Gospel Story Finder

I would like to tell you the "rest of the story" about my mother, as there are several important lessons we can learn from her story, particularly you sisters. I'm sure my mother was looking for her prince charming when she was about your age. And she found him. He happened to be the young single minister in her church-a "man of the cloth." He was her prince charming! After their marriage he worked in his honorable profession, moving from place to place, providing the basic needs of the family even though times were tough in the depression years of the thirties. He was her true love, her provider, the father of her children, her friend; and they had a great relationship. And then he died at a relative young age, leaving her alone. We were living in Southern California at this time. So what does a mother do in these circumstances with a family to rear? It was her righteous desire to continue on as the nurturer in the home. She had no desire or plans to do anything else. But now things had changed drastically in her life. It fell on her to not only be the mother but to also be the bread earner.

To soften the blow of the possible loss of her husband, mom had invested in a "wonderful" insurance policy to protect her against such tragedies. However, it was not one that gave her enough money to raise her children. In fact, she barely got any money at all from the insurance policy and only a few dollars from the Veteran's Administration to help bury her husband as he had served in the military in World War I. Fortunately in her youth, between the time she completed her high school and when she got married, she had made some good choices. She had attended the University of North Carolina, Greensboro, at the time a women's college, and had completed her baccalaureate degree in education. Young sisters, pay attention to this next statement. Her degree was her insurance policy. As difficult as it was, she was able to go to work as a teacher, thus providing the basic needs of her small family as well as be the Mother. Again, young sisters, keep this in mind as you wonder if you should complete your education. You may be thinking that you want to always be in the home being a mom, however, you never know what may happen that would require you to do what my mother had to do. With her teaching skills she was also well trained to help her children in their homework-another great blessing to our family coming from her preparation.

Two years went by after dad's death, and Mom was adjusting somewhat to a routine of being the provider and the mother. My twin brother, Dick, and I, who are the youngest in the family, were 6 years old and in the first grade. She was teaching in an elementary school a couple of miles from our home. Attending that same school were four of her children who were still living at home. Then came another tragic trial in her life.

One day as school let out and we were boarding the bus, someone approach our bus and told us to get out of the bus as one of Mom's teacher friends, a wonderful Quaker lady, was going to drive us home quickly as there was an emergency. A neighbor had called the school to inform Mom that our home was in flames. My two brothers and I rode home in the rumble seat of the old Model A. As we approached our property, we could see no evidence of the home we had left that morning but could only see smoke rising into the sky where the home once had stood leaving only a pile of ashes. That image of the pile of ashes is indelibly etched in my memory to this day. Everything was gone. Nothing but ashes!

I can only guess the questions Mom had running through her mind. What was this mother to do who was still suffering from the loss of her husband? Where were the children going to eat their next meal, which usually was within an hour or two once they got home from school? Where were they going to sleep that night and the many other nights in the future? What about clothes as all they had was what they were wearing? I'm sure she had these and more questions come to her mind. Had the God whom she had worshiped all her life deserted her? Had he not known that she was widowed when she needed her husband the most? Why had He allowed that to happen? And now this. What should she do? She must have felt some of the same pain on a smaller scale that the Prophet Joseph felt when he was in the Liberty jail and prayed, "O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place? How long shall thy hand be stayed . . ?" She was to learn in times to come the blessings of the promises of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph in answer to his prayer when he said, "My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes."[2]

As painful as those moments must have been for her watching the dying embers of ashes of the remains of her home and the uncertainty of the weeks and months of hardship that would follow; unbeknownst to her, there was looming a new dawn of hope because of this tragic experience that she was not aware of and wouldn't be aware of for years to come. Let me explain what I mean about this new dawn of hope. We were about to be introduced to some members of the Church who would have a great impact on the direction of our lives.

My older sister Jane had graduated from high school and worked in town in Blythe, California, at the time of our home burning down. While in high school, she would catch a school bus every morning to travel several miles to her high school. She was a shy girl and was befriended by another young girl, about her age, who also rode the bus each day. They would sit together on the bus and really became close friends. This friend was a member of the Church. Through this friendship and other members of the Church who also became her friends, she was taught the gospel and was baptized and was a member at the time we lost our home.

As Mom pondered what to do, she knew she had to make a quick decision, as the only transportation available to someplace for shelter that night was this teacher friend. Because the LDS family had been very friendly to us since Jane had joined the Church, she decided to go to their home for help. We drove the two miles it took to get to their home, and Mom went to the door and told them of the dilemma we were in. They opened their door and their hearts to us. They were angels sent from God that day to help us who were practically strangers to them. They remind me of the scripture found in Matthew: "Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungred, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye come unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee?. . .or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and come unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."[3] Never have I known a better example of this scripture than this family.

We stayed with this family, the Art Lee family, for about a week and then were able to obtain two large army tents and cots used by migrant farm workers during the harvest time, which we sat up next to the pile of ashes. We started cleaning up the mess that was the remains of the home. Not being satisfied that they had done enough, the Lee family engaged the small LDS branch to come out to help us build another home. Such love and kindness to non-members was hard for us to believe. (Parenthetically, I might mention that, that small humble home, which was built more that 50 years ago, is still being used as my wife and I visited it a year ago when we went to visit my father's grave in Southern California.) Once we got into our new home, the Lees probably thought they had set the stage sufficiently to send the missionaries over, and they did. We were kind to the missionaries and listened but were not very interested. So later the Lees sent them again with the same results. But they never gave up on us and eventually, after wearing out several sets of missionaries, including stake missionaries, we finally became converted and all but one brother, who had left home prior to our becoming acquainted with the Church, were baptized. Dick and I were just turning 13 years old at that time. All six children to this day are active members. Mom passed away some 37 years ago, a very faithful saint. Brothers and sisters, let that be a lesson to you. Never give up in your missionary efforts. I am so grateful that the Lee family and my sister didn't give up on us. Furthermore, if you think you may have been a failure on your missions because you have baptized only one soul while serving your mission, don't be discouraged. The conversion of one shy girl has resulted in more than two hundred members of the Church, dozens of missionaries, many church leaders, and many more to come in the generations in the future.

It was Ryan’s birthday. When he woke up that morning, he remembered he was five now. Ryan quickly got out of bed and looked at the birthday card on the dresser. It had come in the mail two days ago from Grandmother in Florida. She had also sent him a toy truck.
Ryan put on his clothes and ran into the kitchen. No one was there. He ran into his parents’ bedroom. It was empty and the bed had been made. Where are they? he wondered.
Next he went to his sister Cindy’s bedroom. She was sitting up reading a book. “Happy birthday,” she said and got up and gave him a big hug and a kiss.
“Where is everybody?” Ryan asked.
Cindy laughed. “They’ve gone to get your present. They’ll be back soon.”
“Is it big?” he asked.
“Pretty big.”
“Is it heavy?”
“Pretty heavy.” Cindy started to laugh.
Ryan thought hard. I can’t imagine what could be big and heavy, unless …
“Is it a horse?” he asked.
Cindy laughed so hard she couldn’t speak. She just shook her head.
“Does it come in a box?” Ryan asked.
“No,” Cindy said.
Ryan decided she was teasing him. He quickly ran through the house again to see if his parents were hiding somewhere, but he couldn’t find them.
Now Ryan was really puzzled. He couldn’t understand where his parents could have gone and why Cindy was laughing so happily. He started to go to his room when he heard someone open the front door. He heard Father’s voice and then Mother’s laughter. He ran out into the hall as fast as he could.
There were his parents. Father was holding a big birthday cake. And behind his mother was … ! Ryan’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. Behind his mother was the neatest birthday present in the world. It was pretty big and pretty heavy. And it wasn’t in a box.
Ryan was so surprised that he stood still, unable to move. Then somebody lifted him up and swung him around.
Ryan smiled from ear to ear. No one else could have a birthday present like this, he decided.
“Remember me? Last time I saw you, you were just three. And look at you now. I could hardly wait for my mission to be over so I could see how you’ve grown. I was able to come home a few days early to surprise you.” Then Ryan’s big brother lifted him up onto his shoulders.
“Happy birthday, Ryan!” he said. “Happy birthday!”

Two partners in an e-commerce start-up company negotiated a contract with a large company to provide their customers seminars on this new field. The large firm provided seed money to help the small company get started. A few months later, the partners realized that, under the terms of the contract, they owed the large company about $40,000. If that amount had to be paid immediately, the small company would have to shut its doors. The original intent of the contract would not have required payment, but the wording of the contract was such that the small firm owed the $40,000. At the same time this was discovered, the large company changed the manager who was responsible for the contract. He probably did not know of the contents of the contract nor of the intent. The two partners had a choice — if they told the new manager about the $40,000, they could have to pay it and lose their company. If they did not tell him, the new manager may never find out and they could stay in business. The partners said to each other, "It's only money. We built our company on the principles of integrity. We can't let money stand in the way of that principle." They called the new manager and explained the situation. He asked for a few days to consider the matter. He later called back and said, "You have been men of integrity. We find that a rare commodity in today's business. Because we now know we can trust you, we want you to keep the $40,000." That year, the small company did over one million dollars in business with the large company and the relationship continued at that level for many years.

I had always wanted a dirt bike. Both of my brothers-in-law had bikes and went riding a lot. I wanted to go with them. I bought my bike during the winter, so I didn’t have a chance to ride it right away. While the snow was on the ground, I would go out in the garage and sit on it and dream about riding.
I had heard a lot of horror stories about people getting hurt while riding. As I sat on my bike in the garage, I thought about difficult situations I might get into. I decided that as much as I loved that bike and as nice looking as it was, if I found myself in a situation where it was a choice between my life or saving my bike, the bike would be gone.
Summer came and I had the chance to go riding. My brother-in-law and I went biking in a gravel pit that was near a local reservoir. It had some nice hills. I was playing follow the leader with him. I was down below watching him as he went up a hill. He stopped at the top and was kind of looking off in the distance. He didn’t turn around and say anything, so I started up the hill much faster than he had taken it. When I got to the top, I gunned it and got a little air. The problem was that about as soon as I made it to the top, I could see that there was a drop-off. I had a split second to act. As soon as my front tire hit, I laid the bike down. The bike skidded over the cliff. The momentum carried me over as well, but I was able to grab on to the edge. My legs were dangling, and I was running in air, but I was able to pull myself up.
After my heart slowed a little, I looked over the edge and there was my bike, 30 feet down. I thought it was going to be demolished. I went down and picked it up. I kick started the engine, and it seemed fine. The only damage was bent handlebars and a broken mud flap. But when I looked back up the little cliff, I realized that if I had tried to stay on my bike, I could have been seriously hurt.
That really drove home to me how grateful I was for having made my decision ahead of time. I had already visualized what I would do in the safety of my garage. So when the moment of danger came, I reacted just as I had imagined. I let the bike go and saved myself from injury.

I learned the significance of this early in my career. After finishing my education at Stanford Law School, I focused on working for a particular law firm. No members of the Church were associated with the firm, but its lawyers were individuals of character and ability. After a morning of interviews, the most senior partner and two other partners took me to lunch. The senior partner inquired if I would like a prelunch alcoholic drink and later if I would like wine. In both cases I declined. And the second time, I informed him that I was an active Latter-day Saint and did not drink alcoholic beverages.

I received an offer of employment from the firm, and a few months later the senior partner told me that the offer of alcoholic beverages was a test. He noted that my résumé made it clear that I had served a Latter-day Saint mission. He had determined that he would hire me only if I was true to the teachings of my own church. He considered it a significant matter of character and integrity.

Cody Carr knew when he was only four that he wanted to be an astronaut. He had a little bank shaped like a spaceship that he put his tithing money in, and each time he dropped in a penny, a light would go on as if the rockets were firing. As he grew older, his school friends kidded him about being a spaceman, but Cody was serious. Those were the days of the birth of the manned space program, and he listened to every minute of every flight.
Naturally, his twin interest was astronomy. He received a telescope for Christmas and began getting up at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning to look at the stars. “The night sky always fascinated me,” he said. “The whole universe is God’s creation, but we don’t know very much about it. I have often thought that if there were another frontier left, I’d be out exploring it. But the only one left is outer space, and there’s only one way to get there—by becoming an astronaut.”
In school, Cody took all the science and electronics classes he could. “I didn’t think electronics had much to do with space exploration, but dad suggested it, and I loved it!” He became a finalist in a statewide electronics competition.
Part of Cody’s goal to become an astronaut included a goal to become an Air Force Academy cadet. As he progressed through high school, he counseled with his father and mother and prayed about each step along the way. He had three great goals in life.
The first was to keep all the commandments of his Father in Heaven. The second was to serve a full-time mission. “All my life we have talked about a mission and the things pertaining to a mission. It was never ‘if you go on a mission’ but always ‘when you go.’” The third great goal was temple marriage.
“Every night before we went to sleep, mom or dad would come around to our beds and ask each of us in turn, ‘What do you want out of life? What do you want to do? What do you want to be?’ Those goal-setting sessions really helped me keep my head on straight. Every night I said those three things and sometimes others—like the astronaut plans—but always those three. We would talk about what I needed to do to achieve those goals, and then we would talk about any problems or questions I had.”
But two of Cody’s goals conflicted with each other. In order to go on a mission, he would have to resign from the academy after his first year—there was no such thing as a leave of absence for a mission. If he left, he was probably out of the program. To get back in, he would have to be renominated, and the mere fact of his resignation might work against him. What were the odds?
The preparations continued. Cody ran four or five miles each night to condition himself. As a junior, he spent one whole day taking college entrance exams, including the ACT (American College Test), SAT (Scholastic Aptitude Test), an Air Force engineering aptitude examination, and a physical fitness test. He was also interviewed and appraised for leadership potential.
The first year at the academy wasn’t spent just waiting for a mission call. “It was hard,” he remembers. “After the first four months I started asking, ‘Is this what I want to do in life?’ But then I would think back to the confirmations I had received through the Holy Ghost. I knew I was doing things, as President Kimball says, in their proper season and order, and I prayed, and the plan was reconfirmed. I knew I was right where I should be, and that really helped me.”
As the first year drew to a close, Cody had to reaffirm in his own mind his decision to go on a mission. To survive the toughest year in the academy and then give it all up took a lot of courage. And it might also mean abandoning his lifelong dream of becoming an astronaut. “But I had already made the decision to resign eight years earlier. I had no doubt what I was going to do even though I agonized over it.”
In March, during spring break, Cody had his mission interviews with his bishop and stake president. At the end of the summer, following SERE training (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape), he resigned. As with any cadet who asks to leave the academy, he was sent to interviews with several different counselors and officers.
“All of them would grill me at first,” Cody said, “but as soon as I told them my reasons for resigning, their attitude changed. They all expressed their respect for the LDS people they knew, and when I told them I was going to try to come back, which was something of a shock in itself, they said fine.” His written statement included a full explanation of what a mission is and why he wanted to serve.
The officer who had to sign the paper as a witness commented, “I’ve never read anything like that before in my life. Is that really what you believe?”
“I sure do,” Cody replied.
“A lot of them didn’t understand,” Cody explains, “but they accepted. They were feeling something they’d rarely felt before.”
In May Cody received his call to the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He entered the MTC in August. Concentrating on studies was second nature, and obedience was ingrained. “I wanted to use my time wisely because I knew I was paying a price for my mission,” he said.
At first the thought of not being readmitted hung over him, but the time finally came when he stopped worrying and left it in the hands of the Lord. Besides, missionary work presented its own challenges. “For the first six or seven months, I found myself going through the motions. I knew the Church was true and that the work was important, but I didn’t love it as I should. My academy experience came to my aid. I was used to doing difficult things. I worked hard and prayed every day that the work would become a joy instead of a burden. In the course of about a week, the whole thing turned around. Suddenly I was happier; I was working out of desire, not just duty. I knew my mission would be worth it even if I never got accepted back into the academy.”
Then a letter from home told Cody that Ted Parsons, another cadet who had resigned from the academy to serve a mission, had been readmitted! Maybe there was a chance after all!
Cody took the necessary exams at a U.S. military installation. “My mission president gave me a blessing. He told me I had served an honorable mission and that the Lord would help me accomplish what I needed to.”
Shortly after the blessing, Cody had a head-on bicycle collision, shattering his nose on the handlebar. “Qualifications at the academy are stringent. With an impact like that you would normally lose pilot qualification. If I had hit my eye or forehead or even my teeth, it would probably have disqualified me.” Cody is convinced he was protected.
When the test results arrived, they showed a score higher than the first time Cody applied for admission, which was advantageous because the competition was tougher.
“I had done everything I could. I made sure my end of things was in order. I wasn’t expecting the Lord to meet me more than halfway. Then I left it up to him,” Cody said.
Cody was renominated by his senator. His faith had paid off. Two weeks after returning from Switzerland and two years after leaving Colorado Springs, Cody Carr entered the academy once more. His dream of being an astronaut was fully intact, along with his other goals of keeping the commandments, marrying in the temple, and being a lifelong missionary.

Perhaps a true story can clarify this definition.
Several years ago a young mother experienced problems early in her pregnancy. Fearing she would lose her baby, she asked her husband to give her a priesthood blessing. The husband knew he should express the Lord’s desires in the blessing rather than his own wishes, so he knelt in fervent prayer to seek the Lord’s will. After some time, the distinct spiritual assurance came to this young father that the baby should live.
A blessing was given, but the problems with the pregnancy did not disappear. In fact, the baby was born three months early. The first night of the baby’s life, as medical professionals made repeated and seemingly fruitless attempts to get oxygen from the baby’s underdeveloped lungs into his bloodstream, the young father watched—and pondered the spiritual assurance he had received earlier. He prayed again and received another distinct impression that the baby would survive. Even when the doctor told him things looked hopeless, the father said to himself, “I know what the Spirit has told me. I will trust the Lord.”
Before long, the doctors applied a procedure they considered the last resort. When it worked, the father was not surprised. Many difficult months followed, and the medical professionals were often pessimistic about the baby’s chances of becoming healthy and living a normal life. But today he is a healthy, active 12-year-old and has recently been ordained a deacon.
The young father had faith that his son would be well because he received a divine assurance that it would be so. He could not see into the future and view a healthy 12-year-old passing the sacrament—that would be a sure knowledge. But he knew what the Spirit had told him, and that was evidence enough.

The first time I passed the sacrament as a new deacon, I felt a great feeling of peace. I remember thinking to myself that I was doing something the Savior had done long ago when He blessed and administered the sacrament (see Luke 22:19–20; 1 Corinthians 11:24–25). I realized that the priesthood I had just received allowed me to pass the sacrament. I was acting on the Savior’s behalf! It was a wonderful feeling, and I promised myself that I would keep myself clean and pure so that I could always use the priesthood to serve others.

Several years ago my husband lost his job. We struggled to pay our bills and buy food with the small pension I received, but we managed to survive.
Although supportive of my commitment to the Church, my husband was frustrated that I paid tithing when we could hardly pay our bills. I felt, however, that I should continue to obey this commandment.
Though we had little money, we did have a small garden. When spring arrived, we planted carrots, potatoes, peas, tomatoes, red peppers, and herbs, among other vegetables. Our garden flourished throughout the summer, and we had a bounteous harvest. Our plum trees almost broke from the weight of the fruit. I spent a busy summer bottling and freezing fruit and vegetables, making jam, baking pies, and sharing extra produce with neighbors.
One day as I walked through our small garden, I remembered God’s promise to open the windows of heaven and “pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).
Thinking of my freezer bursting with produce, I realized that Heavenly Father had truly blessed us. Our small garden provided enough to sustain us during our time of need—enough and to spare. I am so grateful that God blesses us as we obey His commandments.

My great-grandmother was a Scottish lass named Margaret McNeil, who came to Utah with her parents at the age of 13. She walked across the plains and drove a cow, carrying her younger brother James much of the way on her back. She and her family camped on the outskirts of Ogden, and she later recorded this in her autobiography:

“Across the field from where we were was a little house, and out in the yard was a big pile of squash. We were all nearly starved to death. My mother sent me over to this place to beg a squash, for we did not have a cent of money, and some of the children were very weak for the want of food. I knocked at the door, and an old lady came and said, ‘Come in, come in, I knew you were coming and have been told to give you food.’ She gave me a large loaf of fresh bread and said to tell my mother that she would come over soon. It was not long until she came and brought us a nice cooked dinner, something we had not had for a long time.”8

Scott Giles, of BYU football fame, gave permission for us to share his perspective:
As a youngster, before one particular game, I turned to my mom and asked, “Mom, will you love me even if we lose and I don’t play very well?”
“Scott, I love you no matter what happens. If you win or lose I love you all the same.”
This brought peace to my heart and took the added pressure off of my shoulders. I knew then that my mother’s love was not based on the things I did but she loved me because of who I am. In my life I have seen that many people wanted to be with me because of my successes with football, but their friendship and attitudes changed depending on how successful or unsuccessful I was. While serving an LDS mission I learned that Heavenly Father loves all of his children. He looks upon the heart and soul. He does not weigh a person’s worth by the way they dress or the things they have accomplished or attained. His love is an intrinsic part of the gift of life. Sometimes I do not achieve that which I wanted to accomplish or do the things that I should do, but I like myself. I like who and what I am. I am thankful for a Heavenly Father that loves me. He allows me to learn from my own choices but still loves and values the things that are truly me.

The doctor’s words, “Chris, you have a tumor. Chris, you have cancer,” sent waves of shock, fear, and despair through me. I had felt sure the lump was a hernia or maybe a swollen lymph node, but it was not.
After my 15-year-old son’s diagnosis, events happened very quickly. The following morning we were at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City for more CT scans, a bone scan, an MRI, a bone marrow aspiration, and a tumor biopsy. The news was not good. Chris had a small tumor on his pelvis near his left thigh. It was diagnosed as Ewing’s sarcoma, a type of bone cancer. Chemotherapy was scheduled to begin the next week.
As a nurse, I knew what we were in for medically. But I never expected the overwhelming fear and gloom that came over me. Those feelings soon changed, however.
Chris wasn’t even home from the hospital a day when his friends Ben Williams, Ben Brookes, and Jeremy Lamb picked him up so they could go to another friend’s house to watch videos and eat. That by itself calmed me. They were doing normal teenage things, and I was so relieved to see them not treating Chris any differently. I later found out the boys didn’t even talk about Chris’s cancer. “Why should they?” Chris asked.
When the chemotherapy began, so did the inevitable side effects, including hair loss. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did—probably more than it bothered Chris. At first, there was hair on his pillow. Then it was in the sink. Finally, Chris shaved off what hair was left. Later that afternoon with Chris napping on the couch, the two Bens and Jeremy knocked at the door. As they came in, they doffed their hats to show Chris their cleanly shaved heads. They laughed together and watched a video of them all shaving each other’s heads.
“Now I wasn’t the only one with a shaved head. I just had the smoothest,” explained Chris.
A few days later at school, the four boys were walking down the hallway when a girl said, “They look like they have cancer.” Alone, that remark could have been devastating. Together, they just laughed about it.
One Sunday, as my husband and I sat in fast and testimony meeting with Chris’s older brother, Jeremy, fear continued to engulf me. Chris had been hospitalized again with a fever and low blood counts. We were new in our ward, and very few people knew of Chris’s condition. As I listened half-heartedly, a high councilman stood at the pulpit to bear his testimony. He talked about his love for some of the youth he’d met in another ward in our stake. He talked about how three of the priests there had shaved their heads for a friend who had cancer. Then his voice broke slightly when he said, “That boy lives in our ward now and is my home teacher.
“I wonder,” he continued, “if our youth would be that supportive.” The challenge was taken and met. That afternoon, our ward was graced by several very bald young men, including Chris’s older brother, Jeremy.
“One Sunday before sacrament meeting we were all lined up, and all of us were bald. The congregation just laughed,” Chris said.
Since that time, both the young men and young women of our ward continued to support Chris and our family. During one particularly hard hospitalization, friends traveled an hour to visit him and cheer him up. Two days after he came home, they picked him up and took him out for all-you-can-eat pizza.
Each day the young men of the ward would gather at the Owenses’ home across the street from us. They are the only ones with a usable basketball court, and the young men would come to play ball. As I watched out the window as they played, Chris would sometimes stop playing and just sit on the grass with some of the younger kids who had gathered and laugh with them as they’d steal his hat and rub his smooth head. “Even though it was my hardest summer, it was also my funnest,” said Chris.
And the love and support didn’t stop. Last September after church, we noticed a crowd of young men, young women, children, and their leaders walking toward our door. As they filled our small living room, they surprised Chris with a homemade quilt and pillow. The blocks of the quilt were each designed by different young women or young men with their own well-wishes, jokes, and funny pictures. They asked Chris to take the quilt and pillow with him to the hospital so he could be reminded of them and their love.
“The comments and pictures on the quilt made me laugh,” said Chris. “When I saw them coming up our driveway, I thought it must be some kind of activity, and I wondered why I hadn’t been told about it. It was a neat thing for them to do.”
After the young people had presented the quilt, the Sambongis, our neighbors from Japan, gave Chris his gift, a sembazuru, which translated means 1,000 paper cranes. The Sambongis told Chris that in Japan, cranes are said to live as long as 1,000 years, and that a paper crane will take away sickness when it flies away. They also gave him a note:
“Dear Chris, These paper cranes were made by a lot of people, including people in our ward and those you have never met before. We all pray for your recovery, and may the Lord bless you.”
The Lord has blessed us—with good neighbors, friends, professionals, and especially strong, loving young men and young women. And Chris knows it too.
The youth and the leaders of the Orem Sharon Park Third Ward, and Chris’s three friends from the Sixth Ward have been great. Their kindness and thoughtfulness during a very painful and difficult time has helped much more than they’ll ever know.

As I ponder this admonition of the Lord, I am reminded of a special friend. As I have worked with her, I have been inspired by her devotion to her family and church. A large family and an invalid husband didn’t keep her from accepting a leadership responsibility in Relief Society. I asked her how she managed so well. She answered, “My Relief Society sisters help me. Their love lifts my spirit when I feel down; the lessons give me strength and direction. My problems don’t seem so big when they are shared.”

She set a pattern for her day, starting with an early morning prayer while the rest of her family slept. She organized in her mind the duties to be performed that day and asked her Heavenly Father for his help in accomplishing them. Each day ended with a grateful report as she expressed her appreciation and love to her Father in Heaven for his help and the help of kind friends. She felt she could not have accomplished the day’s tasks alone.

What an example this mother has been to her family! She has taught them the power of prayer, the value of being organized, and the joy that comes from serving others and the Lord.

I remember one summer I was very unsettled and hurt by a disagreement with a family member. Several family members, including the one who troubled me, decided to come together and counsel about it. I earnestly prayed and fasted to know what I should say or do. I needed more wisdom and love than what I had.

When we met that evening, the Lord’s Spirit mercifully softened our hearts. I remember I was taught by the words I spoke; they did not seem to be my own. They were filled with love, clarity, power, and the Spirit. I cried as I felt purely that God loved my family and wanted to heal us. I witnessed the Lord’s power, healing, and revelation come through earnest prayer and fasting. The windows of heaven opened widely that evening.

I have been asked many times why I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I have always told the story of meeting the missionaries at the house of a dear friend who had just been baptized. But with the passage of time, I have realized that before that first meeting many things prepared me to accept the gospel.
I was an active and energetic young woman, and my life was divided between spending time with friends and working out at the gym. Nothing else interested me. I had a passion for martial arts. I lived for the sport; it had become a way of life for me. In effect, it was my religion. I was very good and had acquired much skill. My pride increased as I became more and more recognized by others, especially since I was a woman in a sport dominated by men.
As time passed, I began to feel an unsettling sensation after each day’s workout. Often I felt out of breath, and my heart would race.
I soon learned that the continuous pressure of such a strenuous sport had aggravated a genetic predisposition toward irregular heartbeats. The pain intensified, and sometimes I could not even stand. Almost overnight I lost my self-sufficiency. A series of unfortunate medical decisions worsened my condition, and twice I came close to cardiac arrest.
Over a period of five years, I had two operations and made many visits to doctors and hospitals. Eventually I needed constant care from my parents.
While in the hospital I saw much suffering and pain, and I learned the necessity of loving others. I began to understand what was really important in life.
My soul had been changed, and I felt that someone was giving me a second chance at life. I started to wonder about God, who until then, I believed, had played no part in my life. I began to study various religions, and I was impressed by their common denominator of love. Then a friend told me about the missionaries who had brought her such happiness. I met with them and was baptized one month later.
Now I am thankful that I suffered, because suffering opened the way for me to hear the gospel. God truly has unusual ways of preparing His children.
Since accepting the gospel, I have had the privilege of sharing the truth with others. I have also been to the temple and have been greatly blessed. I am thankful to God to be able to work for Him. His gospel is truly a wonderful gift for me.

Speaking of foreign countries, several years ago, we took our children to Mexico. We got off to a bad start on this trip. Our rental minivan was not available, so we had to search for another vehicle. By the time we rented a minivan that would hold our four children, it was dark. We very quickly became hopelessly lost in Mexico City. In addition, we had nothing to eat for lunch or dinner and everybody was tired from our long flights. As we drove around, we found ourselves on narrow streets and alleys where all of the buildings had bars on the windows and doors. We could tell we had entered a very dangerous section of town. About this time, our oldest son started to complain. He said, "We should not call these trips family vacations, we should call them family ordeals!" Sister Hoer patiently explained, "Daniel, these trips are a great opportunity to help us to learn more about the culture of the countries we visit." Just then, as we drove down a dark, narrow street, suddenly two men jumped out into the middle of the road blocking our van. One of them held a gun and pointed it at us. I remember Sister Hoer screaming, "He's got a gun! Everybody duck!" I quickly swerved around the gunman, not too fast because I did not want him to think I was trying to run him down. As I drove past, he pointed the gun right at my head, only a couple feet away, but for some reason, he did not shoot. As we drove away, thinking a bullet might come through the back window at any second, we heard our son say, "Well you're right Mom, we sure are learning about the culture!"

Draw a picture. Another way to record what you are learning is to draw it. One time when I was visiting a friend for family home evening, her grandmother shared personal stories about faith and prayer. Before the lesson began, my friend gave her young children paper and crayons so they could draw the stories while their great-grandmother talked. Drawing pictures helped them pay attention, and they even asked questions along the way to clarify parts of the story.

Conner’s new family got up every Sunday morning, put on their nice clothes, and went to church. “At first, church was really hard,” Conner says. Sitting for three hours with no idea what was going on wasn’t easy. “I wanted to know what they were talking about.”
But he began to understand and feel a desire to learn more about the gospel. His parents called the mission president and asked if Conner could have Mandarin speaking missionaries teach him the discussions. And it just so happened that a sister missionary, Sister Jin, was available to teach him.
On their first visit, Sister Jin and Conner were talking to each other in Mandarin when they suddenly started jumping up and down with huge smiles on their faces. They were from the same town in China! “Finding out that they’re from the same city, love the same foods, and knew the same places was so special,” said Christianne.
“I’m so lucky,” said Conner, “I had a great missionary who taught me everything about Jesus. And when I started to learn about Him, I was so happy. I didn’t know anything about Him. My mom taught me how to pray, then Sister Jin taught me simple things. It just started with wanting to learn the gospel.”

Christopher’s heart was heavy as he walked slowly to his family’s car after Primary. Why does everyone but me hear the still, small voice? he wondered.
In fast and testimony meeting, Brother Johnson told an experience he had while driving across a lonely stretch of highway. The still, small voice told him to take a different route home, one that would add about 10 kilometers to his trip. Although he had been eager to get home from his business trip, he obeyed the prompting. On his detour, he came across a car accident. A young family had been traveling to visit relatives. When the father, who was driving, fell asleep, the car drifted too close to the side of the road and rolled down a steep hill. Brother Johnson was able to call for help and administer first aid.
Bishop Benson told how he was prompted by the Holy Ghost to check on Sister Henderson during the week. Sister Henderson was a widow who lived about two kilometers up a dirt road off the main highway into town. When the bishop went to see her, he found her furnace had broken down. She didn’t have a telephone and was no longer able to drive, so she had prayed to Heavenly Father for help. The still, small voice had told her all would be well.
Later, Christopher’s Primary teacher, Sister Woolett, gave a lesson about the Holy Ghost. She told about when the still, small voice warned her to check on her sleeping baby. When she did, everything seemed all right.
But as she turned to leave, the voice again told her to check on her little boy. This time she went over to the crib and looked closely at him. There, next to him, was a large, jagged piece of glass. A framed picture that had been hanging above the crib had fallen. Most of the glass and the frame were behind the crib, but the large, jagged piece had fallen next to her sleeping son.
Sister Woolett also related an incident from the lesson manual about one of the prophets being warned of danger by the still, small voice.
Why can everyone hear the still, small voice but me? Christopher wondered again. He knew that after his baptism almost two years ago, he was given the gift of the Holy Ghost when he was confirmed. So why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me?
“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.
“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.
A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.
“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.
Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”
Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.
“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”
Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”
Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”
“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.
“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”
“It was?”
“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”
“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.
“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”
Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.

A personal example for you: Almost ten years ago, I received my mission call, and let me tell you, it was not what I expected or wanted it to be. I grew up in Blackfoot, Idaho and received my call to serve the first three months of my mission in the Idaho Idaho Falls mission, which at the time, was the next closest mission to my home. Basically, I was going to serve about 30 minutes away from my family, and after three months, receive a new mission call.

This was shocking to me, and I was so embarrassed. And I want to pause and say: I should not have felt that way. I know now that any mission, calling or opportunity to serve the Lord is an invitation to become and show our love and trust in Him.

However, at 19, I was very prideful. And if you knew me before my mission, you probably would think, “Wow, you shouldn’t have been so shocked.” I was very shy, painfully so, in high school. (Doing something like this would have been unfathomable). I was already nervous for a mission in the first place, and I was now embarrassed to have an unusual mission call and required to answer everyone’s questions about it. On top of it all—hate is a strong word, but I strongly disliked Idaho. I thought Idaho was dry, ugly, and boring, and I selfishly looked forward to serving a mission as a way to escape.

However, after feeling sufficiently humbled, I felt the Spirit confirm that there was no better alternative than to trust the Lord’s plan. And almost as shocking as my call initially was, I was so surprised by how much I soon fell in love with everything about where I served. The physical place and people of Iona, Idaho completely transformed in my eyes and became so beautiful to me.

Iona truly felt like my own sacred grove. It’s where I learned that God knew me by name and where I came to know Him a little more in return.

Southeast Idaho didn’t change, but my experience in that place did, and when I was reassigned to Washington to finish my mission, it was heartbreaking to leave.

You may find yourselves in places and circumstances that you don’t fully love or it’s not what you were hoping for. Maybe like how I felt at that time, you also don’t love Idaho or even BYU-Idaho. That isn’t a crime.

However, when I chose to fully trust the Lord, a place I once resisted and disliked became somewhere I received the most personal revelation and I changed for the better. Faith in Christ did not remove my circumstances, but He transformed completely how I experienced it.