Gospel Story Finder

After our mom passed away unexpectedly, my brother and I weren’t just grieving—we were also left facing a financial crisis.
Our father had died years before, and while our mom raised us, she had often lent others money during their times of need. Unfortunately, her generosity resulted in her not having enough money to pay her own debt, leaving my brother and me responsible for paying off her loans.
Both of us were still finishing our studies and hadn’t started working, so we were anxious about paying off the debt while also covering our monthly expenses.
We didn’t know what to do, so we turned to Heavenly Father for help.
After many prayers, my brother and I felt inspired to ask for financial advice from friends who were good with budgeting. We had been considering selling our house because we didn’t have enough money to pay for it and our loans each month. But with their help, we decided to sell valuables in our home to make payments until I graduated and found a job.
Somehow, we always had enough money to make our loan payments.
Despite this miracle, sometimes I still got discouraged. I was working a lot and wanted to move on with my own life. I had my own dreams, including serving a mission, which seemed impossible even if we managed to pay off this debt.
I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him my desire to go. I promised Him I would do whatever I could from my end to make it happen, and I asked Him to show me the way so I could go and serve.
I had a testimony of self-reliance and tithing, but it was really tempting to not pay a full tithe until we’d resolved our debt. But I tried to remember the promised blessings of putting the Lord first, and we paid the full amount (see Malachi 3:10–11). I also found hope in these words from the Lord: “It is my purpose to provide for my saints, for all things are mine” (Doctrine and Covenants 104:15).
Ultimately, I kept trusting Heavenly Father’s timing, practicing patience, and believing that He cared about my life.
Eventually my brother also got a job after graduating. We continued being mindful of spending, putting any extra money we had toward the seemingly never-ending debt.
After four years, we made our last payment on the loans. I couldn’t believe it—we had somehow managed to live, finish our studies, and pay off these debts in time. It was freeing to no longer feel that financial burden on my shoulders. I knew Heavenly Father had helped us.
It was truly a miracle.
Through this experience, I learned that the Lord will magnify our efforts when we have faith and work hard. As He promises us, “I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (Doctrine and Covenants 84:88).
When my circumstances seemed impossible, the Lord provided a way (see 1 Nephi 3:7).
After my steady, consistent efforts and the miracles of the Lord, I eventually was able to serve a mission. The moment I realized this was within my reach was such a miracle. I had seen no way to make this happen, but I knew my prayers had been answered.

Matthew is a very good example of Christlike love. He is very loving to his family, and he is a good example to the teachers and other students in his kindergarten class. His teacher says that he has no enemies, and he sticks up for others if he thinks that they are unfairly treated. He isn’t afraid to stand up for the right. Last year when terrorists attacked, Matthew raised his hand and said, “We need to remember that they have babies, too. Just because some of them do something bad to us doesn’t mean that we need to do something bad back.”

Sister Hinckley’s roots sink deeply into rich pioneer soil, leaving an indelible imprint on her life and character. She wrote this about her great-grandfather:
“On a beautiful Sunday morning in the fall of 1841, my great-grandfather, William Minshall Evans, then sixteen years of age, was walking down the streets of Liverpool, England, on his way to church. Suddenly he heard singing that thrilled him beyond anything he had ever heard before. He followed the sound down an alley and up some rickety stairs into a room where a few people were holding a meeting. John Taylor, who later became president of the Church and who had a beautiful tenor voice, was the singer. The song he sang was so beautiful that William remained to hear the sermon.
“Upon returning home, William was reprimanded by his elder brother, David, for being absent from his accustomed place in the choir. Asked to give an account of himself, William replied, ‘I have been where you should have been, and I shall not be satisfied until you all hear the wonderful truth I have heard this morning.’
“… William and David were converted to the gospel, and then helped convert other members of their family” (Marjorie P. Hinckley, “Music Was the Missionary,” Ensign, July 1981, p. 48).
Sister Hinckley commented, “I never sing the hymns of the Church without remembering that it was the singing of a hymn that opened the door to the gospel for my family and made it possible for me to enjoy all the blessings that have followed” (p. 48).

As I think of the relief Stan must be feeling now, I recall a story allegedly told by a former BYU president. When someone asked him if he missed his job at BYU, he answered with this analogy:

At a certain stake conference, the stake president was being released after serving faithfully for ten years, preceded by ten more years in a bishopric.
Just before the Sunday morning session in which the stake presidency would be changed, the visiting General Authority became uneasy watching from the stand as the crowd filled the hall. He leaned over to the devoted but tired stake president and asked, “Are there enough chairs for all those people coming in the back doors?”
The stake president whispered back to the ­visitor, “Who cares?”

Soon after the earthquake, a new threat worked its way toward Mexico. Hurricane Dean was expected to hit Cancun, so local Church leaders began stocking food, water, and equipment in a facility near the expected hurricane target. When the storm shifted directions, threatening the Yucatán Peninsula, Church leaders moved supplies to another facility in Chetumal. As the hurricane began a path back across the country, a third supply facility was stocked.

Technology has played a significant role in emergency preparedness, Rick Foster, director of administrative services for the Welfare Services Department at Church headquarters, explained. Now more than ever before, disasters can be predicted—sometimes even the precise location of the disaster.

“Having this information allows Church leaders and employees and volunteers living in threatened areas to begin the process of purchasing supplies and relocating people to shelters,” said Brother Foster.

In the spring of 1899 Jennie Brimhall and Inez Knight were busy packing their clothes for a trip to Europe. The two young women had been school friends at Brigham Young Academy (later Brigham Young University), and they were looking forward to a vacation together and a chance to see Inez’s brothers, who were missionaries in England.
Lucy Jane Brimhall Amanda Inez Knight
In the middle of their vacation preparations, their bishop told the girls that he wanted to have a chat with them. Bishop Keeler asked Inez and Jennie not to go on their planned vacation but to continue packing their things and go on a mission instead!
Young Mormon women had never before been asked to go out and knock on doors and preach on street corners like Mormon men missionaries. However, after overcoming their surprise, Inez and Jennie willingly answered the call to serve as the first sister missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They went to Great Britain just a few weeks after they were called.
When they left their homes in Provo, Utah, Jennie and Inez didn’t know when they would return, because there was no “usual” time for sister missionaries to be gone. The length of their service might be several months, or it might be several years. They knew that the mission president in Europe had seen what fine work many women did in teaching the gospel, that he had requested that women missionaries be sent out as well as men, and that the prophet had agreed. Jennie and Inez also knew that they each had a testimony that they wanted to share.
When the young women disembarked in Liverpool, England, Inez’s brothers Ray and Will were there to meet them. After a brief but happy reunion, the young ladies were sent off on their own to preach the gospel in various towns.
Some of their first missionary experiences were at street meetings, during which a small group of missionaries would stand on a busy street corner and sing hymns or preach a sermon. As people stopped to listen, the missionaries talked with them and invited them to attend regular church meetings, or the missionaries made appointments to teach the people in their homes.
Inez wrote in her journal about one night when she helped at five different street meetings. She wrote that the Mormon elders, who wore tall silk hats and nice black suits, “stood like brave soldiers on the street, … telling people the Gospel truths. I was never prouder to know that I was numbered with the Latter-day Saints.”
The young women were effective in teaching the restored gospel. One man later wrote that when he heard Sister Jennie Brimhall speak as a missionary, he was an unbeliever and didn’t want to listen. But he couldn’t forget her sincere words and lovely expression. Finally, twenty years later, he investigated the gospel and became a member of the Church.
After serving eight months in England, Sister Brimhall was sent home because of poor health. Sister Knight, however, continued to work as a missionary for more than two years, and several more sisters were sent to England to labor with her.
The 1890s were not easy years to be a missionary in England. Some people there were telling false stories about the Mormons and stirring up trouble for the missionaries.
One night Sister Knight was out teaching a family with her new companion, Sister Chipman. A group of rowdies saw them and stirred up so much trouble with the neighbors by telling lies about the Mormons that a mob followed the sisters through the streets, calling them names and throwing rocks at windows and trash at the young ladies. Elder Ray Knight had been sent to walk them home, but the situation became so dangerous that three policemen had to escort the missionaries to the police station for their safety. Even though they were bruised and soiled with garbage, the sisters were not ready to give up. Instead, while they waited inside the police station for the crowd to go away, they discussed the gospel with the policemen. Later the chief of police helped the missionaries slip out the back door so that they could walk home safely.
Despite such trying experiences, Inez wrote in her journal again and again about the many friendships that she made with the English people. She was impressed with the many sacrifices the British members of the Church made to help the missionaries.
After their missions, both Jennie and Inez returned to Provo, married, and raised families. They remained friends and were active in the Red Cross and community political activities. They will always be remembered, because when they were called to serve the Lord, they served willingly and whole-heartedly.

Chris is from St. Mary’s, Georgia. His parents, Artie and Carolyn Jones, met the missionaries in 1978, when Chris was only two. Chris said, “The first time my dad went to church, he saw a lot of people that he recognized in the community that respected him. That was one thing he really noticed.”

The Jones family was baptized and, as Chris has been told, they received a lot of ridicule for joining the Church. When Chris looks back, he is so appreciative of the fact that his parents were able to raise him and his two brothers and one sister in a way consistent with the principles of the gospel. And Chris grew up knowing that someday he would serve a mission. “If it is part of the Church and the Church is true, then I’ll do it.”

In fact, Chris says his mother helped him keep that in mind. “My mom was the one that pulled us out of bed at 5:15 in the morning to go to seminary for four years. It was a struggle. I hated getting up at 5:15. But it was through a combination of my mother and going to seminary that I gained a testimony of the gospel. Up until then, I always knew the gospel was right. I just didn’t know why it was right.”

As Chris gained a testimony, he found that living the gospel principles helped him learn about prayer. “I can’t recall a prayer that I’ve never received an answer to. Receiving an answer is a matter of allowing the Lord to answer you and give you His answer. A lot of times if you pray with your own answer in mind, you look for that answer. If another answer comes, then you’re not ready to receive it.”

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.

When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.

“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.

Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”

Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.

At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.

Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.

There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.

Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

I am a member of the Church because of a five-year-old member missionary.
When I was young, my mother was searching for a church to answer all her questions. We attended a different church each week, but none of them satisfied Mom. Finally she gave up.
My best friend at the time was Sandy Guthrie. We played together nearly every day. One Saturday evening she asked me if I would like to attend church with her the next day. I asked her which church she belonged to, thinking I had visited them all. She told me it was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
It was a church I had not attended, and I agreed to go. Unfortunately, when I asked Mom, she said she had other plans that Sunday.
The next week Sandy invited me again, and once again I asked Mom. She had another excuse, and I wasn’t allowed to go.
Being a good missionary, Sandy didn’t give up. She suggested I get up on Sunday morning and get ready by myself before asking my mother if I could go. I thought it was a great idea. If Mom didn’t have to make a special effort to help me get ready, she might be more willing to let me go.
On Sunday morning I put on my best clothes and woke up Mom. This time she flatly refused. She offered no excuse and left no room for bargaining. She simply said no. So I did what most five-year-olds would do. I cried.
I suppose the tears and my desire and determination touched my mother, because she agreed to let me go on the condition that she go with me.
Mom and I attended church with Sandy and her family that morning. Mom felt the Spirit very strongly and knew immediately we had found the true Church. That evening the missionaries taught her the first discussion, and she agreed to be baptized.
More than 20 years have passed since then. When I tell my own two children this story, I draw a chart showing everyone who joined the Church because Sandy invited me to come with her. There are more than 100 people on the chart. Many of them, like me, not only accepted the gospel but also served full-time missions and helped bring others to the knowledge of the truth. The chart proves that one child’s dedication to sharing the gospel can bless the lives of many people.
I don’t know how many others Sandy invited to church or how large her complete chart might be. I do know that I am more grateful to her than I can say. I also know I can’t repay her. But I can follow her example and share the gospel whenever and wherever possible—just in case I meet another family looking for the truth.

Jarod wanted blueberry pancakes with puddles of melted butter and syrup on them for breakfast. He wanted to help Mommy squeeze the oranges for fresh juice. And he wanted a hardcooked egg that he could peel himself. But when Jarod got to the kitchen table and Mommy gave him a bowl of cold cereal and a plate of orange sections, he could tell that it was a rush-rush day.
Mommy said, “Hurry, please, Jarod. We have to go shopping and be back in time to tend Sister Miller’s kids while she goes to the doctor.”
At the grocery store Jarod hurried, but he really wanted to stop and look at the different kinds of vegetables and put his hand down close to the refrigerated shelves until it felt cold. He wanted to watch the butcher trim fat from the meat. And he wanted to count the different kinds of candy while his mother was at the checkout counter.
When they reached home, Jarod barely had time to get out his toys for Bobby and Kim Miller to play with. And as soon as their mother picked them up again, Jarod was rushed into the kitchen for a sandwich and a bowl of soup. Jarod hated rush-rush days.
His sisters were soon home from school, and Jarod and Mommy had to rush them to dancing lessons. Then he and Mommy rushed to the post office to mail a package to Jarod’s aunt for her birthday, to the service station to put more gas in the car, and back to the studio to get his sisters. Then they rushed home. Jarod wanted to slow down and watch a jet that was making white streaks across the sky. He wanted to sled down the big hill at the park. He wanted to go to the library and check out a book on rockets. But he didn’t ask Mommy to do any of those things. It was a rush-rush day.
While Mommy went visiting teaching, his sisters rushed to do their homework before supper. They needed the room quiet, so Jarod couldn’t watch cartoons. He couldn’t blast off in his pretend rocket because that would be too noisy too.
Daddy came home, but he couldn’t play with Jarod. He hurried to the kitchen and made a casserole with lots of noodles and hamburger. He made two because one was to go over to Sister Howard, who just had a new baby. Mommy came home and rushed the Howard’s meal over to them; then Jarod’s family all sat down together, and Daddy blessed the food. The funny-looking stuff tasted good, even on a rush-rush day.
As soon as dinner was over, Jarod was whisked off to the bathtub. He wanted to stay in the bathtub long enough for the water to wrinkle his skin, but he had to hurry so that his sisters could have their turn. Jarod was tired—tired of rushing and just plain tired.
Mommy looked tired, too, when she came to tuck him in. Rush-rush days were hard on everyone, Jarod decided.
“How about a story?” Mommy asked.
Jarod said, “It’s OK if you don’t have time.”
Mommy smiled. She got a book from his bookcase and read Jarod’s favorite story about a rocket trip to the moon. Mommy read the story slowly. She let Jarod study each picture as long as he wanted. Then they both sang a Primary song before his prayer.
“I always have time for you, even on a busy day.” Mother kissed Jarod and turned on the night light.
Jarod smiled and snuggled his chin under the covers. Even rush-rush days had nice-nice endings.

A friend of mine who lives some distance from me was slightly doubting the Church. She had so many unanswered questions that I couldn’t answer. But I felt impressed to write down all of her questions. Then I went to past New Eras for answers. I found every single answer to every single question in the magazine. I cut out all the articles and looked up scripture references to go with them. I then bore my testimony to her. She called the day she received it in the mail to thank me. So now I want to thank you for helping me help her.
Lisa BartonNaperville, Illinois

President Tanner: That’s right. It’s not the bones inside the sepulcher, but the whiting on the outside that is the problem. And I can give you a kind of embarrassing story on myself to show the problem. As a student, I once wanted to impress you that I was a spiritual person. And I was actually feeling spiritual, having just come from an inspiring Devotional. So I starting whistling a hymn, hoping you would notice. As they say in Portuguese: Que vergonha! How embarrassing even now to recall.

Fortunately, however, I caught myself in the act. I quickly realized that to truly BE holy, you can’t be trying to impress others that you are. You simply have to be good and not try to make others think you are good.

Recently I visited the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah, where missionaries who have been called to serve throughout the world are devotedly learning the fundamentals of the languages spoken by the people to whom they shall teach and testify.
Vaguely familiar to me were the conversations in Spanish, French, German, and Swedish. Totally foreign to me and perhaps to most of the missionaries were the sounds of Japanese, Chinese, and Finnish. One marvels at the devotion and total concentration of these young men and women as they grapple with the unfamiliar and learn the difficult.
I am told that on occasion when a missionary in training feels that the Spanish he is called upon to master appears overwhelming or just too hard to learn, he is placed during the luncheon break next to missionaries studying the complex languages of the Orient. He listens. Suddenly Spanish becomes not too overpowering, and he eagerly returns to his study.
There is one language, however, that is understood by each missionary: the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and to keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this language permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
The Apostle Paul, in his second epistle to the Corinthians, urges that we turn from the narrow confinement of the letter of the law and seek the open vista of opportunity which the Spirit provides. I love and cherish Paul’s statement: “The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” (2 Cor. 3:6.)
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to the troubled mind and grieving heart. The entire message of the New Testament breathes a spirit of awakening to the human soul. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope, sorrow yields to joy, and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
The Savior provided assurance of this truth when He taught that even a sparrow shall not fall to the ground unnoticed by our Father. He then concluded the beautiful thought by saying, “Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” (Matt. 10:29–31.)
We live in a complex world with daily challenges. There is a tendency to feel detached—even isolated—from the Giver of every good gift. We worry that we walk alone.
From the bed of pain, from the pillow wet with the tears of loneliness, we are lifted heavenward by that divine assurance and precious promise, “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” (Josh. 1:5.)
Such comfort is priceless as we journey along the pathway of mortality, with its many forks and turnings. Rarely is the assurance communicated by a flashing sign or a loud voice. Rather, the language of the Spirit is gentle, quiet, uplifting to the heart and soothing to the soul.
At times, the answers to our questions and the responses to our daily prayers come to us through silent promptings of the Spirit. As William Cowper wrote:
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm. …
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
(Hymns, no. 48.)
We watch. We wait. We listen for that still, small voice. When it speaks, wise men and women obey. We do not postpone following promptings of the Spirit.
To address such a sacred subject, may I refer not to the writings of others, but to the actual experiences of my life. I testify to their truth, for I lived them. I share with you today three cherished examples of what President David O. McKay identified as “heart petals”—the language of the Spirit, the promptings from a heavenly source.
First, the inspiration which attends a call to serve.
Second, the gratitude of God for a life well lived.
Third, the knowledge that we do not walk alone.
Every bishop can testify to the promptings which attend calls to serve in the Church. Frequently the call seems to be not so much for the benefit of those to be taught or led as for the person who is to teach or lead.
As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.
For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming—even the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of twenty-three years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he felt when he witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.
Finally, I testify that we do not walk alone.
Stan, a dear friend of mine, was taken seriously ill and rendered partially paralyzed. He had been robust in health, athletic in build, and active in many pursuits. Now he was unable to walk or to stand. His wheelchair was his home. The finest of physicians had cared for him, and the prayers of family and friends had been offered in a spirit of hope and trust. Yet Stan continued to lie in the confinement of his bed at the university hospital. He despaired.
Late one afternoon I was swimming at the Deseret Gym, gazing at the ceiling while backstroking width after width. Silently, but ever so clearly, there came to my mind the thought: “Here you swim almost effortlessly, while your friend Stan languishes in his hospital bed, unable to move.” I felt the prompting: “Get to the hospital and give him a blessing.”
I ceased my swimming, dressed, and hurried to Stan’s room at the hospital. His bed was empty. A nurse said he was in his wheelchair at the swimming pool, preparing for therapy. I hurried to the area, and there was Stan, all alone, at the edge of the deeper portion of the pool. We greeted one another and returned to his room, where a priesthood blessing was provided.
Slowly but surely, strength and movement returned to Stan’s legs. First he could stand on faltering feet. Then he learned once again to walk—step by step. Today one would not know that Stan had lain so close to death and with no hope of recovery.
Frequently Stan speaks in Church meetings and tells of the goodness of the Lord to him. To some he reveals the dark thoughts of depression which engulfed him that afternoon as he sat in his wheelchair at the edge of the pool, sentenced, it seemed, to a life of despair. He tells how he pondered the alternative. It would be so easy to propel the hated wheelchair into the silent water of the deep pool. Life would then be over. But at that precise moment he saw me, his friend. That day Stan learned literally that we do not walk alone. I, too, learned a lesson that day: Never, never, never postpone following a prompting.
As we pursue the journey of life, let us learn the language of the Spirit. May we remember and respond to the Master’s gentle invitation: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him.” (Rev. 3:20.) This is the language of the Spirit. He spoke it. He taught it. He lived it. May each of us do likewise, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was a boy living here in Salt Lake City, most homes were heated with coal stoves. Black smoke belched forth from almost every chimney. As winter came to a close, black soot and grime were everywhere, both inside and outside of the house. There was a ritual through which we passed each year, not a very pleasant one, as we viewed it. It involved every member of the family. It was known as spring-cleaning. When the weather warmed after the long winter, a week or so was designated as cleanup time. It was usually when there was a holiday and included two Saturdays.
My mother ran the show. All of the curtains were taken down and laundered. Then they were carefully ironed. The windows were washed inside and out, and oh, what a job that was in that big two-story house. Wallpaper was on all of the walls, and Father would bring home numerous cans of wallpaper cleaner. It was like bread dough, but it was a pretty pink in color when the container was opened. It had an interesting smell, a pleasant, refreshing kind of smell. We all pitched in. We would knead some of the cleaning dough in our hands, climb a ladder, and begin on the high ceiling and then work down the walls. The dough was soon black from the dirt it lifted from the paper. It was a terrible task, very tiring, but the results were like magic. We would stand back and compare the dirty surface with the clean surface. It was amazing to us how much better the clean walls looked.
All of the carpets were taken up and dragged out to the backyard, where they were hung over the clothesline, one by one. Each of us boys would have what we called a carpet beater, a device made of light steel rods with a wooden handle. As we beat the carpet, the dust would fly, and we would have to keep going until there was no dust left. We detested that work. But when all of it was done and everything was back in place, the result was wonderful. The house was clean, our spirits renewed. The whole world looked better.

Compromising on differences will reduce some of the sibling strife. God creates only unique individuals—no two alike. Differences are not always respected. For example, Cathy was very much involved in student government and scholastic endeavors. Her sister, Barbara, was a cheerleader and a member of her high school’s volleyball and track teams. A barrier built up between the sisters as each looked upon their own activities as being most important. Each downgraded the activities the other enjoyed. Barbara loved to dance; Cathy thought a movie was better. Barbara loved loud, upbeat music; Cathy was more into relaxing tunes.

Instead of comparing themselves to each other and thinking the other’s interests weren’t worthwhile, they eventually began to search for the less obvious things they had in common. Both enjoyed stake dances. Both liked jogging. Both hated washing the car. They learned to accept and respect their differences and to encourage each other to excel in their individual pursuits.

On one occasion the Prophet Joseph Smith described the spirit of revelation in this manner:
A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas, . . . and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation.73
On a choice occasion early in my service at BYU, when we faced an important and far-reaching decision on our academic calendar, I experienced that kind of revelation as pure intelligence was thrust upon my consciousness. I treasure that experience. It stands as a vivid testimony of the fact that when the matter is of great importance to His children and to His kingdom, our Father in Heaven will assist us when we are qualified and seeking.

“Oh dear! It looks like I’ll have to go to the store,” Aunt Mabel suddenly announced as she closed the refrigerator door.
“But it’s snowing, and the wind is howling,” Annie said. She’d just been looking out the window of Aunt Mabel’s cozy farmhouse.
“But I must go—my refrigerator and cupboards are bare.” Aunt Mabel sounded determined.
Annie was spending a few weeks on Aunt Mabel’s farm. The early snowstorm had been sudden and unexpected. The snow was being whipped around by a wind that sounded quite fierce! It was hard to see anything but snow out the window. Annie got a worried expression on her face.
“We’ll just get all bundled up and make our way through the storm—like the pioneers did. On a farm, one has to keep the pioneer spirit alive,” Aunt Mabel continued as she helped Annie put on her jacket and boots.
The pioneer spirit? Annie’s face took on a look of determination. If Aunt Mabel had the pioneer spirit, she would have it too. “Are we going in your pickup truck?” Annie asked as they headed out the door.
“No, sweetie. We’ll walk.”
Walk? Annie thought. Walking will require a lot of pioneer spirit. “I’m ready if you are, Aunt Mabel.”
“You’re a brave girl. Just for that we’ll bring back an extra special dessert,” Aunt Mabel promised, opening the door.
The snow swirled in the wind. Though it was freezing cold, Annie couldn’t help noticing how beautiful it looked.
Aunt Mabel walked around the side of the house. Annie followed, fighting the strong wind that seemed determined to rip her scarf right off her neck!
Aunt Mabel pulled open a large door in the ground.
Annie stared. What was she doing?
“Come on, sweetie. Follow me to my store. Watch these steps—they’re a bit steep,” Aunt Mabel cautioned. Annie held on to the railing as she followed. At the bottom of the stairs Aunt Mabel pulled a string. A light came on.
“Wow!” Annie exclaimed. “A store right in your yard!” There were rows upon rows of shelves bulging with rows upon rows of jars! Jars filled with colorful fruits and vegetables—green beans, corn, peas, pickles, jams, peaches, pears, applesauce, and more.
On the dirt floor were boxes filled with carrots, potatoes, onions, cabbages, and apples. Practically any kind of food one could find in a grocery store was right there in Aunt Mabel’s cellar!
“All summer, while my garden is producing, I work hard stocking my store. Then when winter arrives, I can relax with a good book—or with my favorite niece—and enjoy it,” Aunt Mabel said.
“Are those watermelons in the corner?” Annie asked in amazement.
“They certainly are. Those are the last melons from my garden. I coated them with paraffin, which is like candle wax. That way, if I’m lucky, they’ll keep into early winter.”
They filled two boxes with both canned and fresh fruits and vegetables and carried them up to the house. Annie’s box had potatoes, carrots, and apples in it. Aunt Mabel took jars of other fruits and vegetables. Then Aunt Mabel rushed out to the cellar again and came back up with a watermelon in her arms. “Our special dessert,” she said, smiling at Annie.
Back in the cozy, warm kitchen, Aunt Mabel and Annie soon filled the refrigerator and cupboards.
A pair of headlights shone through the kitchen window. Angie looked out. “Someone in a blue truck is here.”
A man came to the door. “Come in, John,” Aunt Mabel told him.
“I’m on my way to town. I just stopped to see if you might need something. You know that my truck has four-wheel drive. It’ll make it through anything.”
“Thank you, John. I certainly do appreciate your stopping by, but we don’t need a thing. In fact, I just brought up a watermelon from my store. It’s too big for the two of us—this is my niece Annie, who’s visiting me from the city—so won’t you take some home with you?”
“What a treat! Thank you.” He turned and smiled at Annie. “Hello there, young lady. It looks like you’re getting a taste of our country winter.”
“Yes, but I’m not worried about it. We have Aunt Mabel’s store, right in the cellar. And we have the pioneer spirit. We can make it through anything.”

A personal story illustrates this council. Shortly after the flood, my family moved from Rexburg to Salmon, Idaho, which is 160 miles northwest of here. We farmed and raised beef cows, alfalfa and grain. One summer, when I was about 15, we had been experiencing a severe drought. I remember one particular day when my dad pulled up along the side of the tractor and waved for me to stop. With a concerned look on his face and a serious tone in his voice he said, "We need to pray and ask Heavenly Father for rain". Without any more discussion or hesitation my dad knelt down in the dirt next to the tractor, and I did the same.

My dad prayed.

My dad taught me, and more importantly showed me, the power of prayer. I don't remember exactly when the rain came, but I remember we received the moisture the crops needed, and I knew that my dad's prayer was answered.

Not long ago while I was sitting on the stand during the closing session of a youth conference, just as the young priest conducting the meeting rose to his feet to bring the meeting to a close, Kathy, sitting next to me, jumped up and unhesitatingly slipped in front of the young man, took her place at the pulpit, faced the audience, raised both hands in front of her with outstretched fingers, and said, “I’ll bet you’re all wondering why I’ve been wearing this ugly green nail polish.” A soft ripple could be heard across the audience, and I realized that I was not the only one sharing that curiosity.

“Well,” she said, “it’s like this: I knew my responsibilities as one of the leaders of this conference were big. I knew I had some real challenges ahead, and I didn’t want to be sorry after the chance was gone that I didn’t do what I really wanted to do.

“You see, I needed something that would remind me of what I really wanted to do and help me through the things I didn’t want to do. So I thought of a plan. And it worked! You see,” she went on, “I wanted something that would remind me of what I really wanted to make myself do. I knew my fingernails would always be there, and if they were green, I would be sure to notice them.”

After giving further details and bearing a strong testimony of the joy that comes when you do what you should, she took her seat.

One day when John’s shoes were delivered from the shoemaker, Anna found a Latter-day Saint missionary tract tucked inside each shoe. The tracts sparked her curiosity, and when another pair of shoes needed repairing, she took them to the shoemaker herself to find out the meaning of the tracts. After finishing her business with the shoemaker’s wife, Anna was told that the shoemaker would explain what the tracts meant.
“You may be surprised to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes,” (John A. Widtsoe, In the Gospel Net, page 54) the shoemaker boldly declared to Anna.
She was perplexed and told the man that he spoke in riddles. But he pleaded with her to listen and said that he could teach her about the Lord’s true plan of salvation for His children.
Anna couldn’t forget her conversation with the humble, courageous shoemaker. And as other tracts came from the shoemaker, she struggled mightily, for she knew her Bible well. She worried about the new concepts and certain points of doctrine. But after attending meetings with the missionaries and other Saints over the next two years, she accepted the gospel and was baptized.

We had been struggling with our family scripture study. Getting our children to pay attention was difficult, so we tried this technique as a family. My husband and I took turns reading general conference talks out loud to the family, and when we got to a scripture, we called it out. When our children found it, everyone marked it and then one of them read it. As we did so, our kids were poised on the edge of their seats, scriptures and pencils in hand. When we ended, they said, “Oh, please, can’t we do just one more scripture?” We finished our scripture study by singing a hymn. As we got ready to sing the closing song, we showed our children how they could look up scriptures in the back of the hymnbook. They found one of the scriptures we had marked, and we sang a song that reinforced the gospel principle we had studied. It was truly meaningful scripture study!
Donna Macurdy Nielson, Virginia, USA