Gospel Story Finder

George Peeples is my best friend. For 17 years, we’ve lived across the street and one house over from each other. We were born in the same month of the same year in the same hospital. When our moms went to Relief Society, George and I shared the same playpen. When George started kindergarten, I was his first seat partner. We got the chicken pox at the same time, and we both had a crush on Linda Helmers in the sixth grade.
We’re a pair, a team, bookends. And we plan to keep it that way. If everything works out, we’ll go on our missions at the same time, come back at the same time, find twin sisters to marry, and go into business together. We’re like brothers, maybe even closer. There’s not a person on the face of the earth that I know better than George.
That’s why I was more than a little surprised when George pulled me aside on Sunday after our priests quorum lesson was finished. What he said to me was totally unexpected. Brother Roberts had given a good lesson about living up to our potential and making the most of our lives by developing our talents and abilities. I could tell that it had made an impression on George.
“Casey,” he said, motioning for me to come closer. “We’ve got to talk.” He had a faraway look in his eyes. “I think I’m inspired,” he said.
“To do what?”
“The lesson today. Doing something for yourself and something for others at the same time. I’m getting this feeling, Case. A big feeling. I want to make a difference. I know it’s crazy, but …”
“But what?”
“Case, I’m going to run for student-body president.”
My mouth must have dropped open about six inches. George is a great guy, but a student-body president? That was hard to imagine.
“You don’t have to say it,” George beamed. “You’re surprised. Right?”
“I am surprised, George.”
“Here’s another surprise for you. I want you to be my campaign manager.”
I didn’t know what to say. Here was my best friend asking me to sign on as first mate of the Titanic. George was well liked, but not what I’d call popular. Maybe if he were all-universe in a glory sport, like basketball or football. George was a wrestler, and not a very good one at that. The only office he’d held in school was Science Club treasurer. This was not a man who brought Thomas Jefferson to mind. George didn’t have a chance.
My ten-year-old brother Matt came scooting down the hallway. “Dad says you need to get to the car right now,” he blurted out. I don’t know when I was happier to be pestered by my brother. “Gotta fly, George. I’ll call you later.” With that, I quickly headed toward the car. Very quickly.
“Can you believe it? George wanting to run for student-body president?”
I giggled. I was at home with my family at the dinner table, chewing pot roast and talking over the events at church. “Student-body president. Isn’t that a scream?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s so funny,” my dad mused. “He has a lot of ability. George is a friend to everyone. He brings out the best in others, a rare trait these days.”
Mom picked up the theme in a hurry. “You shouldn’t talk about George that way, Casey. You should encourage him to run, not poke fun at him behind his back.”
My pot roast suddenly tasted a little dry. “Uh, I am supporting him. He asked me to be his campaign manager,” I mumbled.
“Good for George. Just like him to place so much faith in you, son,” Dad approved. “You know what I like about George? He’s a good people person.”
“That’s Peeples,” Matt chimed in. “He’s a Peeples person.”
“Hey, how about that? Vote for George. The Peeples Choice,” my mother said triumphantly. “Is that a terrific campaign slogan or what?”
“The Peeples Choice. Cute, Mom.” I smiled weakly. As soon as the dishes were cleared, I was on the phone with George.
“You don’t even have to say it. You’re accepting the campaign manager’s position,” he chattered. “I knew I could count on you. See what you can find out tomorrow at Mr. Carello’s office. For a principal, he knows a lot about what’s going on. Then we’ll plot strategy after school over here.”
“Right, George. Strategy. It’s going to take a lot of that to pull this off.”
About four the next afternoon, I knocked on George’s door. His little brother, Ralphie, answered. Ralphie is seven years old and the unquestioned budding neighborhood genius. He was reading at three, wrote his first simple computer program at five, and his first complex program a year later. He’s got a round little face, like George’s, a bowl haircut, and oval tortoise shell glasses. “Hi Ralphie! Discovered any new subatomic particles this week?”
“Well, no Casey, but I do have a new ant farm. It’s fascinating. Do you want to see it?”
“Some other time, Ralphie. Big doings here today,” I said, walking to the family room where George was studying a city map.
“Casey! What did you find out?”
“Good news and bad news. First the good. Mr. Carello said he knew of only two people running for student-body president.”
“Only two? Me and who else?”
“That’s the bad news, George. The other candidate is Eric Torrington.”
George looked as though he’d swallowed a snail. “Uhhh,” he groaned. “The Eric Torrington? All-state quarterback? Honor roll student? The one who never has a hair out of place?”
Before I could answer, I heard a voice from the couch across the room. “Eric Torrington. Ohhhh. He’s so gorgeous.”
It was George’s ninth-grade sister, Libby. The mere mention of Eric Torrington caused her heart to skip a beat.
“Yes,” I sighed. “That Eric Torrington.”
“It felt so right yesterday, but maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” George worried.
“We can’t let the competition scare us off,” I reassured. “Look, if you were Eric, would you take George Peeples’s campaign seriously?”
“No. I really wouldn’t.”
“Neither will Eric. That gives us the element of surprise. And I know we can outwork him.” I was startled by how confident I was sounding. I suppose that people boarding the Titanic had smiles on their faces. “I’ve already got a great campaign slogan. ‘The Peeples Choice.’ There are a lot more people at school who never will be a star athlete. They’ll identify with you, not Eric.”
George was looking less discouraged. “The Peeples Choice. That’s good.”
“The credit for it really belongs to my mom.”
“And the surprise stuff. I do have a few ideas up my sleeve. Like tracting. You know, like the missionaries do,” George explained. “I got a list of addresses from the computer today. Every student at Westmont High is right here. I’ve already started to plot their homes on this map. We can try to visit as many as we can at their own house before election day. The personal touch. What do you think?”
“It’s worth trying.”
“Then we’re in this thing to the end?”
“Together all the way.”
“And not even Linda Helmers will come between us?”
“No way. And she moved to Montana four years ago anyway.”
George laughed. “Eric Torrington is about to be thrown for a loss.”
We stood at the corner of 19th and Oak Street, looking at a long list of addresses attached to a clipboard. “Mark Crane,” George said firmly. “Second house on the right.” We marched to the door and George knocked vigorously. A young man opened the door.
“Mark Crane?”
“Yes, I’m Mark.”
“Mark, I’m George Peeples, and I’ll be a senior next year at Westmont High. I’m running for student-body president and—”
Mark’s face brightened. “So you’re the guy. I heard someone was running against Eric Torrington, but I couldn’t remember who. What did you say your name is?”
“George. George Peeples.”
“That Eric is awesome,” Mark said admiringly. “Do you remember the game against Central a year ago? We were down by six points with two minutes left.”
“Hey, do I remember that game!” George enthused. “Of course. Eric was running to his left with a linebacker and a nose tackle hanging on his back. Then he sets up and throws the ball about 60 yards against the grain …”
“And our guy is wide open, makes the catch, and dances into the end zone. We kick the extra point and the game is history,” Mark rhapsodized. “Awesome.”
“Yeah, awesome,” George gushed. “That pass was a tight spiral, no wobble at all.”
“Sixty yards easy,” gloated Mark. Mark blinked at George. “So what did you say brought you here?”
“Oh. Right. Well, I’m running for student-body president against Eric, and gosh, if you don’t vote for him, then how about voting for me?”
Mark gave George an odd glance. “Yeah. Sure. So how will we do in football next year?” They talked about football for a couple more minutes, then parted amiably. George and I turned back toward the street.
“You don’t need to say it, Casey. I’ve got to be more assertive. Mark pretty much had me talked into voting for Eric.” He looked at me. “Tell me it will get better.”
“One door, one new friend. That’s not bad. It will get better,” I told him.
Looking back, it did get better. We never knew what to expect when we knocked on those doors. We talked with tall kids, short kids, skinny kids, not-so-skinny kids, people with blond hair, people with brown hair, and in a couple of cases, people with orange hair. Some simply told us they would vote for Eric. Some showed no interest in voting at all. And a few, I think, really took seriously what George had to say. Tracy McNeil was one of those people.
We’d been working a neighborhood for a couple of hours, greeted mostly by blank looks. We were worn down. George’s shoulders slumped. We approached a large, two-story house with green shutters. I rapped on the door, and a girl our age answered.
“Hello, I’m George Peeples and I’m running for student-body president.”
She smiled. “Oh yes. Some of my friends told me you’d been to their houses.” She was just a few inches over five feet tall and as thin as a drinking straw. She had long, light brown hair. “I’m Tracy McNeil,” she said.
“This is my friend and campaign manager, Casey Baxter,” George introduced me.
“Why are you doing this, George?” Tracy asked.
“You mean going to houses and asking people to vote for me?” She nodded. “On a day like today, I wonder myself. A lot of people don’t care, it seems.
“And you do?” Her question was polite, but with a point.
“Yes, I do. I want to make a difference,” George said earnestly. “I have some good ideas, like the scholarship committee. The way I see it, with a little work and relying on some expertise in the community, we could double the number of scholarships received by Westmont students. I want to see if my ideas will work. If I don’t run, I’ll never know what effect I could have had. Right, Casey?”
“Right, George.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted to do something but were afraid to try?”
Tracy blushed. “Cheerleader,” she said softly. “I’ve always wanted to dance around with pompoms and yell silly rhymes in front of large audiences. It’s dumb, I know.”
“It’s not dumb. Why haven’t you tried out?” George asked.
“You have to be pretty and popular. I’m neither,” Tracy answered.
“I think you’re pretty,” George blurted out. “And if a little guy like me can run for student-body president against an all-state quarterback, then you can try out for cheerleader.”
A light clicked on in my head. “I remember your picture in the yearbook. You’re on the gymnastics team. You could do those cheerleader routines in your sleep.”
“Well …” Tracy wavered.
“You try out,” George demanded.
“Maybe,” hedged Tracy.
“Will you at least vote for me?” George wondered. “I have other good ideas, too.
“Eric doesn’t have any ideas. You have my vote. You earned it,” laughed Tracy.
When we left the doorstep, George’s mood was definitely on the upswing. “Tracy McNeil. A great human being. Intelligent. Attractive. And supremely insightful,” he rambled. “Case, by some chance do you think she has a twin sister?”
Still, George and I worried. You couldn’t walk down a hallway at school without seeing Eric’s football-shaped campaign tags. “Be a Winner. Join the Torrington Team,” they urged. We needed help. Even with the assistance of George’s parents and the dubious efforts of Libby, we couldn’t keep up.
I was at home one evening, halfheartedly trying to write a paper for English class when Brother Roberts called. He’s an architect, only a couple of years out of school. Our priests would do almost anything for him.
“How’s the campaign going, Casey? When I ask George, he only assures me that all is well. My instincts tell me otherwise.”
“It could be better,” I admitted. “Eric Torrington has a lot of support. Except for the wrestlers, he’s got every athlete’s vote in the school. Then there’s the hunk factor. Eric is one; George isn’t. George may not even carry his own family. Yesterday at school I saw Libby with a Torrington tag. Can you believe it? Like half the other freshman girls, she’s probably convinced herself that Eric is a secret admirer and is getting ready to ask her to the prom or something.”
“Not a good sign when you can’t count on your own sister’s vote,” Brother Roberts sympathized. “When are you and George going to meet again?”
“Tomorrow, about seven at his house.”
“Let me see what I can do to help.”
I was a few minutes late getting to George’s house the next night. Ralphie answered the door.
“Hey, Ralphie, been reading up on superconductivity lately?”
“Why yes, I have—an unbelievable force. George is in there. I was just going over his trigonometry with him.”
George sat in the family room, staring toward a shelf where Ralphie’s ant farm was located. “Oh hi,” he said wearily when I came into the room. He turned again to look at the ant farm. “You don’t suppose we’re any different from those ants?”
“Say what?”
“The ants and us. They wander around their little world, just like we do. They work hard, just like we do. And they won’t be elected student-body president, just like us.”
“George, you’ve been campaigning too hard. This is fairly obvious, but you are not an ant.”
The doorbell rang. We heard a commotion at the front door. Then Brother Roberts strode in carrying a dozen pieces of cardboard. Behind him streamed in our priests and the entire Laurel class.
“George, Casey,” Brother Roberts explained hastily. “This is your instant campaign committee. I’ve got a pretty good hand in art and everyone here has been cutting paper and pasting since their kindergarten days. These materials are scraps from work. We’re here to help you.”
George started to sputter something. One of the priests, Brett Young, held up his hand. “George, you’ve proved your friendship to us many times. Just think of it as returning the favor. Now stand back and let us get started.”
George sat down, looking slightly lost. In three minutes, a little factory was set up with a dozen kids bouncing around like popcorn in a popper. George watched, almost in a daze.
“Still feeling like an ant?” I shouted across the room.
“Not at all. I’m feeling like, well, the Peeples Choice!”
Three hours later, the Peeples campaign was in possession of four beautiful banners, a dozen posters, and 200 campaign tags.
The priests and Laurels also left behind one important intangible—a big dose of enthusiasm. “The confidence is back,” I told George. “Let’s go knock on some doors.”
“We’ll help,” Brett volunteered. “You won’t make it to every student’s house by next week. We can split into twos and cover the ground you won’t get to.”
Looking back, that night was the turning point. At school the next day, you couldn’t look anywhere without seeing “The Peeples Choice” hanging from a wall or ceiling, or proclaimed on a tag on someone’s clothing. We were gaining momentum. “It looks like you and Casey are giving Eric a run for his money,” Mr. Carello told us in a hallway. I saw Eric a few times that week. Underneath his cool, poised exterior, I detected a trace of anxiousness. As an athlete, he knew what could happen when the opposition mounted a fourth-quarter charge.
Suddenly, it seemed, the day before elections arrived. We had our last meeting. “We’ll finish the door-to-door work this afternoon,” reported Brett. “We’ll be close to visiting 90 percent of all Westmont students by the time you sit down for supper.”
“Great work,” George acknowledged happily.
“What about your campaign speech?” I asked George. Before the elections, an assembly was held and all the candidates addressed the student body. “Do you need help with it?”
“I don’t think so. I talked it over with Dad, and he said the best speeches are those that come from the heart. I’ll work on it tonight.”
“You’d better,” Brett advised, “because the assembly is the first thing tomorrow.”
“Nobody knows that better than I do,” George replied.
I lost track of George that afternoon. It was just as well. The campaign had taken a toll on my homework. So when my last class was over, I did the heroic thing and trudged to the library. I studied until about 6:00 P.M. and then made my way down the quiet hallways.
I passed by the gymnasium. A door was open. Inside, a girl was practicing a cheerleading routine, ending with some very polished handsprings. I watched until Tracy McNeil finished only a few feet away from me. She looked up, startled to see someone watching her. “Caught in the act,” she said, her face flushed from the workout. “Tryouts are in two weeks. I need a little work.” She frowned, feigning anger. “You know this is all George’s fault. He gave me that little boost. And whether I make the cheerleading squad or not, I’m glad that I’m trying. Better to know than always wonder,” she said, letting out a breath of air that ruffled her bangs.
“George does seem to bring out the best in people,” I said. “Need a campaign manager? I’ve put together quite a machine for George.”
“A campaign manager for cheerleader?” She laughed. “No, I don’t think so. But if I change my mind, you’ll get a call.” Tracy was done practicing. Since it was getting dark, and since I knew George would approve because he’s also a gentleman, I walked Tracy to her house. “Good luck tomorrow,” she wished before disappearing behind her front door.
I arrived home 20 minutes later, convinced that I never was that crazy about Linda Helmers in the sixth grade anyway.
Excitement rippled up and down the hallways at school the following morning. Everyone was talking about the elections. You couldn’t turn anywhere without seeing a horde of students wearing Touchdown Torrington or Peeples Choice tags.
In the school auditorium, the first row was reserved for all the candidates. I took a seat right behind George. He looked sharper than I’ve ever seen him. He wore a new, gray, pin-striped suit with a red necktie.
“This is it,” I said, settling in behind him. “Got your speech?”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m going on instincts. I’ll know what to say when I get up there.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Trust me. Whatever I say will be right from the heart. I hope.”
The assembly started. Mr. Carello announced the candidates for president and said that Eric would lead off. Eric strode confidently to the podium, amid some encouraging shouts from around the room. He had on a white linen sport jacket, beige slacks, and a light blue shirt. He looked, well, like Eric. Cool. Sophisticated. Very in.
“I’m a natural leader,” he began. “I’ve proved it on the field, and now I’m ready to prove it off the field. When it’s fourth and inches and the game is on the line, you want someone who can take charge. I’ve been there. And hey, I took charge.”
He went on, playing the football theme to the hilt. Some of his pals in the audience let out an occasional whoop or whistle. “So you want to be a winner? Vote Torrington. Join the Torrington team. And together, we’ll be invincible,” he concluded. Right on cue, a bunch of his friends immediately jumped up and started clapping.
“Some campaign manager you’ve got,” I groaned to George. “I didn’t even think ahead to plant some people in the audience to give you a standing ovation.”
“No problem,” George said serenely, standing. He walked to the podium slowly. He stood there for several seconds, saying nothing. My stomach did some Tracy McNeil-like backflips. There were some nervous coughs. Finally, George began to speak.
“Over the last few weeks, I’ve visited many of you in your homes. Based on those visits, I’ve concluded one thing: You are winners now, and you don’t need to prove it by voting for one candidate or another …”
Cheering simultaneously broke out all over the auditorium. George smiled and waited for the noise to die down. “I know what it’s like to come to school and wonder if you’re important. To me, all of you are. We can make this school a place where we look forward to coming each day, to learn, and to see friends. I’m running for student-body president because, together—” George paused and nodded slightly “—we can make a difference.”
George elaborated on his plans—to expand the student store, to form the scholarship committee, and his idea for an intramural sports league where desire, not ability, was the only qualification for participation. You could have heard a cricket chirp as he spoke—it was that quiet. It was clear to anyone who was half-awake that George’s ideas and plans far surpassed Eric’s efforts. Then George finished. “Just do this. Think about the two candidates. Then vote for the one you think will truly best serve you.”
Applause erupted. I noticed someone standing behind me and to the left. It was Mark Crane, the very first person George and I talked with. Brett was on his feet, quickly joined by other friends from church. It was contagious. Tracy stood, and most shocking of all, Libby and some of her pals began clapping and shouting. From the back of the long, large room thundered the most thrilling sound of all. A chant, growing stronger. “Peeples … Peeples … PEEPLES! … PEEPLES!!!” Shivers shot up my spine as George walked back to the front row.
“Can you believe it?” I shouted to George, who grinned and turned to face the student body, his hands held high over his head.
For the first time, I believed that George might actually win.
George would have been a great student-body president, maybe the best ever at our school. If only he had the chance. Close doesn’t count in elections; neither does who is most deserving. Mr. Carello’s face told it all as he came out of his office to announce the results after school. He looked slightly disappointed, a fact not lost on George.
“He doesn’t even have to say it,” George whispered glumly. “Eric won.”
Mr. Carello cleared his throat. “For student-body president, Eric Torrington, 353 votes, George Peeples, 344. Congratulations, Eric. A burst of backpounding broke out in Eric’s corner of the room. George walked over, smiling to hide his hurting.
“Thanks, George,” Eric said, shaking George’s hand. “You gave me a big scare. Another day or two, you would have won. You’re a class act, Peeples.”
Mr. Carello pulled George aside. “You gave it a good try. I do plan to follow up on some of your ideas. We’ll need a student leader on the scholarship committee. I hope that you’ll consider the position.”
“Thanks, Mr. Carello.”
Friends consoled George. We left after ten minutes or so, starting the long walk home. Rain began to fall.
“You did great, George. Nobody gave you a chance, but you almost pulled it off. And look at the good things that came out of it. You made some friends. Tracy will be a cheerleader, no doubt. You gave people confidence. And that was the best priest and Laurel activity we’ve had in a while.”
“I suppose you’re right, Casey, but it’s hard not to be disappointed,” he said.
Normally I can fight off noble urges pretty well, but I was getting desperate to cheer up my friend. “I think Tracy would like you to ask her out.”
It didn’t even phase him. “That’s nice,” George mumbled.
We were quite a pair, walking in the rain, our heads down. After what seemed like an hour, we reached our street. “Look George, you should be proud. You weren’t elected, but you’re still a winner.”
He nodded a little. “Thanks for your help. You were a great campaign manager. Right now, though, I need to go somewhere quiet and think through some things. I’ll be fine, but it may be a few days before I smile again.”
He turned to his house, a forlorn figure on a gray evening. I went to my room, stretched across my bed, and spent a few reflective seconds thinking of the day’s events.
My peace was short-lived. It was shattered by an explosion coming from the Peeples’s house. I bounded off the bed and dashed down the stairs to the street. I saw Libby bolting from the house, looking disgusted. “You’ve done it this time, Ralphie! For a kid so smart, how could you do something so dumb! Dad’s going to ground you until your mission!”
Ralphie tore out of the house right behind his sister. I grabbed Libby’s arm. “What in the world is going on?”
“It’s Ralphie, the boy genius,” she hissed. “Mom’s picking up Dad at the airport. Ralphie’s been told a million times not to use his chemistry set when they’re gone. But he got into it and there was a horrible bang. I mean cups and plates fell out of the cupboards, and books off their shelves. And his ant farm. It fell and cracked, and now there’s about 50,000 ants running everywhere. Ralphie’s never going to get out of this one!”
I rushed by the panic-stricken Ralphie into the house. I turned to the kitchen. The sight was unforgettable—George, wet hair plastered on his forehead, in his soggy suit, down on the floor with the sugar bowl in his hands, sprinkling white granules and urging, “Here ants! Come and get the sugar! Ummm, good!” He looked up at me and hurriedly explained, “Got to capture these ants before my parents get home. Ralphie’s entire future is at stake. Just don’t stand there, help me!”
I started to chuckle, and then George, realizing how it must have all looked, began giggling. He sat back in a mess of sugar, a couple of ants clambering up his red tie. We laughed until we both had headaches.
“George, I don’t even need to say it.”
“Go ahead anyway, Casey.”
“You are someone who makes a difference. And always will.”
With that, I grabbed some sugar in my hand and started calling ants in the very best way that I could.

“I was in sacrament meeting when it happened,” said Joyce Allsop, 19, of the Yakima Fifth Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, about a hundred miles from Mt. St. Helens. “I looked out the window and everything was getting darker and darker. There were flashes of eerie, orange-red lightning through the ash particles, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, but no rain. The thunder came so close that we all ducked, and the building shook. We thought it would fall down on us. Then everything turned pitch black, at 10:00 in the morning, and stayed that way for 24 hours.
“Outside, ashes were falling like snow, only you could feel it, like sand pelting you. Then it started coming down like a heavy, gritty rain.”
The members of Joyce’s ward were told that the volcano had erupted and that the roads were extremely hazardous, with visibility down to zero. She and a friend decided to drive the 20 miles home, because they wanted to be with their families.
“As soon as we got into the car, we said a prayer to help us get home. We started out and could barely see anything, it was so dark. Cars where pulled off in ditches to the side of the road because people couldn’t see where the road was. Most people had no idea where they were. The only way we ever made it home was with the Lord’s help.
“When we got home, we got calls from all sorts of concerned people, some we hardly even knew, checking that we’d made it home safely,” she added.
The abrupt change from a peaceful, secure life to not knowing what would happen gave Joyce a lot to think about.
“I realized how blessed we were to get home safely. And I thought, if this is anything like the Second Coming, we have to be more prepared. I think I could also relate a little to how the Nephites must have felt when Christ was crucified, when it turned pitch black. Those words from the Book of Mormon suddenly took on new meaning.
“I also understood how powerful the forces of nature are and how quickly the world could be destroyed. And I realized, more fully why we need to have food storage and clothing, supplies, and water on hand. As soon as the general public in Yakima heard that the roads were closed because of the eruption, they all rushed to stock up on supplies. Now a lot of the single people from home are starting their own food storage programs,” said Joyce.

On 29 November 2018, my dear wife, Ruth, went into labor with our fourth child. Although this was an exciting and joyous moment for us as a family, there was some major concern. The pregnancy was at 32 weeks and the expected delivery was to be late January 2019. This was approximately eight weeks early. The thought—and the now-evident reality—of getting our baby preterm was disturbing.
Before we rushed to the Aga Khan University Hospital in Nairobi that night, I said a silent prayer and beseeched the Lord so that both the mother and baby would be protected. As we arrived at the hospital, the doctors warned me of the possible dangerous outcomes of preterm delivery. They mentioned that the baby’s development could be affected due to incomplete time in the womb. In the worst-case scenario, loss of life happens, and mom and baby could be lost. Although this terrified me, I knew that God was in the details. I knew that the Lord would do His will upon my wife and baby. This assurance gave me a lot of peace. I had prayed many times for other pressing matters in the past, and I had seen the hand of the Lord. He had answered all my prayers from the days of my youth. I knew He would not forsake us even in this case however difficult it seemed.
Around this time of trial, my ward, Zimmerman, was split and I received a call to become the bishop of one of the two newly created wards. This was a very challenging moment for me, but I knew that God would provide a way to accomplish this immense task. I could juggle between my new calling, taking care of the three children at home—all of whom were still young—making regular visits to the hospital, and give honest labor to my employer.
From my past interactions with other bishops, it was evident that the calling of being a bishop was considered one of the most challenging callings in the church—feared and loved in equal measure. However, I confidently knew that whom the Lord calls He qualifies and that He would provide a way for me to be a successful bishop as well as fulfill all other responsibilities placed on my shoulders. As Nephi states: “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He hath commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Things went on well and our baby, David, was born weighing 1.5 kg (approximately 3.3 pounds). The doctors said he looked good for his age and that he was not in any extreme danger. He was placed in the neonatal intensive care unit and he responded very well to the care given by the doctors and nurses. Like many other times in the past, I saw the hand of the Lord and His choicest blessing in my wife’s and son’s lives. This experience helped me appreciate our great medical technology and the selfless acts of the hospital personnel. David is healthy and thriving now and has been a great addition to our family. He is a source of joy to us all. His siblings Payson, Precious, and Natasha love him dearly. He is a constant reminder of the greatness of God.

When I was 12, my mother died of cancer. After her death, I thought I was dying of cancer too. I didn’t really have cancer, but my thoughts were very real to me. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I carried the burden alone and was quite troubled.
I knew that when we have a problem we should go to the Lord in prayer. I always said my individual prayers at night and would think my prayers in my head as I knelt by my bed. But this particular time, I felt I needed to pray out loud.
Now, it was not easy to find a time to be alone in our house. I had five brothers and sisters and shared a bedroom with a sister. One afternoon I remember coming home from school to an empty house. I went into the living room and poured out my heart aloud to my Heavenly Father. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to suffer as my mom had suffered. I pleaded with the Lord.
Immediately after I had closed my prayer, a peaceful, strong feeling surrounded me. It was as if loving arms were around my shoulders and as if a voice said to me, “You are fine. You are fine.”
My prayer had been answered. I felt very loved, and I knew I was OK. A huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. My thoughts of dying left me. Since that time, I have prayed to my Heavenly Father for answers. The answers never have come as quickly as they did that day, but I know prayers are answered—even if it is in the Lord’s timing and not mine.

“Tom? You got a minute?” Five-year-old Kevin stood outside his brother’s door.
“Sure, Kevin. Come on in,” Tom answered, looking up from his studies.
Kevin hurried to where Tom sat. “Tom, do you have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because tomorrow is your birthday!” Kevin protested.
“That doesn’t matter. Besides, I have a test.”
“Oh.” Kevin hesitated. “Tom, do you know any secrets?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Tom answered, his eyes lit with amusement.
“I do,” said Kevin smugly, “but I can’t tell you, ‘cause it’s a surprise!”
“Yeah?” Tom asked, eyeing Kevin with affection.
“Yeah,” Kevin answered. His eyes searched Tom’s. “Tom, if somebody made you a picture with lots of horses on it, do you think you would like it?”
“I sure would!”
“Better than a silver belt buckle with your initial on it?” Kevin asked hopefully.
“Lots better,” Tom replied vigorously.
“Better than a pair of real cowboy boots?”
“Yep,” Tom answered. He pointed at the wall facing his bed. “If I had a picture like that, I’d hang it right there so I could see it first thing every morning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, ruffling Kevin’s hair.
“What’s your favorite kind of cake, Tom?”
“I don’t know, Kevin. Got any suggestions?”
“Chocolate! With fudge icing!”
“Is that your favorite?” Tom asked, still smiling.
“Yeah!”
“Then it’s mine too.”
“Tom?” Kevin rubbed his eyes sleepily.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I’ll ever get as big as you?”
“Not if you don’t get to bed. It’s way past your bedtime.”
“Will you carry me piggyback, Tom?”
“Sure.”
After Kevin was tucked snugly into his bed, Tom turned to leave.
“Tom?” Kevin called.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” Kevin said.
“I love you, too, Kev.”
“Night, Tom.”
“Good night, Kevin.”
Kevin was still sleeping when Tom left for school the next morning. When he returned home, Kevin was waiting for him on the front steps. He tugged at Tom’s hand. “Hurry, Tom!”
“What’s the rush?”
“Come and see!” Kevin skipped as he led Tom inside the house.
Fifteen candles burned brightly on a chocolate fudge cake resting in the center of the table. Tom and Kevin’s parents came from the kitchen singing “Happy Birthday.”
“Surprise! Surprise!” Kevin yelled, jumping up and down.
“Wow!” Tom said happily.
Kevin helped Tom blow out the candles on the cake; then Tom opened his packages. He was very happy to get cowboy boots and a silver belt buckle with his initial on it from his parents. He saved Kevin’s gift for last.
Inside the package was a large white poster board. Several pictures of horses, cut from magazines, were glued to it. “This is terrific, Kevin!” Tom said, smiling.
“I made it all by myself!”
“Will you help me hang it in my room?” Tom asked.
“Yeah! Are you going to hang it in front of your bed so that you can see it first thing every morning?” Kevin asked anxiously.
“You bet!”
“Surprises are a lot of fun, huh, Tom?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, picking Kevin up and swinging him through the air. “Surprises are great!”

Extending care and aid is a vast range of dedicated relief workers, many of them volunteers. I saw in action a member of the Church who, for many months, worked through the night, providing for the most immediate needs of those arriving from Turkey into Greece. Among countless other endeavors, she administered first aid to those in most critical medical need; she saw that the women and children traveling alone were cared for; she held those who had been bereaved along the way and did her best to allocate limited resources to limitless need. She, as so many like her, has been a literal ministering angel, whose deeds are not forgotten by those she cared for, nor by the Lord, on whose errand she was.

Pioneers help my testimony of Jesus Christ to grow because of their sacrifices to follow Him. I have an ancestor named Lars Larson who listened to the missionaries and chose to follow Jesus Christ even though his parents were angry about it. They told him that if he was baptized, they would not let him live there and they would not help him at all. His testimony was so strong that he left his family to follow the Savior and be baptized. He was later called as a missionary to where his family lived. He went to their house, and when his mother answered the door, she quickly closed it on him. But he caught the door before it closed all the way and simply said, “Mother, I just want you to know that I have found the truth.” This testimony wasn’t easy to have—it meant that he lost a lot—but following the Savior was so important to him that it was worth the sacrifice.

As a young couple, my husband and I were called by our bishop to visit and minister to a family who hadn’t been to church in many years. We willingly accepted the assignment and went to their home a few days later. It was immediately clear to us that they did not want visitors from the Church.
So on our next visit, we approached them with a plate of cookies, confident that chocolate chips would melt their hearts. They didn’t. The couple spoke to us through the screen door, making it even clearer that we weren’t welcome. But as we drove home, we were fairly certain success might have been achieved had we only offered them Rice Krispies Treats instead.
Our lack of spiritual vision made additional failed attempts frustrating. Rejection is never comfortable. Over time we began to ask ourselves, “Why are we doing this? What is our purpose?”
Elder Carl B. Cook made this observation: “Serving in the Church … can be challenging if we are asked to do something that frightens us, if we grow weary of serving, or if we are called to do something that we do not initially find appealing.”1 We were experiencing the truth of Elder Cook’s words when we decided we had to seek direction from Someone with a greater perspective than our own.
So, after much sincere prayer and study, we received the answer to the why of our service. We had a change in our understanding, a change of heart, actually a revelatory experience.2 As we sought direction from the scriptures, the Lord taught us how to make the process of serving others easier and more meaningful. Here is the verse we read that changed both our hearts and our approach: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.”3 Though this verse was so familiar, it seemed to speak to us in a new and important way.
We realized that we were sincerely striving to serve this family and to serve our bishop, but we had to ask ourselves if we were really serving out of love for the Lord. King Benjamin made clear this distinction when he stated, “Behold, I say unto you that because I said unto you that I had spent my days in your service, I do not desire to boast, for I have only been in the service of God.”4
As our focus gradually changed, so did our prayers. We began looking forward to our visits with this dear family because of our love for the Lord.5 We were doing it for Him. He made the struggle no longer a struggle. After many months of our standing on the doorstep, the family began letting us in. Eventually, we had regular prayer and tender gospel discussions together. A long-lasting friendship developed. We were worshipping and loving Him by loving His children.
Maybe our bishop knew that was the lesson my husband and I would learn from those early and well-intentioned, yet not perfect, efforts to minister to God’s beloved sons and daughters. I bear my personal and sure witness of the goodness and love He shares with us even as we strive to serve for Him. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One winter morning I awoke to several inches of snow. A native of central California, I was not accustomed to snow and was dreading the uphill walk to the temple. But instead of rationalizing and staying home, I put on warm boots, carried my church shoes, and started my walk to the temple.
When I arrived, I was greeted by a familiar temple worker who was pleased to see that I had made the trek despite the gloomy weather. Once inside, I felt a sense of triumph mixed with gratitude. I realized, just as the prophet had asked, that I had become “a temple-attending and a temple-loving” person.

During that time, I became friends with members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They invited me to activities, and I always tried to attend every chance I had.
One day at church choir practice, For the Strength of Youth pamphlets were being passed around, and my friend handed one to me. As I read its messages about strengthening my relationship with Jesus Christ, I felt a hunger for truth ignite in me.
I wanted to know more about Him and His gospel. My friend gave me a Book of Mormon and invited me to ask Heavenly Father if its teachings were true, so I accepted her invitation.
When I read 2 Nephi 27:23, I felt so much comfort: “For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever; and I work not among the children of men save it be according to their faith.”
This scripture showed me just how powerful having faith in Jesus Christ could be. I wanted to believe in Him again. As I finished the book, I felt the Spirit testify of the truthfulness that Jesus Christ lives and that the Book of Mormon is true. I got baptized soon after and started living very differently than my family.

“Relax, boys. I’ve seen that kind of sign before.”
“Maybe so,” they shouted, “but that sign isn’t fooling!”
I glanced again at the Beware of Dog sign attached to a tall wire fence. Just beyond the fence were two large black and white dogs. I thought to myself, “An English setter and an English pointer; both breeds are considered fairly even tempered. In fact, they are usually very good family pets.” I was considering those thoughts when my eyes began to focus on the steam coming from those snarling jaws.
I was the replacement driver of a school bus route and was on my first run. It was late in the fall, and I had been thinking about the many things I had to do. Every half mile or so my thoughts, along with the bus route, changed course. I was enrolled in graduate school, as a teacher I had my school lessons to prepare, I had Church meetings to conduct, it was hunting season, my oldest son needed assistance with his Scouting requirements, there was firewood to be cut, and I was trying to finish extra rooms in our basement for our seven children. In light of that schedule, I suppose a reasonably sane person would definitely not be interested in driving a school bus, but we could certainly put the extra wages to good use.
At each stop the students would cheerfully give information about the sites along the route. I guess this job won’t be too bad after all, I thought. That is when the barking dogs snapped me back into reality. Big deal, I thought reassuringly, what are they going to do—eat the bus?
“Hey, Mister,” the kids yelled in unison, “you better get going before they jump that fence and eat this bus!”
“Very funny, very funny.”
However, I noticed that as I shifted gears and pulled away, I kept my eyes on the dogs.
When I returned home that afternoon I related the incident to my family. My three older boys were a bit mystified.
“Come on, Dad, you didn’t really believe those dogs could hurt you in that big bus, did you?”
“I guess I was just concerned about the students, but those dogs certainly looked like they wanted to get over that fence pretty bad.”
The conversation then jumped to the other events of the day, both at school and at home. At supper, my oldest son asked me to help him with his Scouting requirements. He was progressing toward Eagle rank but was having difficulty in completing the high jump skill in the Athletics merit badge. Although he was a fairly good athlete, he just couldn’t seem to find enough spring to jump the additional inch that was required for a boy his height and weight. In fact, he had finished every other skill rather easily, but the high jump seemed to be a tremendous obstacle.
I suggested he try the long jump alternate. He admitted he was even worse in that area and reasoned that he had given it his very best effort, failed, and now needed some extra reassurance. I watched him attempt the long jump. He was right. After inspecting his shoes for traces of Superglue we both concurred that the high jump was his best chance for success.
We went over to the school high jump pit. I reminded him that David had a difficult challenge in the person of the formidable Goliath. I stressed that a person can accomplish goals that appear to be impossible, if they have enough faith and work hard.
After a short warm-up and his first attempt, I was beginning to see how tall Goliath really was! We worked on his approach, his speed, his takeoff, his head position—everything I could think of. As failure began to take its toll, the inch became two, then three. The old wedge of discouragement finally found the mark and sunk deep into my boy’s heart.
“Dad, there is no way I’ll ever make that jump!”
He was trying to conceal his emotions, but it was obvious that his spirit was almost broken. His hair was tousled, his face was wet with perspiration, his shirt was torn, and he looked as though he had been through the first cycle in a washing machine.
“Rhett, the only limits you’ll ever know are the ones you place on yourself. I know you can do it. Just don’t give up. Now get up and …”
“Look, Dad,” he shot back, “I’ve given it everything I have. There’s nothing left to give. It’s not that I’m quitting. I’m just smart enough to know when I’m beat.”
“But Rhett …”
“Dad! Let’s go home. There are plenty of other merit badges I can earn.”
The winter months soon had our valley home in Idaho firmly tucked in under a blanket of deep snow. That year winter seemed determined to show off some muscle. It seemed that snow was falling continuously in record amounts, making driving hazardous and causing frequent cancellation of school. After a particularly severe storm I was proceeding along my bus route, being extremely cautious about the driving conditions. I was concentrating so intently that it wasn’t until all the students at my favorite stop had been seated before I even looked around at the surrounding scenery.
Ah yes, the dogs were barking viciously at the bus. As I reached toward the gear shift I found myself doing a quick doubletake. Both dogs were there, ears back, tails low, warning us in no uncertain terms that they were the meanest critters around. There was no doubt that they wanted to get at me, the students, or the bus itself, if only they had the chance. But that was the amazing part of the scene. At the sight of the bus, both dogs had raced the length of the yard and stopped abruptly where the fence was—I mean used to be! The deep snow had drifted completely over the fence giving it the appearance of a small ski ramp.
I couldn’t believe how ridiculous those dogs looked. The obstacle that had always prevented them from enjoying their meal of orange metal and rubber tires had been eliminated, yet they were stopped from pursuing us by some invisible force. Invisible, but apparently very effective.
While driving away, I noticed in my mirror that the dogs were still barking furiously but refused to give chase. As I pondered this scene, I considered how often people find themselves in situations very similar to the one in which the unfriendly canines were. How unfortunate that we place unnecessary limits on what we think we can achieve. Of course there must be a certain degree of realism in our goals, but if we are to attain great things we must set our standards high.
“High?”
Of course, the high jump! Rhett had talked himself out of a goal simply because he had failed and no longer believed he could surpass that invisible inch. I had to convince him that he was wrong. I couldn’t wait to get home and recall the story of the dogs to Rhett.
For some reason he didn’t share my enthusiasm, but I still encouraged him to try again. My pleading pep talk was beginning to wear down his resistance, so I applied the finishing touches. Assuming the role of Knute Rockne, the famous Notre Dame football coach, I sternly said, “Those dogs can’t fly, but Eagles can!” He was silent for a moment, but then agreed to train harder and continue jumping until he overcame his obstacle. I was pleased with his devotion. Every day he would jump rope, jog, do exercises, or practice his jumping form. It looked like he was getting serious.
In three weeks the weather began to clear, and the theory was put to the test. Rhett was measured and weighed again to make certain he was still in the same skill group. After a word of prayer and some warm-ups, he went to his starting point while I set up the bar. He was unaware that I had set the bar a full two inches above the required height. It was a gamble, but I could tell by the way he glared at the bar that he was determined to clear that height if it took all night.
He began to rock back and forth to establish a rhythm. As he took his first step I could hear my heart pound anxiously. His pace began to increase, and so did my pulse. Faster, faster until he gathered himself for that final spring. He grunted as he swung his arms high and arched his body toward the bar. There were three or four inches of blue sky between the boy and the top of his “fence.” It was hard to believe he had cleared it with such ease on his first attempt.
As he lay on the pile of foam rubber, staring wide-eyed into the sky, smiles began to appear on our faces. There was no “S” on his chest, no cape around his neck, he was not capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound. He had not earned an Olympic medal. Yet he had more than tripled the output necessary to achieve his goal. Perhaps he had gained something far more valuable than any award. He had begun to see the importance of hard work and determination.
I realized there is no reason for us to allow invisible fences to limit our righteous aspirations. Anyone who has overcome the barriers to success has had to eliminate the invisible fences that would prevent achievement. I am convinced that the prophet Alma taught a profound truth when he said: “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

Jared Stewart’s involvement in this year’s 2023 British Pageant is remarkable, even miraculous. An aspiring actor and former missionary, Jared is excited to play the role of early Church leader, George Q. Cannon.
Jared has been pursuing a career in acting since he was 16 years old and participated in the 2017 British Pageant as a member of the core cast, playing the part of David Ashton.
Over the years, he had been gaining traction as a background performer. In 2018, his acting pursuits were put on hold as he accepted a call to serve in the Poland Warsaw Mission for two years.
When he returned, his life changed dramatically. He was diagnosed with a large brain tumour and needed urgent surgery, which left him with complete facial paralysis on his left side, total deafness in his left ear, along with other mobility issues.
The pageant auditions were being held only a couple of weeks after surgery. He should not have been able to attend.
Jared said, “But I know the power and impact the pageant has on people and decided to show up and offer my service,e whatever that meant. The facial paralysis made speaking hard but the Spirit helped me to push through and to my surprise and gratitude, I was cast.”
At this early stage of recovery, Jared was able to endure rigorous auditions for various top acting schools in London, and has since been accepted at his dream school—the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. He began his studies in October of 2022.
Jared hopes that the pageant audience will feel the love that God has for them, as well as the excitement the cast has in being able to share these remarkable stories of early British and Irish Church members.
He adds, “I feel a great sense of excitement, peace, and joy when pondering on my previous experiences in the pageant and look forward to this summer’s performances. “
“As part of the rising generation,” Jared says, “I hope to see the pageant act as a beacon to my peers of the many fun and creative ways in which we can share the gospel of Jesus Christ. There is power in our past. Honouring our faithful and courageous ancestors is such a joy and a privilege.”

The decision by Nephi and his brothers to place their trust in the things of the world proved to be no more successful than leaving it to chance. I was talking to a father while attending a stake conference. He was telling me about the pressures on his teenage daughter to follow the ways of the world and how she had made the decision not to allow those pressures to influence her life.
She was the only member of the Church in her class in school. She was a popular young lady with the boys and had many opportunities to go out on dates. The boys in her class did not live by the standards she had been taught in our Church. She made the decision to tell every boy who asked her for a date what standards she lived by. If she were to date them, they would be expected to conduct themselves in accordance with her standards. She would get such a commitment from them before she accepted a date. One day the big campus football hero came up to her before the most special dance of the year and said, “You know, I would ask you to go to the dance with me if you would lower your standards just a little.”
There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “If I would go out with you, I would be lowering my standards.” Be strong enough to make your decisions to not follow worldly ways.

I had a remarkable experience one day on my mission in Georgia, USA. Before leaving for our appointments that day we knelt in prayer. As I prayed, I distinctly felt what I was supposed to pray for. I asked the Lord to help us find somebody that day whom we could teach and baptize.
Our area was a military base. We didn’t live on the base, so we had to ride our bikes for miles to get there. It was very hot that day and we had to stop frequently for water breaks.
One after another, each of our 10 appointments fell through. We couldn’t believe it. We rode mile after mile, working all day until there were no appointments left.
About halfway home we stopped at a member’s home for more water and asked about his neighbors. He told us he had forgotten to talk to them, but after we thanked him for the water and started to leave, he called out to us, “Hey, wait! I want you to meet my mom.”
As he introduced us to her, we seemed to connect right away. I still remember the strong feelings in the room and the sweet spirit that was there. We later had many wonderful lessons with her, and she was eventually baptized.
That night after we first met her, we rolled into our apartment dragging our worn-out bodies. I remember dropping in exhaustion to my knees to say my prayers. As I started to thank Heavenly Father for the blessing of finding this special person, I remembered my morning prayer. The Lord reminded me clearly that He had not forgotten my prayer. I will never forget the lesson I learned from the Lord about a long hard day’s work and the power of prayer.

When I was in my late 20s, I went through a period of deep depression, and during that time, it was as if the reality that God existed was suddenly gone. I can’t fully explain the feeling other than to say I felt completely lost. From the time I was a young child, I had always known that my Father in Heaven was there and that I could talk to Him. But during that time, I no longer knew if there was a God. I’d never experienced anything like that before in my life, and it felt like my whole foundation was crumbling.
As a result, it was hard for me to attend church. I went, but it was partly because I was afraid of being labeled “inactive” or “less faithful,” and I was afraid of becoming someone’s assigned project. What I really needed during that time was to feel genuine love, understanding, and support from those around me, not judgment.
Some of the assumptions I was afraid people would make about me, I myself had made about others when they didn’t regularly attend church. That painful personal experience taught me some valuable lessons about why we’ve been commanded not to judge one another unrighteously.

Family is very important to Carolyn. When Grandmother Fox passed away, Carolyn knew that her grandma was OK and that she would see her again. The family planned to do Grandma’s temple work as soon as possible—one year after her death. But Katie had a strong desire to be baptized for her grandmother, so the family waited an extra six months until Katie turned twelve, the age when you can be baptized for the dead.
The Saturday before Mother’s Day, they went to the Washington D.C. Temple. Katie did the baptism, and her parents did the rest of the temple ordinances for Grandma. “It was really special,” Sister Fox explained. “It helped my children see that although we’re the only members in the family right now, because of Heavenly Father’s plan, our extended family can still be together forever.”
Carolyn couldn’t go into the temple because she isn’t old enough. “I felt left out,” she said. “But that’s OK, because in two years, if I live right, I can go to the temple and do baptisms for some of my other ancestors.”
She knows that many of her ancestors are waiting for her and her family to find them and do their temple work. As Carolyn learns the history and stories of her ancestors—who they were and what their lives were like—she learns to love and appreciate them. She wants them all to have the full blessings of the gospel.

When members of one family began to feel unusual contention invading their home, they called a family council to discuss the situation. The father and mother explained to their children what they had observed and asked how each felt about it. The mother and father learned that since their two oldest children had left home—one to be married and one to go to college—an unfair burden of responsibility had been shifted to the two oldest children remaining at home, and they were becoming resentful. By counseling together and listening, the children shared what they were feeling, and a more equitable distribution of responsibility was made, resolving much of the frustration and tension in the home.3

It was an unforgettable family home evening with our two little girls, Angélique, age 6, and Béthanie, age 4. My husband and I had both collapsed into our chairs, tired and not knowing where to begin. So our daughters took initiative and turned the family home evening assignment wheel, giving us each a task. My husband’s job was to conduct, Béthanie had music, I had activities, and Angélique was to give the lesson.
Béthanie chose “I Love to See the Temple” (Children’s Songbook, 95), and we sang it together. Papa gave the opening prayer. Then Angélique took the most recent issue of the Liahona and chose an article in the children’s section. She is learning how to read in school, so she read the article to us. The feeling in our home was one of calm. The Spirit testified that what she was reading was true.
We played some games together, and I gave the closing prayer. While I was praying, I couldn’t keep from thanking our Heavenly Father for His Spirit and love and also for having blessed our home with these little spirits. My husband and I know that our responsibility is to care for them and to teach them the gospel. Holding family home evening is part of that sacred responsibility.
Sylvie Poussin, Réunion

When Eliza was baptized, she promised God that she would “ever praise His name in the congregation of the saints.”2 She stayed true to that promise, giving more than a thousand sermons in her lifetime. Yet those who had the privilege of hearing her might be surprised to learn that public speaking made her very anxious. Even while teaching school in Nauvoo and recording the minutes of the Relief Society meetings there, she hesitated to speak up.

An invitation to face her fears came in 1868, when President Brigham Young asked Eliza to help organize Relief Societies throughout Utah. “I want you to instruct the sisters,” he said. The idea was so frightening that Eliza described her heart skipping a beat.3 But she found the courage to do her best, and over time she learned that accepting challenging callings filled her with strength beyond her own.

To one group, Eliza explained that the President of the Church had called her to go on a mission, and she testified that it is easiest “to do at [once] what is required of us.”4 To another group, Eliza confessed that she didn’t feel competent to speak. “But with your faith and prayers and the spirit of the Lord, I may be able to say something that will comfort and bless you.”5 She learned through experience to seek the Spirit to enable her to speak with power.

Eliza encouraged women to find the courage to stand and share their testimonies: “By speaking your best thoughts they will be increased and strengthened.”6 Not only did she learn to speak with authority herself, but she taught others to face their fears and open their mouths.

Some years ago, Constance, a student nurse, was assigned to try and help a woman who had injured her leg in an accident. The woman refused medical help because she had had a negative experience with someone at the hospital. She was afraid and had become something of a recluse. The first time Constance dropped by, the injured woman ordered her out. On the second try, she did let Constance in. By now the woman’s leg was covered with large ulcers, and some of the flesh was rotting. But still she didn’t want to be treated.
Constance made it a matter of prayer, and in a day or two the answer came. She took some foaming hydrogen peroxide with her for the next visit. As this was painless, the old woman let her use it on her leg. Then they talked about more serious treatment at the hospital. Constance assured her the hospital would make her stay as pleasant as possible. In a day or two the woman did get the courage to enter the hospital. When Constance visited her, the woman smiled as she said, “You convinced me.” Then, quite unexpectedly, she asked Constance, “What church do you belong to?” Constance told her she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The woman said, “I knew it. I knew you were sent to me from the first day that I saw you. There was a light in your face that I had noticed in others of your faith. I had to put my trust in you.”
In three months’ time that festering leg was completely healed. Members of the ward where the old woman lived remodeled her house and fixed up her yard. The missionaries met with her, and she was baptized soon after. All of this because she noticed the light in that young student nurse’s face.