Gospel Story Finder

My Grandfather Patterson was a missionary in the Eastern States Mission in 1927 when Elder B. H. Roberts was president of that mission. Elder Roberts had an intensive six-week school with which he prepared his missionaries for the rigors of missionary life. Elder Roberts cared deeply about his missionaries and wanted them to develop the spiritual, intellectual, and physical gifts that would help them succeed. He pushed them very hard to think about the gospel and to develop the ability to preach it and defend it. My grandfather recorded in his journal what I think is the essence of the work required of us to learn the gospel. On January 17, 1927, he wrote:

School started out as per schedule and we have been following the schedule all week, and it certainly put one’s nerves on edge, for my head has felt like a boiler factory. But it was worth it just to hear Pres. Roberts talk.

The next day, January 18, he recorded: “School went along as schedule[d], even if my head did hurt.”

January 19: “School as usual. Head still hurting.”

January 20: “School as usual. Head still hurting.”

Now, lest you think this ends with my grandfather’s head exploding, he recorded on January 21, “Just had school till noon, had the rest of [the day] to catch up on our loafing.”

Vaha’i knelt by his bed to say his prayers. It was his first night at boarding school, and he shared a room with lots of other boys. None of them were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, like he was.
Dear Heavenly Father … Vaha’i started to pray in his heart. But it wasn’t easy. The other boys were talking and laughing loudly.
“Hey, look!” one of his roommates, Akau, shouted. “He’s praying!”
Vaha’i shifted uncomfortably. He knew Akau was making fun of him. But he pretended not to hear him. He just kept praying.
Now that Vaha’i was away at school, he was determined to do just that. So he kept praying. Even when the other boys made fun of him.
One night when Vaha’i knelt down, he heard something different.
“Hey, be quiet! Vaha’i is praying,” someone said.
Vaha’i finished his prayer and opened his eyes.
Akau was sitting on his bed. “It’s really important to you, isn’t it?”
Vaha’i nodded. “Yes, it is.”
After that, the other boys were quiet whenever Vaha’i prayed. Soon Akau started kneeling with him. Other boys joined too. Eventually, all the boys in the room knelt to pray with Vaha’i each night.
Vaha’i felt happy. He had never had family prayer at home. But now he could have family prayer with his schoolmates!
One day Vaha’i had an idea. A big Church meeting was coming up. He could invite his friends!
After prayer, Vaha’i told everyone about the meeting. “It’s called district conference,” he said. “People come to learn about Jesus. You can all come, if you want!”
Since they would have to leave the school to go to the meeting, each of the boys had to sign a paper to get permission. Vaha’i was amazed when he saw the paper. There were 77 names on the list!
Vaha’i’s heart felt warm as he sat with rows of his classmates and listened to the talks at the conference. Akau and some of the others must have felt warm inside too. By the end of the conference, seven of them wanted to be baptized!
That night after prayer with his friends, Vaha’i said a prayer of his own. Thank you for blessing me with good friends, he told Heavenly Father. And for helping me be a good example.

Many years ago now, long before I was called as a General Authority, I participated as a speaker in a young adult conference. The conference concluded with a testimony meeting in which a handsome, young returned missionary stood up to bear his testimony. He looked good, clean, and confident—just like a returned missionary should look.
As he began to speak, tears came to his eyes. He said he was grateful to stand in the midst of such a terrific group of young Latter-day Saints and to feel good about the life he was trying to lead. But that feeling had only been possible, he said, because of an experience he had had a few years earlier, an experience that had shaped his life forever.
He then told of coming home from a date shortly after he had been ordained an elder at age 18. Something had happened on this date of which he was not proud. He did not go into any details, nor should he have done so in a public setting. To this day I do not know the nature of the incident, but it was significant enough to him to have affected his spirit and his self-esteem.
As he sat in his car for a while in the driveway of his own home, thinking things through and feeling genuine sorrow for whatever had happened, his nonmember mother came running frantically from the house straight to his car. In an instant she conveyed that this boy’s younger brother—I do not know what the age of the younger boy was—had just fallen in the home, had hit his head sharply and was having some kind of seizure or convulsion. The nonmember father had immediately called 911, but it would take some time at best for help to come.
“Come and do something,” she cried. “Isn’t there something you do in your Church at times like this? You have their priesthood. Come and do something.”
His mother didn’t know a lot about the Church at that point, but she knew something of priesthood blessings. Nevertheless, on this night when someone he loved dearly needed his faith and his strength, this young man could not respond. Given the feelings he had just been wrestling with, and the compromise he felt he had just made—whatever that was—he could not bring himself to go before the Lord and ask for the blessing that was needed.
He bolted from the car and ran down the street several hundred yards to the home of a worthy older man who had befriended him in the ward ever since the boy’s conversion two or three years earlier. An explanation was given, the older brother responded, and the two were back at the house still well before the paramedics arrived. The happy ending of this story as told in that testimony meeting was that this older man instantly gave a sweet, powerful priesthood blessing, leaving the injured child stable and resting by the time medical help arrived. A quick trip to the hospital and a thorough exam there revealed no permanent damage had been done. A very fearful moment for this family had passed.
Then the returned missionary of whom I speak said this: “No one who has not faced what I faced that night will ever know the shame I felt and the sorrow I bore for not feeling worthy to use my priesthood. It is an even more painful memory for me because it was my own little brother who needed me, and my beloved nonmember parents who were so fearful and who had a right to expect more of me. But as I stand before you today I can promise you this,” he said. “I am not perfect, but from that night onward I have never done anything that would keep me from going before the Lord with confidence and asking for His help when it is needed. Personal worthiness is a battle in this world in which we live,” he acknowledged, “but it is a battle I am winning. I have felt the finger of condemnation pointing at me once in my life, and I don’t intend to feel it ever again if I can do anything about it. And, of course,” he concluded, “I can do everything about it.”
He finished his testimony and sat down. I can still picture him. I can still see the setting we were in. And I can still remember the stark, moving silence that followed his remarks as everyone in the room had occasion to search his or her soul a little deeper, vowing a little stronger to live by these powerful words given by the Lord: “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven. The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth” (D&C 121:45–46; emphasis added).

I just had to write and tell you how much the New Era means to me. It is just as great a help out here in the California Los Angeles Mission as it was when I used to get it back home before that. I just love to read all the Church magazines and newspapers I can get my hands on.
I had glanced through the New Era from time to time after I joined the Church, but not being very strong in the Church for the first three years or so, I was not interested in reading it.
A few years ago I was given a very special home teacher who made the difference in my life. Both my spiritual and mental attitude had to change, a change I was ready to make when he walked into my life. We talked about my sudden strong interest to really find out about this church I had joined in 1979. I had a sudden, overwhelming desire to read all the Church books I had in my house, one right after another without worry about lack of sleep, reading most of the night. It took me no more than two weeks to complete my collection of 12 Church books.
One day while waiting at his home to go to some activity with his family, I picked up their copy of the New Era. I soon found myself engrossed with it. He asked if I received Church newspapers or magazines, as I was the sole member of the Church in the home. I mentioned that I got the Church News which was promptly put on my bed the day it arrived, but otherwise no.
A few months later I found that this special home teacher gave this hungry-for-knowledge member a gift of the magazine. The subscription ran out just before my mission began. I still enjoy the New Era here in the mission field.
Sister Robin FreemanCalifornia Los Angeles Mission

Mary Titcomb, a librarian at the Washington County Free Library in Maryland, had a problem. She believed that everyone should have the fun of visiting a library and selecting books to read. Because this was impossible for most farmers and their families, who lived far out in the country, Mary decided that the library would go to them.
She designed a “traveling library,” a horse-drawn wagon that held 250 books. It made its first run in 1905, driven by the library’s janitor, Joshua Thomas. The new book wagon, with its shelves on the outside and storage cases inside, looked like a cross between a grocer’s delivery cart and the black hearse of the village undertaker. In fact, some of the farmers called it the “dead wagon” and didn’t want to use it at first. But their fear didn’t last long, and soon Joshua was covering sixteen different routes through five hundred square miles of territory and was welcomed by the people that he served. It took him four days to make just one round-trip with the library’s first “bookmobile.”

“You’re going to have to work every other Sunday.” My stomach churned like it was suddenly filled with rocks. Up until now, I’d only had to work after school and on Saturdays as a bagger. I’d never been faced with working on Sundays.
I had been so excited earlier in the day when my boss told me he was finally promoting me to checker; no more gathering carts in the icy, slushy grocery store parking lot. Nebraska winters were cold. But now that he was standing in front of the big calendar in the break room filling out my new work schedule, dread tightened my throat. I was speechless. He began putting my name in the squares for every other Sunday: “Amy, 12–6. Amy, 12–6.”
In the past few months I’d asked my boss countless times if there was an opening for a checker yet, and I’d worked really hard to be the one chosen for the position now that the opening had come. The checkers got to stay in the warm store, their shoes stayed dry, and they made a lot more money than the baggers did.
My boss put my name in a few weekday squares and said, “Congratulations, you’ve earned this! Enjoy your last day as a bagger,” then left to attend to other business. I walked out of the break room and back to my post at the end of the check-out counter and began putting bread, eggs, and apples in plastic bags as the checker sent them my way on the black conveyer belt. I knew what I should have done, but I hadn’t had the courage to do it. Never before had what I wanted been so at odds with what was right.
I tried to ignore those rocks in my stomach, but they just got heavier as my shift went on. In Young Women we’d learned about keeping the Sabbath day holy plenty of times, and I’d always thought it was one of the easiest commandments—until now.
Would it matter that much if I worked on Sundays? It was only every other Sunday. But my conscience tugged at me. Surely it’s okay to work on the Sabbath if your job requires it. I had to have a job.
“You can find another job,” it piped up again. “Yeah, but for half the money,” I mumbled, trying to shut my conscience up once and for all. “What’s more important, keeping the Sabbath day holy, or money?” it replied. I rolled my eyes at my conscience, knowing it was right. I had a choice to make.
My shift dragged on. Finally, out in the cold parking lot trying to free a grocery cart that had frozen into a snow bank, I wondered how I’d feel in the bright cozy store checking groceries on a Sunday. My heart sank at the thought, and I knew what I had to do.
The rocks bumped around my insides as I went looking for my boss on my next break. “Choose the right. Choose the right,” I chanted to myself under my breath, trying to work up the courage to face him.
I was terrified to talk to him about it. Would he be angry? I imagined him yelling, “You’ve bugged me for so long and now you’re turning down the promotion?!” Maybe he’d make fun of me: “Hey, I think I’ll start a religion that says you only have to work on Wednesdays!” Or even worse, maybe he’d say nothing and just look at me with annoyance and disgust.
“I can’t take the promotion, Mr. Johnson,” I began, after I’d asked him if I could talk with him for a minute in the break room. “I can’t work on Sundays because of my beliefs.” I was talking more to my shoes than to him, but I looked up when he didn’t reply for a while. He was just staring at me thinking.
Right then I realized that no matter what he was thinking, and no matter what he would say next, the rocks were gone. And was that my conscience … cheering? I felt better than I had all day as my boss stood there wondering what to do with me.
He folded his arms and sighed, “All right, I won’t make you work on Sundays since it’s for church. The other checkers want Sundays off too, but they just want to party.”
I thanked him as he crossed my name off the Sunday squares. He gave me a few more Saturday shifts instead, then left.
I floated through the rest of my last day as a bagger.
“And behold, all that he requires of you is to keep his commandments; … therefore, if ye do keep his commandments he doth bless you and prosper you” (Mosiah 2:22).
I was blessed that day because I chose to keep the fourth commandment. I’d had the immediate blessing of a lightened spirit and a clear conscience, and then the Lord softened my boss’s heart right when I needed it. Even if my boss had been a mean man and fired me on the spot, I know that the Lord would have blessed me in other ways. Maybe He would have helped me find a new job. I’ll never know. But I do know without a doubt that no matter what, He would have taken care of me because I “chose the right” that cold winter afternoon.

Rachel ran through the living room and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. She and her best friend, Becca, were going to the park to try out Becca’s new rollerblades.
As Rachel was pulling her own rollerblades out from under her bed, Mom came into the room. “I’m going over to Sister Heaton’s for a few hours, and I need you to stay with David.”
“But Becca and I are going to the park right now!”
“I’m sorry to ruin your plans, Rachel, but Sister Heaton still isn’t feeling well after her operation, and I promised to help take care of her today. David will be up from his nap in about half an hour, and then you two can play for a while until Dad gets home.”
“But I don’t want to play with David—I want to go to the park!”
“I know you do, but today you need to stay home and take care of your little brother. You can go to the park tomorrow. I’m sorry, but Sister Heaton needs me, and I need you to help me.”
As Rachel watched Mom going down the street, she was so angry that she almost cried. Why did she have to take care of David? It wasn’t fair that she had to give up a trip to the park just so her mom could take care of somebody.
She called Becca to tell her the bad news, and as she hung up the phone, the doorbell rang. It was Aunt Pearl, her mom’s younger sister.
“Hi, Aunt Pearl. Mom’s not here.”
“That’s OK—I can’t stay. I just came to return your mom’s sewing machine. Mine is fixed now, so I don’t need hers anymore. And I thought that maybe I’d spend a few minutes with my favorite niece!”
Rachel gave her a weak smile and tried to seem happy, but Aunt Pearl noticed Rachel wasn’t really feeling happy.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I was going to go to the park with Becca, but Mom told me I had to stay and take care of David so she could help a woman in our ward.”
“That’s too bad. If it were any other day but today, I’d stay so you could be with your friend. But I have a doctor’s appointment, and I can’t reschedule it.”
“I guess I’ll be OK. It’s just that I really wanted to go to the park today.”
“You know, there might be something I could do.”
“What?”
“Sit down with me, and I’ll tell you a story.”
Rachel wasn’t sure a story would fix things—a story couldn’t baby-sit for her. But Aunt Pearl usually knew what she was talking about, so Rachel followed her to the couch.
Aunt Pearl began: “When your great-great-grandmother Emily Burk left Nauvoo to come west, she had an old hen she wanted to bring with her. It had been doing something rather unusual—sitting on a nest of duck eggs—and Emily just couldn’t leave her behind. So she set up a box in the wagon for the nest. Soon the ducklings hatched, and every night when the wagon train stopped, Emily filled a washtub with water and let the little ducks swim. Everyone in camp came to watch them.
“You see, Rachel, part of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is helping others. There’s even a scripture in the Book of Mormon that tells us how important it is to ‘bear one another’s burdens’ [Mosiah 18:8]. Heavenly Father wants us to take care of those who can’t take care of themselves.”
“You mean just like Emily took care of the chicken and like the chicken took care of the ducks?”
“And just like the Lord took care of the pioneers and how He still takes care of all of us. He wants us to be happy, so He watches over us.”
“Why doesn’t He take care of Sister Heaton instead of having Mom do it?”
“That’s how He is taking care of Sister Heaton—through your mother. Most of the time Heavenly Father answers our prayers through someone else.”
“So Mom is Heavenly Father’s answer to Sister Heaton’s prayers?”
“Probably. Your mother is helping Sister Heaton rest and get her mind off her troubles, sort of like those ducklings helping the tired pioneers find a little bit of enjoyment at the end of their long days.”
“But why do I have to baby-sit?”
“So your mom can help Sister Heaton. The ducks wouldn’t have been able to bring some enjoyment to the pioneers if the chicken hadn’t cared for them. Your mom wouldn’t be able to help Sister Heaton if she didn’t know you would take good care of your brother while she’s gone.”
“So, in a way, I’m helping Sister Heaton too?”
“In a very big way.”
“Then I guess I don’t feel so bad about waiting until tomorrow to go to the park.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
As Aunt Pearl left, Rachel heard David waking up. On her way upstairs to get him, she thought more about what Aunt Pearl had said. Rachel was still a bit disappointed to miss out on the trip to the park, but it helped to know that taking care of David helped Heavenly Father take care of Sister Heaton.

I’m soooo tired. I barely got any sleep last night. In the middle of the night I heard a freaky noise and poked Bryant to wake him up. It went kind of like this:
Me: Bryant! What’s that noise?
Bryant: Um, I think it’s a frog.
Me: I don’t think so. Could it be a snake?
Bryant: Nah, snakes don’t make noise. … Maybe it was a coyote?
Me: You said it was a frog!
Bryant: Maybe a coyote is chasing the frog.
Me: Or maybe the frog is chasing a coyote.
Bryant: Hahahaha! Maybe it was an alien!
Me: A robot alien!
Bryant: Dressed like a coyote!
Bryant and me: HAHAHA!
We were cracking up all night! Finally, we got some sleep. It was kind of scary to hear weird noises in the dark. I wonder if that’s how Bryant feels sometimes. But joking with Bryant helped me feel better. I’m glad he’s my friend.

A crafted red and pink paper heart frame holds a picture of the entire family dressed in white. In April 1993, the Richards family was sealed in the St. George temple. It was Mom and Dad’s tenth wedding anniversary. “It made for a special day,” Mom said. Emily says she remembers that everything in the temple was white and that she felt nice inside. “The children didn’t want to leave,” Mom said. They loved the beautiful chandeliers and the pictures of Jesus Christ inside the temple.
The family had driven for five days to get to St. George. Why did they travel so far to be sealed? On a previous vacation they had driven into St. George, and the city was covered with a thick layer of gray fog. They couldn’t see anything except the white glow of the temple. This experience made them want to return to St. George to be sealed there.
They stopped at four other temples on that trip. “Each time we visited a temple grounds, we felt a family togetherness,” Mom said. On the way home, they stopped and ate at a hotel. The hotel employees were so impressed with the children’s polite behavior and kind manner that they gave the entire family free dessert.

One hot summer day the circus pulled into a lot where there was no dust for the elephants to throw onto their backs to rid themselves of the flies that tormented them. Old Mom spied a gunnysack. Picking it up, she waved it around, and the flies flew away. Squealing with delight, Old Mom shimmied and swatted. Suddenly a young bull snatched the gunnysack from her. When Old Mom smacked him on the nose and he dropped it, a punk grabbed the treasure. Soon the sack was flying back and forth like a football. Fred heard the commotion and came running. He yelled for a boy to get each elephant a gunnysack. Within minutes the entire herd was squealing and swatting contentedly. Not one would give up his prize. Imagine the surprise of the circus crowd that night when Old Mom led the elephants into the ring, waving their limp brown flyswatters!

But the Kirtland story doesn’t end with these marvelous manifestations. A year after the temple’s dedication, the community was fraying. An international economic crisis led to massive unemployment in the United States. Banks failed across the country, including a small bank established by Church leaders in Kirtland to spur development of the community. Joseph Smith and other Church leaders desperately tried to save the economy of the community. But the tide of the global economic crisis was too much. People began to lose jobs and homes. Many began to murmur against God and the Church. Why had the Lord allowed His people to fail economically? Some began to whisper and then proclaim that Joseph was a fallen prophet.
At one meeting in the summer of 1837 in the Kirtland Temple, Joseph Smith Sr., the Church patriarch, spoke in his son’s absence. As he spoke, a dissenter tried to pull him from the pulpit. When William Smith defended his father, a fellow Apostle threatened to kill William with a sword. Other men with knives and pistols surrounded William. The temple, which had been a place of sacredness and spirituality a year earlier, was now a place of violence, dissension, and chaos.
When Joseph Smith returned to Kirtland, most Church members sustained him as the prophet, but three Apostles were removed from the Quorum of the Twelve. Economic problems had turned into spiritual problems. Within a few more months, the Lord told Joseph to leave Kirtland for the safety of his family and for the sake of his own life.

In an interview with the patriarch, I learned that his wife was seriously ill, and he struggled to provide for her care. After addressing the issue with the stake president, we gave her a priesthood blessing. I inquired of the patriarch how many patriarchal blessings he gives on average.

“Eight to ten,” he said.

I asked, “Per month?”

He replied, “Per week!” I counseled him that doing that many per weekend was not wise.

“Elder Godoy,” he said, “they keep coming every week, including new members and many youths.” Again, no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.

Grace, a widow with short brown hair and shining eyes, was first. Her day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, she told us. She awoke with a terrible head cold—the first time in more than three years she had been ill. In revising her plans for the day, she decided to put together a scrapbook about her mother’s life, something she had been thinking of doing for a long time. Grace asked her sister to help, and they worked together to reconstruct their mother’s life story in pictures and words. It took most of the day, but the end result was a cherished scrapbook.
Grace found that her activities on that day opened up a new avenue to her. Her patriarchal blessing had said that she would work on her family history. “Because I didn’t understand family history, I just couldn’t get really interested in it,” she confessed. “But after doing my mother’s book, I decided to do one about my husband who died recently.”
She has since compiled histories of her husband, her son, and her daughter. “By cleaning out all the boxes of treasures and mementos I had been storing for years, I’ve found enough information to do the temple work for many of my ancestors,” she says. “I can see my work is just beginning. And I’m happy to do it.”

When we went back to Boston we took with us an eight-year-old daughter. Our other two were attending Brigham Young University, and we left them here. We went from a family of five to a family of three in one evening, never again to be brought together as a family because both of my older daughters married while we were on our missions. That’s a great experience, but here now my little eight-year-old became an only child overnight—quite a frustration. And then, to top it off, we moved to a new area; and she was lonesome for her friends and her acquaintances at school.
We signed her up in the Russell School in Cambridge. The Russell School was built in 1888; and it is not a very imposing looking school, except to an archaeologist. It had lots of weeds in the yard, and a terribly musty smell greeted one as he entered the building. The floorboards buckled, and you got an eerie feeling as you walked the halls.
We tried to prepare this little girl for her first day at school just as soon as we arrived. Because it was a long way off, she didn’t panic; but as the day drew closer her concern increased. We took her shopping for new school clothes, had a family evening organized around how to adjust and what to do and how to turn yourself out to adjust to the new environment. She could handle that all right, because it was still theory. And then the night before, we planned a special program around helping her for the special day. She retired to her bed all right but seemed quite restless.
The next few hours passed, and then she suddenly appeared at the door where I was studying. She was rubbing her stomach. She said, “Dad, I’m sick.” Now, you know what kind of sickness she had, don’t you? Not physical, not mental, but emotional. “Can’t sleep, sir.”
Well, I invited her over, put her on my lap, and we chatted for a moment. Then I put on some music that we liked to listen to together and rubbed her tummy. She finally drifted into never-never land and seemed pretty well under control. I took her body, with its dangling legs, upstairs and put her back to bed. I turned to go out, got as far as the door, and she said, “I’m still awake.” I went back and lay down on the bed and stroked her head for a few moments, and she finally went to sleep.
The next morning while I was at breakfast she came down dressed only in her slip. She said, “Dad, I just thought you ought to know I don’t think I’ll go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Now, you know what she’s trying to tell me, don’t you? “I’m nervous. Will my teachers like me? Will I be accepted?” Oh, she was not capable of asking those kinds of questions, but these were the concerns of her heart. She was lonely; she didn’t know how to fit in. She was concerned about making new friends.
And I said, “Well, you know the answer to that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I guess we’re going.”
I said, “How would you like your mother and me to drive you over?” She liked that, so we did.
We got in front of the school, and the tears started to well up. The warning bell sounded; I got her out of the car, and she grabbed hold of my leg like a tackle I hope we’ve got this year for BYU. I had to drag her, literally, to the door. The door opened, and now she clung to both legs. I shall never forget the expression on the face of that eight-year-old. She looked at me, and she said, “Dad, if you really love, if you really do, you won’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may sound like a strange philosophy: it’s because I do love you that I am sending you in there.”
We went in. The tears really came now, without shame. Then it happened. Then the little miracle. Around the corner came the only other Latter-day Saint in the whole student body. Thank God, another eight-year-old girl. And she had seen her a couple of times at some stake functions. And this little girl was an extrovert’s extrovert. Even though only eight, she had learned to lose herself in the interest of others. She came around the corner, and she said, “Oh, Kellie! How are you? Gosh, it’s good to see you! What’s your home room number?” And Kellie told her. “Great! That’s mine, too. Come on, I’ll show you where.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go, got about ten paces out in front of me; and then I’ll never forget this lesson. She turned and said, “Oh, Dad, you can go now. I don’t need you anymore.”

Because of financial struggles, one sister had to move from her beloved home and ward after living there for 22 years. That was painful. Of her first Sunday in her new ward, she said: “I felt very alone, even though I knew a few people. I was one of the first to Relief Society that morning. I sat there and watched the sisters file in and take their seats. They all seemed to need their own row, not just their own seat. They didn’t sit by each other and they didn’t sit by me. I felt like an island.” Sisters, why do we do that to each other?! The sister continued: “Then Lisa came in. Her face lit up when she saw me and she charged over to me, popped down beside me, put her arm around me and gave me a big hug. It’s amazing how much a small gesture like that can mean. Her warmth”—and I would add, her love—“washed away my loneliness.”

I was playing an online restaurant game late one night when my husband walked by and announced that he was going to bed.
“I’ll be right in,” I told him.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said.
I was playing a game in which I cooked virtual food in a virtual restaurant for virtual customers. I looked at the computer screen and said, “Actually, I have food coming up in 15 minutes.”
To pass the time while I waited, I picked up Daughters in My Kingdom: The History and Work of Relief Society, which had lain on the desk since I had received it in Relief Society. I began reading the preface. On the third page I found the following by Belle S. Spafford, ninth Relief Society general president.
“The average woman today, I believe,” she wrote, “would do well to appraise her interests, evaluate the activities in which she is engaged, and then take steps to simplify her life, putting things of first importance first, placing emphasis where the rewards will be greatest and most enduring, and ridding herself of the less rewarding activities” (2011, xiii).
Other than the scriptures, never has anything I have read touched me so deeply. This woman who died more than 30 years ago was speaking to me. Her words are likely more relevant today than when she said them.
I knew immediately that I would never play online games again. I turned off the computer, went to bed, and told my husband of my decision. The next day I did not even turn on the computer. Instead, I figured out how many hours I had wasted on those games every day.
I multiplied three hours a day by 365 (days in a year) and divided by 24 (hours in a day). I was stunned to learn that I had wasted 45.62 days per year. Those precious hours and days are gone forever. I could have spent them reading my scriptures, spending time with my husband and children, serving others, or magnifying my callings.
General Authorities often address this subject during general conference. Yet it had never hit home, and I thought it did not apply to me.
I am grateful that the Holy Ghost helped me recognize that the General Authorities—and Belle S. Spafford—were speaking to me.

The title of my talk, “The Messy Middle of Revelation,” was inspired by a conversation that I had in 2007. I was part of a team that hosted the national meeting for the Acoustical Society of America in Salt Lake City. A dozen of our colleagues had come from around the United States to plan the technical program and assign rooms to different events. After our long planning session, we took our guests to the Roof Restaurant, with its lovely view of the Salt Lake Temple. I’m sure dinner was amazing, but I remember this night so vividly because of the conversation I had with two of my colleagues on the walk back to the hotel.
As we were walking, one turned to me and asked, “Do you really believe what they say about Joseph Smith?”
I replied that I did—and still do—believe that, in the spring of 1820, Joseph Smith prayed to know which church to join. In answer to the humble prayer of this fourteen-year-old farm boy, God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, appeared and called Joseph to restore Christ’s Church to the earth. Joseph Smith was the first latter-day prophet.
I then explained that the Church of Jesus Christ has been led by prophets to this day. As members, we each have the responsibility to do as Joseph Smith did—to ask God and receive our own personal confirmation of what the prophet tells us.
His response surprised me. He said, “That sounds very disorganized.”
As I was wondering how to respond, our colleague from New Orleans, who had recently lived through the cleanup after Hurricane Katrina, emphatically said, “If there is one thing their Church is, it’s organized.”

A few weeks ago, just before 6:00 a.m., my wife and I boarded a taxi to begin the last lap of our trip to Salt Lake City from Australia. Our driver, who had been on duty since 3:00 a.m., was anxious to talk with us, his first passengers of the day. We learned his parents were born just outside of Mexico City. They moved to Chicago, where he was born, and then moved to New Mexico. Twenty years earlier our friend had come for a short visit to San Francisco and had never left. During our trip to the airport, this man related a few incidents from which some great truths were reemphasized.
His parents, he told us, had remained in New Mexico, but liked to visit him and his brother whenever they could afford it because they loved being with their children and grandchildren. In New Mexico his mother’s health was rather poor, but whenever she was in San Francisco, she seemed to feel much better. This discerning son had said to his brother, “I know just exactly what mother needs.”
He said, “I found a large truck. My brother and I drove to New Mexico, loaded our parents and all their possessions into the truck, and brought them to live near those who loved them most. Mother’s health improved noticeably.” Then he added, “You know, love is very important if it is done right.”
The second incident related by this humble but wise man was also significant. He said, “I teach all my children to work. I want them to have schooling, but they must learn to work to get it. I just finished helping my sixteen-year-old son get a part-time job at a bank. While he is going to school, he only works two hours a day, but he is learning to work. He knows I love him because I do my part, too. Due to the uncertainty of my driving hours, I can’t always take him to work, but I’m always there to bring him home. He looks forward to our ride together, and so do I.”
One other important point was made by this unusual taxi operator. He told us that some of his unmarried friends who are also taxi drivers are often out of money. They come to him to borrow. He indicated that he is generally able to help them over tight money spots. When his companions asked how he is able to support his family on his salary when they can’t even keep themselves, he said, “I tell them I don’t waste money at the races or on liquor or tobacco. My wife fixes our meals at home, and we don’t have to pay for expensive restaurant food.” He smiled when he added, “We do our partying with our family.” This man’s objectives are family-oriented, and he has learned the folly of serving the gambling, drinking, and momentary expensive habits.
A happy man, this driver; he has realized through experience important areas of love. He knows that nurturing love is healing; it is teaching. It requires sacrifice, and that which we love will be that to which we give our allegiance. He had shared some basic principles of love in action that were potent. Frankly, we were enjoying his comments so much we could have wished the airport terminal were another half an hour away.

I discovered the following scripture during the years my husband was not a member of the Church: “If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God.” (John 7:17.)
I took great comfort in knowing that in many ways my husband was doing God’s will. We had home evening, we stored a year’s supply of food, and he encouraged my children and me in church attendance and service. That scripture helped me realize that someday my husband would gain the testimony that what he was doing actually was God’s will.
He eventually did realize it and was baptized. Now this scripture reminds me that the more I live the gospel, the more assuredly I know it is of God.

Single at 43! Learning to date again at my age was a weird experience. I have to apologize publicly that when I saw my kids and you students falling in love through communications via e-mail, texting, skyping, Facebook messages, etc., I thought to myself, "Just pick up the phone already, just like in the old days." What I found though, as I started this dating journey is that you could still use the phone, but all of these other communication mediums were important and I could build a relationship through the use of them as well. Before Diane passed away I did not plan on dating or remarrying after her passing. I planned on going back to corporate and making my mark on the world.

I was interviewing at Microsoft in December of 2014 and had this feeling, a weird feeling, that going back to corporate wasn't what I needed to do. I had gone on one date with Kami McKane, who was a widow with three boys at home. I really liked her. She was smart, funny, pretty, and had a great testimony. My late wife Diane had told me numerous times that she expected that I remarry, but it always seemed weird to talk about. So when I did start dating, I knew I had her blessing, which was a great comfort. Anyway, Kami and I continued on our courtship and we married last year. Many people asked why we would get married again. Kami is sealed to her late husband as I am to my late wife, both of us for time and all eternity. Why get married again, for time only? Our relationship is one of friendship and love, but most importantly to help each other and our children to return undefiled and prepared to sit at the judgment seat of God and return to our eternal companions.

Now we have a blended family of seven children, ages seven to 24. All of our children have had their hearts broken. To lose a mother or father is traumatic. All we can ask is, "Dear Heavenly Father, what am I to learn?" To curse God, blame others or not move on is not God's plan. We must move forward, we can only move forward or backward. Staying in one place is moving backward. Kami is my wife now. She is a great example to me and our children. She went to college and earned her degree in English, with no real plans to ever use it, but knew it was wise to do so. She was married in college to a great man, who provided for her and her children. When he died suddenly of a massive heart attack, she was thrust into the work force. She took on a school teaching job and did that until we married. What would she have done for employment had she not completed her degree is a lesson for anyone contemplating not completing their education.