Gospel Story Finder

This story took place in Guatemala.
Alejandra sighed in relief. She had just finished singing her solo in the music room for her teacher. All her weeks of practice had been worth it! She didn’t even struggle with the tricky part.
“What a beautiful voice!” Ms. Pérez, the school music teacher, stood and clapped. “You can move on to the next round in the talent contest.”
Alejandra was thrilled! In this contest, students from several schools would sing, dance, or play an instrument to compete and win prizes. Ms. Pérez was the judge who chose who got to stay in the contest. And now Alejandra had passed to the next round!
“You need to pass two more rounds of auditions,” Ms. Pérez said. “If you do, you can enter the final contest. It’s on a Sunday later this month.”
Alejandra’s joy disappeared as quickly as it came. She felt like there was a heavy weight in her stomach.
She knew Sunday was a day to go to church and learn about Jesus Christ. It was a day to take the sacrament. It was a day to rest and be with family.
“Sunday?” she asked. “I don’t know if I can.”
“If you can’t be there for the last day, then you can’t be in the contest. I know you would do well if you entered, but it’s your choice. Think about it over the weekend and let me know on Monday.”
The next day, Alejandra kept thinking about what to do. She always went to church with her family on Sunday. But did she really have to be there every week? It wasn’t that bad if she missed church just once, was it?
At bedtime she talked to Papá about what she should do. “Should I sing in the contest or go to church?” she asked.
“The Sabbath is a day we give to God.” Papá pulled her blanket up to her chin and sat next to her on the bed. “We have six days for ourselves. God asks for only one day. But I can’t make this choice for you.”
The next day at church, Alejandra and all her Primary friends got to sing “A Child’s Prayer” in front of the whole ward. They had been working on this song for a long time!
Alejandra sang with her whole heart. The music made her forget about the hard decision she had to make tomorrow. When they finished the song, she proudly walked back to sit with her family.
Mamá gave her a hug. “You sang beautifully!”
“We’re so proud of you,” Papá said. “Sharing your talent showed your testimony and faith in God.”
Alejandra was happy to use her talents to sing Primary songs. She knew it made her family happy too.
Then Alejandra thought of something. If today had been the contest, she would have missed the chance to sing about Heavenly Father. What would she miss if she didn’t come to church on the contest day? She wouldn’t be able to sing her testimony in Primary with her friends. And she would miss the sacrament.
On Monday, Alejandra knew what she had to do. She went to the music room to talk to her teacher.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” she said. “But I don’t want to be in the talent contest if I have to do it on Sunday.”
Ms. Pérez put down the sheet music she was looking at and frowned. “Are you sure you want to miss out on the contest?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Alejandra was proud of her decision. It was hard to make, but she knew it was the right choice. “I’ll miss something even more important if I go.”
Illustration by Janelle Anderson

Ann was always in a hurry. Wherever she went, she ran. But Ann didn’t always watch where she was going. Sometimes she tripped and bumped into things.
“Look out!” said her big sister.
“Look out!” said her big brother.
“Look out!” said her mother and father.
One day Ann ran to the kitchen. “The apples are ripe on our apple tree!” she shouted.
“Yes,” said Mother. “I was just thinking about making an apple pie.”
“I can help,” said Ann. “I can pick some apples.”
“Good,” said Mother.
Ann ran to the door.
“Don’t forget this,” said Mother, handing her a bucket.
Ann raced into the yard, climbed the tree, and hung her bucket on a branch. Just picking the big red apples made her mouth water.
“Here they are, Mom,” said Ann, rushing into the house. “I’ll wash them for you too.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mother said. “That would really help.”
Mother made one big pie for the family and one little pie for Grandma.
“I’ll take Grandma her pie,” said Ann after the pies were baked and cooled.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mother replied. “But please, Ann, walk slowly and watch where you’re going.”
Ann was so excited that she could hardly wait to surprise her grandmother. She started walking slowly, but soon she was running up the street and around the corner. Faster and faster Ann ran, until—squish—down she went and down went the pie.
The pie was a mess and so was Ann! She had pie on her face and pie in her hair. Worst of all, there was pie all over the ground.
Ann tried to scoop up the pie and put it back into the pan, but it didn’t look like pie anymore. It looked awful!
Maybe Mom can fix it, she thought, starting back toward home. This time she walked slowly, very carefully holding what was left of the poor, squashed pie.
“Oops!” cried her big sister when she saw Ann coming down the street.
“Oops!” shouted her big brother as Ann came up the sidewalk.
“Oops, indeed!” said Mother. The pie went into the garbage, and Ann went into the bathtub.
When Ann was all cleaned up, she ran to the kitchen and stared at the big pie that was left. She was really sorry that she had ruined Grandma’s surprise pie. “Mom, could I give Grandma my piece of pie?” she asked.
Mother smiled and said, “That’s very thoughtful, dear.” She cut an extra large piece of pie, put it on a plate, covered it with foil, and handed it to Ann, saying, “Now, Ann, you must learn that there is a time to walk and a time to run.”
“This is a time to walk—I’ll remember,” Ann promised.
Up the street and around the corner she walked. “Surprise!” called Ann when Grandma opened the door. “Surprise, surprise!”
“Mmmm, that looks good,” Grandma said as she took off the cover and put the piece of pie on the table.
Ann told Grandma the sad story about her little pie. “There was pie in my hair and pie on my nose and pie on the ground and pie on my clothes.”
Grandma laughed. “Goodness, you just made a rhyme. Now, this is such a large piece of pie, maybe you can help me eat it.”
Ann smiled. “I’d like that.”
They each had a glass of milk and half of the large piece of pie. It was delicious.
When Ann was ready to leave, Grandma told her, “Be sure to tell your mother that I loved the surprise.”
“Thank you, Grandma, for sharing your pie with me,” said Ann.
“Everything is better when we share,” Grandma said.
Ann hugged Grandma and said, “It really is, Grandma.”

As Wilford Woodruff traveled west with the advance company, he often reflected on its sacred mission. “It should be understood,” he wrote in his journal, “that we are piloting a road for the house of Israel to travel in for many years to come.”17
One night, he dreamed that the company arrived at the new gathering place. As he gazed upon the land, a glorious temple appeared before him. It appeared to be built of white and blue stone. Turning to some men standing near him in the dream, he asked if they could see it. They said they did not, but that did not diminish the joy Wilford felt in beholding it.18

One of the defining moments in my life happened for me at the age of 10 when I spent two weeks learning Catholic doctrine at the Loreto Roman Catholic Mission, about 20 miles (32 km) away from my rural home in Silobela, Zimbabwe. I have come to know and love the Savior Jesus Christ and to look up to the Lord through these early lessons and impressions.
While I was in the Catholic chapel, I saw paintings with scenes from the Savior’s life pasted on the wall: scenes of Jesus Christ’s birth, teaching in the temple, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, carrying the cross to Calvary, being crucified at Golgotha, and His Resurrection. It really made me feel sad to see those nails and thorns. By the time I got to the painting of the Crucifixion, my eyes were filled with tears. And each time I would cry and say, “Hey, He really went through a lot, just for me.”
During the confirmation ceremony, one of the priests looked into my eyes and said, “You are the light of the world” (see Matthew 5:14). Then, pointing to a burning candle, he quoted the Savior’s words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
As I learned more about Jesus, I began to want to be of service to others. For example, we would have to fetch our water five miles (8 km) away from our village. Often, women in the village, including my mother, would carry a 20-liter container on their heads filled with water. After my experience at the Catholic seminary, I often pushed a 200-liter (about 50 gallons) container of water to help my mother, and I also helped two other widows who were our neighbors. I remembered the good feeling I felt each time I helped others.
These experiences helped develop my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and indirectly prepared me to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was 22 years old.

Dear Brother and Sister Heath,
You do not know who I am, yet I am deeply indebted to you. Because you followed President Benson’s counsel to “flood the earth with the Book of Mormon,” my life has been changed forever. You see, your testimony is on the inside cover of the Book of Mormon given to me by two missionaries in August 1988. You wrote, “It will touch your life as nothing has before.” How little did I realize on that August day just how true those words would become for me. I want to share my story with you.
My name is Randi Spurling and I was raised an active member of my church. However, gradually I fell away from my beliefs. When my husband deserted our family in February 1988, he took all the money and left me with many bills. The only solace I found was in attending church every week. I felt I needed the church, but just attending the meetings once a week wasn’t spiritually fulfilling.
One evening during this turbulent time in my life, I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find two clean-cut young men in crisp white shirts, and dark suits. They said they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked if they might speak with me. Since my good friend and neighbor, Lorrie, was a Mormon, I decided to listen to them, if only to help me better understand Lorrie’s beliefs.
As I watched those two young men, I recalled a conversation I had had with Lorrie a few months earlier. She had asked me if I had ever considered getting married again. I had emphatically said, “No!” Because I knew that if I ever decided to remarry, I would want a man who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t cheat on his wife, who went to church, was honest, didn’t swear and who loved his family more than material goods. “Men like that just don’t exist,” I told her. “I could be looking forever.” Lorrie smiled and explained that most of the men she knew were just like that. I had only laughed.
Now, I stood looking at those two missionaries and I was curious. So, I asked them to return.
A few days later Elder Walker and Elder McAllister presented the first missionary discussion to me and it went wonderfully. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. Brother and Sister Heath, that Book of Mormon contained your testimony and your photograph. I was very touched by your message.
On the missionaries’ second visit, I had a problem accepting the missionary discussion. They seemed to be challenging all of my religious beliefs. For example, they asked me how I felt about baptism. I told them I had already been baptized. When they explained that it was necessary to be baptized by immersion, I thought they were crazy. We discussed the subject for what seemed like an eternity. Then Elder Walker quietly asked if I would kneel with them and pray. I had never pictured any man on his knees praying, especially praying in my behalf. We knelt and prayed together.
Pondering on what the missionaries had told me, I became emotionally upset. To believe in their message would mean my life would have to be changed—and I didn’t want to change. I liked my life as it was.
At that moment I decided I would never again open that Mormon “book” and I would never again allow the missionaries into my home. But, that night before going to bed, I succumbed to the Spirit, opened the Book of Mormon and read until I could no longer keep my eyes open.
As I drifted off to sleep, I saw myself wandering, lost in total darkness. I kept clawing at my eyes, because I felt as if they were blinded by sand. If only I could find a way to clear them. I was overjoyed to find a pool of clear water. I entered the water and submerged myself so that I could fully wash the sand away. As I came out of the water, I was surrounded by the most radiant light. At last I could see clearly! How happy I felt!
As I awoke, I felt a sudden fear. The missionaries were right! Now what was I going to do? How could I admit to them that now I believed baptism by immersion was necessary? I resolved not to tell the missionaries of my experience, but as we met for the next discussion, the Spirit took control and excitedly I described my dream to them.
We continued with the discussions and I hungered for the knowledge that the Book of Mormon contained. Many, many nights I read until I was exhausted. On two occasions I simply held the book and wept, feeling unworthy to be allowed to read such precious truths. I knew that what I read was true, but I still could not make the commitment to change my life. Yet, a loving Heavenly Father continued to provide the opportunity for me to learn more.
For example, I attended church meetings and activities with Lorrie; listened to the words of the prophet during a broadcast of the annual General Women’s Meeting; attended a fireside presentation on the Doctrine and Covenants; visited Relief Society homemaking meetings; and became so familiar with the Book of Mormon that I began to recognize quotations from it when they were used in talks or magazine articles.
I was beginning to make friends with many of the people I met at Church meetings and activities and I developed a special relationship with the missionaries. But, I was scared. I was afraid to let go of my “old” life. I told myself I had to break away from these people now before I became any more involved with them and their beliefs.
When the sixth and last discussion was over, I felt so relieved. Now I could just go on with my life and not have to think about things that I did not want to worry about. But I underestimated the missionaries and the members. These were people who lived the principles of their religion day after day. What was their secret?
I found the answer in November when I was invited to a baptism. Nothing was really out of the ordinary until the moment Elder McAllister entered the font to baptize a young man. I could not stop the tears. I was so touched by the Spirit that I had no doubt in my mind which church I needed to belong to.
Two weeks later the missionaries invited me to a Christmas program on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. As I watched and listened I realized that I couldn’t live the rest of my life as a non-Mormon who reads the Book of Mormon believing it to be the word of God, or be a non-member believing that Latter-day Saints led the most Christ-like lives of anyone I knew. As I looked around me, a still, small voice said, “These are your people. Go to them.”
The next day I contacted the missionaries. I told them I needed to set a date for my baptism. I wish I would have been able to record the joy I heard in their voices. I hope to remember it forever.
I was baptized 11 December 1988.
I am grateful to the missionaries, to Church members I met, and to you, Brother and Sister Heath, for sharing your testimony and providing me, a stranger, with the precious Book of Mormon. President Ezra Taft Benson said, “I have a vision of flooding the earth with the Book of Mormon.” Thank you for sending the flood my way. It didn’t drown me, it buoyed me up. I am more alive now than I have ever been before.
Your sister in Christ’s Church,Randi Spurling

The bane of my first-grade teacher’s life was my friend Louie. He had what psychologists today might call some kind of an obsessive fixation. He would sit in class and chew his tie until it became wet and stringy. The teacher would scold him.

Louie eventually became a man of substance, and I have learned never to underestimate the potential of a boy to make something of his life, even if he chews his tie.

One week later, in May 1975, Le My Lien stepped off a crowded bus at a military camp near San Diego, California, on the West Coast of the United States. In front of her was a sprawling city of tents set up to shelter 18,000 refugees from Vietnam.
Lien had no money and spoke little English. And she had her three children to care for while awaiting news of her husband in Vietnam.
On their first night at the camp, Lien did her best to make her children comfortable. The camp had provided her with no blankets and only one cot. Her sons, Vu and Huy, crammed onto the cot while the baby slept in a hammock Lien fashioned out of a sheet and rubber bands.
There was nowhere for Lien to lie down, so she slept sitting on the edge of the cot, leaning against a tentpole. The nights were cold, and her health worsened. Soon she was diagnosed with tuberculosis.
She prayed continually that her husband would remain strong, believing that if she could survive her ordeal, then he could survive his. She had heard nothing from him since her flight out of Saigon.
As Lien rocked her crying baby each morning, she cried too. “Please,” she begged the Lord, “let me get through just this day.”
In 1976, President The was imprisoned in Thành Ông N?m. He was desperate for news of his wife and children, but all he knew about his family’s whereabouts came from a telegram from the president of the Hong Kong Mission: “Lien and family fine. With Church.”
Now, more than a year later, The wondered when he would be free again.
Life in the prison camp was degrading. The and his fellow captives were housed in rat-infested barracks. They slept on beds made of steel slabs. Meager and spoiled food, along with the unsanitary conditions in camp, left the men vulnerable to sicknesses like dysentery and beriberi.
Reeducation on the new government’s principles involved backbreaking labor and political indoctrination. Anyone who broke camp rules could expect a brutal beating or solitary confinement.
The had survived so far by lying low and clinging to his faith. For a time, he contemplated escaping from the camp. But he felt the Lord restrain him. “Be patient,” the Spirit whispered. “All will be well in the due time of the Lord.”
Sometime later, The learned that his sister, Ba, would be allowed to visit him in the camp. If he could slip her a letter to his family, she could send it to them.
On the day of Ba’s visit, The waited in line as guards conducted full-body searches of the prisoners ahead of him. He had hidden the message behind the cloth band on the inside of his hat. He had then placed a small notebook and pen into the hat. With any luck, the notebook would distract the guards.
They examined the pen and notebook, then let him pass.
Soon, The saw his sister and pressed the letter into her hands. He wept as Ba gave him some food and money. He trusted that she would get his letter to Lien.
Six months later, Ba returned to the camp with a letter. Inside was a photograph of Lien and the children. He realized that he could wait no longer.
He had to find a way out of the camp and into the arms of his family.
Nguyen Van The and his wife, Le My Lien, with their son in 1973. She and their three children found refuge in the United States, but The was forced to attend a prison camp. Later, he said, “I was able to survive the ‘reeducation’ camp because … I had faith in Jesus Christ.”
As part of its mission to care for families, LDS Social Services had arranged with Church members in the United States to care for about 550 Vietnamese refugees, most of whom were not members of the Church. Lien and her family were sponsored by Philip Flammer, a professor at Brigham Young University, and his wife, Mildred. They helped the family relocate from California to Provo, Utah.
At first, Lien struggled to find work. Philip took her to a thrift store to apply for a janitorial position. But during the interview, the manager tore her high school diploma in half and told her, “This does not apply here.”
She soon found temporary work picking cherries at a nearby orchard. She then found work as a seamstress and added to her income by baking wedding cakes. With help from Philip, she also earned money by typing reports for BYU students.
Amid her family’s hardships, Lien remained faithful to the Lord. She taught her children about the power of prayer, knowing it could carry them through their ordeals.
Then, in late 1977, Lien learned that her husband was in a refugee camp in Malaysia. He had managed to leave Vietnam on an old fishing boat after finally being released from Thành Ông N?m. Now he was ready to reunite with his family. All he needed was a sponsor.
Lien began working even more hours to save enough money to bring The to the United States.
In January 1978, Le My Lien sat nervously in a car headed for the Salt Lake City International Airport. She was on her way to meet her husband for the first time in nearly three years.
After arriving at the airport, Lien joined other friends and Church members who had come to welcome The.
Before long, Lien saw The descending an escalator. He looked pale and had a lost look in his eyes. But at the sight of Lien, he called out to her. Emotion welled in Lien’s chest.
She pulled The into a hug. “Thank God in heaven,” she whispered, “you are home at last!”

Sean Covey is the son of Stephen R. Covey of “seven habits” fame and grew up in our ward. He and the other members of his family had those seven habits stamped across their foreheads from the day they were born. And they knew how to succeed. They are a marvelous family. Sean was a great high school football player and led his team to the state championship. He was very highly recruited. It came down to us and Stanford. Sean elected to come to BYU because he wanted to lead us to another national championship.

His freshman year he did well with the junior varsity squad, and then he left on a mission. When he came home, he was excited and eager to resume his football career. He worked hard, prepared himself physically and mentally, and halfway through his sophomore year became our starting quarterback. After winning all but one of the last few games we played that season, everything looked like it was right on track for him.

The next year, his junior year, he was named the starting quarterback but sustained a concussion against Wyoming in the first game. He came back the next game, and we beat a nationally ranked Texas team. But then he had shoulder and knee problems throughout the year. The team suffered a little bit, and he had to have surgery after the season, which prevented him from going through spring practice.

At the time we had a young freshman quarterback named Ty Detmer, who had an outstanding spring. It became evident that he might be the better of the two, but because Sean was the starter the previous year, we wanted to give him a good chance to fight for the starting position when they returned in the fall. After fall camp, it was evident that Ty was the better quarterback of the two.

Before any announcement was made, I brought Sean into the office and explained our decision to him. He didn’t speak for a couple of minutes, but finally he said, “Coach, I don’t think this is fair. I’ve worked hard, prepared well, and done everything I was supposed to do to return as the starting quarterback. This is going to be a much better team than the others that I’ve played on.”

I had to agree with Sean.

After a moment, he continued, “Coach, this isn’t fair, but I want you to know that I will be at every practice. I will be at every meeting, and I will prepare myself every week as if I were the starting quarterback. I will be ready whenever you need me.”

He did just that. Unfortunately for Sean, Ty went on to have a great year—the greatest of any sophomore quarterback in NCAA history. Sean rarely got in a game again.

Life, in this instance, was not fair to Sean, but he chose to do his very best and to contribute to the success of the team in any way he could. He was, and is, a young man of faith, of righteousness, and of prayer, with an eternal perspective on life. These attributes help him to make the right choices and to use the difficulties he encounters as stepping-stones to progress.

Anu was the first in her family to be baptized, then her sister and finally her mother joined the Church. At first, Anu’s sister was strongly against her joining the Church. However, when the missionaries told her more about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation, and that she could see her grandmother again, she got very excited and knew it was true! She loved and missed her grandmother very much. Her maternal grandparents took care of her and her sister when they were little during a time when her father was out of work. She was baptized and became strong in her faith.

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

It took seventeen weeks (at four pages a day), but the young men and young women in the Hermosa Vista Ward, Mesa Arizona Red Mountain Stake, did it. With their leaders, they accepted Moroni’s challenge in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5], divided into teams of ten, and read the entire Book of Mormon as a group.
Each group of ten was assigned a captain. At first the captains weren’t really sure they wanted the responsibility. Blair Phelps knew ahead of time what they were up against. His sister had been a captain for a similar group the year before, so he knew what was involved. But he agreed to serve anyway, joining seven others as captains of the eight teams.
Each week the captains contacted every team member and added up the points each had earned that week. Points were given for reading each day, for being up to date with the reading assignments, for memorizing certain verses, and for attending the firesides and activities organized to encourage participation. Each person was given a booklet with a reading chart, the schedule of events, the verses to memorize, and the words of Moroni’s promise. The teams did not compete; they reported to their captains mainly to stay focused on their goal.
Michelle Shephard described what happened: “I was pretty excited …” then she paused, “at first.” Enthusiasm was high among the teams for the first couple of weeks. Then school let out for the summer, and the reading started to slip. It seemed like everyone had trouble keeping on schedule.
Eventually, the Beehives took drastic measures to catch up. They had a party at which reading the Book of Mormon was the planned activity. Maria Dastrup said, “It was the strangest party I ever went to. Who would have thought we would have fun just reading the Book of Mormon?”
Nearly everyone found a favorite character or favorite story during their reading. Mike Walker said, “I really admire Nephi. He’s a good role model. When we were reading, I kept wondering about his brothers. How could they have an angel appear to them, and how could they have such wonderful things happen that should build their faith, then turn around and be wicked again? It’s hard to understand.”
Many developed a strong feeling for Moroni. Reading his last words made them both sad and hopeful. “It was sad when Moroni said good-bye,” said Lisa Corrington. “His promise works if you really want to find out if the Book of Mormon is true.”
Michelle also commented on Moroni’s last words. “He gives you a final promise after all his people have died and after all that has happened. He tells us we can still do it—we can still live as Christ taught.”
The young people in Mesa, Arizona, were determined to finish reading the Book of Mormon on schedule. They came up with a list of suggestions that helped them reach their goal:
—Pay attention.
—Pray first; it helps.
—Apply what you read to things going on around you.
—Keep a reading chart.
—Read the chapter headings.
—Read during the day when you’re awake. And try to read at the same time every day.
—Read the Book of Mormon with your friends or family so you can discuss it.
—Read the book of Moroni first; then go back and start at the beginning.

On one occasion I took to the Genealogical Society eight large volumes, manuscript family history work, consisting of 6,000 family group records of very professional family history work, all on the Packer family. All of it was compiled by Warren Packer, originally from Ohio, a schoolteacher, a Lutheran. He has spent 30 years doing this work, not really knowing why. There are two more volumes now added to the others. He senses now why he has been involved in this work over the years and very much has the spirit of the work.

One morning during the conference, nearby Seabrook Beach was covered with wave after wave of teens in yellow shirts. They were youth conference participants dressed in Beacon-in-the-Night T-shirts who spent the morning collecting trash.
“People would approach us and ask if we were at some sort of a summer camp,” says Alex Morales. “It was great to be able to tell them that we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was cool to be with other youth from the Church, showing people that service is an important part of what we’re all about.”
“I remember looking down the beach and seeing all those yellow shirts,” says Bethany Klick. “We were excited to be there, and I noticed that our attitude rubbed off on other people, too. When they saw what we were doing, they smiled and seemed to enjoy the day just a little bit more.”
Following the cleanup, youth and leaders ended the day at the beach with a sandcastle building competition.

The Lord also gave me encouragement in my own learning process about the Sabbath with many small miracles along the way. One remarkable experience I will share with you, hoping that it will encourage you in a similar approach in your life. I was taking that certain class that all majors have at least one of—the one that strikes fear into the heart of every student when even mentioned. We were preparing for the final exam and had been given a study page of terms and questions. At the encouragement of the teacher, we had formed study groups, farmed out research, and shared with each other. But on the day of the test, I still had not covered all the questions. We were told that we would be given two questions that we would write about for 30 minutes each, and one question that we would write about for an hour. Therefore, I needed to be prepared with an hour’s worth of material for every question on the study list. The task was overwhelming!

The morning of the test came, and an hour and a half before the test I was on my knees pleading with the Lord for help to know how to best use that last hour and a half of study time. I told the Lord that I had kept first things first in my life according to my commitments and that I now really needed His help. As I prayed, I looked down the study list lying on the bed in front of me. I was impressed to study one particular question. Every other time I went by that question, I skipped it. Because it was just so big, I thought, “No one with a human bone in his body would ask that question.” I similarly rationalized it again and went on past it. But as I finished the list, nothing else stood out to me. I started down the list again from the top, and when I came to that same question, it really hit me over the head.

“Ray, wake up! That’s the question!” I said to myself. I spent the next hour and a half outlining an answer for that question and then fleshing out the outline from my class notes and from the textbook.

When I arrived at the test site, the teacher announced that he had changed his mind. There would be only one question on the test, and we would need to write two hours on the one question. Well, you can guess which question it was! I was so grateful for the Lord’s guidance. I got a good grade on that test, and an hour and a half earlier I would have flunked it. I knew where that gift came from and why.

In my first year of high school, an eating disorder took over my life. I told everyone I was OK so they wouldn’t ask questions, but I was cold, weak, and tired all the time from a lack of food. I lost interest in the things I used to love. I even stopped praying to Heavenly Father. I felt guilty for not being the person I thought I should be.
At first, I refused to believe I had a problem. But eventually I got a strong feeling I should tell my close friend about my struggles. I had no idea that opening up to someone I trusted would save my life.
My friend told my parents what was going on, out of concern for me. When I finally told them the truth myself, I felt Heavenly Father’s love more strongly than I ever had before. It radiated through the love that my parents and the rest of my friends and family showed me. Their Christlike support helped me accept that I did have an eating disorder—and that, with the help of Heavenly Father, I was going to get through it.
Starting my recovery was the most difficult journey I’d ever been on. I was in the hospital after school every day for counseling and treatment. When the road started to feel hopeless, I found comfort through prayer and reading my scriptures.
I still struggle with my eating disorder, but it no longer controls my life. My Heavenly Father understands my trials, my heartache, and my guilt, and I know now that I didn’t go through it all on my own. When I see myself through Heavenly Father’s eyes, I sense my eternal destiny. I can feel His love for me—a love that can help me overcome anything.
The author lives in Alabama, USA.

When I was a boy, I remember my father sometimes taking me with him to work on projects. We had a little garden a few kilometers from where we lived, and there was always so much to do to prepare the garden each season. We worked on the gazebo or built or repaired fences. In my memory this work always occurred in the freezing cold, heavy snow, or pouring rain. But I loved it. My father would teach me how to do things with patience and acceptance.
One day he invited me to tighten a screw and warned, “Remember, if you put it in too tight, it will break.” Proudly, I wanted to show him what I could do. I tightened with all my might, and, of course, I broke the screw. He made a funny comment, and we started over. Even when I “messed up,” I always felt his love and confidence in me. He passed away more than 10 years ago, but I can still hear his voice, sense his love, enjoy his encouragement, and feel his acceptance.

The first came one afternoon in one of those rare days when I was in my office. I had been interviewing missionaries -- and the Elder serving as my secretary came to my door just as I was concluding an interview with a missionary and said "President Christensen, there is a General Authority on the line who would like to talk to you." Most of the time, when a General Authority calls a mission president, it is NOT good! In fact most often it is to discuss a problem. So, I closed my office door and picked up the telephone. "Hello, this is President Christensen" I said. The General Authority identified himself and began to ask me several pointed and detailed questions about one of our missionaries who had completed his mission some months before. His line of questioning went something like this in a very NON-SMILING VOICE (Do you know what a NON SMILING VOICE sounds like?) "President, did you have Elder _____ in your mission?" "Yes I did I responded courteously. "Well I need to know about him!" "OH NO" I thought. Was there a problem? Had he made a mistake? He was a great missionary. To my knowledge he was one of the best. I gave several positive answers to his every inquiry. Then he coaxed a second time, "President, I need to know what kind of missionary he was!" With confidence I replied "one of the best missionaries in our mission". How did he get along with his companions? Came a second round of the same questions. "Did you interview him often and can you vouch for his worthiness?" he asked. "Yes, I interviewed him often. In fact I have taught him along with all our other missionaries to live their lives according to their temple covenants and the 15 critical questions (the temple recommend questions) which they must answer in order to maintain their recommend."

With each question I remembered this wonderful missionary -- his good nature and worthiness. Then I questioned him, "Elder So and So, is there a problem with our former missionary?" There was silence on his end of the line.. for just a moment and then he asked one more time "are you sure he was an extraordinary missionary and worthy priesthood man?" "Yes" I answered again without hesitation. Then the tone of his voice changed from the NON SMILING VOICE to a CHEERFUL and almost chuckling voice (I believe he felt my anxiety and felt the need to break the tension). "Well good, I am glad you feel that way about him, because he is dating my secretary and I will not allow her to continue down the road to marriage if he isn't the best there is." I first felt a relief that there was nothing wrong and then I felt a special warmth and gratitude and love for this former missionary and his soon to be fiancé that I had not yet met. We visited for a few minutes longer about other things and then concluded the conversation. As I hung up the telephone I leaned back in my chair and felt a rush of JOY and a HAPPINESS for this young man who had become a part of my life. I felt so happy for him, that as a friend and priesthood leader. I could answer each question the way I did. He is here in the devotional today. And so is his wife! They have been blessed with their first child.

The answer is one that Latter-day Saints would hardly call coincidence. In a little known note to the Manuscript History of the Church, Joseph named his doctors: “Smith, Stone and Perkins” of Dartmouth Medical School in Hanover, New Hampshire, 8 kilometers from the Smith home.

These were not the ordinary, poorly trained country physicians so commonly found in those days. Nathan Smith, graduate of Harvard Medical School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, sole founder of the Dartmouth Medical School, later to found three additional New England medical schools, was also president of the New Hampshire Medical Society and had, prior to treating Joseph Smith, accepted the position of the first professor of medicine and surgery at Yale Medical School in New Haven, Connecticut. He had delayed moving to New Haven so he could care for the victims of the 1813 typhoid epidemic in the communities surrounding Hanover, New Hampshire.

Cyrus Perkins was Nathan Smith’s former pupil and a graduate of the Dartmouth Medical School. Perkins had later returned to the area to become the professor of anatomy and join his former teacher in a medical practice.

Stone was very likely also a former student of Smith’s: earlier class rolls of the Dartmouth Medical School lists several Stones.

Even more significantly, Nathan Smith was one of early America’s greatest medical men and had, on his own, devised an operation for osteomyelitis as early as 1798 that he published in 1827 but that was not used for two generations. In other words, generations ahead of his time, he was the only man in America who could have saved Joseph Smith’s leg.

Without a college education, Nathan Smith apprenticed himself to a country physician for three years, then began his own practice in Cornish, New Hampshire. Dissatisfied with his preparation, he applied to the newly founded Harvard Medical School in Cambridge, Massachusetts three years later. He became its fifth graduate and returned to his country practice in 1790.

Now he felt his mission included raising medical standards and proficiency among his colleagues as well. He petitioned Dartmouth College trustees to establish a medical school and spent a year in Edinburgh, Scotland, accumulating equipment, books, and clinical experience. His opening lecture in 1797 was the beginning of Dartmouth’s medical college.

For thirteen years, he single-handedly taught anatomy, chemistry, surgery, remedies, and the theory and practice of medicine, until the New Hampshire legislature allowed Perkins to join him as professor of anatomy in 1810.

Neither one received a salary for the teaching: tuition fees and their joint medical practice made up their income. Since Dr. Smith had trained many of the physicians in upper New England, he was consulted on many difficult cases, which meant travelling as much as 160 kilometers on horseback over rough dirt roads. He routinely invited ten to twenty of his medical students along on these trips as part of their training.

This pattern was repeated in Joseph Smith’s case. After Dr. Stone had unsuccessfully performed two operations on Joseph’s diseased leg, his mother insisted on another opinion and requested a “council of surgeons.” Nathan Smith, his partner, Cyrus Perkins, and medical students from Dartmouth came to do the necessary surgery.

At first an amputation was suggested: Lucy Mack Smith instead asked for the experimental operation of removing only the diseased bone. Her description of the procedure is accurate and parallels the description of the operation found in early Dartmouth medical student notebooks.

The operation was successful, and Joseph’s wounds healed. The fact that a wound with the exposed shaft of bone healed so readily is truly miraculous; however Nathan Smith had achieved an unusual record of good results—he never described amputation following his operation. Joseph used crutches for three years but his life and his leg were spared.

After the epidemic and the operation, both Nathan Smith and Joseph Smith left New Hampshire, Nathan Smith to become a professor at Yale Medical School and Joseph to return to Vermont for three years before moving to Palmyra, New York, where he eventually began his great work.

It is hard to call it an accident—a boy plucky enough to refuse amputation despite two unsuccessful operations; a mother who requested the experimental procedure, not knowing Nathan Smith was the only surgeon in the United States who had such a successful experience treating osteomyelitis; and the undramatic conjunction between the right man and the right time.

I think the most classical account illustrating this point is the great story of President Hugh B. Brown and the currant bush. There are several versions of this story, but let me tell it the way that I remember it from the time I translated it for President Brown in South America. He said that, when he was a young married man, he lived in a humble home, but he had a garden in front of the home that he was very proud of. This garden had a lawn and flowers; it had some shrubs and fruit bushes, and it had some trees, large trees for shade. One day he noticed the currant bush, which he had pruned to a certain shape in order to keep the majority of the strength of the tree in the roots and to produce good fruit, had lost its shape. Apparently several months had gone by without due attention to it, and it was sprouting irregular branches. He got the pruning shears and proceeded to cut back the branches of that currant bush. As he cut them, he seemed to hear the bush say to him, “Oh, don’t do that, don’t do that to me! Don’t cut me back. I want to be tall and big like the shade trees. Let me grow!”

And he said, “No, my little bush, I’m the gardener here, and I want to prune you back to the size that I have decided is right for you.”

A number of years later President Brown was a colonel in the British Forces in World War I in France. He was the ranking colonel of the Canadian forces. He had decided to make the military career his life’s profession. He had studied hard; he had worked hard. He had had great success; he had been promoted and advanced. He was now colonel, and the next position would be general. In fact, he dreamed of being perhaps the first Mormon general since Book of Mormon days. A sudden vacancy occurred, and it was his turn to be promoted. He knew it, and yet they called him in and advised him that someone else was being promoted over his head. He wondered if it was because they had never had a Mormon general and probably were now deciding that they would not have a Mormon in that position of rank and authority. He returned to his tent, knelt by his cot, and cried to the Lord, “Why couldn’t my prayers have been answered? I’ve been faithful to my covenants. I’ve been active in the Church. I’ve done all the things I should do to merit this promotion. It’s been my ambition. There’s no reason why I should have been denied this. Why couldst Thou not have answered my prayers?”

And then he seemed to hear a voice saying, “I’m the gardener here, and I’m going to prune you to the size that I want you to be in my garden.”

Do we have the trust in the Lord that we can see His purposes fulfilled even in disappointment and in discouragement? Not to say anything against the military profession, of course, which is noble and honorable and much needed, but had President Brown followed that particular career, I doubt that he would have developed those characteristics, qualities, attributes, and skills which made him one of our greatest apostles, one of our greatest counselors in the First Presidency, one of the most eloquent orators that we ever have had in the Church.

Let me share with you a couple of personalities who have operated in the translation department. We’ll first go to Sweden, if we might. There Sister Margstrom (who has now passed away, by the way), after being very crippled with a disease that wouldn’t allow her to operate normally as we operate, translated the book Jesus the Christ from English into Swedish. Her script came in typewritten. That doesn’t seem unusual until you recognize that his crippling disease that she had would allow her only to hold in one hand, with some pain, a stick with a rubber tip. She typed that transcript one letter at a time.