Gospel Story Finder

College started for Amy at the end of August. Dorm life was really exciting. It didn’t take Amy and her roommate Letitia long to discover that they could make new friends very easily by sitting downstairs in the lobby. Someone was bound to come up and introduce himself.
One evening during the first week, Amy was studying her Spanish when a tall blond boy in a sports coat seated himself on the couch across from her. “What are you reading?” he inquired.
Amy looked up and smiled. “Spanish,” she answered.
“Ahhh. Fun. I study French myself. You must be a freshman.”
“Because I’m studying Spanish?”
“No, because we’ve never met. My name is Rod. And you are?”
“Amy.”
“Hi, Amy. Do you know about the big rally with Dr. Reality tomorrow night? I’m on the publicity committee.”
“No. Who’s Dr. Reality?”
“The main thing Dr. Reality does is give some very, very good study tips. Just wonderful.” Rod shook his head and smiled.
Amy shrugged. “Sounds good. Where is it?”
Rod gave her directions and added, somewhat condescendingly, “I must warn you, his lead-in is about how God doesn’t exist and how prayers before tests don’t help, but his study tips will.”
Amy suddenly felt like she’d been sucked into something. “How much of that does he say?” she asked guardedly.
“Quite a bit. It’s sponsored by the Free-Thinking Student Association. But you don’t have to be an atheist or anything. The study tips are good for everyone. So, what religion are you? I could see you getting nervous when I talked about God not existing, so I assume you must believe in one.”
“Oh, I’m not a very religious person,” Amy faltered. “I was baptized a Mormon when I was little, and I’ve gone there a few times, but I’m not really into that sort of thing.”
Rod leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Oh, good! A Mormon!”
“What? I didn’t say I was a good Mormon.”
Rod chuckled. “Mormons are so funny. They have so much faith.”
Amy was confused. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Look out there. Do you see God? Do you really have any concrete evidence that he exists?”
Amy suddenly found her tongue. “Why do you care whether or not I believe in a God I can’t see?”
“Oh, I don’t care,” Rod assured her. “Believe what you want.”
I’ve got to get out of here, Amy thought. “I just remembered some stuff I need to do upstairs.” She got up and left quickly.
As she went up the stairs she felt the warm calmness of love from her Heavenly Father enfolding her. It was a feeling she knew she could not be imagining.
When she rounded the corner into her hall she came face to face with a girl with glasses and long, dark hair. Amy smiled on reflex.
“Hi, you’re not Amy, are you? I’m looking for Amy Richards,” the girl said.
“That’s me.”
The girl twisted her hands back and forth nervously. “Well, my name’s Sophie Petrowsky and I just thought I’d come by and say hi because I hear we go to the same church.”
Not another one! Amy stiffened. “The only church I’ve gone to at all is the Mormon church and I don’t go there very much. I just got invited to become an atheist.” She laughed ruefully, not wanting to hurt Sophie’s feelings. “It’s been a long day.”
Sophie relaxed a little. “Yes, it has,” she agreed. “Well, the Mormon church is where I go, and I thought—How did you get invited to become an atheist?”
Amy explained to her about Rod and what he’d said. Sophie nodded. “That sounds like Rod. I lived here last year and got to talk to him. He’s really smart, and he can be nice, but he’s a little overbearing. There are a lot of kids around here who just want to argue and cause trouble. And of course you’ll get all kinds of invitations to join different student organizations.”
“Why does everyone care so much about gaining converts around here?” Amy asked bluntly.
Sophie thought for a minute. “Well, we do like new faces in our groups. We like to make new friends. But in the Church there’s more to it than that.” Sophie twisted her hands again. “We have a message that we want to share with you and with everyone, and it’s because we love you,” she said softly. “This guy named Paul called the Latter-day Saint Institute about you a couple days ago.”
Amy closed her eyes, then shook her head and smiled. “Paul, you idiot,” she whispered. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he said you were really neat and that you’d been studying the Church a little. Mostly he wanted to make sure that you’d have a friend here, and that you’d know we were here for you. I can tell you about the institute program and when church is and everything if you’d like. We have a really good singles’ group.”
“I don’t have a way to get there.”
“Oh, that’s okay. The institute’s just right down the street, and I can get you a ride to church. I don’t have a car either, but Sister Newell said she’d take us this week.”
“Us?”
“I asked her first to make sure she’d have room. We’d like you to come, but if you don’t want to …”
Amy thought for a minute. “I want to,” she said decisively. “At least once for Paul.”
Five years later, two young men in suits stood at Mark and Letitia Stoon’s front door. They wanted to come in and share a message about Christ, they said. “No, I don’t think so,” Mark began, but Letitia, who had come to see who was at the door, stopped him. “Wait, are you the people with the Book of Mormon?”
The young man smiled. “Yes, we are,” one of them answered.
“I have a friend, Amy Richards. She was my roommate at college for a couple of years. She gave me one of those before she left to be a missionary in Mexico.”
“Really? That’s great. Did you read it?”
“I read some of it. I thought it was interesting. Amy always seemed to care about it. And she still writes to me. She’s a good friend.”
“Do you mind if we come in and talk about it with you a little bit?”
“Not at all,” Letitia smiled. “Come on in.”

Elder Michael Hayes of the Walsall Ward spends time serving with the Walsall Society for the Blind and the Billion Graves Project. In sharing his thoughts about the blessing of service, Elder Hayes said, “Unfortunately, due to health challenges, I couldn’t serve a teaching mission. I remember sitting at home upset that I wouldn’t be able to serve the Lord. Then one day, the bishop spoke with me about a new mission opportunity. I will never forget the feeling I had when he told me that I could serve for two years as a service missionary. I didn’t know what a service mission was until he spoke about it, but what I did know is that I felt the Spirit so strongly, without hesitation I said, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ I knew this is what I had to do. I am nervous, but I know that with the help of my Heavenly Father, I can do anything.”

Within the first few months of our marriage, my dear wife expressed her desire to study music. Intending to please her, I decided to orchestrate a big, heartfelt surprise for my sweetheart. I went to a musical instrument store and bought her a piano as a gift. I excitedly put the purchase receipt in a box with a beautiful bow and gave it to her, expecting an effusive reaction of gratitude for her extremely loving and attentive husband.
When she opened that little box and saw its contents, she lovingly looked at me and said, “Oh, my dear, you are wonderful! But let me ask you a question: Is this a gift or a debt?” After counseling together about the surprise, we decided to cancel the purchase. We were living on a student budget, as is the case with many young newlyweds. This experience helped me recognize the importance of the principle of full partnership in a marital relationship and how its application could help my wife and me to be of one heart and one mind.

“Recently, I spoke with a Laurel from the United States. I quote from her email:
“‘This past year some of my friends on Facebook began posting their position on marriage. Many favored same-sex marriage, and several LDS youth indicated they “liked” the postings. I made no comment.
“‘I decided to declare my belief in traditional marriage in a thoughtful way.
“‘With my profile picture, I added the caption “I believe in marriage between a man and a woman.” Almost instantly I started receiving messages. “You are selfish.” “You are judgmental.” One compared me to a slave owner. And I received this post from a great friend who is a strong member of the Church: “You need to catch up with the times. Things are changing and so should you.”
“‘I did not fight back,’ she said, ‘but I did not take my statement down.’
“She concludes: ‘Sometimes, as President Monson said, “You have to stand alone.” Hopefully as youth, we will stand together in being true to God and to the teachings of His living prophets.’”

Elizabeth Fowkes was born into the church (her father having been baptised during the time of Heber C. Kimball’s mission to Britain), but was only baptised in 1896, in her late thirties. Growing up in Burton on Trent, she moved to Derby in her twenties where she met and married George Bradley. Over the following years she brought her husband and her family of four boys and one girl into the Church.
The Relief Society was first organised in Derby branch in 1910 and Elizabeth Bradley was set apart as President by Apostle Charles W. Penrose. She would serve as the Derby Branch Relief Society President for thirty-six years – through two world wars and the great depression, as well as the ‘Roaring Twenties’.
Elizabeth’s life was not an easy one. In 1910 her son John and daughter Lizzie announced their plans to ‘go to Zion’. Then in May 1916, her son George announced that he was joining the army to fight in France. In January 1918, he died as he was returning home on leave, one of the early victims of the Spanish Flu. He was just 28 years old. Then Elizabeth’s son Wilfred died in January 1929. He was only 35 years old. In September of the same year her husband passed away at the age of 75.
It would later be reported of her: “But for all that, she bears a deep and convincing testimony that her life in the Church has been rich with blessings and happiness. Her life reveals a splendid example of what a Relief Society President and a Latter-day Saint should be.”
In 1935 the Derby branch celebrated a double Jubilee– the 25th year of the reign of George V and 25 years that Elizabeth had served as Relief Society president. It was also her 78th birthday. This made her the oldest president in the British mission of a branch of the oldest auxiliary organisation of the Church.
In 1946, Elizabeth was finally released from her position as the president of the Relief Society. She was eighty-nine years old. She lived until April 1952 and died at the age of 95.

One of my favorite examples of trust is contained in a story related by President N. Eldon Tanner. He was 14 years old, and his father, serving as bishop, had gone to prepare for a funeral. He had asked Eldon and his brothers to do the chores while he was gone.
“We decided to ride some calves before we did what he had told us to do. We thought we would have plenty of time, but he came home while we were still riding those calves, and he called us over to him. … he pointed his finger at me and said, ‘My boy, I thought I could depend on you.’ That hurt me very much. I can still almost recall the exact feeling I had at that time. I made up my mind that he would never have a reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on you.’ Right then I made up my mind that the Lord would never have reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on Eldon Tanner’” (New Era, Jan.–Feb. 1983, p. 14).

“We ended up living in Yuba City,” says Rachel W., 17, “and so I had to get up an hour earlier just to make it to seminary in the morning. Maybe it’s because of that little sacrifice to get there, but I’ve noticed that since the fire I love seminary even more. My day is always better and I like being with all the Paradise kids again. It’s amazing to see how everyone’s testimony has been strengthened after the fire.”

My dad was the home teacher to an older, single man in our ward named Tom. He was very quiet, and the only time you would see him was when he was walking to the post office or the store.
One day my dad suggested that one way we could be better home teachers would be to take dinner to Tom every Sunday. He suggested that I be the one to deliver the dinner to him. At first, I didn’t want to because I didn’t know what to say or what he might say in return. I knew I had to, so I took a deep breath and walked to his door and handed him the plate of food.
For the first couple of months, he didn’t say anything. That was five years ago. We still take him dinner every Sunday and on holidays. He is still quiet, but he talks to us and says thank you and waves every time we see him.
Since then, my dad has been called as bishop. He has tried to teach the whole ward to serve others. I now have the privilege of taking dinner not only to Tom but also to five other people in the ward. My dad taught me the meaning of the scripture in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Oriol Atus, first counselor in the North District presidency, has given up two job offers and a promotion because of his refusal to participate. “To be successful in many places, you must practice voodoo. Several times, my employers or prospective employers have asked me to choose between the Church and voodoo. Of course, I always left the job or gave up the promotion. I work for less money now, but it’s worth it.”

While a video game here and there may help "loosen your bow," so to speak, and facilitate a measure of social interaction, these occasional and minimal benefits carry the risk of trapping individuals in a counterfeit pattern of exercising God-given instincts in a way that has little or no lasting value; where participants are "ever progressing, but never coming closer to their true potential" as sons and daughters of God. Not surprisingly, those who struggle to perform well and progress in real pursuits of enduring value--like obtaining an education or dating and finding their eternal companion--are particularly vulnerable to falling into this all-consuming video game trap and spending countless hours in pursuit of counterfeit success. Happily, I know several individuals who have broken free of this trap. One young man in particular abandoned the excitement and pseudo safety of his virtual worlds, squared his shoulders and faced real challenges head on. He trusted in the Lord and His counsels and was thereby strengthened with additional peace of mind and confidence to take the inevitable ups and downs of life in stride. As a result of his efforts, over time he was blessed to achieve his demanding educational goals, find his eternal companion, and see his career grow and blossom in miraculous ways.

One day, during this time, I was tilling a field with a tractor on the family farm and had a profound experience with thoughts. While driving I had let my thoughts drift off to meaningless and worldly things and soon found myself in a depressed mood. I didn’t like the feeling and made a conscious effort to fight off the negative thoughts and replace them with good and uplifting ones. It turned out to be a mental battle for me, but eventually, as good replaced bad, my mood improved and I found myself feeling happy. I was so struck by this powerful experience, that later that same day, I came up with this poem titled “Thoughts.”

The final miles of a 25-mile bicycle ride can be grueling. But for 120 young people from the Beaverton Oregon Stake the miles were pleasant for two different reasons: (1) their course had been planned so that the last five miles meandered along the scenic banks of the Willamette River in Champoeg State Park near Portland, and (2) they knew that each mile was furthering their goal of helping a family with 13 developmentally disabled adopted or foster children.
The service project was coordinated by youth chairmen Lee Oakley and Julie Haddon of the sponsoring Tigard First and Second wards. Enough money was raised (through pledges from sponsors) to help Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Grisham and their daughter, Jacqueline, to convert their garage into a playroom for the 13 disabled children who share their home with them.
Youths from the Gabriel Park, Mountain View, Tualatin Valley and West Hills wards, as well as from the Tigard wards, cycled through level farmland for 20 miles before reaching the park. Beautiful weather; a lunch of tacos, soft drinks and ice cream; and a chance to meet the Grisham family and talk with them at the end of the ride helped ease any muscles strained during the ride.
The young Latter-day Saints patterned this service project after a walk-a-thon held the year before and based it on the following criteria: the service should help someone residing within stake boundaries; it should include direct contact with those they were helping; and it should include people who were not members of the Church. The choice of the bike-a-thon for the Grisham family met all the requirements, since the Grishams are not members of the Church. Each participant received a certificate for his service.

Just a few months ago, Kent Crookston, our dean of the College of Biology and Agriculture, attended a conference with many officers of the Church and leaders of various businesses in which the Church has invested. President Hinckley was in attendance, and Kent happened to bump into him at a break. President Hinckley was very kind and jovial as they began to talk, but when he found out what Kent’s current assignment is, he went on the offensive. Pointing his finger at Kent, he asked, almost accusingly, “Why do we have agriculture at BYU?”
Kent and his colleagues had been discussing just that question, and he began to say that they had concluded that we shouldn’t have agriculture at BYU unless . . . , but President Hinckley completed his sentence, “Unless it is unique in a way that blesses the Church.”
Interestingly, those are precisely the words Kent and his colleagues have been using to help them focus and choose where to put their emphasis as they consider curricular offerings, faculty hiring, and research focus for the future. They have added the idea that their changes must bless students, especially undergraduate students.

Even at a very young age, children can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost. I remember a family home evening in which tears started streaming down the cheeks of our five-year-old daughter, Chanel. I thought her brother, Christopher, might have pinched her or something, so I asked, “Chanel, why are you crying?” She answered, “Daddy, I feel so happy.”
I can’t remember what the family home evening lesson was about, but I stopped and said, “Chanel, what you’re feeling is the power and influence of the Holy Ghost.” She replied, “Yes, Daddy, I know that is true.” Like Chanel, you can feel the happy, peaceful feeling, which will tell you when something is right or true.

At the age of fourteen, I was apprenticed to a dressmaker and learned how to make beautiful dresses. I worked for her for two years. Then my family made the decision to move to America. Times were hard in England. Jobs and food were both scarce. Also a call had gone out from the Church for the Saints to gather to Zion.
But first we had to sail to America!
I was excited when my family packed up their belongings and headed for Liverpool. It was a great seaport, teeming with ships of every kind. I loved watching the ships being loaded and unloaded with every kind of article you could imagine. Spices from India scented the air. Passenger ships were a hive of activity as their holds were loaded with food and water. There was so much to see!
Our ship was the Horizon, a good ship. We had fine weather all the way across the Atlantic, except for a few days when it was so foggy that we couldn’t even get candles to burn! On June 30, 1856, we safely landed in Boston, Massachusetts. We were thrilled to be in the land where the gospel had been restored!

As we raise a hand to sustain a person, we commit to work for whatever purpose of the Lord that person is called to accomplish. When our children were small, my wife was called to teach the little children in our ward. I not only raised my hand to sustain her, but I also prayed for her and then asked permission to help her. The lessons I received of appreciation for what women do and of the Lord’s love for children still bless my family and my life.

I once had a friend who said offensive things to someone close to me. His words were disappointing, but I decided to approach him and tell him how I felt. The next time we saw each other, he thanked me for reminding him of his goodness, and I learned that he had apologized to my other friend and made amends.
As Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–1994) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “It takes courage to be a real friend. … A friend is a person who will suggest and render the best for us regardless of the immediate consequences.”3 It was scary to be honest with my friend, but that’s what spiritual allies and true friends do—they help each other to grow, to become more Christlike, and to progress on the covenant path.

The idea of confessing the Lord’s hand in all things was poignantly taught to me several years ago by my father. It was one of those teaching moments that he took, and my guess is that he probably has no idea of the effect this small experience had on me. But the lesson he taught me has stayed with me throughout my life.

Each year when I was growing up, my family would go backpacking in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. On this particular trip, my father, my younger brother, and I had enjoyed a beautiful day fishing at one of the alpine lakes, and we decided to climb over a ridge and down into another lake a couple of miles away. There had been a significant amount of snow the past winter, and we were there a little earlier in the year than normal, so there was still a fair amount of snow in the higher elevations. After making the climb to the ridge, we looked down and admired the turquoise lake in the valley below us. The problem was that there was a steep 400-foot snowslide between us and the lake. We weren’t all that concerned about sliding into the freezing, ice-fed water, however, since there was a fifty-foot-wide boulder field between the snowslide and the lake. It was made up of automobile-sized boulders that would certainly stop us before we could make it to the water. This was not a lot of consolation, however. Traveling at the speed we would be traveling down the snowslide, we didn’t particularly want to meet the boulder field.

We decided that we would traverse our way across the snowslide rather than attempting to slide down it. My father told my younger brother to walk right above him, so that if he accidentally slipped, my father could stop him. Then we started on our way. About three steps into our traverse, my brother lost his footing, knocked my father’s feet out from under him, and the two of them started careening down the snowslide. As they went they threw all of the equipment they were holding, so that they could use their hands to help steer and slow them down. I watched from the top of the snowslide with much anticipation as they got closer and closer to the boulder field. After doing a somersault over one boulder higher up in the snowslide, my father was able to gain control, stop himself, and stop my brother just before they hit the main boulder field.

We all took a sigh of relief that they had made it down safely, but now came my dilemma. I was at the top of the snowslide, they were at the bottom, and their equipment was scattered all down the slide. I figured I would just keep traversing the snow back and forth, descending gradually, and pick up their equipment on my way down. About three steps into this plan, my feet slipped out from under me and I was on my way down the slide. My trip down the first half of the slide consisted of sticking a hand or foot out every so often to try to grab the fishing rods, backpacks, fishing equipment, etc., that they had strewn along the snowslide. I was actually able to grab all of the gear, which was quite miraculous in and of itself. Then, the second half of the slide, my thoughts turned to panic. I could see my father and brother standing as a bumper pad between me and the boulders. I dug in my boots as best I could to try to slow down. My hands were useless due to the fact that they were full of all of our gear. Eventually I got myself slowed to a reasonable speed, and my father grabbed me and stopped me just before I got to the boulder field.

After making sure that everyone was okay, we took inventory of our situation. To my surprise I was able to hold on to all of the gear that I had gathered along my way down the snowslide. Then I looked at the only casualty of the day; I had broken my own fishing rod. My immediate thoughts were something along the lines of “Oh great. I nearly sacrifice my life to gather up all of their gear, and MY fishing rod is the one that gets broken!” I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I vocalized my anger and frustration to my dad. His response—and this was the lesson—was, “Oh, that’s okay. You needed a new fishing rod anyway.”

My next thought was, “What? You don’t understand! I broke my fishing rod. This is awful! Now how am I going to enjoy the rest of the trip?” I didn’t vocalize this thought, thankfully. Instead, I paused and thought about the reaction my father just had. His message to me was, “Look, you can either be angry or else you can enjoy the rest of the trip. We are all safe, and that is what is important. Breaking a fishing rod is really not a big deal. You can use half a rod the remainder of the trip, or you can use mine and I’ll use half a rod. It’s just not that important.”

As I have had disappointing experiences throughout my life, my father’s reaction to this situation always comes back to me. Rather than reacting in an angry, negative way, just take the situation for what it is and move on. Do I recognize the Lord’s hand in this experience? Absolutely. As disappointing as it first was when I discovered I had broken my fishing rod, the Lord had protected us and had taught me a valuable lesson that has brought me strength throughout my life. I am indeed grateful to my father and to the Lord for this experience.

In 1857–58, President Young’s faith was put to a severe test as thousands of U.S. troops marched to Utah as an “escort” for Alfred Cumming, who was sent by the U.S. government to replace Brigham Young as governor. Some have argued that Governor Young should have immediately sought a political solution. Logically, compromise and accommodation seemed the only policy that might preserve peace.

President Young felt otherwise. The Saints’ experiences in Missouri had taught him what enemies can do when backed by military authority. Confident that if the Saints did all in their power, the Lord would prevent disaster, Governor Young declared martial law and mobilized the territorial militia to do everything short of bloodshed to slow down the advancing troops. Grasslands and supply wagons were burned, provisions and cattle confiscated, and the advance units harassed day and night. Still the troops came—until the timely arrival of heavy snows forced the army into winter camp near Fort Bridger, roughly a hundred miles from the Mormon settlement in the Salt Lake Valley. 21

That did not end the army’s advance, of course. By spring, soldiers wanted revenge for a miserable winter. Facing a renewed and perhaps even more dangerous threat, Brigham Young ordered his men to prepare to oppose the army but added the promise that “not a gun will be fired, not a man slain.” One of his commanders, a man who viewed President Young as the Lord’s mouthpiece, replied that “he knew it was true but he did not believe a word of it.” Given the circumstances, bloodshed seemed inevitable. 22

Even as troops advanced toward the city, Brigham Young and governor-designate Alfred Cumming, aided by Thomas L. Kane, the non-Mormon friend of the Saints who had risked his life to reach Utah in the winter, concluded a peaceful accord. Without incident, the army marched peacefully through a deserted Salt Lake City to an isolated encampment 30 miles away. U.S. Army Captain Jesse Gove summarized the toll of the Utah War: “killed, none; wounded, none; fooled, everybody” 23—everybody except Brigham Young, who, throughout, had an inner assurance that the encounter would not result in calamity.

A few years after I had finished college, I found myself sitting in family home evening with other young single adults in my ward. We had been invited to the home of a counselor in our stake presidency, and his wife was giving the lesson.
We were reading the account of Nephi and his brothers going to get the brass plates from Laban (see 1 Nephi 3–5). Our teacher talked about the courage and persistence Nephi exhibited. Then she looked up at our small group. Her gaze was penetrating.
“Nephi and his brothers had been given a difficult task,” she pointed out. “It took several tries, none of which was easy. But it was worth persistent effort. As a result of having the scriptures, Nephi would prevent his family from ‘dwindl[ing] and perish[ing] in unbelief’ (1 Nephi 4:13).
“There will be ‘plates’ in your own lives,” she continued. “Maybe you will have to demonstrate persistence in obtaining your education. Perhaps you will be called on to exhibit courage when you’re dating. Whatever the sacrifices, the roadblocks, the setbacks, the heartbreaks—whatever it takes to preserve your future family and keep them from dwindling in unbelief—go back and get the plates.”
It was a nice parallel, I thought. I filed it away in my memory for later recollection. At that moment I didn’t feel that my life had many roadblocks. I had finished school, I was enjoying my job, and I had been dating a great guy—a longtime friend with whom things had turned more serious—for about four months. I couldn’t have been happier with how things were going.
Several months later my relationship with Jake (name has been changed) had progressed a great deal. But Jake’s parents had divorced years earlier, and their separation still affected him deeply. He was afraid that if we got married, things would end for us as they had for his parents.
I told him I was willing to give him time—lots if he needed it—to sort things out in his mind and his heart. We talked about making decisions based on faith instead of fear. We discussed the role of agency and the fact that he didn’t need to assume that his parents’ path would automatically be his fate too. And we talked about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s ability to heal our hearts.
Our conversations seemed to help relieve his anxiety some, and our relationship continued as usual. So when he called me one Saturday afternoon to break up, it more than surprised me. He told me that he couldn’t see himself being married to me—or to anyone. He just didn’t believe in marriage anymore.
For the next hour we rehearsed what we had already discussed, but I couldn’t persuade him. He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and he hung up the phone. I sat silently on my bed, tears running down my face, absolutely stunned.
A while later my roommate knocked on the bedroom door. “Are you coming to stake conference?” she asked. I didn’t feel much like going anywhere or doing anything, but I put on a dress and got in her car.
When we arrived the first person I saw was the woman who had given that family home evening lesson months earlier. Neither of us said anything, but our eyes met, and in my mind, I heard a voice call my name and say, “Go back and get the plates.”
Somehow I knew all that the prompting implied. It wasn’t just about an ancient prophet returning to get a sacred record. It was also about me. It meant that even though Jake didn’t believe in marriage, I still could. I could hope for it and pray for it and work for it—not in a wishful, wistful way but in a believing, active, prepare-myself-daily-because-this-is-God’s-plan-for-His-children kind of way. It didn’t mean that I had to go back to Jake and be with him until I “wore him down” on the idea of marriage, and it also didn’t mean I had to start dating someone new right away. It was OK for me to have a time to grieve and heal.
But during that time I could avoid wallowing in self-pity. I could resist the temptation to be snide about Jake—or men in general. I could seek friends who believed in marriage and looked forward to it. And I could, like Nephi, trust in a loving Heavenly Father who gives no commandment—whether it’s obtaining ancient scriptural records or marrying and creating families—without preparing a way for us to accomplish it.
I’m still in the “accomplishing”—not the “accomplished”—stage. I’m not yet married, but I feel grateful for the good dating experiences I’ve had—experiences made richer by an improved understanding of the role persistence plays in righteous goals.
I also feel comforted by and confident in knowing what Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught about Nephi’s pattern of perseverance. He said:
“After two unsuccessful attempts, Nephi remained confident. He crept into the city toward the house of Laban without all the answers. He observed, ‘I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do,’ significantly adding, ‘Nevertheless I went forth.’ (1 Ne. 4:6–7; italics added.)
“Nephi was willing to try time and again, using his best efforts. He expressed faith that he would be helped. He refused to be discouraged. But because he acted, had confidence in the Lord, was obedient, and properly used his agency, he received guidance. He was inspired step after step to success, and in his mother’s words was ‘given … power [to] accomplish the thing which the Lord hath commanded.’ (1 Ne. 5:8; italics added.)”1
This principle of persistence is not limited to the dating realm, of course. It also applies to those who are chronically ill and aren’t sure they can cheerfully face another pain-filled day; to a couple who are striving to work through challenges in their marriage; to parents who pray for years for a child who has gone astray; to a teenager who faces antagonism at school because of her beliefs; to missionaries who have worked for days without teaching a lesson. In some way all of us have been commanded to go back and get the plates.
And like Nephi, we can. With courage, persistence, and faith, we can accomplish all things that the Lord has commanded us.