Gospel Story Finder

Even though Mom is a stay-at-home mom, it seemed like all of her time and energy was swallowed up by other things—church, Dad, and my two brothers, who always had games to attend and who needed extra help with their homework. It seemed like Mom never had time for me.
Usually that was OK, but then a big thing happened. We moved from a small southern town to this huge northern city. The weather is cold here, and my classmates seemed cold, too. I had a hard time making new friends. Everyone else already knew each other and invited each other over to their homes after school. No one invited me. They dressed differently than I did, too. I had the clothes I’d worn in the south; they dressed in blue jeans and sweaters. Whenever I said, “Yes, ma’am,” to the teacher, like everyone did in the south, the other students snickered. They usually just said, “Yeah” or “OK,” when the teacher talked to them.
No one invited me to play after school, or to eat lunch with them, or to be on their team at recess. I felt left out and lonesome.
One day I decided to do something about it. I thought I might make some friends by having a party. A party would be much more exciting than just inviting one person over after school. I tried to explain all this to Mom. I asked her first if I couldn’t please have a party. Then I begged. I even cried, though not on purpose.
“I can’t do it right now, Ann Kathryn,” Mom said. “Because of the move, I have too many other things that need to be taken care of first. Give it time. I’m sure you’ll make some new friends real soon.” Mom didn’t understand how important this was to me.
I gave it time and tried to be friendly at school, but nothing changed. One day seven girls from my class were sitting at my lunch table. Almost before I knew what was happening, I found myself saying, “I’m having a party Saturday afternoon … at … at two, and you’re all invited.”
I scared myself so much that I thought I’d fall through the floor. I didn’t have my mother’s permission, and yet I’d invited seven girls to my house for a Saturday afternoon party. How dare I? What was Mom going to say?
The girls looked at me like they saw me for the first time. “Is it a birthday party?” one of them asked.
“No,” I answered, “so you don’t need to bring presents or anything. It’s just a party.” I crossed my fingers and hoped it would all work out somehow.
The girls all got permission from their parents and told me the next day that they’d be coming.
Saturday came, and I still hadn’t told Mom. I spent the morning as usual, helping her clean the house. My job was dusting, and I dusted like my life depended on it.
Lunchtime came and went. How could I tell my mother? What would she say? I wasn’t excited anymore, only scared. I prayed in my heart that the girls would all call and say that they couldn’t come, but there were no phone calls. Next I prayed that they would come, but dressed in their regular clothes, like they just happened to drop by. I knew I was dreaming.
The hall clock ticked louder than it ever had, almost as loud as my heart. I almost passed out when the doorbell rang. I ran to open the door before Mom got there, but she was right behind me. Four of the girls, more dressed up than they would be for school, stood smiling at the door. “Hi,” they said. “Are we too early for the party?”
Mom, in her house-cleaning slacks, looked at them, then looked at me, and faded quietly into the kitchen.
The door bell rang again. The three other girls stood there smiling. This time my mother did not appear at the door. I could hear her bustling around in the kitchen. I guessed that she had decided to let me handle this mess on my own.
It was a strange party, but I did my best. We watched a new video my family had bought. Then we played games. I even gave away my new charcoal pencils to the winners. I began to have fun, and the girls laughed a lot and seemed to be having a great time, too.
After we’d played a few games, Mom called from the dining room, “Girls, it’s time for refreshments.”
Astonished, I led my new friends to the table. Our best dishes were out, and there were flowered napkins, a plate of Mom’s yummy cookies, and ice cream with chocolate sauce and nuts! Mom had changed into her best skirt and sweater. She was smiling! I couldn’t believe she was going to help me through this!
“It’s good to have you girls come over,” Mom said. “Ann Kathryn’s birthday is during the summer when we’re on vacation, so she doesn’t always get to have a party with her friends.” She smiled at me.
Everyone enjoyed the refreshments. The girls left soon after that, and I was alone with Mom. She didn’t say a single word. Not one. She just began clearing the table. I rushed to help.
My father and brothers came home from a ball game, saw the party stuff, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Mom answered, real calm, “Ann Kathryn and I had a little surprise party.”
That’s all she said. She knew that I knew that I’d done an awful thing. I didn’t need a scolding. I felt terrible inside, even though the party had been wonderful.
That night Mom came to my bedroom to say good night, as she often did. She sat on the bed and gently brushed the hair from my eyes. She looked at me real deep and said, “I’m sorry, Annie Kate. I didn’t know how much you needed a party.”
“Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry I didn’t get permission first. The invitation just kind of slipped out, and then I didn’t know what to do. You were so great! Will you ever forgive me?”
She kissed me on the forehead, “Of course, I do, darling. And do you forgive me for not understanding?” I nodded. “I think we both need to spend more time talking to each other,” she added. I smiled and she kissed me on the forehead, then left. I had done a dreadful thing to my mother, but she had understood and had forgiven me. Everything felt right again.
I sometimes just say the words when I pray, but that night I knelt and prayed with all my heart. I asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for not being honest with my mother, and I thanked Him that she was so understanding and forgiving. I went to bed that night knowing that all was forgiven, and that was the best feeling I’d had all day.

Unfortunately, there was a time in my life when I was motivated by titles and authority. It really began innocently. As I was preparing to serve a full-time mission, my older brother was made a zone leader in his mission. I heard so many positive things said about him that I couldn’t help but want those things said about me. I hoped for and may have even prayed for a similar position.
Thankfully, as I served my mission, I learned a powerful lesson. Last conference I was reminded of that lesson.
Perhaps my first lesson about truly good Saints without guile was learned when I was a young missionary. I moved into an area with an elder I didn’t know. I had heard other missionaries talk about how he had never received any leadership assignments and how he struggled with the Korean language despite having been in the country a long time. But as I got to know this elder, I found he was one of the most obedient and faithful missionaries I had known. He studied when it was time to study; he worked when it was time to work. He left the apartment on time and returned on time. He was diligent in studying Korean even though the language was especially difficult for him.
When I realized the comments I had heard were untrue, I felt like this missionary was being misjudged as unsuccessful. I wanted to tell the whole mission what I had discovered about this elder. I shared with my mission president my desire to correct this misunderstanding. His response was, “Heavenly Father knows this young man is a successful missionary, and so do I.” He added, “And now you know too, so who else really matters?” This wise mission president taught me what was important in service, and it wasn’t praise, position, power, honor, or authority. This was a great lesson for a young missionary who was too focused on titles.

In June 2015, I had the opportunity to work at the Priesthood Restoration Site in Pennsylvania, USA. I don’t remember specifically what I was asked to do when I first got there, but I remember being hot and dripping in sweat. Living in the western United States, I’m used to hot summer days—but not humid ones. As I worked, sweat poured from my head, my clothes were sticking to me, and I felt myself getting weaker by the minute. But, knowing I had five days of work ahead of me, I pushed on.
By lunchtime, I was physically exhausted, but I knew something else was happening to me. I was nauseated and probably dehydrated. I’d been working all morning, sweating like I never had before, and I hadn’t had anything to drink since breakfast. I walked to a cooler, pulled out a couple of water bottles, and drank. I could feel my body thanking me for the long-overdue water, but the refreshing feeling was short-lived. “Maybe I need more,” I thought, so I pulled a third bottle out and drank more water. Big mistake! As I finished off the last bottle, I immediately felt worse. I went into the Smith home and found a bench where I could lie down. Closing my eyes, I prayed that I would feel better.
Fortunately, the lunch hour gave me a short break, even though I didn’t want anything to eat. We returned to the site with everyone rested, fed, and ready for more work—except for me. I began to question myself: “Why did you come?” Then I heard someone ask, “Do you want a blessing?”
Realizing that I wasn’t going to get better on my own, I replied, “I do.” We walked into the reconstructed Smith home. I sat on a chair, and the men in our group gathered around me. As I felt the weight of their hands on my head, an overwhelming sense of gratitude filled my heart. The Spirit whispered to me, “You are in a holy place.”
My thoughts went to the building I was in. In this space, the Prophet Joseph Smith translated a significant portion of the Book of Mormon. In this space, the Prophet and Oliver Cowdery discussed the need for baptism for the remission of sins. In this space, these two young men, seeking inspiration from God, decided to go to the nearby woods to pray for guidance and revelation.
Heavenly Father not only heard their prayer but also immediately answered it.
Joseph Smith recalled:
“While we were thus employed, praying and calling upon the Lord, a messenger from heaven descended in a cloud of light, and having laid his hands upon us, he ordained us, saying:
“Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah, I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth until the sons of Levi do offer again an offering unto the Lord in righteousness” (Joseph Smith—History 1:68–69).
God sent John the Baptist, who conferred priesthood authority and commanded the two to baptize each other. This event was the first of many in which priesthood authority and keys would be restored to the earth by heavenly messengers.
As my friends said, “Amen,” I realized that what I had just experienced had happened because of a conversation between Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery in that very same space in May 1829. I don’t remember what was said in the blessing. I wasn’t immediately healed. But I do know that I was blessed. In the very place where the priesthood of God began to be restored—the priesthood that blesses the lives of millions of people around the world—God blessed me with a reassurance that the holy priesthood is once again upon the earth. With this reassurance came a strengthened testimony that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, translated by His prophet Joseph Smith Jr.
I know that this site is more than the two reconstructed homes. It’s more than the exhibits in the visitors’ center. It’s more than the Church’s investment of time and money to make it an official historic site. It is the place where the priesthood of God began to be restored—the priesthood that blesses the lives of millions of people around the world.

When I became part of a new ward in Guatemala, I was surprised at a call to serve in Primary. I had not worked with children for a long time and was happy to accept the call.
Among my first duties was preparing the children for their annual sacrament meeting presentation. Of all the music I needed to teach the children, my favorite became “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus” (Children’s Songbook, 78–79). The problem was, I couldn’t seem to memorize the words well enough to teach them.
One afternoon I set aside some time to listen to the music while concentrating on the words. As I repeated the words over and over, I began to recognize the deep meaning of the doctrine they expressed. A warm, wonderful feeling grew inside me. My eyes filled with tears, and a lump formed in my throat. Still, although I spent several days trying to learn the song, I couldn’t do it. I started to feel desperate. Why can’t I get this song right? I asked myself. Why is it so hard for me to learn? And then, unexpectedly, I answered my own question: Perhaps it’s because I’m not really trying to be like Jesus.
At that moment I committed myself to acting more as the Savior would have me act—to be, as much as possible, like Him. I continued to practice the song every day, but in addition I practiced its message. From that day to this, I have tried being kinder and more gentle, more loving, and more helpful. On my face is a warm smile, and on my lips are encouraging words. I visit the sick and give to the needy. Each month I go out into my community with a backpack of clothes, toys, and cookies, looking for those in need. Each day I try to find some way of showing my love to a friend or neighbor. Each morning I wake up happy, knowing the day will give me more opportunities to follow my Savior.
Today, I know the song well. I know it because, with all my heart, “I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.”

On 27 February 1977 we began our journey to Santiago for the first area conference in our native country of Chile. My wife Teresa and I and our four children—Oriana, Doris, Mariela, and Mario, Jr.—were especially eager to go because President Spencer W. Kimball would be there. We had not been able to get bus tickets, so we would have to travel the 530 kilometers from our home town of Los Angeles by train.
Our family of six, plus about nine other members of the Los Angeles Second Branch, were traveling together. After making several transfers, our group arrived in Valdivia. From here, the last part of the journey would take ten hours.
At the Valdivia station, about 150 people were waiting to board the train to Santiago. When it arrived, it was announced over the loudspeakers that the engine was broken down. We were to wait another two hours for another engine to arrive. But already the train was so full that people were standing on the steps and hanging out the windows.
Another train from further south was due to arrive later that night. We gathered together to pray and plan. We agreed that each of us should try to get on the next train however we could, making sure that the youngest child, Mario, Jr., was on. Sometime after midnight, we heard a train whistle and people began to shout, “It’s coming! It’s coming!” By now two hundred people were waiting on the platform.
When the new train arrived, we were disappointed to see that it, too, was already full. As it slowed and stopped, we all scrambled to find a place to get on. Looking out for young Mario, I pushed him into one of the cars. But the train was already moving; it had stopped for only a few seconds! As it disappeared into the darkness, Mama asked, “Where is everyone?” All of us were there except ten-year-old Mario. “Where is my son?” Mama asked frantically. I tried to explain what had happened and told her we must trust in the Lord.
Heartsick, we looked at the broken engine from Valdivia. It was our only hope. We managed to climb aboard the back part of the coal bin—fifteen people carrying suitcases and packages, crammed into a space not more than four meters wide. An hour later another engine was hooked to our engine, and we began the ten-hour trip. There we were—men, women, and children—holding onto bars and railings, many standing on one foot with the other foot hanging off into space, some strapped on with belts. We were cold and wind-blown. Sparks from the engine’s smokestack rained down on us.
After two and a half hours of traveling, the relief engine was replaced by a diesel engine. Occasionally, our desperation turned to panic as we wondered what was happening to our little Mario, who was by this time three hours ahead of us.
It was one o’clock in the afternoon when our train finally reached our destination. The central station in Santiago was like a sea of people. Shortly after we began searching, we heard a small voice saying, “Mama, mama.” We hugged Mario and each other and wept with joy. The Lord had heard our prayers.
Young Mario told us how frightened he had been. The journey seemed so long that it made him feel like crying. Finally, he had found a space between two seats, where he had slept all night. When he arrived in Santiago, he didn’t know what to do. He told us that only his faith in the Lord and his desire to meet the prophet had sustained him.

One of those Scouts, Sid Payne, found something fascinating before he even got here. He and his cousin were in the car on the way here when Sid’s dad, Ed, handed the boys several sheets of paper and said, “Read this.”
What they read was so interesting that when they reached the campsite, they stayed in the car to finish the last two pages instead of jumping out of the car and into the fun. They had discovered a little-known group of real western heroes.
At first, Sid didn’t want to read that journal account on the way here. “I thought it was going to be some long, boring thing. But after a few pages, I liked it a lot.” What Sid learned from his reading was that his great-great-great grandfather, Abraham Hunsaker, had marched through this same wild desert nearly 150 years ago. “I never knew he was in the Mormon Battalion. I was really impressed with what he did.”

I love to read the New Era. I can’t wait for it to arrive each month. But the April 1987 issue came just at the right time.
On March 17, one of the best friends I’ll ever have died. I received the April issue in March, so I thumbed through it on the day after she passed away. I remember seeing the article “When a Friend Dies.” I was emotionally struggling with her death—very much so in fact—when I picked up the New Era and started to read it.
When I had finished, I was so deeply touched that I knew she was all right and that everything was okay.
I want to thank you so much for that article. I don’t know how I could have overcome this crisis without you.
Brooke WakefieldTaylorsville, Utah

Shortly after my daughter, the first of our three children, was born, my wife and I purchased a piano. We hoped she would have musical talent like her grandfather—a fine composer and pianist. I particularly liked to imagine her playing the piano at church, accompanying the congregation. This would please our Father in Heaven, I thought. And the gift of music would bless our family.
Several years passed, with the piano serving no purpose other than decorating our living room. One day my father-in-law offered to teach me to read music. At some point in the future, he said, I might even be able to play a few simple pieces. I considered the very idea a joke—and not a very good one. I had never even considered that I might have musical talent. Nevertheless, he began to work with me. Unfortunately, I found the study of music unpleasant and even painful, and I quit studying about six months later. In time, I forgot what little I had learned.
In 1983 our daughter turned eight, and my wife and I felt she was old enough to begin music lessons. Unfortunately, she did not enjoy the lessons any more than I had. Since we had already paid for a month of lessons, I decided to take the remaining lessons myself. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed the lessons, and after they ended, I continued to practice on my own. My progress was slow, but by the time the Christmas season came around, I could almost play six different hymns.
When the bishop visited us during the Christmas holidays, I played “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, number 206) and asked him to sing along. We had to start over several times because I made so many mistakes, but eventually we finished the carol. The bishop encouraged me to keep practicing and to learn a sacrament hymn. I began to practice very faithfully, and to my surprise, I found that practicing was no longer drudgery. I had a goal for myself—to be able to play at church.
On one occasion while I was practicing I distinctly heard a voice singing the melody of the hymn I was playing. A wave of emotion swept over me, and I felt that my Father in Heaven was pleased with my efforts.
Several months passed, and I continued to practice devotedly. One Sunday I went to church early to practice. The room was quite dark and I couldn’t see well, but I sensed that someone was watching me. Soon the bishop stepped forward. He told me he had been listening, and he felt I was ready to play for Church meetings. I played the piano for the Madrid Second Ward that very day. A few days later, I was officially set apart as the ward pianist.
By this time practicing was exciting, and I was surprised at how quickly I was able to learn the hymns. I worked hard, but I realized that my efforts were being magnified by the Holy Ghost. My Heavenly Father had prepared me little by little for this calling and was now helping me fulfill it.
Today, playing the piano continues to be a great joy. I play for priesthood meetings in the Madrid Third Branch, where I am the branch president. My daughter also eventually resumed her music studies and has served as branch pianist. She is now married and lives in Madrid, Spain.
Often as I play I think of the Lord’s words: “My soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). I am grateful that my Heavenly Father prepared me with a desire and blessed me with the ability to play the hymns of the Church. They are truly a prayer unto him.

In 1922, a 17-year-old young lady enrolled at LDS Business College, then known as LDS High School. She was a farm girl from a small town in southwestern Utah, the eldest of seven children. Her mother suffered from ill health, and the family’s resources were meager. She boarded with her aunt that school year and successfully completed the 12th grade. Her classes included English, algebra, history, theology, physical training, and oral expression. Her grades were respectable. She was always quick to point out the campus of this institution and say, “That is where I went to school.”
The record shows she left LDS High School bound for the Dixie Normal School in St. George, Utah. Three years later she married and, in time, gave birth to and reared three children. She never became a school teacher, was never in the public eye, did not graduate from a great university. But her family adored her, and countless people acknowledge the profound influence for good she was in their lives. For Margaret Mary Savage, LDS High School became a launching pad for the betterment of others. My mother’s legacy became my blessing.

by Sandi Poulsen
The phrase “today is eternity” has an extra amount of meaning for the youth of the Kinston North Carolina Stake who recently presented a stake musical by the same name. Said one participating Laurel, “The role I played in ‘Today Is Eternity’ helped me to a great extent. The play made me realize how important all decisions are and how careful and prayerful you have to be in making them.”
In preparation, more than 50 young men and women (including four non-Mormons) traveled to the stake center to rehearse lines, dancing, vocal solos, and choral music. A basic script was sketched by the adult stake drama and dance specialists, after which it was given to the youth for revisions and final copy. Since the play provided parts for every youth who desired to perform, many found themselves doing things they had never done before—including dancing, acting, and singing solos.
The play revolved around the struggles in the lives of the three oldest children in a large LDS family. The oldest daughter had to decide whether to marry a young man who could not marry her in the temple; the nearly nineteen-year-old son had to decide between a football scholarship and a mission; and the sixteen-year-old daughter faced the choice of maintaining her standards or joining with her peers in a more wild way of life. By the end of the play, because of sincere personal efforts and help from family members and leaders, all three had reached the right decisions.
Many favorable comments and reactions followed the production. One seminary teacher said, “The play was really a review of those things we studied in seminary last year. But I feel that seeing these decisions and problems enacted on stage has brought them to life and touched some of our youth in a way they never had before.”
The young woman who played the part of the girl deciding to wait for a temple marriage agreed. “There was no doubt in Mandy’s mind that she was to marry in the temple. It is the same with myself. But I learned that simply deciding that you will marry in the temple is not enough. You must start before you meet your sweetheart, before you even start to date. You must take necessary precautions now to guard yourself against falling in love with someone who can’t take you to the temple.”
Parents gave their wholehearted support throughout the preparations and presentation of the play. Several mothers voluntarily offered to take a makeup class to assist in this area. One mother commented afterwards, “I know the play helped my children. But I feel it helped me just as much if not more as I listened to the loving counsel given in song and word. It makes me more determined than ever to have that type of relationship and atmosphere in my own home.”
A great emphasis was also placed on missionary work, as stake members took seriously their stake presidency’s charge to bring nonmembers to the play. One non-Mormon who was in the play bore the following testimony afterwards: “For you to stop in the middle of rehearsal and explain that material [the Book of Mormon] to me made me stop and think of how much I meant to you. I was shown how much enthusiasm the Mormons have in presenting a demonstration of their faith. I believe that such interest in a church has got to be a revealing sign the Church is true.”
The dedication and hard work of the youth was rewarded by two nights of overflow audiences. But more important than that was the love and unity and testimonies that were strengthened throughout the whole Kinston North Carolina Stake.

Ida Jensen walked into Marion Romney’s life when his father hired her to teach at Ricks Academy. She didn’t see Marion that first day she went to the Romney home—he was sitting in another room, sick with the flu. But he certainly noticed her: “I saw her with her golden hair and her smiling face. I have never seen any girl since that time that I cared about.” (Church News, 15 Dec. 1973, p. 5.) They were married six years later—on 12 September 1924 in the Salt Lake Temple—after his mission and more schooling for both of them. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class at BYU.
“My wife has been a support and guidance all through my life,” President Romney said before her death, “and when I have been discouraged, she has made me feel that she had the confidence that I could succeed, and so I have kept going.” (Church News, 15 July 1972, p. 7.)
Although money was scarce during those first years of marriage, they continued their courtship, frequently spending the evening at the Salt Lake Theater. Sometimes, however, they couldn’t afford to buy two tickets together, and they seldom had money for bus fare.
“We laugh a lot together,” Sister Romney said in 1975. “He’s my dessert in life.” (New Era, June 1975, p. 19.)
The Romneys’ courtship lasted throughout their fifty-five years of marriage. A few days after her death in 1979, he said: “When Ida died, something went out of me.” At the graveside service, he told Elder James E. Faust: “Be good to your wife. Take her with you everywhere you can.” (Tambuli, June 1973.)
As a young couple, Marion and Ida had endured great heartache. Their first two children died in infancy. But faith softened their sorrow—and a promise, given in a blessing when Marion became a General Authority, gave them reassurance: “Blessed are you because of your faith in my work. Behold, you have had many afflictions … nevertheless I will bless you and your family, yea, your little ones, and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in the Church.” (As quoted in Ensign, Nov. 1972, p. 27.)
They were blessed with two other sons, Richard J. now of Winters, California, and George J. of Salt Lake City, and they have eight grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. George’s wife, Joanne, speaks of her father-in-law as “a kind and loving man who always treats me like a daughter.”
Sister Romney tells of the fun times they have had together. For years President Romney would put on a Santa Claus beard every Christmas and hand out presents. And since Ida didn’t want Christmas to end, they always had the grandchildren come back on New Year’s Day for more presents. Each year they would rig up a “fishpond” where the children would pull strings and find prizes tied to the end. Grandpa Romney, on his hands and knees, did the tying.
The Romneys shared their love of the scriptures with their boys. On one occasion, when Elder Romney and one of his young sons were reading alternate verses in the Book of Mormon, he heard the child’s voice breaking and assumed he had a cold. After a while the boy asked his dad if he ever cried when he read the Book of Mormon.
“Yes, Son,” he answered. “Sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” the boy said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”
“I know not all of [your children] will respond like that,” he later said in general conference, “but I know that some of them will, and I tell you this book was given to us of God to read and to live by, and it will hold us as close to the Spirit of the Lord as anything I know. Won’t you please read it?” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1949, p. 41.)
Over the years, Brother and Sister Romney often had family home evening with their son George and his family, who lived only a few doors away. “We’d read scriptures together,” says Joanne. “You always learned something when you were in his presence and having a gospel discussion.”
Indeed, President Romney had much to share with his family and with the Church because of his own struggles to know and trust the Lord’s will. “During the early years of our married life,” he once said, “my wife and I intensely desired what we considered to be a particular blessing. We set about through fasting and prayer to obtain it. … But though we fasted often and prayed fervently, the years rolled by without bringing us the desired answer to our prayers. Finally, we concluded that we had not fully understood somehow—that we were concentrating our faith and prayers upon receiving the particular thing, which by predetermination we had set our hearts upon. … We had to learn to be as earnest in praying ‘if it be Thy will,’ as we were when presenting our personal desires and appeals. We have no need to fear that our well-being will not be served by such an attitude.” (Address delivered at Salt Lake Institute of Religion, 18 Oct. 1974, pp. 8–9.)

Earlier this year, I was provided with an exciting yet humbling opportunity to help my little sister, Oceane, progress on the covenant path by accepting the invitation to be baptized and fulfill one of the prescribed requirements to enter the celestial kingdom. She postponed her baptism one month, until I was ordained a priest, to give me the privilege to perform the ordinance, while our other sisters were also privileged to work under priesthood assignment and stand as witnesses. As we stood on opposite sides of the font and prepared to enter the water, I noticed her excitement, as it matched mine. And I felt united with her, seeing that she was making the right decision. This opportunity to exercise the priesthood required me to be more careful and less casual in my gospel living. In order to prepare, I went to the temple every day that week, supported by my mom, grandma, and sister, to perform baptisms for the dead.
This experience taught me a lot about the priesthood and how I could exercise it worthily. I know that all priesthood holders can feel the same things I felt if we follow Nephi’s example to “go and do” (see 1 Nephi 3:7). We cannot sit idly and expect the Lord to use us in His great work. We must not wait for those who need our aid to seek us out; it is our duty as priesthood holders to exemplify and stand as witnesses of God. If we are making decisions that inhibit us from our eternal progression, we must change now. Satan will try his hardest to keep us in a carnal state of seeking simple pleasures. But I know that if we put in the effort, find those who will support us, and repent each day, the resulting blessings will be incredible and our lives will be forever changed as we press forward on the covenant path.

Ana chewed her last bite of tortilla. She loved her grandmother’s tortillas. They were the best part of breakfast.
Ana watched her grandmother, Abuela, wash the dishes. It was like any other morning. But one thing was not the same.
Most mornings Ana and Abuela walked to the market to buy food. But today there was no money.
What will we eat tomorrow? Ana wondered.
Then Ana remembered. Last night she saw Abuela put a few pesos in a little bag.
“Abuela, you have money to buy food,” Ana said.
“What money?” Abuela asked.
Ana ran to get the little bag of coins. Clink! Clink!
Abuela smiled. “That is our tithing. That is for Heavenly Father.”
“But what will we eat tomorrow?” Ana asked.
“Do not worry,” Abuela said. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
The next morning Abuela gave Ana the last tortilla. Then she sat down in her chair. She told stories about when she was a little girl. She did not look worried.
Then Ana heard a knock. She ran to open the door.
“Uncle Pedro!”
“I had a feeling I should visit,” Uncle Pedro said. He put three sacks on the table. One had flour for tortillas. Another had meat. Another had vegetables.
“Oh, my sweet son,” Abuela said. “Thank you!”
Ana was so happy. But there was one thing she wanted to know. “Abuela, did you know Uncle Pedro would come? Is that why you weren’t worried?”
“No,” Abuela said. “When I pay tithing, I have faith that Heavenly Father will bless me. And He did!”
Ana hugged Abuela. She felt like the happiest girl in Mexico. She and Abuela had faith in Heavenly Father.

My husband is truly my hero. Marrying him was a “BEST” decision of my life.
Todd currently serves as our ward bishop. A few Sundays ago, I was planning on attending my sister’s ward to hear her play the piano and listen to their Samoan ward choir perform. Todd was going to be alone to conduct our ward sacrament meeting as both his counselors were out of town. He had interviews and appointments before church and after, so I knew he had quite a load on his shoulders that day. I mentioned to hibefore I left that I would prepare Sunday dinner when I returned home. Before he left for church, he sent me this text message:
Hi Honey, I prepared the roast and put it in the oven on 300. Hope this tastes good and will help you.
This is just one of the examples that describes the man that my eternal companion is. He is kind, happy, gentle, humble and always enjoyable to be with. He is an honorable father, full of charity and love and he genuinely cares about others. He loves our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ and dedicates his life to serving them. I am fortunate that he is my BEST FRIEND and blessed to have him in my life forever.

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter the mandatory military service required of young men during World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, but first I needed to telephone my stake president, Paul C. Child, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures, and it was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. Having heard from some of my friends of his rather detailed and searching interviews, I desired minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge; therefore, when I called him I suggested we meet the following Sunday at a time I knew was just an hour before his sacrament meeting time.
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures.” He then suggested a time three hours before his sacrament meeting, and he instructed me to bring with me my personally marked and referenced set of scriptures.
When I arrived at his home on Sunday, I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. President Child said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Have you ever had angels minister to you?” I replied that I had not. When he asked if I knew I was entitled to such, I again replied that I had not known.
He instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “‘Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels—’”
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then, in a calm, kindly tone, he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels.”
It was almost as though an angel were in the room that day. I have never forgotten the interview. I yet feel the spirit of that solemn occasion as we together read of the responsibilities, the duties, and the blessings of the Aaronic Priesthood and the Melchizedek Priesthood—blessings which come not only to us but also to our families and to others we will have the privilege to serve.

When my seminary class discussed anything that had to do with the hereafter, from spirit prison to sealed couples being sorted into their degrees of glory together, my stomach started to do somersaults. I won’t lie—I do worry about where my family will fit in after death. I try to trust in the knowledge that God is good and that my dad is good, but right now, there’s a gap in our family’s eternal future. We simply don’t know what will happen.

Tip: Show empathy for others. Families with less-active members aren’t the only people who deal with this, but it can be emotionally taxing, especially in Church settings. When I share my concerns, I’m not looking for answers—I’m just looking for empathy, for someone to agree that this is hard sometimes.
I eventually realized that I could soften a negative discussion by piping up and saying, “Oh, I disagree. My dad is less active, and …” Almost immediately, people’s comments became kinder, and many even backtracked on their previous insensitive statements.

Tip: A good rule of thumb in Church discussions is to assume that no matter what you’re discussing, someone in your group has experienced it, is experiencing it, or will experience it—or they have a loved one who is going through it. Once people knew about my family situation, they were much gentler. They knew that, to me, this wasn’t just a conversation about less-active or disaffected members—this was about my father.

All of this boils down to what we already know and what we are taught: be empathetic and loving. Elder W. Craig Zwick, an emeritus General Authority Seventy, said: “The willingness to see through each other’s eyes will transform ‘corrupt communication’ into ‘minister[ing] grace.’ … It may not change or solve the problem, but the more important possibility may be whether ministering grace could change us.”1

Mortality means we all end up in unique circumstances. And whatever those circumstances are, we can always be accepting and kind to all. My family is a part of my unique mortal journey, and I love them as they are. But I do have hope that Heavenly Father will help everything work out for our eternal family in the end.

When I was in college I heard many of the world's voices about how to live and who we are. These are very persuasive voices and in the midst of them my sense of myself as belonging and being obligated started to be drowned out. At a turning point in my life, however, I heard a voice renewing that feeling of obligation and belonging. I took President Benson's invitation and started to read in the Book of Mormon daily and as I did so the feelings of connection were strengthened. The feelings of belonging were not only strengthened, but also deepened and clarified.
I was getting close to my twentieth birthday and I wanted to prepare to serve a mission. In Conference that fall President Benson spoke of his vision of missionaries going into the field with hundreds of passages of the Book of Mormon memorized. [6] When I heard him say that I had the same feeling I did when I learned about the meaning of honor from the Hebrew Dictionary many years before. The Holy Ghost spoke to my heart and taught me. I realized that this was something that I needed to do. So I took little 3 x 5 cards and wrote out Book of Mormon verses. I carried them with me and studied them as I walked between classes or ran errands. One passage that I worked on memorizing was 2 Nephi 31:13. As I went over this scripture word for word, again and again, the power of these words brought a change in my heart. As I studied Nephi's explanation of the covenant I had made many years before I began to understand how I belonged and who I was more deeply.
Wherefore, my beloved brethren, I know that if ye shall follow the Son, with full purpose of heart, acting no hypocrisy and no deception before God, but with real intent, repenting of your sins, witnessing unto the Father that ye are willing to take upon you the name of Christ , by baptism--yea, by following your Lord and your Savior down into the water, according to his word, behold, then shall ye receive the Holy Ghost; yea, then cometh the baptism of fire and of the Holy Ghost; and then can ye speak with the tongue of angels, and shout praises unto the Holy One of Israel (2 Nephi 31:13; emphasis added).
When we are baptized we witness that we are willing to take upon us the name of Christ. We renew this covenant every week when we take the sacrament.
Studying this passage, I realized that I was not just under obligation to bring weight and honor to the name of the Clark family, but I was under obligation to bring honor to the name of Christ. I wasn't just Jennifer Clark, but I had taken upon me the name of Christ when I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As I studied and pondered 2 Nephi 31:13 I was empowered as I realized that I was promised that the Holy Ghost would help me to keep my obligation. I received a witness this was real. I had to be willing to reflect well on Christ, to bring honor to His Church and Kingdom, but it was not just about me and my power. He has power to help each of us as we demonstrate our willingness to become like Him.

Tomorrow marks the 37th anniversary of my convert baptism and confirmation in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although I had been in contact with members of the Lord's church as I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, I had no particular interest in religion. But a simple[5] invitation from a courageous young woman changed all of that. I remember very well Colette Christensen[6] asking me what I was doing while I was standing outside waiting for the lunch bell to ring. After I told her I was waiting to eat a second lunch, she simply said, "Why don't you come to seminary with me?" To be honest, she was cute and so were the other young ladies I saw going to seminary, so I said okay. The next day, she invited me to go again, and I went. I went almost every day that year because she or someone else invited me to go. Sometime during the very first week of seminary, the teacher showed the movie, The First Vision.[7] This was the first time that I had ever seen this movie, and I was riveted. As I watched the portrayal of the Prophet Joseph's experience, the Holy Ghost bore witness to me that it was true; that God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith to usher in the restoration of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in its fullness. And I testify to you that it is still true today!
Despite the fact that I knew the First Vision was true, it took me a while to join the church. I received a lot of pressure from others not to join; and I also did not think that I could live up to those covenants that we make in the waters of baptism. I didn't think that I could change. I didn't think that I could put off the natural man.

Some years ago, a missionary and his companion were teaching a woman of the restored gospel. She was very interested and she read and prayed as the missionaries asked. However, she was uncertain about whether she should be baptized. She went to the minister of her protestant church and asked his opinion. He wrote her a response. It was 21 pages long. I examined the first few pages. I recall the minister warned this woman that the Mormons have a very strange belief. They believe that God speaks directly to man today and that revelation is available to every Mormon. He pointed out that even if you show a Mormon in the Bible where he is wrong, he will not believe the Bible if it conflicts with his revelations. He concluded with the warning that Mormons invite you to pray and listen to your feelings. But, he said, feelings can be misleading, and he recommended she should avoid prayer and avoid examining her feelings. He reminded her that there were no such things as visions and revelations in this day and all such things had ceased with the Apostles. This lady said at her baptism a few days later: "I knew the minister was wrong. He was wrong about revelation, because I prayed and God revealed to me the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the gospel taught by the missionaries."

Several weeks ago, I awoke early and began preparing for a meeting that was to take place in a distant city. While preparing, the most unusual thought came into my mind. It was this: "Judah and Joseph are going to meet today." The thought caused me to wonder, "What did it mean?" Then, as is so often the case with us mortals, the press of time overwhelmed the "thought for the day," and I was soon on a plane winging to my appointment.
Upon landing, my colleagues and I made our way through the airport to the car and driver that had been arranged for. As we approached the vehicle, our driver, Eric (not his real name), greeted us, helped with our bags, and made certain we were comfortably situated. I was in the passenger seat next to him, and as he prepared to pull away from the curb I asked: "Eric, are you a believer?"
It was obvious that the question took him by surprise, but he was polite, thought for a moment, then somewhat awkwardly began to answer: "Well," he said, "I am Jewish, and suppose..." Sensing his discomfort, I continued: "You see, Eric, we are going to an important meeting, and we are believers. With your permission, we would like to pray. Is it alright with you if, before you pull away from the curb, we have a prayer together here in your car?" Eric readily agreed, a dear friend of mine said the prayer, and we proceeded on our way.
Later that day, Eric drove some of us back to the airport. In the course of the return trip we learned about him, his work, his wife and family, and some of his hopes in life. Then the conversation went something like this: "Eric, you must have really wondered about us this morning when I asked if you are a believer."
Eric replied: "I have thought about that question throughout the day. As I said, I am Jewish. Some days I believe there is a God. Other days, I am not sure."
He was genuine and open in his answer. My heart was deeply moved. I explained to him the impression that had come over me earlier that morning about Judah and Joseph. "Eric," I said, "you are from Judah, we are from Joseph, and we have met as described. We want you to know there is a God in Heaven. He is our Heavenly Father, and we are all His sons and daughters. On this truth you can rely." At parting, Eric accepted my business card and the invitation to come to Utah and allow us to show him some of the things he might otherwise not see.