Gospel Story Finder

First, in a basketball game when the outcome was in doubt, the coach sent me onto the playing floor right after the second half began. I took an in-bounds pass, dribbled the ball toward the key, and let the shot fly. Just as the ball left my fingertips, I realized why the opposing guards did not attempt to stop my drive: I was shooting for the wrong basket! I offered a silent prayer: “Please, Father, don’t let that ball go in.” The ball rimmed the hoop and fell out.

From the bleachers came the call: “We want Monson, we want Monson, we want Monson—out!” The coach obliged.

I never was a basketball star. What timing—to be a freshman at the University of Utah when All-Americans Arnie Ferrin and Vern Gardner dominated the boards.

I fared much better at fast-pitch softball. My most memorable experience in softball was a thirteen-inning game I pitched in Salt Lake City on a hot Memorial Day. The game was scheduled for just seven innings, but the tied score could not be broken. In the last of the thirteenth, with two men out and a runner on third, the batter hit a high pop fly to left field. The catch was certain, I thought. And yet the ball fell through the hands of the left fielder. For thirty-eight years I have teased my friend who dropped the ball. I have promised myself I will never do so again. I’m not even going to mention his name. After all, he, too, remembers. It was only a game.

On another occasion, while pitching a game at Pioneer Park, I was absolutely stunned to see that the other team had placed a one-armed batter at the plate. Now how does a pitcher deliver the pitch to such an opponent? I tossed a gentle lob over the plate. To my amazement, the batter knocked a single, right over the second baseman’s head. My temper flared. The next batter was a returned missionary from Mexico, Homer Proctor, six foot two and about 210 pounds. I pitched him fast, high, and inside. On the first pitch, he lifted the ball right out of the park for a home run. I shall ever remember the smile of that one-armed runner, Bernell Hales, as he passed second and third and gleefully streaked for home. I felt like crying, but I broke out laughing, as did each player on both sides. We had a wonderful time.

Cameron used another student’s question about his beliefs as an opportunity to gain a sure testimony for himself. In his freshman year someone asked how he could believe that Joseph Smith really saw what he claimed to have seen. Cameron studied the history of the Church and began reading the scriptures every night. He explains what happened a little while later when that student asked him the same question again:

“He said, ‘Don’t you think that’s silly that something like that happened so close to the present time?’ And I said, ‘No, I don’t think it’s silly. I think it’s great.’ Later on, he told me that he ended up having more respect for me and other LDS students because of that.”

I broke my foot in gym one year because of envy. It was during a basketball practice on an outdoor court. I tried to make Jenny Jaimeson’s shoe come off her heel just as she directed a beautiful shot toward the basket. She jumped away too quickly, and I slipped off balance and fell on the concrete. Something snapped as I went down.
The bell rang, and Jenny disappeared to her next class. I limped to the office to call my mom. X-rays confirmed a broken foot. I learned in a painful, very embarrassing way that we can’t succeed by trying to hold others back.
I had been trying to hold Jenny back so I could somehow reach her level. Not only did she play basketball well, but she swam on the swim team and was good at jazz dance. She glowed. She sported the kind of complexion that is tan all year long. She was always flashing a fabulous smile. Everyone liked Jenny.
The next day I arrived at school with a cast and crutches, hoping to maneuver my way down the hall without being too noticeable. Jenny saw me at my locker and hurried over. If she had any idea how the accident happened, she never let on.
“Oh, wow. Are you okay? Can I carry your books?” she asked.
It was impossible for me not to like Jenny too. That was the maddening part. She was so likable.
I didn’t overcome my envy overnight, but six weeks hobbling around on crutches and trying to coordinate my wardrobe with plaster of paris helped me reflect—on Jenny and on me. She worked hard at what she liked to do and made the most of her talents. When I began to unearth my own talents, my life began to change. I practiced the cello because I loved playing. I showed up for track (once the cast was gone, of course), wrote poetry, and volunteered with a friend at the community hospital. I invited nonmember friends to Young Women.
I haven’t seen Jenny since we graduated, but I’m sure she’s accomplished great things. Envy, I’ve learned, is a way of giving up. It definitely keeps you down! Everyone has unique talents, challenges, and opportunities. We make our own happiness and success through effort and hard work.

About one week before the January 1993 issue came out, I was very depressed and discouraged. I didn’t like myself and I felt as if the Lord didn’t even know I existed. When the New Era arrived, I sat down to read it. As I reached the end, there was the article “Like Yourself.” It was just what I needed. I realized that Heavenly Father does know I’m here and he loves me very much. Thank you for all the wonderful articles.
Natasha OlenikKailua, Hawaii

I was invited to attend the Strengthening Families Conference 2023, at Abuja, Nigeria by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I got the invitation, I was both skeptical and apprehensive. What has the Anglican Church got to do with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, let along attend their conference for three days? The one who invited me encouraged, persuaded, and pleaded with me to attend.
I finally attended with one eye closed and the other opened: very apprehensive and nervous.
I must confess that I was parochial in my thinking and outlook. The introductory address knocked me down as scales fell off my eyes to see and reason well with respect to my own marriage. It was evidently clear from the conference that marital issues do not have denominational and religious colors. The principles for a good marriage are almost the same in all places.
Interestingly, the chairman for the conference was a Muslim, with speakers from various religious and denominational backgrounds and professions.
Like the confession of the Queen of Sheba when she visited King Solomon, “I believed not the words, until I came, and mine eyes had seen it: and, behold, the half was not told me” (1 Kings 10:7). It was my confession, too!
I thank God for the opportunity I had to be part of the 2023 Strengthening Families Conference. I recommend the program to one and all.

Like Deborah, Francisca puts her trust in the Lord.
Francisca is from Ghana. She joined the Church after she and her twin brother were adopted by a family in Idaho. She loves going to youth activities, but sometimes Francisca finds herself asking God if she truly belongs.
“I struggle to find my place in this world,” Francisca says. “But when I need help most, Jesus Christ is there to help me find my way. Jesus Christ has helped me through my struggles and has helped me find peace and comfort in my life. I know this Church is true, and I love my Savior who died for us.”
Both Deborah and Francisca are examples of steadfast faith in Jesus Christ.

Related to this, I remember a supernal learning experience when in my role as university president I was offended and angered by a person who seemed to cultivate a knack for offending people. “This was the last straw,” I said to myself, “he can’t get away with this.” In my so-called justified indignation, I crafted a stinging reprimand, which I practiced in my mind, and made an appointment to see the man in his office. Fortunately, I knelt down in my office just before the fateful appointment and pleaded for the Lord’s spirit to be with me as I delivered my prepared speech. The prayer was answered in a way I wasn’t expecting. Shortly, I faced my adversary, but when I opened my mouth, totally different words came out from the ones I had practiced - words of apology for my feelings toward him, words of love and appreciation for his contribution to the University, words that asked forgiveness of my own attitude, words that requested a respectful conversation in working out his issues. The man was as shocked, I believe, as I was by these words for he too was expecting a tongue lashing. So instead of an angry confrontation and perhaps a permanent breach in our personal and professional relationship, there were tears of reconciliation and an affirmation of friendship and cooperation. In the months that followed this man performed a major service that had immediate ramifications for good in strengthening the University, something that probably could not have happened if the Lord had not rescued me from destroying a relationship and in this case complicating the progress of the University.

Almost four decades ago, I was a newly ­commissioned lieutenant in the United States Army assigned to the U.S. Army Ranger School for qualification in what since has become known as “special operations”—long-range reconnaissance and combat patrols, commando raids, and elite infantry tactics. Several weeks of our training took place in the swamplands of Eglin Air Force Base in the western panhandle of Florida. Much of our training was at night in the swamps. I described that experience in an Ensign article as follows:
The swamp was pitch-black. Inky water, cold in the early spring, crept above our waists to our chests, bringing an incessant shiver. Mangrove trees scratched our faces and hands and pulled at our clothing, and submerged logs seemed to throw themselves in our path. An occasional slough opened under our feet, and suddenly we would be over our heads in the fetid water. Sodden clothing and equipment and heavy weapons seemed to weigh a ton, pulling us down into the murky bog.
From somewhere deep in the swamp an alligator bellowed. Deadly water moccasins silently slithered off nearby tree stumps into the water. The blackness of the night and the heaviness of the pungent, stagnant air was like a suffocating blanket. But [we] moved steadily and surely toward our destination, our course clearly pointed by a diminutive device worth at most a few dollars in the marketplace but of immeasurable value to soldiers swallowed up in an alien wilderness—a lensatic compass. . . .
. . . Less than a year later I would find myself leading a platoon of infantry in the jungles and rice paddies of Southeast Asia. My experience in Vietnam would attest that of all the skills taught in Ranger School none was more important than the ability to read—and the confidence to follow—that simple little gadget, the compass. Even on the darkest night its luminous dial reliably pointed the route. No matter how hedged up the way, no matter how dangerous and foreboding the surroundings, the compass faithfully led to safety the soldier wise enough to follow its bearings. [Lance B. Wickman, “Of Compasses and Covenants,” Ensign, June 1996, 37–38]

After a particularly hard day, I asked my husband to give me a blessing. During the blessing I was reminded that I am a daughter of God, that He is aware of me and my needs, and that my son is a son of God. Brad was God’s son first, and my husband and I have a partnership with God in Brad’s behalf. I realized that I had not been using all the tools that the partnership provides for me. My husband and I had researched and discovered many resources to help us, but we forgot the most significant one: prayer.
I began to pray daily about how I could help Brad. When he was having an emotional meltdown, I would say a quick prayer for inspiration before approaching him. As I relied on God for my support and for inspiration for my son, I got a glimpse of what I could be and what I could do for him. I strived to follow Alma’s words: “And this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God” (Alma 29:9).
The changes were immediate. I was flooded with ideas and ways to help Brad. I used family home evening as a tool and prayed for ideas about what to teach. I also read the scriptures with more intent and recognized the great parenting advice they contain. I began to be filled with hope and comfort.
As I continued to put into practice the idea that my husband and I are partners with God in parenting our children and using the tools that He has given us, I began to rely on God more and more. I realized that my knowledge of parenting could only go so far, but a loving Heavenly Father, who knows all things and loves my son more than I do, could help me become a better and stronger mother. And though I still sometimes falter, I know where to look for help. I understand now that some trials may not have a time limit on them, but if I keep my eye on eternity, God will help me.

Not very long ago, I was here at Ricks College (as BYU-I was known then) doing many of the same things you are doing: taking classes, working a job to hopefully have enough money to buy food and pay tuition, living outside my parent’s house for the first time, etc.
During this time in my life, I was often asked WHAT I wanted to be, and I had 2 answers:
Over the next few years, I worked toward those goals. But as time went on, the WHAT changed. One of these became better than I originally planned.
A mentor asked me why I wasn’t going to grad school so I could come back to teach at Ricks. That had never occurred to me until Dr. Cullen suggested it.
I looked into different opportunities, did a lot of praying, and decided to change my educational goals. I then worked hard for a few more years, earned a master’s degree, and was hired as a faculty member at Ricks College—which, a few months later, President Gordon B. Hinckley announced would transition to BYU-Idaho. And I’m still here.
The other goal (to become a wife and mother) hasn’t happened for me. I prayed about it, did what I could to meet worthy men, went on dates (some amazing and some not so fun). I watched roommates, friends, younger siblings, cousins, and others be married and sealed in the temple.
I wondered what I was doing wrong. Was I not righteous enough, was I not trying hard enough, was I too picky, was I not pretty enough, was I not, was I not, was I not . . . .
This brought me to one of the lowest points in my life and I started doubting most of the decisions I had ever made. I prayed a desperate prayer.
The response I received was unexpected. Heavenly Father told me to stop focusing on whether I was married or not, that He would take that worry away from me, and that I should focus on the other opportunities He was providing for me.
This answer to my prayer changed my life. Instead of worrying about WHAT I was or was not, I started focusing on WHO Heavenly Father wanted and needed me to be as His child and a member of His kingdom.

My father could remember the very day, even the very hour, that his family—father, mother, and four children—left the Church, many never to return again in this life. He was 13 years old, a deacon, and in those days families attended Sunday School in the morning and then sacrament meeting in the afternoon. On a beautiful spring day, after returning home from Sunday morning worship services and having a midday family meal together, his mother turned to his father and asked simply, “Well, dear, do you think we should go to sacrament meeting this afternoon, or should we take the family for a ride in the country?”
The idea that there was an option to sacrament meeting had never occurred to my father, but he and his three teenage siblings all sat up and paid careful attention. That Sunday afternoon ride in the country was probably an enjoyable family activity, but that small decision became the start of a new direction which ultimately led his family away from the Church with its safety, security, and blessings and onto a different path.

Dear John Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on the Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listened and kept your book and read it.
Then a bad time came to my family. My bakery burned down. Our sick baby got sicker. The doctors tried hard, but poor baby Sina died.
My wife said God loves Sina. God loves us. She said He cares. I became very angry. I yelled, ‘If He loves us, why did the bakery burn? Why did Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I could not sleep. I sat in the darkness. The book was by my chair. I wanted to burn the book. I picked it up. I saw your picture and read your testimony. Then I read and read and read the book. I read again what you wrote. The Spirit told me I have found the truth. I believed. I woke my wife. We cried and prayed. I prayed that God would forgive my anger. Peace has come to my soul.
All of our family will be baptized on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending the Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,Tuilolo Tuiaaga

It’s tough making the right choices when you’re 15 years old. But when your decisions affect the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, the pressure gets a little greater. That was the situation facing Amy Arreátegui Pozo when she was selected from 123 students to be the mayor of Trujillo, Peru, the third largest city in the country. Mayor for a day, that is.
When Amy was a Mia Maid in the Mousserat Ward, Trujillo Perú Laureles Stake, she attended a secondary school called the Academy of Engineering. “One of my goals,” says Amy, “was to become the student mayor [like a student-body president] from this school, and I did. That was my dream. My next goal was to win the ‘Mayor for a Day’ contest, and here I am. I finally made it. What helped me win was my confidence in myself.”
Of course, showing that she had a lot of great ideas about improving schools and neighborhoods in the city also helped. Coming up with these ideas for the contest was a lot of work, but deciding which ones to include was pretty easy. To decide, Amy used a method she’s come to depend on—a method that has given her the confidence she talks about. It’s the process of asking and receiving answers through prayer.
“Always go to Heavenly Father when you’re making a decision, and you will always make the right choice,” Amy says. That’s one reason she could handle the responsibility so well when the city of Trujillo issued the resolution recognizing her as “mayor for a day.” The city council acted to accept her activities during her 24 hours as mayor. All contracts, decisions, and authorizations would be legally binding.

Elder Perry: We should never forget the value of partaking of the sacrament. I recall another experience I had in the military. I was part of a group that was able to stay together for a time. We held sacrament meeting every Sunday I was in the service. Sometimes the water came from a canteen cup and the bread was a biscuit from our K rations, but we partook of the sacrament. Friends who were separated from us, who did not have the opportunity to take the sacrament for a long time, seemed to be not as sure in their faith because of it.

In my own experience, I had been active in attending church growing up and had a few experiences where the Spirit had touched my heart, and I was trying to do the right things. I guess you could say I was a work in progress. (I hope I still am a work in progress now.) As a young man, a new freshman at BYU in Provo, serving a mission was not in my plan. At the time, I didn’t know why someone would choose to serve a mission. I didn’t feel like I knew enough about the gospel to teach it to others. During my freshman year at BYU, I attended the two required religion classes for The Book of Mormon. During the classes, I read The Book of Mormon, all the way through, for the first time in my life. As I read, I prayed that I might know if The Book of Mormon was truly the word of God. I received clear answers to my prayers as the Spirit touched my heart and confirmed that The Book of Mormon is true. Knowing it was true stirred other feelings in my heart. I knew I needed to repent of my sins. As I read about Alma’s experience as he repented, it gave me hope that I could have my burdens lifted also.

As I felt that joy that Alma described, I now had a reason to serve a mission. I wanted to help others feel that same joy. After these experiences, my plan changed to include a mission. I am grateful for a kind, loving, patient Heavenly Father. I testify that He will meet us wherever we are. His arms are extended out to us today; He invites us back into His presence. He writes a better script that we do.

I wasn’t part of the popular crowd at my high school, so my circle of friends was smaller than most. I was so shy that I kept to myself most of the time. I was, as the saying goes, “painfully shy.” Indeed, I was so shy it hurt.
One day as I sat down at my desk in history class, another shy girl sat down behind me. We had spoken to each other prior to this, I’m sure, but I didn’t really know her.
As she set her books on top of her desk, her notebook crashed to the floor beside me. I turned to pick it up and noticed the words Seminary—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the cover. I reached down and retrieved the binder. As I handed it to her, I timidly said, “Oh, you go to church on Saturday?”
Her face displayed confusion at the question. “No, why?”
I pointed to the notebook cover. “It says, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Doesn’t that mean you go to church on the last day of the week?”
She smiled and giggled slightly. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “What do you know about the Mormon Church?”
I answered quite honestly, “Not very much.”
She inhaled deeply again and asked, “Would you like to know more?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied without hesitation.
At that instant her lower jaw must have hit the floor. Her eyes sparkled, and she looked visibly relieved. I found out her name was Yvonne Anderson, and we became friends. Before long we had set a date for me to meet with the missionaries and receive the first discussion. And when I was baptized, Yvonne was there.
I know that notebook did not fall on the floor by accident. And silly as my first question must have sounded, it was golden: it opened up a way for one shy girl to say to another, “Would you like to know more?”
That day in history class, an instant bond was formed. Because of two golden questions, two shy girls became eternal friends.

As I mentioned, during my early years we had only one ward in Pleasant View, and all but a couple of families in town were ward members. I really didn’t know that any other churches existed, and later in my life it came as a bit of a shock to me to learn that everyone did not belong to the church that I belonged to. I can’t say that I had a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel because I really hadn’t thought about it much. My parents were good, kind, and loving parents, and I trusted them and their judgment.

Then it happened. One day during a deacons quorum meeting our advisor decided that we would have a testimony meeting; it may have been that he had not gotten around to preparing a lesson. It wasn’t that I hadn’t shared my testimony before; in fact, I was one of those kids who thought that bearing testimony was what one was supposed to do at every testimony meeting. But it wasn’t the cool thing to do at age 12.

I suppose that we had about eight or 10 deacons in our quorum, and slowly (although not slow enough, it seemed to me) one boy after another stood to share his testimony. I was almost panicky because I just didn’t know what I would say. I hoped that maybe the time would run out and I wouldn’t feel obligated to stand, but it did not; a small group of 10 deacons sharing their testimonies doesn’t take more than about 10 minutes, so plenty of time still remained when all of the other boys had finished standing and sharing their testimonies. I stood awkwardly and recited the same basic things most of the others had said: “I love my mom and dad. I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

The thing was done, but for the first time in my life I realized that it was a lie. The only thing I had said that I knew to be true was that I loved my mom and dad. I really did not know if the Church was true or if Joseph Smith was a prophet, but I knew then that I had to find out. I had to know for myself.

I don’t remember exactly when I finally asked—whether it was that day or the next week or the next month—but I do remember that one night, when my two brothers who shared a room with me were sleeping, I knelt by my bed and pleaded with my Father in Heaven to forgive me for my weaknesses and to let me know if this church that I belonged to was truly His church. I had never prayed with such intent before, and I am not sure I have ever prayed with such fervor since. I did not ask for a vision or visitation; I really only wanted to know that someone was there. I was only about 12 or 13 years old, and yet I can still feel to this day the power of the spiritual witness that came to me that night confirming that this was indeed the Church of Jesus Christ and that my Father in Heaven knew me and loved me. The test had worked, just as the scriptures promised.

One bright sunny day it just happened that a boy named Joe was going to visit his granny. His granny lived in a little village, and Joe lived on a farm. So Joe said, “I’ll cut across the big field and save time going to Granny’s.”
He crawled under a fence and was halfway through the field when it just happened that a whirlwind came blustering along. Joe saw it whirling, and he tried to run out of its way. But in no time the wind was twisting all about him. And when it twirled away, it dropped a great big hat on top of Joe’s head.
“What a hat!” Joe exclaimed. “A regular ten-gallon cowboy hat!”
Joe looked all about. Nobody was near. “It belongs to somebody,” he said, “but I guess the wind picked it up and just happened to drop it here for me.” And Joe went along wearing the big hat that fit down over his eyes.
When Joe left the field and started walking along the lane, he heard a woman cry out, “Stop! Have you seen my small chick by the road? It got away, and I’m trying to catch it. But every time I get close to it, off that chick goes!”
Joe pushed back his hat and, sure enough, he could see a little yellow chick in the weeds. “I’ll get him,” Joe called. He pulled off the hat, crept forward a step or two, and suddenly dropped the hat right over the chick.
“I caught him!” Joe cried. “It’s lucky I just happen to have this hat.” Then he gave the chick to the woman and went on his way.
In just a little while he came upon a man and a horse. They were standing beside a water tap that dripped into a broken watering trough. “Ah me!” the man sighed when he saw Joe. “Here I am with a thirsty horse, a water tap, and a broken trough. There’s no way to catch enough water for my horse to drink.”
Joe said, “I think I know a way!” And he pulled off his hat and held it upside down under the tap. Soon there was enough water in the hat for the horse to drink.
“A big felt cowboy hat makes a good bucket,” Joe explained. “It’s lucky I just happened to have one.”
Later on it just happened that Joe’s hat was used to help a woman carry some apples from a torn paper sack into her house.
And it just happened that Joe also had the big hat handy when he passed a house on the lane. He looked up as he passed and saw a little girl standing at an open window with one of her mother’s best cups in her hand. She called hello to Joe. And when she waved to him, down fell the cup.
But Joe was quicker than the falling cup. He grabbed his hat and caught the cup. “Oh, thank you!” the girl’s mother said when he took the cup to the door and gave it to her. “I’m so glad you just happened to come along.”
“This is a good hat,” Joe said to himself as he walked along. “I wonder who was wearing it before the wind happened to come along.”
By now Joe was close to his granny’s house. He would be there after he crossed the village park. Joe walked along the path looking at the people sitting on the benches. Behind one bench was a dog Joe just happened to know. Joe went across the grass to pat the dog.
A big man sitting on the bench had a newspaper folded into a paper hat that he had placed on his head. Joe heard the man say, “That was the worst whirlwind I have ever seen. It swished about and twisted my clothes and grabbed—”
“Your hat!” shouted Joe, as he ran around in front of the bench.
“Well! Well! How did you happen to get it?” asked the man.
Joe told the man how the hat had come to him. The man reached in his pocket and handed Joe two tickets. “I just happen to have these,” the big man explained. “They’re two tickets to our Wild West Show, and you can use them this afternoon. I’m a performer in the show and need my hat today. I’m certainly glad to get it back! Thanks.”
So that afternoon Joe and his granny went to the Wild West Show. And when it was over, Joe said, “That’s the best Wild West Show I have ever seen. I’m so glad that I just happened to be right where the whirlwind just happened to drop that hat!”

Your choice of music can also affect your ability to accomplish tasks or to learn. Two researchers explored this relationship by studying the effects of music and rhythm on the nervous system of mice. For eight weeks, one group of mice constantly listened to Strauss waltzes (highly organized and orderly music), while a second heard disharmonious sounds in the form of continuous drumbeats. A third group was raised in silence.

After eight weeks, the mice were placed in a maze to find food. The mice in the second group wandered off with no sense of direction—“a clear indication they were having trouble learning”—and took much longer to find the food than they had at the beginning of the study. The mice exposed “to discordant sounds not only developed difficulties in learning and memory, … but they also incurred structural changes in their brain cells.” The researchers’ diagnosis is very interesting: “We believe that the mice were trying to compensate for this constant bombardment of disharmonic noise. … They were struggling against the chaos.”5

Whenever I have been angry over the years with my wife, Carolyn, I kneel and pray for this good woman. She is such a kind and loving person that my anger is usually my own fault. Whatever the cause, my angry feelings are turned to increased love by sincere prayer.

On Sunday afternoon Carolyn saw me editing my remarks and asked if she could read them. She offered some insightful suggestions. Later that night, just as we were drifting off to sleep, she whispered to me, “I heard you share your experience about praying for your enemies when you taught our Jerusalem students during the Mount of the Beatitudes field trip. Since then, whenever I have been angry at you, I have prayed for you. It has worked every time.”

I did not know how to respond. I did not know whether to be miffed that she had felt I’d done things that justified her anger or to be happy that she had discovered the same results that I had in applying the Savior’s words. If I were miffed at her, I would have had to get out of bed and pray for her, and since I was very tired, I decided to just go to sleep a happy man. It should be no great surprise that good things come from following the teachings of the Master.