Gospel Story Finder

As Kevin entered the park, he saw his friends David and Nathan playing in the sandbox. They had some empty milk cartons and raisin boxes that they were using for buildings. Kevin could see that the boys had toy soldiers armed with swords.
“Hi, guys!” he called. “Are you playing Roman soldiers again?”
“Hi,” both boys called in return.
“No, we’re not playing Roman soldiers today,” David said. “We’re playing Book of Mormon soldiers.”
“What are Book of Mormon soldiers?” Kevin asked as he sat next to them in the sand.
“They are Lamanites and Nephites,” Nathan told him. “We read about them in the Book of Mormon.”
“What’s that?” asked Kevin. “I’ve never heard of that book. Or of Lamanites and Nephites.”
“The Book of Mormon is a book of scriptures, like the Bible,” David explained, “except it’s written about the people of ancient America.”
“Yeah,” Nathan added, “and the Lamanites are always fighting the Nephites.”
“So the Lamanites are the bad guys?” Kevin asked.
“Well,” David started, “the Lamanites refused to keep the commandments of God, so I guess, in a way, you could call them the bad guys. But the Lamanites weren’t always bad, and the Nephites weren’t always good. In fact, the part we’re getting ready to play now started with some bad Nephites. Especially one, a man named Amalickiah.”
“Amalickiah wanted to be king of the Nephites, but the Nephites didn’t believe in having kings,” Nathan explained. “They had judges, instead. So Amalickiah got mad and took all the people who would go with him and went over to the Lamanites. When he got there, he tricked the Lamanites into letting him be their king.”
“That’s right,” David said, “only that wasn’t enough for Amalickiah. He still wanted to be king of the Nephites.”
“And that’s where we are now,” Nathan said. He pointed to one of his figures. “This is King Amalickiah, and my army is the Lamanite army. We’re getting ready to fight the Nephites.”
David picked up one of his figures. “This is Captain Moroni,” he said. “He is the chief captain of the Nephite army. He has ordered all his men to dig a dirt ridge around the city of Ammonihah to protect it and has placed men all the way around it.”
David pointed to another spot where they had made a fort. “That is the city of Noah,” he said, picking up another figure. “And this is Captain Lehi. He is in charge of the army in Noah. You can be him if you want to play.”
“All right!” Kevin said enthusiastically. “Let’s play!”
On the walk home from the park, David and Nathan told Kevin more about the Book of Mormon.
“It sounds like a great book,” Kevin said.
“Oh, it is!” agreed David. “My parents have some extra copies. Maybe they’ll give you one.”
David’s parents said that they would be happy to give Kevin a Book of Mormon if it was all right with his father and mother.
The next day at school, David and Nathan could hear their names being called. They looked around to find Kevin running toward them and waving.
“I told my mom and dad about the game we played and about the story of Amalickiah and Captain Moroni in the Book of Mormon,” he said. “I asked them if I could have a copy of the book to read.”
“What did they say?” asked David.
“As soon as my dad heard that the bad guys were the ones who didn’t keep the commandments of God, he said yes!”
“That’s great!” Nathan said.
“My mom said she felt much better about me reading a good book than she does about me reading comics all the time,” Kevin told them. “Then she said, ‘Now, if we can only do something about those videos you watch!’”
David smiled at Nathan and put his arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “Kevin, speaking of the Book of Mormon,” he said, “have we got some videos at home for you!”

It’s been just over a year now since my parents and I joined the Church, and it hasn’t been an easy time for us.
We were taught by two of the finest missionaries and gained a strong testimony. But when we decided to be baptized, people told us we would be lost and end up in hell. We were told we were no good. We received a great deal of persecution. I lost all the friends I had at my old church, which I’d been attending for eleven years. I had done a lot of baby-tending and when I changed churches, the parents of the children I used to care for told me that they would never hire me to care for their children again, that I was a bad influence, and that they never wanted me in their home again.
That all hurt me very badly. I was harassed at school, and when I came home, there would be pamphlets against the Church in the mailbox and threatening phone calls.
The threats against us almost postponed our baptism. When my father received one the day we were to be baptized, he nearly canceled the baptism. But we went through with it.
And you know what? I’m really glad we did. I told my mom that I didn’t care if I lost all my friends. Yes, it hurt a great deal, but I knew that Jesus Christ had died for my sins. He had been beaten, spit on, and stabbed, and had had thorns put on his head. My troubles didn’t seem so bad in comparison.
I still get criticism about joining the Church, but Jesus Christ has helped me pull through. I have my baby-tending jobs back, and we no longer receive any more threats. I have found truly beautiful new friends in my ward, where there is a great deal of love, friendship, and caring. I would go through all the hardships again and face even more. I thank Heavenly Father so very much for bringing me into the true Church.

Desireé’s commitment to design only modest clothing has not always been easy to keep. Once, her design-school teachers gave her a class assignment to create a sleeveless dress. “I didn’t know what I was going to do,” she says. In the end, Desireé explained to her teachers her reasons for not wanting to design immodest clothing. Her teachers listened and agreed to let her modify the dress by adding sleeves.

Paul Hulme is such a person. In November 1973, his 10-year-old daughter, Kelly, was walking from school to her home in San Jose, California. While crossing through an orchard, she was accosted by a teenage boy who raped and then killed her. The young man was convicted shortly thereafter and sentenced to life in prison.
Brother Hulme, a former bishop then serving as a high councilor, faced the challenge of his life. Having his youngest daughter’s life cut short so brutally assaulted his sense of justice and brought him to a crisis of faith. His pain, intense at the loss of one he loved so much, was compounded by anger and bitterness. He sought the Lord’s comfort for himself and for his grieving wife and family.
As he prayed for strength, he found solace in the knowledge that Kelly was in her Heavenly Father’s loving care, secure from the pains of this world. He also recognized that his growing bitterness, if not resolved, could seriously threaten his peace of mind and spiritual well-being.
He found that his thoughts, guided by the Spirit, began to turn to the young man’s family. Brother Hulme knew his daughter was safe and content, but what of the young man responsible for her death? What hope did he have of forgiveness and peace? And what of the boy’s family, also grieving but uncomforted by any knowledge that all was well with their son and brother?
Brother Hulme decided to visit their home and offer whatever comfort and support he could give. As he met with the boy’s family, he explained that he understood their anguish. But as he shared his concern, he sensed that the family did not fully comprehend his motives or the message he brought. He came to understand that this home had never been touched by such simple Christian principles as faith and charity. Brother Hulme did not know if his visit had helped the family. Nonetheless, a miracle occurred in his own heart as he felt bitterness and anger melt away, replaced instead with charity.2

For the Saints leaving New York, their first place of refuge was Kirtland, Ohio. When they arrived, they found many people ready to receive the restored gospel.

Among those who had been prepared were Newel K. Whitney and his wife, Elizabeth Ann. The two embraced the gospel in 1830 after missionaries brought the Book of Mormon to their home. Over the next two decades, the Whitneys moved with the Saints from Kirtland to Missouri to Illinois, sacrificing time, talents, family relationships, and prosperity to help build up the Church.

Active in Church leadership, Newel was often away from Elizabeth Ann. “During all these absences and separations from my husband,” she wrote, “I never felt to murmur or complain in the least. … I was more than satisfied to have him give all, time, talents and ability into the service of the Kingdom of God; and the change in our circumstances and associations which were consequent upon our embracing the Gospel, never caused me a moment’s sorrow” (“A Leaf from an Autobiography,” Woman’s Exponent, 1 October 1878, 71).

Srilaksanaa “Sri” Suntarahut was born on 4 July 1924 in Bangkok, Thailand. Her father was doctor for the royal princes, and her mother was a friend of Her Majesty Queen Intharasaksaji. Sri’s family often visited the queen at the Royal Teak Palace. When Sri was six years old, the queen asked to raise her. This arrangement was made on the condition that Sri would be free to visit her family.
The queen loved Sri as if she were her own daughter. “I slept in the queen’s bedroom on a mattress in front of the queen’s bed,” says Sister Sri. “Since there were no screens on the windows, the beds were surrounded by a large silk net. Each morning I got up with the queen, dressed, ate breakfast, and read to her. After breakfast I went to a school taught by European nuns. I could speak only English while there. After school I returned to the palace, shared a meal with the queen, and again read to her. This was my routine for eight years. As a result, I developed a better education than many who have earned a degree.”
While at school, Sri would look at the English Bible. “In my heart I would say, One day I must read this book,” says Sister Sri. “But my family tradition was that we children should remain with our country’s religion.”
Sri lived with the queen until she was 17 years old. Then she went to Chulalongkorn University. Because of her excellent language skills, she became the financial secretary for a group of high-level government officials after World War II.
Sri was married and had a family when Elders Larry White and Carl Hansen met her in 1968. “I did not like the missionaries very much at first,” says Sister Sri, “but they kept coming back. I put the Book of Mormon on the shelf for three months. One night I decided to look at it, so I held it up and prayed, ‘If there is something good in here for me, let me know it.’ I opened it and read until I couldn’t read anymore. Tears came to my eyes. Then I held the book to my chest. Soon I went upstairs to my room and closed the door. It was the first time I knelt down and prayed. I cried and called out, ‘My Father, my Father.’ I knew He could hear me. I prayed and cried for a long time. When I got up, I began to read again without stopping.” Sri and two of her children were baptized on 4 July 1968, her 44th birthday.
The education Sri received while living with the queen enabled her not only to read the Book of Mormon in English, but also to play a key part in the translation of the book into Thai. The translation effort began in 1970, and Sri was asked to be the lead translator of the translating committee. The project was completed in 1974, and the Book of Mormon was published in Thai in 1976.
“Making this translation brought such spiritual strength to me,” says Sister Sri. “I love my Heavenly Father so much for pouring upon me this gift of tongues and language.”
In 1975, while waiting for approval of the Book of Mormon translation, she began translating the Doctrine and Covenants. The other members of the translating committee discontinued translating for various reasons, so Sri was the mainstay of the scripture translation effort. Though she went to her job during the day, she felt driven to translate when she returned home. Often she worked late into the night, completing a rough translation of as many verses as she could in order to have them ready for the daily meeting of the translation committee. Once she went with other Church members to help with a cleaning project. After several hours of hard work, others suggested she go home to rest. Sri said that she was already resting because if she went home she would feel compelled to translate and could not sleep. The translation of the Doctrine and Covenants was completed in 1979.
Before the queen’s death in 1974, Sri went to see her in the hospital. All of the ladies-in-waiting sat on the floor around the queen’s bed in order of their class. “The queen, who was in great pain, raised up to see me when I entered,” says Sister Sri. “She said, ‘Come to me.’ I stood near her. She said, ‘I still love you.’ I will always be grateful to the queen. Because of the many things I learned while living with her, I was able to read the Book of Mormon and accept the gospel. Because of her, I learned to write and speak in proper Thai language—the language into which the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants are translated.”

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Just the day before yesterday, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life” (Alma 40:11). She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, she had a contagious smile that attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While Wendy was ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited her. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.” Wendy’s attitude was reminiscent of Him who bore the sorrows of the world, who patiently suffered excruciating pain and disappointment, but who, with silent step of His sandaled feet, passed by a man who was blind from birth, restoring his sight. He approached the grieving widow of Nain and raised her son from the dead. He trudged up Calvary’s steep slope, carrying His own cruel cross, undistracted by the constant jeers and taunting that accompanied His every step. For He had an appointment with divine destiny. In a very real way He visits us, each one, with His teachings. He brings cheer and inspires goodness. He gave His precious life that the grave would be deprived of its victory, that death would lose its sting, that life eternal would be our gift.

As he visited ward members, Dale sometimes took Ashley with him. One day they visited a less-active member. “I knew that no one would be able to turn away this adorable little girl at my side,” remembers Elder Renlund. He knocked on the door of a man who had angrily dismissed Bishop Renlund’s counselor sometime earlier.
When the man opened the door, he was so large he filled the doorframe. He glared at Bishop Renlund. Four-year-old Ashley blurted out, “Well, can we come in or what?”
Surprisingly, the man said, “I guess so. Come in.”
When they were seated inside, the man told Bishop Renlund he did not believe the Church was true, nor did he believe in Jesus Christ. He kept talking angrily while Ashley played with a toy. Finally she got off her chair, cupped her hand to her father’s ear, and whispered loudly, “Daddy, tell him the truth.”
So he did. Bishop Renlund bore his testimony to the man. He recalls, “The man’s attitude softened, and the Spirit came into his home.”

When I was young my parents were faced with changing the long-standing religious traditions of their families. My parents moved from rural Ohio to the city of Flint, Michigan, a new place. My father found a mechanic in the dealership where he worked who wasn’t rude and didn’t smoke, drink, or swear. He found him to be friendly and helpful, and he wondered why. This man told my father it was because of his church.

My life was forever changed by the gospel of Jesus Christ when my parents invited two young men to our home. I remember the day they drove up in their American Motors Rambler and walked up to our house. They sat on the couch and pulled out a large flannel board and proceeded to teach us the gospel. My brother and I sat on the floor and watched as the missionaries placed cutouts of people and other figures on the flannel board. We would watch these flannel-board cutout characters slowly curl down, and we snickered and laughed as they fell to the floor. My father had to nudge us with his foot to keep us quiet. I had no idea that that moment was the beginning of a change that would forever affect our beliefs, our way of life, and our previously held notions and traditions. Life changed for us. We began attending church a couple of days a week. New terminology entered into our life.

I went to something called Primary and attended classes called CTR, Targeteers, and Blazers. There were things called sacrament gems and two-and-a-half-minute talks. We went to progressive dinners, bazaars, and ice cream socials. There were road shows and gold and green balls. Some of these traditions of the Church have changed over time, but the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ remains a constant. My family had to rethink our priorities, rethink who we were, and change the way we did things. We made covenants with the Lord as we realigned our lives with this newfound gospel. My life was forever changed and set on a different trajectory, one other than where it could have headed.

When I was president of the Southern States Mission, we converted a lovely schoolteacher down in Florida. And at the close of one of our conferences she came up to me and said, “President Richards, I’m going to get married. What do you think of that?”
“Oh,” I said, “I think it’s wonderful. Do I know him?”
“No.”
I said, “Is he a member of the Church?”
“No.” I didn’t dare tell her that she couldn’t marry out of the Church down there, because I didn’t know where she could find a man in the Church except our Mormon elders, and we had hands-off signs hanging all over them.
I said, “You’re a beautiful, sweet, clean Mormon girl, and you could never be happy with an unclean man. In your association with him you’ll know whether he’s clean or not and whether he’d take advantage of you if you’d permit him. He must be a prayerful man because, as wicked as the world is today, I wouldn’t trust any man to be true to his wife and children if he doesn’t believe that there is a God and that someday he will have to answer to him for his life here upon the earth. Your young man must be willing to let you raise your children in the Church because, knowing as you do that the God of heaven has restored his truth to the earth, you would be a very unhappy woman if you had children and couldn’t teach them the gospel. If he measures up, let me know when he joins the Church.” I didn’t see her for about four months, when we had another conference. Her train was late, and after the meeting she came along the aisle. I could see she was headed for me, so I went down and said, “Name, please?”
“Oh, I’m still Miss So-and-so.”
I said, “What became of the marriage?”
“He didn’t come up to your specifications.” Well, that’s the way you should judge, before you get married, that you’re laying the right kind of foundation.

Nick tried to listen to his teacher as she wrote numbers on the whiteboard. But the two boys whispering in front of him kept distracting him.
“Did you see Nick?” a boy whispered. “He’s got big bald spots all over his head!”
“Yeah,” another said. “He looks like my grandpa.”
The boys laughed quietly.
Nick touched his head and rubbed one of his many bald spots. His face got hot from embarrassment. He sank lower in his seat, trying to hide. He wanted to disappear. He hated when classmates talked about his bald spots.
Nick was losing his hair because he had alopecia. That’s a condition that makes people’s hair fall out.
Most days Nick liked school. But on days like today, he couldn’t help feeling sad and embarrassed. After class, he put on his baseball cap and quietly walked through the hallway.
He wished he could call Mom to take him home. But first he’d have to go see the school nurse and tell her he couldn’t stay at school. And telling her that his feelings had been hurt probably wasn’t a good enough reason. Even if she did say he could go home, he knew his mom wouldn’t let him. Alopecia made his hair fall out, but it didn’t make him sick, and it wasn’t contagious.
It did make him sad, though. After dinner that night, Nick felt tears stinging his eyes when he told Mom and Dad what the kids in math class had said.
“I know I shouldn’t listen when they make fun of me,” he said. “But sometimes it really hurts.”
Mom put her arm around his shoulder. “I hope you know we love you no matter what. And so do your Heavenly Parents. Why don’t we say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father what to do?”
“And we can fast about it on Sunday,” Dad added.
The next day, Nick met up with his friend Seth when he got to school. Seth was frowning.
“I heard what those guys said about you yesterday,” Seth told him. “Don’t listen to them. I think you’re cool, with or without hair!”
Nick grinned. “Thanks!”
Seth was Nick’s best friend. They went to church together too. When Nick first found out he had alopecia, he had told Seth. And Seth didn’t treat him any differently.
“My family is going to fast on Sunday to figure out what I should do about my hair,” Nick said. “You can too if you want.”
Seth nodded. “Sure!”
On Sunday, Nick and his family fasted about what Nick should do. After they said a prayer together, Nick got a warm, peaceful feeling.
He had his answer.
“My hair is falling out more than ever,” Nick told his parents. “And I’m tired of trying to hide it with my baseball cap.” He took a deep breath. ”I want to shave my head.”
Mom and Dad smiled at him.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Dad said.
With Dad’s help, Nick shaved his head the next morning. When he saw his bald head in the mirror, his eyes widened. He looked so different! He ran his fingers over his bald head and laughed at how funny it felt.
When he got to school, a few kids gave him funny looks, but most of them liked his new look.
Seth thought it looked awesome. “Your head’s so shiny!”
From that day on, Nick focused on doing his best in school, playing football, and serving as a deacon. Sometimes he still heard some kids talk about his bald head, but he didn’t let it bother him. It didn’t matter what other people said about him. He knew that Heavenly Father, his family, and his friends loved him, bald head and all. And that’s all that truly mattered.

We can seldom foresee how the Lord will make us instruments in his hands. One year when my companion was out of town, my daughter Elizabeth went with me on my visits. It was Christmastime, so we baked cookies, wrapped them in cellophane, and tied them with red ribbon and a pine branch. Then we put all these little gifts in a bag and had a prayer together. At the last minute I felt a strong prompting and slipped in an extra package.
After visiting several houses, we reached the home of a sister who lived with her married son and his family, all of whom were members. Another older woman, looking very tired, was there delivering clothing. Her name was Margarita, and she earned her living doing laundry by hand. Knowing what hard work that is, I handed her the other little package of cookies and wished her a Merry Christmas. With tears in her eyes, she told me that she was completely alone and that this would be her only gift.
I spoke to her then about the Lord Jesus Christ and told her that if he is with us, we will not be lonely. I assured her that she was a daughter of God who loved her just as an earthly father loves his children and that if she sought after him, he would receive her with open arms. I told her many more things. Her face lighted up, and she agreed to receive the missionaries.
The next month when we went to visit that house, Margarita was there again. She hugged us and said, “Now I can really call you sisters. I was baptized last week.”

We have done some unusual things, too. We had two priests who just couldn’t seem to overcome the allure of bed on Sunday morning. They had great difficulty in coming to priesthood meeting. We decided that, if they wouldn’t come to priesthood meeting, then we would take priesthood meeting to them. After deciding which of the two young men to visit first, we left the meetinghouse and went to the first home.
I want you to know, brethren, that I was really concerned about how the father of that home would feel about all of us being at his house at 8:00 a.m. In fact, as we were waiting at the door, I was thinking that it sure would have been wise if I had called him the night before and told him what we were going to do.
The father answered the door, and we explained our purpose. Brethren, he couldn’t have been more gracious. As we climbed the stairs, we found our brother sleeping as only a young man can sleep. I will never forget how totally surprised he was when he awoke to find us all around his bed. Well, we had a great meeting, complete with business, a lesson, and some concluding thoughts on activation.
We decided we had hit upon a rather effective activation technique. We also decided to use it next week on the other young man. During the week the word about what we were going to do got out. Next Sunday, for the first time since I had been the bishop, 100 percent of our quorum members were at priesthood meeting. I can report to you that one of these young men is presently serving a full-time mission and the other will soon be serving.

Well do I remember an experience while speaking to a group of missionaries. After I had invited questions, one elder stood. With tears in his eyes, he asked, “Why did Jesus have to suffer so much?” I asked the elder to open his book of hymns and recite words from “How Great Thou Art.” He read:
And when I think that God, his Son not sparing,
Sent him to die, I scarce can take it in,
That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin.
Then I asked this elder to read from “Reverently and Meekly Now.” These words are particularly poignant because they are written as the Lord would express His own answer to the very question that had been asked:
Think of me, thou ransomed one;
Think what I for thee have done.
With my blood that dripped like rain,
Sweat in agony of pain,
With my body on the tree
I have ransomed even thee. …
Oh, remember what was done
That the sinner might be won.
On the cross of Calvary
I have suffered death for thee.
Jesus suffered deeply because He loves us deeply! He wants us to repent and be converted so that He can fully heal us.

I had another exceptional teacher while attending Ricks College many years ago. I was preparing to serve a mission and thought it would be helpful to attend a missionary preparation class. What I experienced changed my life.
From the first day of class, I realized I was in the presence of a master teacher. The teacher was Brother F. Melvin Hammond. I knew Brother Hammond loved the Lord and he loved me. I could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. When he taught, the Spirit enlightened my mind. He taught doctrine, but he also invited me to learn it on my own. That invitation helped me clearly see my responsibility to learn the Lord’s doctrine for myself. That experience changed me forever. Thank you, Brother Hammond, for teaching in the Savior’s way.

I was first introduced to our church some 51 years ago in Hong Kong by two faithful missionaries, one from Hawaii and one from Arizona. Their concise presentation of Joseph Smith’s First Vision inspired me. As a 14 years old boy, I had no doubt that there is a living God. I soon wanted to join the church and be part of this wonderful organization, but my parents refused to give their permission. The Relief Society president of this small branch took upon herself the responsibility of providing me constant support and encouragement. She took me to church for Mutual Improvement Activities, presently known as Mutual Activities, and Sunday services. Could she have just assumed that teaching the gospel to an investigator was the missionary’s responsibility? Was a 14-year old boy really serious or interested in religion? Was the effort really worth the time spent with such strong opposition from his parents? After all, she had a demanding calling and several children to nurture. Not so for this good sister. She took Pres. David O. McKay’s counsel to heart. She knew what it meant of the phrase “every member a missionary.” She magnified her calling. Through her persistent effort, I received permission from my parents to be baptized a year later. The service of this sister not only brought about my conversion and baptism but of other members of my family. In the decades that followed, many others have also accepted the gospel.

Recently while on Church assignment in Hawaii, Sister Wirthlin and I visited the island of Molokai. One of the world’s few remaining leper colonies is found there. We drove into the mountains to a trail that leads to an overlook where the colony can be seen in the distance below. After laboring up the trail, we were disappointed to discover that rain and fog obscured the valley beneath us, and we could not see the colony. As we walked back to our car, we came upon a young man headed toward the overlook. I offered a polite greeting. From his answer, I could tell that he was from Germany.

I served a German-speaking mission in Austria and Switzerland in my youth. Here was a young man whose countenance bespoke a sincere heart and an approachable personality. And I spoke his language and understood his culture. The Spirit prompted me to open my mouth and introduce the gospel to him. However, due to other people being around us, our brief encounter was interrupted, and we went our separate ways without my having said a word about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I failed to be the missionary that every member of the Savior’s Church ought to be.

As we drove away, I had the disturbing feeling that I had failed in my duty to proclaim the gospel. I remembered the Lord’s words in section 60 of the Doctrine and Covenants:

But with some I am not well pleased, for they will not open their mouths, but they hide the talent which I have given unto them, because of the fear of man. Wo unto such, for mine anger is kindled against them. [D&C 60:2]

I was then troubled and ill at ease while we drove around the island to see Molokai’s beautiful waterfalls. After many miles, the road came to a dead end. We got out of our car to enjoy the beautiful surroundings. We had been there only a few moments when another car drove up and stopped. The young man we had seen on the overlook trail got out of his car, smiled, and gave me a warm handshake. As I grasped his outstretched hand, I thought to myself, “This time I will do my duty!”

In a few brief moments we introduced ourselves. I learned that he was a university student in a small city south of Dusseldorf, Germany. We spoke of my experiences in his country, of my fond memories of Germany, and of my admiration for the German people. Speaking of my work in Europe gave me an ideal opportunity to explain some of the basics of the gospel. As we parted, I asked for his address and telephone number, which he gladly shared with me. I felt that he was truly a newly found friend and an interested investigator.

Upon my return to Church headquarters, I promptly wrote to President John F. Charles of the Germany Dusseldorf Mission. I explained how Sister Wirthlin and I had met this outstanding young man and gave him his address. I asked President Charles to immediately send missionaries to continue the gospel discussion that I had begun on a dead-end road on Molokai.

I don’t believe that it was happenstance that my wife and I met this young man twice. Our meetings were not chance encounters or mere coincidence. But the Lord doesn’t always give us a second chance to share the gospel. I failed to follow the Spirit the first time that the still small voice unmistakably spoke to my heart and mind to prod me to action. I didn’t do what I was being directed to do. When I saw that young man get out of his car that second time, I was relieved and said to Sister Wirthlin that I had been given a second chance. I quickly made up my mind that I would not fail a second time and that I would open my mouth as the Lord so emphatically commands in revelations that apply to all of us.

A Home-Concealed Woman. The title in the book catalog drew my eye again and again—A Home-Concealed Woman. Was it the story of my life? I checked the book out of the library. It was a diary kept by a woman living in the southern United States in the early 1900s. It was a warm and cozy record of her busy life as she bore and reared a large family, loved her husband, entertained friends, and cared for her aging parents. She was a kindred spirit, a good woman, hard-working, kind, observant of the beauties of nature. Her writings were similar to some of my own—filled with joy at her children’s small accomplishments, worry over teeth and earaches, delight at the first blossoms of spring. But she called herself a “home-concealed woman.” She had an obvious talent for writing but never much time to develop it. The physical circle of her life was small—hardly extending to the nearest village.
Did I see myself as a “home-concealed woman”? I wondered. Yes, I am a stay-at-home woman; but do the walls and roof of my home take on the aspects of a bushel basket over the candle of my personal light?
In the twenty-five years that I have been married, the place of woman in society has been the subject of much debate and confusion. As a young college graduate, I was refused a teaching job because I was pregnant—a strictly enforced district policy. In those days pregnant women and most other women, whether they had children or not, were expected by society to be concealed in their homes! A few years later, stay-at-home women were ridiculed in the popular press. Housework was supposed to be beneath the dignity and attention of the up-and-coming woman. (They forgot that it still had to be done by someone whether she, or he, was up-and-coming or not.) And a few years after that, there seemed to be no choice left. Nearly every woman I know now must work either full- or part-time—either outside or inside her home. For many, it is an economic necessity.
Does working outside the home release a woman from concealment? Maybe, if she is on television. But most often the women I know who work must maintain a carefully controlled schedule and limit their activities severely in order to do their jobs and care for their homes and families. They seem to be concealed within a tight world bounded by the realities of time and energy.
I still wondered what it was about the word concealed that had caught my attention. Did it have something to do with the fact that often when I meet new people they ask a few polite questions about our children and then turn with obvious interest to discussions of my husband’s work and hobbies? Yes, at times like that I do feel concealed and want to cry, “Look again! There is a person here—not just the wife of someone and the mother of someone else, but an individual with her own interests and talents. I read books, I have opinions, sometimes I am even witty—take a chance; get to know ME!” To those who know me well and with whom I am not shy, I am not a “concealed” person.
If my home is not a bushel basket over my light, then what is it? Is it a room—and I a candle set upon the mantel to give light to that room and to all who come within my circle of illumination? Perhaps the word concealed appealed to a bit of unfortunate pride within me—a desire to be a city on a hill, rather than just a candle in a room. I’m afraid that might have something to do with it.
And yet I know that the Lord has given me a light and that it is just the right light for the room in which I dwell—my home, family, neighborhood, and ward. I know that the work I have to do is important and that no one else can illuminate the space around me. I feel sure, most of the time, that the Lord approves the priorities I have set and the way I am tending my own little light. I also know that it takes all my best efforts, talents, and energy to keep that light glowing. And I know that I am part of the city set upon a hill, as is every other member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
There can be only a very few people in the world at a time who have such bright candles that they light up whole cities, or the whole world. Brigham Young was one of those people, and we often credit him with moving the Church to the West and settling Utah and other states. But he did not actually do any of that by himself. To be sure, he did provide inspiration and guidance, but it was the thousands of people with little candles who actually plowed the ground, built the cabins and temples, baked the bread, washed the clothes, built the towns, composed the songs, wrote the stories, taught the children, harvested the crops, and did all the other work that went into settling the West. Without all those little lights, Brigham Young’s dream never could have become a reality.
President Joseph F. Smith said, “After all, to do well those things which God ordained to be the common lot of man-kind, is the truest greatness. To be a successful father or a successful mother is greater than to be a successful general or a successful statesman” (Gospel Doctrine, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1939, page 285).
I know all these things, but sometimes I still feel “concealed,” and I think it is not the adulation of the world that would change that feeling. I remember the time when, as the young mother of four very small children and the wife of a very busy husband, I felt not just concealed, but buried by my home. I vividly remember standing at the ironing board in a room cluttered with toys and children, watching general conference on television. As President Harold B. Lee spoke, he seemed to be talking directly to me, and the Spirit entered my heart that day to remind me that I was a daughter of God and beloved of Him. Tears splashed on the iron as I felt His love surround me—a feeling I had forgotten.
Later I realized that I had become too busy with my little family for scripture study and going to the temple. Most of my time at church was spent in the hall with fussy babies, rather than worshiping. I had thought that reading the scriptures years earlier as a missionary would carry me through the rest of my life. I felt “concealed”—cut off from the Lord, but I was not. He was there, but I had failed to look up and see Him and receive His help and blessing. Now I know that no matter how small and insignificant my life may appear to the world, it doesn’t matter—as long as I am not concealed from the Lord.
So am I a “home-concealed woman”? No, I am a woman lighting a room, which is my home—sharing my light with others who come into my circle of illumination. Does my home and the work I do there conceal my talents? Does it keep me from reaching my potential? Not unless I choose to let that happen. Being a homemaker, mother, and wife is no more concealing of the real me than being a teacher, factory worker, nurse, or lawyer could be.
No, I am not a “home-concealed woman.” I am a “home-enhanced woman,” a “home-challenged woman.” But, most important, I am a loved daughter of Heavenly Father, who never loses sight of me.

The year I turned eleven, I went on a three-day camp-out with my friend Don, my older brother, and my dad. And Bear. Bear is our black and white Border collie. He loves to run and chase outdoors.
We had a great time on that trip with Bear. We camped on a big cattle ranch among a lot of sagebrush and lava rock, and near a good fishing creek.
My brother, Nick, and I took Bear down to the creek every day. Bear loves to play in the water. He must think he’s fishing, but he sure doesn’t fish like the rest of us. He puts his left paw in the water and splashes all over the place. He also snaps at the water with his mouth. He makes such a commotion in the water that I’m sure that all the fish are soon at least ten miles downstream.
The last morning we were there, my brother and I left Bear at camp so we could do some real fishing at the creek. Don and Dad stayed in camp to clean up after breakfast.
After a little while Don came down to the creek. “Hey, Mike,” he said. “Your dog is dead.”
“He is not!”
“Well, he’s nearly dead. A rattlesnake bit him.”
My brother and I ran for camp as fast as we could. Don ran after us.
Sure enough, by the time we got to camp, Bear was lying real still by Dad’s tent. Dad had killed the rattlesnake, but there didn’t seem to be much he could do for Bear.
Bear had been bitten twice on the nose. It was swollen really bad, and he was barely breathing.
I started to cry. I didn’t know what to do. My brother started to cry, too, but he knew what to do. “Dad, can we say a prayer for Bear?”
My dad nodded. “Bear is a very sick dog,” he said. “You can say a prayer for Bear, but are you willing to accept it if he doesn’t live?”
“Yes,” my brother said. I could only nod.
All four of us gathered in a semicircle around Bear. Dad looked over at my big brother. “Nick,” he said. “I would like you to say the prayer because you have so much faith.”
I don’t remember what my brother said in his prayer, but I remember how I felt kneeling there with my head bowed.
When the prayer was over, Bear got up. He walked around a little, and then he ran. He seemed happy to be alive.
I was happy! I was so happy that I kept hugging Bear over and over. My big brother just stood there and cried some more. I didn’t understand then why he was crying when we were all so happy. I did understand one thing though—I knew that my brother had a lot of faith in prayer. And so did I.

President Thomas S. Monson has counseled us to never postpone a prompting. “We watch. We wait. We listen for that still, small voice,” he said in general conference. “When it speaks, wise men and women obey. We do not postpone following promptings of the Spirit.”
President Monson then shared an experience about a friend named Stan, whose illness had left him partially paralyzed. Despite the finest medical care and the prayers of family and friends, Stan remained confined to a bed and began to despair.
“Late one afternoon I was swimming at the Deseret Gym, gazing at the ceiling while backstroking width after width,” President Monson recalled. “Silently, but ever so clearly, there came to my mind the thought: ‘Here you swim almost effortlessly, while your friend Stan languishes in his hospital bed, unable to move.’ I felt the prompting: ‘Get to the hospital and give him a blessing.’
“I ceased my swimming, dressed, and hurried to Stan’s room at the hospital. His bed was empty. A nurse said he was in his wheelchair at the swimming pool, preparing for therapy. I hurried to the area, and there was Stan, all alone, at the edge of the deeper portion of the pool. We greeted one another and returned to his room, where a priesthood blessing was provided.”
Stan eventually regained strength and movement in his legs and learned to walk again. President Monson continued: “To some [Stan] reveals the dark thoughts of depression which engulfed him that afternoon as he sat in his wheelchair at the edge of the pool, sentenced, it seemed, to a life of despair. He tells how he pondered the alternative. It would be so easy to propel the hated wheelchair into the silent water of the deep pool. Life would then be over. But at that precise moment he saw me, his friend. That day Stan learned literally that we do not walk alone. I, too, learned a lesson that day: Never, never, never postpone following a prompting.”7