Gospel Story Finder

I recently faced the issue of relevancy in my own life. While serving as bishop of a University of Utah student ward, I received an appointment that would take me to the United Nations and later to Switzerland, during the coming arms control negotiations there. I had grave doubts as to whether I should or should not accept this appointment, as it would necessitate my release as bishop and take me from my family for several weeks, pending their joining me at Geneva. I asked my stake president for guidance, and with his affirmative advice, I accepted.
On the last few occasions that I spoke to my ward family, I was forced by the prospect of our separation to speak upon subjects that I considered most helpful to them, as judged from the perspective we shared—that of a common belief in the gospel.
My talks on those occasions were entirely devoid of current events, either domestic or foreign. In fact, as I think back on the year spent as bishop, I do not recall a church meeting in which I spoke on a current event with my ward family. I do not say this to suggest that eternal gospel principles do not serve as guides in helping meet current problems, for of course they do. Nor do I mean to infer that current topics may not, in the proper setting, be appropriate subjects for Church talks and classes. However, given the relatively short time I had with my brothers and sisters, I felt that my time, my influence upon them, the force of my own knowledge, testimony, and priesthood power could better be spent upon basic things, eternal things.
Their lives, spanning more years into the future than my own, would undoubtedly include confrontations with specific problems that I could not now foresee. The best way to arm them to meet these challenges, I felt—and still do—was for me to talk about basic Church doctrine and to leave many current issues for them to resolve on the basis of their own application of gospel principles.

In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

One of my most memorable days included a 13-mile hike, great scenery, and some one-on-one time with my dad. The day started early as we headed off to hike the west rim of Zion National Park in southern Utah. After we hiked for a while, we stopped to take a break on a large boulder overlooking the gorgeous canyons.
In that tranquil moment my dad related to me the story of the Creation. I sat there listening to him and basking in the beautiful workmanship of my Heavenly Father’s hands. Dad finished the story and told me to really look at the masterpiece in front of me.
He then explained that no matter how wondrous and beautiful this place might be, I was God’s greatest masterpiece. I am His daughter, and He loves me. He made this world for me, for all His children, and gave us dominion over it (see Gen. 1:26–28; Moses 2:26–28). So, my dad told me, in those moments when I was discouraged, when I felt I had no worth, when I didn’t want to go on, I needed to remember how much I am loved.
Dad’s little sermon couldn’t have come at a better time. I had been so blue and so discouraged. As I walked down the trail, I was filled with a sweet peace and a sure knowledge of my Heavenly Father’s love for me. That day I gained a greater appreciation for this world, a deeper love for my dad, and a stronger testimony of the love of my Father in Heaven and our Savior, Jesus Christ.

As a new missionary serving in the Massachusetts Boston Mission, I realized that I could not simply testify of what my dear parents knew to be the truth. I had to have my own conviction of the truth of the gospel and the Book of Mormon.
I remember the day well. I was praying, and a fire filled my soul. Never before or since has the Holy Ghost warmed me to the same magnitude. I knew, without a doubt, that what I had been taught regarding the gospel and the Book of Mormon was indeed the truth. I could now go on with a firm resolve and conviction.

I was a missionary serving in Sendai, Japan. Early in December we had a heavy snow, which was unusual for Sendai’s mild climate. As my companion and I were leaving the apartment that morning, we noticed our neighbors trying to clear the snow from the parking lot so the cars could get out. No one had snow shovels, so housewives and kids were trying to remove the deep blanket of snow with whatever they had. My companion and I armed ourselves with frying pans and dustpans and joined our neighbors. I had never had so much fun clearing snow before. When the parking lot was cleared, we poured some hot water on our bike chains and gears to unfreeze them and went tracting.
As we tracted that day and throughout the month of December, I noticed my companion making notes as we left some of the houses. We were having a terrible month with very few teaching opportunities, and I finally asked him what he was doing. He replied that he was simply making a list of people who were nice to us, even if they weren’t interested in our message.
As Christmas got closer, my companion and I really started to catch the spirit of the season. We went to the nearby canal bank where some evergreens were growing and cut off a branch. In our apartment, we stuck the branch in a two-liter glass bottle and hung Japanese coins on the branch as ornaments. We strung Styrofoam packing peanuts on dental floss and wrapped them around the branch. Since the branch was too flimsy to support our tin-foil star, we suspended it from the ceiling with dental floss so it hung about two inches above the top of the branch. We decorated our wall with Christmas cards we received from home. Altogether, we thought the apartment looked very festive.
The streets became snow packed, with two ruts where the cars would drive. We would ride our bikes down the outside rut in the road. When a car approached, we’d climb up onto the snowbank with our bikes to let it pass. As we rode, we would sing Christmas carols at the top of our lungs, which was quite a feat in the cold winter air as we panted in our hurry to reach our destination.
On Christmas morning, my companion woke up early and made a racket in the kitchen. I was looking forward to a big breakfast, but when I finally wandered into the kitchen, all I got was a piece of toast. Instead of a Christmas breakfast, my companion had baked chocolate chip cookies to take around the neighborhood.
After we opened the presents we had received from home, we used the wrapping paper from our gifts to wrap copies of the Book of Mormon. Using the list my companion had made of people who were nice to us, we delivered plates of cookies and gift-wrapped copies of the Book of Mormon to the people on the list. Many of them were surprised to see us again, but we explained that on Christmas it’s customary to give presents to your neighbors. We told them that the present we gave them was precious because it contained the word of God and His Son, Jesus Christ, whose birth is commemorated at Christmastime. Most of them seemed touched that we would return to their home with a gift, and many scrambled back inside and returned with bags of oranges or persimmons to give to us. Many of the people we visited that day accepted the discussions as a result of our service.
As we returned to our apartment that evening, I felt very peaceful and content. That holiday season I realized more than ever before that Christmas is all about Christ. It is easy to see that the focus of His life was service. As we try to emulate His life, the Christmas season presents a unique opportunity to serve our fellow men and open doors to share the gospel with them. I’m grateful for that memorable missionary Christmas that taught me what the true spirit of Christmas really is.

Our son, Spencer, has tried to learn to fast since his baptism nearly two years ago. We have not made him feel he must fast at this young age. He may not fast as long as we do on some Sundays. In fast and testimony meeting some time ago, he whispered to me, “I think I’ll go up and bear my testimony.” I smiled and nodded my approval. His sincere testimony touched me. He was feeling something. So did I.

Mark’s sport was volleyball, and he was cut from the freshman team about the same time Matt was cut from the basketball team. Following his brother’s example, he decided not to quit but to work harder. “That’s another common ground we have as brothers; we’ve learned the value of work,” says Mark. And Mark had his work cut out for him. “I’m six feet, one inch, and as a middle blocker, I was up against a senior who is six feet, seven inches.” To compensate, he decided to become one of the best jumpers on the team. Like Matt, he trained incessantly. In fact, they worked out together.

Mark made the team. Then, during his junior year, “The coach told me I probably wasn’t going to get much varsity playing time, so he wanted me to play junior varsity as well. That way I’d get experience instead of just sitting on the bench. It helped a lot. By keeping my form right, I increased my vertical leap, and I got to work on it during actual competition.”

Mark also found another way to contribute. “I wanted to get the rest of the team to be more enthusiastic from the bench,” he says, “so I came up with lots of positive things to say and encouraged everybody to do the same thing.” Guess who won the Selleh award for the varsity volleyball team? The trophies sit side-by-side on a shelf in Matt and Mark’s bedroom.

Just before my family was ready to leave for sacrament meeting, I got my finger stuck inside the end of a baseball bat. I pulled and pulled, but it would not come out. When my mom tried to get it out, it began to hurt and swell. I did not want to pull anymore. We decided to say a prayer and ask for Heavenly Father’s help. Right after we prayed, my mom had an idea. She poured some cooking oil on my finger. Finally, after some effort it popped out, and we were able to make it to church on time. I know that Heavenly Father answers our prayers.

Take an interest in their lives and feelings. My friend Emily was surprised when her dad called to ask her opinion about a significant job change he was considering. While she hadn’t been totally unaware of her dad’s career earlier in life, Emily felt like this was the first time her dad had really sought out her opinion on a big decision. Emily was touched to be included and took it as a sign that their relationship was developing in healthy ways.

I know one BYU graduate who is a great example. He points out that there is a mirror quality to conversation. If we talk about the weather, people respond by talking about the weather. If we talk about sports, they respond by talking about sports. This friend says he asks people he meets about their school and listens intently. After they respond by asking him about his school, he tells them about BYU and then shares his testimony of the gospel. Then, in a positive way, he offers to let them learn more from the missionaries. He has been very successful in sharing the gospel. He has also remained on excellent terms with his friends who do not respond to his challenge because he genuinely loves them and is interested in them.

Some time ago, I received a faith-filled letter from Laurence M. Hilton. May I share with you that letter’s account of surviving personal tragedy with faith, nothing wavering.
In 1892 Thomas and Sarah Hilton, Laurence’s grandparents, went to Samoa, where Thomas was set apart as mission president after their arrival. They brought with them a baby daughter; two sons were born to them while they served there. Tragically, all three died in Samoa, and in 1895 the Hiltons returned from their mission childless.
David O. McKay was a friend of the family and was deeply touched by their loss. In 1921, as part of a world tour of visits to the members of the Church in many nations, Elder McKay, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, stopped in Samoa. Before leaving on his tour, he had promised the now-widowed Sister Hilton that he would personally visit the graves of her three children. I share with you the letter Elder McKay wrote to her from Samoa:
“Dear Sister Hilton:
“Just as the descending rays of the late afternoon sun touched the tops of the tall coconut trees, Wednesday, May 18th, 1921, a party of five stood with bowed heads in front of the little Fagali‘i Cemetery. … We were there, as you will remember, in response to a promise I made you before I left home.
“The graves and headstones are in a good state of preservation. … I reproduce here a copy I made as I stood … outside the stone wall surrounding the spot.
“Janette Hilton
Bn: Sept. 10, 1891
Died: June 4, 1892
‘Rest, darling Jennie’
“George Emmett Hilton
Bn: Oct. 12, 1894
Died: Oct. 19, 1894
‘Peaceful be thy slumber’
“Thomas Harold Hilton
Bn: Sept. 21, 1892
Died: March 17, 1894
‘Rest on the hillside, rest’
“As I looked at those three little graves, I tried to imagine the scenes through which you passed during your young motherhood here in old Samoa. As I did so, the little headstones became monuments not only to the little babes sleeping beneath them, but also to a mother’s faith and devotion to the eternal principles of truth and life. Your three little ones, Sister Hilton, in silence most eloquent and effective, have continued to carry on your noble missionary work begun nearly 30 years ago, and they will continue as long as there are gentle hands to care for their last earthly resting place.
“By loving hands their dying eyes were closed;
By loving hands their little limbs composed;
By foreign hands their humble graves adorned;
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned.
“Tofa Soifua,
“David O. McKay”
This touching account conveys to the grieving heart “the peace … which passeth all understanding.”

Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

Many of us have problems that can get in our way: poor eyesight, bad hearing, or perhaps crooked feet. Jaganath Martin, age 8, sees his problems as hurdles to fly over. Jag was born missing portions of his arms and legs.
“Mom, why do monkeys jump in trees?” Jag asked one morning.
“I guess because they are just built that way,” his mom replied.
“So when I get big, I can jump in trees too!” he exclaimed. He thought he would grow arms and legs as he grew older.
Jag cried when Mom told him his body wasn’t built that way. “He only gets upset about his disability if it stops him from doing something, like riding bikes,” his mom says. Most of the time, Jag learns how to do what he wants to do.

SISTER RELKEN:Good afternoon. It is fun for me to tell my side of things. So Nathan actually got baptized in my home ward. It was at the end of the summer, beginning of fall, so I had actually already gone up to college for the semester. Where I went to school was in the mountains of North Carolina, and it was about an hour and 15 minutes from my home ward, but that's still in the same stake; our stake spanned about a two-and-a-half-hour radius at the time. And so I was really excited when I heard from my friends all about this guy who had walked across the street, and that he had asked to be taught by the missionaries, and that he would be baptized. I just happened to be going home that weekend to visit my family. And since I had formerly been a ward missionary that summer, I thought, "You know, I haven't been released yet; I think it's my duty to go to this guy's baptism and show my support." Let's face it: when a single guy gets baptized, you go. It's true.

So I went to his baptism. And, actually, with the guy that I'd been dating at the time, he felt like he needed to join me to show his support as well. So we both went together. And during the baptism, I thought everything went well. He was baptized, and then there were some talks and the normal program. But then they stood up and said they would do things a little differently. Nathan had asked if he could stand up and say a few things. Well, this intrigued me. In all the baptisms that I've been to, the person being baptized had never asked to speak. So he stood up, and he just said that he felt like he needed to share some things he was feeling and about the amazing journey he'd been on. And while he was shaking all over, like a leaf--you could physically see him shaking--there was that surety in his voice, there was that boldness in his voice, and I knew, by listening to him, this is someone who recognized the truth and who was ready to live the truth. And I could tell that he had truly been changed; I could see that change of heart and feel it. And when that was happening, it's like the Spirit whispered to me, "This is what you've been looking for." And no, the Spirit wasn't telling me about him, the person, even though that would come later; it was telling me that that surety, that boldness--that's what I had been looking for, that while I knew the Church was true, I was still on my conversion journey. But I knew it was worth every effort to continue to where I could get to that point, where I could feel as sure as he did that day.

What impressed me too is, while he was standing there and speaking (I could tell he was so nervous as he bore his testimony), I just thought, "This is someone who is powered by the truth and will be guided by the truth." And he didn't know what the future would hold. He didn't know, at the end of the baptism, a redheaded girl would beeline it to the front to eagerly shake his hand (he does not remember that). I know he didn't realize that, less than two years later, he would be proposing to that girl in Sam's Club--yes, I said Sam's Club; that's a story for another day--and that we would be sealed in the Columbia South Carolina Temple for time and all eternity, that our journey then just a few years later would lead us out to Rexburg, Idaho, where we would start our family. He didn't know any of those things. He didn't know the trials he would face. He didn't know the joys, the hardships, the sorrows. But he knew he'd found the truth, and that truth can guide him along his way. And that's what he needed. And that's what all of us need.

I was raising our children in the Church, but within a few years, our children decided they would rather spend Sundays boating with their dad than attending church with me. I was devastated. One day in 1975 I talked to my stake president and told him that I had decided I needed to leave the Church because it was breaking up our family. He patiently listened and said, “Do what you must, but be sure that your Father in Heaven approves.” So I went home and fasted and prayed. That was the second memorable prayer. The answer that came was the impression that I was the link in the gospel chain for my family; if I broke that link, everyone would be lost. I knew the answer came from God, so I committed to never leave the Church. And I never did.

It was going to be a surprise day for the Harmon children. No one knew where they were going or what they were going to do, except their dad. “Hurry! Get in the car,” he said.
“I’m first,” said Julia.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy.
“I’m last,” said Herman as he crawled over Cindy to get in the middle.
Dad started the car and they were on their way. The children looked around excitedly—all except Herman. He was looking at something on the floor of the car.
“What’s in these boxes, Dad?” asked Herman.
“They’re part of the surprise,” answered Dad. “Now, all of you close your eyes and don’t open them until you feel the car come to a stop.”
Everyone closed their eyes tightly. They could feel the car moving down the street and around a corner. Finally it slowed down and stopped. All of their eyes popped open. They looked around. “Oh, Dad, the zoo!” they shouted all together. And they tumbled out of the car and dashed to the turnstile at the zoo entrance.
“I’m first,” said Tony.
“I’m second,” said Julia.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” said Herman, running under the turnstile.
“What would you like for a treat?” asked Dad.
“Popcorn!” “Peanuts!” shouted the children.
Dad bought three sacks of popcorn and two bags of peanuts.
They munched and shared and listened while Dad told them about the many different animals they saw. When they had seen all there was to see, Dad took them back to the car.
Herman remembered the mysterious-looking boxes. So did Dad. He took the smaller box out of the car and put it on the ground. He took the lid off, and the children looked inside. They saw a brandnew yellow kickball. Dad took them across the street to the sunny park to play.
“I’m first,” said Cindy.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Julia.
“I’m last,” said Herman, skipping to the end of the line.
After they each had had several turns kicking the ball, Dad called them back to look in the other box. He put it on a bench while the children stood around and watched. He reached inside and took out potato salad, fried chicken, rolls, potato chips, and chocolate cupcakes.
“Hurray!” shouted the children. “We’re hungry.” Then they all hurried to sit around a picnic table. The children ate and ate until they could eat no more. Then they all helped clean up.
“It’s getting late,” said Dad. “We’d best be on our way home.”
Arriving home, Julia shot out of the car and shouted, “Last one in the house has a purple nose! And I’m first!”
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” laughed Herman, holding his “purple” nose.
They all hugged their mother and told her about the wonderful day they had had with Dad. Mother hugged them back and listened to each one of them tell about their day.
When they were through with their excited talking, Mother told them it was bedtime. “Get into your pajamas and get into bed.”
“I’m first,” said Julia, running upstairs.
“I’m second,” said Tony, running downstairs.
“I’m third,” said Jerry, running downstairs.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy, running upstairs.
“And I’m last,” sighed Herman happily, snuggling on Mother’s lap as she gently rocked him to sleep.

“Hey, Sofía! Wanna go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?”
Sofía felt her cheeks turn red. She didn’t know what to say. Kyle Thornton was one of the cutest and nicest boys in the seventh grade, and here he was asking Sofía to the dance! Sofía knew she shouldn’t date until she was 16, but part of her really wanted to go. It would be so much fun! And besides, the dance was at school, so meeting Kyle there wouldn’t exactly be a real date. …
But Sofía didn’t feel super comfortable with the idea.
“Um … can I tell you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure, no problem.” Kyle smiled and walked to class.
After school, Sofía’s best friend, Ashley, ran up to her. “I heard Kyle asked you to the dance!” she said. “That’s so great!”
Sofía shrugged.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” Ashley asked.
“Well, my family is going to make cookies and take them to a care center that day,” Sofía said. “I’m probably going to go with them.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ashley said. “You can do something with your family any day. This is important, especially since Kyle asked you!”
Sofía knew lots of girls liked Kyle. What would they think if she said no? But how could she tell Ashley she couldn’t date yet?
“I gotta go,” Sofía said. “Mom needs me home right away to watch the twins.”
“OK,” said Ashley. “Let me know what you decide.”
When Sofía got home, Mom gave her a quick hug before hurrying out the door to go visiting teaching. Sofía and her eight-year-old twin brothers, Mateo and Leo, spent the time building block towers and cities.
As she played with her brothers, Sofía thought about the dance. All of her friends were going. She thought about Kyle and smiled. It would be fun being at a dance with him. But she knew what the prophets had said—kids shouldn’t date before turning 16. She wanted to be obedient. As fun as the dance might be, Sofía knew what she had to do.
At school the next day, Sofía saw Kyle in the hallway. She took a deep breath and walked up to him. She had practiced what to say all morning.
“Thank you for asking me to go to the dance with you,” she said. “But I can’t go.”
“Why not?” Kyle asked, his smile fading.
“I’m not going to date until I’m 16,” Sofía said. “But we can still be friends.”
Kyle’s shoulders slumped. “OK. I guess I understand.”
They said goodbye, and Sofía walked to class. She hated seeing Kyle so sad. But she also felt OK about her decision.
On Friday after school, instead of picking out an outfit and doing her hair for the dance, Sofía frosted heart-shaped cookies with Mom and Dad and her brothers. Instead of going to the school gym, Sofía went to a care center to pass out the cookies.
In the main room at the center, Sofía noticed a piano in the corner. She knew several Primary songs by heart, so she asked her family to sing along while she played. People sitting nearby clapped at the end of each song. When she and her family finished singing “A Child’s Prayer,” Sofía saw that several people had tears in their eyes.
“Thank you!” one lady said. “That was even better than the cookies! Will you come back?”
Sofía smiled. “Of course!” Maybe she could even invite her friends and Kyle next time.

One Sunday night we were giving a fireside and I was speaking on the topic of modesty. I was talking about how when I was seeking an eternal companion I wanted to marry a girl who not only had a testimony, but also showed her faith by her works (James 2:17). An indicator to me if a woman was converted or not was if she followed the counsel of the modern day prophets, more specifically, I was looking for a girl who read the Book of Mormon everyday and wore a one-piece bathing suit. One young woman who attended the fireside later told me that when I said that that was the type of woman I had been looking for, it made a profound impact in her life. She said, "I remember thinking that I wanted an eternal mate who would want me to follow the teachings of the living Prophet. So when I got home that night, I was thinking about the second piercing that I had in my ear. I remembered reading President Hinckley's counsel to treat our bodies as temples and limit piercing to one in each ear. So, I decided to take it out because I wanted to be that person and do what the Prophet wanted me to do. I wanted my life to be in Heavenly Father's hands. I also decided to give away my four bikinis and all of my short shorts. Then, I bought a one-piece swimming suit. After doing all that, I really learned about what a gift our bodies are and I definitely felt an increase in the Spirit."

Last October my mom told my siblings and me to listen to ward business that Sunday instead of drawing. So when sacrament meeting started, I paid close attention to the opening prayer and the hymn. Once that was over, the person conducting the meeting asked the bishop to stand up. Then he said the bishop was being released.
He asked my dad, who was first counselor at the time, to stand up. Then he announced that my dad was going to be the new bishop!
I was really worried that something about my dad would change drastically. I had always thought bishops were people who were formal and serious, most unlike my dad. That they had perfectly well-behaved kids who sat quietly on the bench every week. That was not my family.
But I realized that bishops aren’t men with perfect families. They aren’t men who are solemn and serious. They are men with the priesthood. Men with strong, good testimonies.
I don’t know why the Lord chose my dad to be the bishop, but I know that He has His reasons. And I know that my dad did change … but not into a stiff and serious man I didn’t know. I could tell his testimony grew.
And so did mine.

I like the story about Mary Ann Freeze, a stake leader of Young Women many years ago. Her health was always very poor, and so one day all the members of her board and all the young women of the stake fasted and prayed for her. She felt the strength of their love and prayers. That night she wrote in her journal: “I told them that I always knew I was beloved of them, but never to what an extent before. We all felt that that experience had created a more powerful bond of love between us.”