoming totally blind three years earlier, I had neglected my love of amateur acting. I was afraid that the directors would never use a blind actress, and I wondered if I would be able to handle the complex stage movements. But my desires overcame my fears, and I auditioned for a part in the show.
The audition went well, but even my very supportive husband warned me not to get too hopeful. To my surprise, I not only got the part I wanted, but one of the directors hadn’t even realized I was blind! Had I let my fears keep me from trying, I would have missed one of the most delightful experiences of my life.

I remember well the insecurities I felt as a teenager with a bad case of acne. I tried to care for my skin properly. For years I even went without eating chocolate and greasy foods, but with no obvious healing consequences. It was difficult for me at that time to fully appreciate this body which was giving me so much grief. But my good mother taught me a higher law. Over and over she said to me, “You must do everything you can to make your appearance pleasing, but the minute you walk out the door, forget yourself and start concentrating on others.”

There it was. She was teaching me the Christlike principle of selflessness. Charity, or the pure love of Christ, “seeketh not her own” (Moro. 7:45). When we become other-oriented, or selfless, we develop an inner beauty of spirit that glows in our outward appearance. This is how we make ourselves in the Lord’s image rather than the world’s and receive His image in our countenances. Our bodily temples become lights for others.

I met the missionaries when I was 17. At that time my older brother and I lived together. Our mother had passed away the year before, and life was difficult. When the missionaries taught me, I could see that this Church was the church I had always sought. But the influence of my friends prevented me from going to church on Sundays.
One time I went to a Church activity during the week. Seeing all the young people laughing and playing brought me great joy. The missionaries, with the youth, took that opportunity to teach me a gospel lesson, and I felt so good I resolved to be baptized.
But even after I joined the Church, I faced challenges. I was the only member of the Church in that part of town and lived far away from the meetinghouse. My nonmember friends no longer wanted anything to do with me. When I felt alone, I prayed and felt the love of the Lord.
Each month, I received a small allotment of money from a fund my mother left. It was difficult to sustain myself with so little money. But I determined to be obedient. I paid tithing and also had to pay for transportation to seminary and Sunday meetings. I didn’t understand how, but at the end of the month, I found that there had been enough money to do it all.
I know that I have been blessed by paying tithing. Obeying this commandment helped me gain a stronger testimony, serve a mission, and recognize blessings so I can strengthen new members who are facing challenges.

I spent a year away from my family in Japan, living in Utah as a high school exchange student. After I returned home, I received my first calling in the Church—president of our Mia Maid class. In a letter to my host family in Utah, I wrote about my calling.
A couple of weeks later I received a letter from my host “father.” He wrote:
“I didn’t tell you then, but one month before you left for home, our bishop told me ‘We want Kazuko to be class president of the Mia Maids. How long will she be here?’
“I told him that you would be leaving the following month. So they didn’t give you the calling.”
I found it remarkable that the same calling the bishop in Utah had been inspired to extend to me was given me when I came back to Japan. It made me realize that God knows about me no matter where I am—in Utah or Japan or anywhere else. I believe he knew that particular calling was what I needed then in order to grow.

The youth I saw confined to a wheelchair was a startling contrast to the boy I remembered from the year before. I remembered him as a happy, 18-year-old Indian boy whose swift, strong legs had carried him up and down the basketball courts. But that was yesteryear. Today he was in a wheelchair. Today his dark eyes and handsome smile caused me to stand in awe of his youthful courage.
I first met Don a couple of years ago and learned that he was a convert to the Church. His widowed mother lived in a remote section of the Navajo Indian reservation, and he was a participant in the Indian student placement program. His school work was excellent; he played the piano skillfully; and with the same slim, brown fingers he could paint beautiful pictures or strum the guitar in accompaniment to his clear soft voice. Don’s personality was pleasant, his standards were high, his testimony strong. He was soon to graduate from high school, and his plans were to spend a short time with his people on the reservation before returning to live with his foster parents, where he would work preparatory to receiving his expected call to the mission field.
Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a pickup with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he poured out the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor broke this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he made his exit, he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was swarming with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and, when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He devoured the words of this book for three days and two nights, jealous of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with this new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps the lump from my throat.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble petitions to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known good-naturedly as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often lifted his voice in song as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for a hootenanny, and patients joined together with voices raised in song and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name. This new spirit extended into other activities as well.
One of the more dramatic examples was the organizing of a wheelchair olympics.
On the day agreed upon, patients wheeled excitedly from place to place as they marked out a course for the coming events. Wheelchairs were lined up at a starting line, while occupants leaned forward, intently waiting for the starting signal. The signal was given, and they were off in a flurry of wheels and laughter. After a breather and an untangling of wheels, patients were given a chance to challenge another wheelchair. Don looked around, and pointing his finger at one of the chairs, said, “I challenge that chair.”
“Don, you can’t do that,” the astonished attendant replied. “That chair has a motor!”
The competitive young man was undaunted and remained firm; so a course was set and an eager audience waited expectantly for the signal to begin this most unusual race. Soon the signal was given and Don’s hands fairly flew as he propelled his chair toward the finish line. When he had gained full momentum, he ventured a cautious look toward his opponent, only to discover that he was shifting to a higher gear! To complicate matters further, a woven wire fence was stretched a few short feet behind the finish line.
With the heart of a champion, Don ducked his head and gave it everything he had. He crossed the line only inches ahead of his opponent and crashed happily into the wire fence. He was picked up and dusted off amid excited expressions of admiration. He had won!
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to muster up enough courage to direct the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special hootenanny was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song rendered in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had touched the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the winds of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

Lizbeth stared out the car window on the way to church. There was a bug on the outside of the window. She grinned. Bugs were her favorite!
Lizbeth had autism. Sometimes people with autism focus a lot on one thing. Maybe that’s why she loved bugs so much. She couldn’t get enough of them! Lizbeth loved when Mom told her scripture stories with bugs in them—like when God sent locusts to help Moses.
“I almost forgot!” Dad said as he stopped at a red light. “The bishopric is being released today.”
Lizbeth’s eyes got wide. “Brother Baugh too?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t want Brother Baugh to leave!” Lizbeth felt like crying. It was hard for her to deal with changes. She liked things to stay the same.
Mom twisted around in her seat. “He’s not leaving, sweetie. He just won’t be in the bishopric anymore.”
That made Lizbeth feel a little better. “Will he still be on the stand waiting for my pictures?”
“Not after today,” Mom said. “But you can still see him at church.”
Every Sunday, Lizbeth drew a picture for Brother Baugh. It started one week when he visited Lizbeth’s Primary class. Lizbeth drew a praying mantis on the chalkboard of her Primary classroom. She was sad she had to leave before it was finished. Brother Baugh asked Lizbeth to draw a new picture for him on paper. She drew a bright red ladybug with black spots. Brother Baugh liked it a lot! Lizbeth decided to draw a picture for him every week.
Last week she drew him a beetle. Before that she drew an ant colony full of twisty tunnels. Now it won’t be the same, Lizbeth thought.
“What if Brother Baugh doesn’t want my pictures anymore?” she asked Mom and Dad.
“I think he will,” Dad said. “Remember when he brought you an antlion from the desert?”
Lizbeth nodded. That was a really cool bug! It caught ants in its trap.
Dad parked the car, and they all got out. Mom put her arm around Lizbeth as they walked. “What if you draw an extra-special picture for Brother Baugh today? That way you can thank him for being your friend.”
That was a good idea. Lizbeth tried to think of something special to draw. During sacrament meeting, the bishopric shared their testimonies. Brother Baugh said everyone should make Jesus the center of their lives. That gave Lizbeth an idea. She got out her yellow crayon.
First she drew a big beehive. Then she drew some bees. Each one had wings, stripes, stingers, and even a proboscis—a long nose for drinking nectar. She had to hurry to finish her picture during the closing hymn.
After the meeting, Lizbeth showed Brother Baugh her picture. “Look! For bees, the hive is the center of their lives. And Jesus is the center of our lives. We are the bees, and Jesus is our hive.”
Brother Baugh gave Lizbeth a big smile. “That’s wonderful, Lizbeth! Thank you! I hope you’ll keep saying hello to me at church. I may not be in the bishopric anymore, but I still want to see your great pictures.”
Lizbeth felt warm inside. She knew that Brother Baugh put Jesus at the center of his life too and that he loved her, like Jesus did. She walked to her Primary classroom, humming like a bee. What could she draw next week?

Wendi and I had been dating for nearly a year and a half. She was ready to get married, but I figured if I just kept the status quo and dated Wendi while studying and playing soccer for BYU, I would not have additional financial pressure or feel FOMO on carefree single life. Wendi wisely told me: “Corey, we can accomplish so much more together than you can on your own.” Yet, I still wavered.

One afternoon I approached Billy and explained why I thought I should wait another year before taking the leap. But Billy knew how to tell me things straight up. He said, “Corey, you’re an idiot!” Perhaps I can paraphrase Jacob in this instance: “[Billy] speaketh the truth and lieth not. Wherefore, [he] speaketh of things as they really are, and of things as they really will be; wherefore, these things [were] manifested unto [me] plainly.” [34]

He told me I was being unfair to Wendi. He told me if I lost Wendi, he would never speak to me again. He told me she was my only chance at celestial glory. Then he pulled out a calendar. Knowing my soccer schedule, he calculated the only possible wedding date that summer. He pointed and declared: “Saturday, July 18!”, then went next door and taped a large poster in the front window facing the street, announcing that July 18 was the day that Corey was marrying Wendi. To make sure I could not remove it, they locked the door and refused to answer when I knocked.

And July 18 was the day!

Nearly 34 years later, I remain grateful for that great check.

It wasn’t easy. When we got married, we had enough in our checking account to pay for one month of rent. Wendi had one semester left at BYU. I had two years remaining. We ate spaghetti with watered-down sauce because adding meat was too expensive. We bought an old, ragged couch for 15 dollars. We went to the grocery store deli late at night to buy discounted food before it was thrown away.

But those early years became some of the most meaningful of our lives. We learned to live within our means. We learned to rely on Heavenly Father and each other. We were able to find joy, even when it was hard.

I will share just one experience with you. One student wrote:

The invitation I decided to focus on . . . was to better hear the voice of the Lord. [President Nelson’s promise] was that as we learn to “hear Him,” He will reveal truth to us and we will be guided by the Holy Spirit. . . . I chose this promise because sometimes I feel like we are living amidst so many distractions and things that numb our senses to the Spirit . . . like phones, sports, TV, hobbies, and outdoor activities. . . . I wanted to make time to focus on the Savior, and I wanted to learn from Him His will for me.

What did this student do? He wrote the following:

Each week, to aid my scripture study, I attended the temple. I attempted to converse with the Lord in the temple and to specifically focus on hearing His word for me. . . . I pondered nightly on what I was learning and supplicated the Lord through prayer for assistance in my endeavors. During the sacrament each week, I reflected on how I was doing. I also made it a point to do my best to have companionship study daily and to bear my testimony of what I was learning. Lastly, I tried to repent daily to make myself worthy to feel the Spirit and to hear His voice.

What was the result for this student? He continued:

I learned most of all that I was very capable of hearing the voice of the Lord when I put forth the effort to do so. . . . Even though I was not perfect at doing this plan, I came to notice that the Lord values every little effort that we make to hear Him and come closer to Him. I feel like I am getting closer to the Lord and better at hearing His voice. I feel like I am fortified against temptation and more susceptible to the Spirit.

SGS: Still, it was my dream and my blessing to be a mother, and in that I have never felt otherwise. I think we expected to have our other children come along in due course without too much further delay, but that was not to be. Finally, after more than five years and several surgeries, our second “cutest baby boy” was born. We were again thrilled and felt blessed but didn’t perceive the special circumstances that allowed for that pregnancy. We were told by our doctors that if we desired more children, we should not delay unduly because my condition could make further pregnancies unlikely over time.

We should add that our older son, now five, was disappointed, because while he had joined us in prayers for the new baby, his own prayer was for a baby brother and a baby sister. Now he only had the baby brother. We told him not to worry and that if there were a baby sister for him, she would eventually come. He was skeptical but seemed to be resolved.

COS: Since obstetrics was not my field in medicine, we were perhaps naïve in our understanding about the hand of heaven in our lives at that time. Just a few months later we learned that we were in the early stages of another pregnancy, and we were very happy. Then one evening Sharon began to experience severe and acute abdominal pain. Again—although not my expertise in medicine—we knew we were in trouble, and so we went to the emergency room at the hospital where I worked. She was examined and a couple of laboratory tests were performed. The attending physician was a very good man who was experienced in such matters but who did not know my wife well. He felt the situation was not serious and that perhaps Sharon was just having an anxiety attack. Now, those who know her well know that she does get very anxious at football, basketball, soccer, and volleyball games, but this wasn’t a game, and we knew our physician friend was in error.

SGS: As we left the emergency room, I was still very uncomfortable, and we were both quite unsettled. We were praying for guidance and comfort, and it became clear that we needed a second opinion. Consequently, we headed for another hospital in our community and finally were able to reach my personal obstetrician, who had been on a Church assignment earlier when we had first decided the problem was serious.

COS: At the second hospital we were quickly met by Sharon’s doctor, who knew her well. He determined her anxiety and pain were due to an acute surgical emergency. She was rushed to the operating room and was there found to be bleeding profusely internally. The cause of the problem was an ectopic or tubal pregnancy, which required immediate surgery to stop the bleeding. She had lost a great deal of blood, but her life was saved. Unfortunately, her doctor and we thought it meant that she would never be able to have another pregnancy because of this incident and the previous necessary surgery she had undergone. We did rejoice that her life was spared and that we already had two little boys in our family.

SGS: I healed rather quickly and soon returned home to the active life of a young mother with two lively children and a husband who had a major Church calling as well as a busy professional life teaching, researching, caring for patients, and fulfilling administrative duties. We didn’t really mourn but did feel rather constant disappointment that the large family we had expected and frankly took for granted was not to be.

As a young girl growing up, I had four younger brothers but no sisters. While I had girl cousins and girlfriends, I always wished for a younger sister. As I grew up, I knew that was not likely, but I looked forward to being the mother of daughters. Now that possibility seemed to have evaporated too.

COS: Few, if any, outside of immediate family knew of this small but significant grief Sharon carried in her heart. Our boys were healthy and our life was full. About four years quickly passed, and we felt ourselves resolved and settled. We built our home with the plan that it would accommodate the four of us well, and we really were grateful for our general good fortune and happy lives. Then, one weekend in early February 1977, our lives changed.

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”15

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.

I wasn’t really interested in the Church. I had listened to the missionary discussions only to learn more about a friend’s religious beliefs. But when the missionaries then asked me to pray about whether or not the Church was true, I felt I needed someone to talk to.
I thought about talking with the minister of the Christian church I had been attending. He and his wife had been good to me, and I respected him as a man of God.
“Surely, he could give me some direction,” I thought as I put on my coat.
As I was about to leave, I was impressed to pray about the matter. The feeling was so strong that I acted immediately without question.
I closed the door, knelt by me bed, and asked Heavenly Father to guide me as I talked to my minister. I also prayed that I might receive an answer about what the missionaries had told me.
After ending my prayer, I rose to my feet and again prepared to depart. However, another strong feeling came—that I should not see the minister. I felt that I should tell no one of my problem and that my answer would come in due time. If I needed truthful answers, I was to turn to the Lord in prayer.
Without further thought, I took off my coat and went on with my usual morning tasks.
My answer did come in due time. A burning sensation within me testified of the truthfulness of the gospel.
Several weeks after my baptism I visited my former minister and told him of my experiences. As I politely listened to his biased opinions, I felt thankful that I had taken the time to listen to that still, small voice several months earlier.

One of the great social occasions of the year in our little town was the annual fathers and sons’ banquet. It was really a large affair held in the gym, and it featured a spectacular program. It was always well-attended by fathers and sons from the community.
In my family there are four boys (with a sister on each end). My father was a school teacher. Most of the time he could not afford to take all four of us boys to the banquet at once, so one year my father would take one or two sons, and the next year he would take the others.
One particular year it was not my turn to go to the banquet. But I had an uncle who came to live temporarily in Monroe. He didn’t have any sons, and he asked my father if he could take one of us. I was really thrilled to learn that I was chosen to accompany my uncle to the banquet.
I was number three in the line of four boys, so I always seemed to get the hand-me-downs. My mother fixed up an old suit for the big night. I was very proud of it. My uncle worked in his shop until closing time, and he agreed to meet me at the gym. We lived across the street from the high school. I could run out the door and reach the gym in a minute or two.
My mother first helped my father and two older brothers make preparations; then she helped me get ready. It started to rain hard just before time to leave the house. We had no umbrella. I could run fast, so Mother said, “I’ll open the door, and you jump off the porch and run across the street.” I made my break and leaped off the porch. But I hit some soft dirt, and my feet went out from under me and I landed in a mud puddle. I was drenched and muddy all over.
I went back into the house, crying. I thought, That’s the end of the banquet. Mother, however, took off my muddy clothes and dried them. We did not have electric irons in those days, so she put the flatirons on the coal stove to heat. In a matter of just minutes, she had me clean and dry and my suit pressed and dried. By that time, the rain had let up a little bit, and I made my second dash for the gym.
As I think back on that night, a mother with less determination would have given up and written it off as a bad experience. But my mother wasn’t going to let that happen, because she loved me and knew how disappointed I would be if I didn’t attend the fathers and sons’ social.

It is getting late and Hap Putnam is still on the phone. Well, sort of. Although he dialed the number, the family’s personal computer is doing all the “talking.”

Using a computer program of the Personal Ancestral File (PAF), Hap is transmitting family history data from the family’s personal computer in Salt Lake City across the country to his grandfather’s computer in New Hampshire.

It may sound a little complex, but for Hap, 16, and his brother Frank, 17, family history and computers go hand in hand. PAF is a family history program package for personal computers that is available from the Family History Department of the Church. With the use of a personal computer and PAF, the Putnams are finding family history a little easier.

And so are a lot of other youth. Christy Gray, 14, says she enjoys using PAF because “if you goof, you can redo it” without having to retype or rework a whole pedigree chart or family group sheet.

The PAF system does not do research, but it can organize material and print out pedigree charts, family group sheets, and submission forms for temple ordinances. It’s also able to transmit this information to other computer users of the PAF system.

“A lot of kids think, ‘Oh genealogy, how boring,’” says Christy. “But I don’t think family history is boring. One Saturday I just sat at the computer and did it for hours and hours.”

Computers have always held a fascination for Frank, who learned the PAF system quickly. He’s also an old hand at family history. “My dad is a genealogist and for the last four summers I’ve worked for my grandparents and other people doing family history.”

“It’s interesting,” he says. One year while looking through land records, Frank came across deeds that belonged to George Washington. Another year he found a name his father had searched 15 years for. “I traced that line way back to about 1160,” says Frank.

After finding names and submitting them for ordinance work, there is often the opportunity to perform vicarious baptisms for the dead. “I got to go to the temple for baptisms, and it felt really great,” says Hap.

Knowing that you can help someone progress eternally is a great blessing. It is the kind of reward many young people are finding through doing their family history. And whether the research involves using a personal computer, working out of the Family History Library, or working at home, the rewards are the same.

Personal Ancestral File (release 2.0) is available in versions for MS-DOS computers, Apple computers, and CP/M computers. Inquiries into system requirements of these and other versions should be addressed to: Ancestral File Operations Unit, Family History Department, 50 East North Temple Street, Salt Lake City, Utah 84150, telephone (801) 531-2584.

Order blanks and a brochure (stock number PBGS1121) can be ordered at no charge from the Ancestral File Operations Unit or from the Church Distribution Center, 1999 W. 1700 South, Salt Lake City, Utah 84104. The PAF package sells for $35.00.

Editor’s note: In August 1987, the name of the Church’s Genealogical Department was changed to the Family History Department, and the name of the Genealogical Library was changed to the Family History Library.

Not far from the Salt Lake Tabernacle lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then a husband. Friends visited, words brought a measure of comfort, but grief continued unrelieved.
The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world that surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the voice of the Lord, which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each commenced a ministry in the holy temple. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

After opening her brownie shop in the fall of 2018, Molly quickly discovered that running a business takes more time than she had imagined. But a principle she remembers from her self-reliance class continues to bless her.
“We discussed how we’re going to have extreme demands on our time, but it will make a difference if we set aside time for the Spirit,” she says. “I have found that to be true. If I am suddenly feeling overwhelmed and stressed, I listen to the scriptures or a general conference talk while I’m working alone in the morning, and it eases my mind and gives me peace.”
That sense of peace, coupled with excited, happy, satisfied customers, keeps Molly going—even after long workdays.