Gospel Story Finder

During the Great Depression, Sister Louise Kelly, who lived on a farm in the United States, grew strawberry plants. Her family’s income depended on the sale of their crops. During one season, the $40 earned from strawberry sales was the only cash they had seen for a long time. Their $4 in tithing seemed a small sum to offer, and with a family of four children the money was desperately needed. But Louise was determined to pay her tithing. She was not aware of any immediate blessings other than the satisfaction of having obeyed. However, the following year when a strawberry-leaf blight struck the area, only her family’s plants remained healthy. Asked what special care they had given their plants, they simply explained they had tithed their income the previous year. Louise reflected that “at a time when the economy was at low ebb, our blessing of a good crop was to us an irrefutable example of the blessings that come from paying tithing” (“Divine Law of the Tithe,” Ensign, June 1981, 69).

An important aspect of the path to developing potential through service and servant leadership is often times other people, such as the Lesuma’s, Litchfield’s, Budge’s, and Nainoa Thompson, see things in you before you are able to see them in yourself. I can count on two hands the number of hours Captain Nainoa slept in the 16 days and 2,500 miles before we arrived in Rangiroa in the Tuamotu Archipelago, and then two days on to Tahiti. He actually spotted land about 30 minutes before the apprentice navigators did. But my teacher didn’t need to find land; it was his fifth trip back to Tahiti. Instead, he allowed us to find the coconut trees, which were the highest points on Rangiroa so that we can likewise teach the rising generation (this is a photo of that moment). Servant leadership is exhausting, and at the same time nourishing, visionary, and self-replenishing. By following the Lord’s invitations through service and servant leadership, we honor those who have gone before us and strive to do His will by raising the next generation.

In the village of Pencader, Carmarthenshire, South Wales, a tenth child, Evan, was born to David and Jane Stephens. The family immigrated to Utah in 1866 and settled in Willard. Evan’s first contact with music came when, as a boy of twelve, he was asked to join the choir. With borrowed books, he taught himself how to write, read, and play music. Music became the motivating force in his life.
When Evan Stephens was sixteen, his brother bought a four-octave cabinet organ and Evan spent that long winter learning to play. In 1890 he was asked by the First Presidency to direct the Tabernacle Choir, which traveled three years later to the World’s Fair in Chicago where it won second prize of $1000. Its conductor was given a gold medal. President Wilford Woodruff said, “A shepherd boy came down from the mountains and is here today to contest in this great competition.”

Thirty years ago I had responsibility for much of the work in the South Pacific. A Brother J. Vernon Monson was called, together with his wife, to journey to faraway Rarotonga in the Cook Islands, there to serve as district president.
Later, in a letter to me, he reported: “We are most grateful for the progress being made, and I would especially like to mention the goodwill and wonderful relations that have developed with the representatives of government and the business community toward us and the Church.
“One thing climaxed the development of this public acceptance,” he wrote. “It was in having our nephew and niece, Dr. and Mrs. Odeen Manning, render an outstanding service here in the Cook Islands. Dr. Manning is an ophthalmologist, and I wrote to him outlining a proposal whereby he might render service to the people of Rarotonga. My proposal included the following: (1) No remuneration; (2) He must pay his own expenses; (3) That he turn his practice over to the other doctors to handle for the three months he would be away; (4) We would furnish them free board and room while in Rarotonga; and (5) That he bring his own surgical instruments, as none would be available in Rarotonga.”
Brother Vernon Monson’s letter to me continued: “The Mannings airmailed their reply in two words: ‘Offer accepted.’ As preparations began, the government of the Cook Islands assigned competent doctors to assist Dr. Manning and to learn from him. In all, 284 patients were examined, with most being fitted for glasses. Fifty-three patients had serious eye operations, such as cataract surgery.
“The entire three-month program was wonderful and most heartwarming. Truly we were blessed. It has buoyed up the Saints, who gained new pride in being members of a faith which would bring medical service to these islands.” The letter ended.
Years later, my wife and I were guests on a BYU-sponsored cruise to the Holy Land. One evening as we were seated on the ship’s deck, the man sitting next to us turned to me and said, “Elder Monson, my name is Odeen Manning from Woodland Hills, California. I am an ophthalmologist by profession and served a brief medical mission to Rarotonga when my uncle and aunt were serving there.”
I acknowledged that I was aware of his sacrifice and his service. I asked Dr. Manning, “As you reflect on this experience, would you wish to share with me your feelings concerning it?”
He responded with emotion, saying, “It was the most spiritually rewarding experience of my life.”
I believe it was more than coincidence that my wife and I would be on the cruise vessel at that particular time and in that particular area of the deck, sitting next to a man we never before had met. Heaven was close as Dr. Manning and I embraced, and thanks were expressed for his service—not only to those who were blind and now could see, but also to our Lord and Savior, who declared, “Great are the promises of the Lord unto them who are upon the isles of the sea.”

I had that demonstrated to me while welding in a shipyard one winter. One day one of the crew came up to me and with the most friendly smile started to call me all kinds of bad names. I quietly said to him, “Bent, you just don’t call me those names.” He was hurt. He said, “Dan, let me show you something. Come with me.” So I followed him across the deck of the aircraft carrier and over on the other side to a catwalk where another member of the crew was welding. He had raised his hood and was watching us approach when Bent started calling him every name he had called me. The other fellow just grinned and called him back the same names with a few innovations and improvements. Then Bent turned to me and said, “See, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” And he didn’t! He had managed to almost entirely divorce sound from sense in his speech.

As a boy, President Joseph F. Smith, son of Hyrum, came west in 1848 with his widowed mother. He was called as a missionary to Hawaii when he was 15 years of age. He spent much of the next four years alone. He was released in 1857 at the age of 19 (just the age we call missionaries now). Penniless, he stopped in California to earn money for warm clothes.

With another man, . . . [Joseph] took passage in a mail wagon. They traveled all night, and at daylight stopped near a ranch for breakfast. The passenger and the mail carrier began to prepare breakfast, while Joseph went a short distance from camp to [gather wood and] look after the horses. . . . A wagon load of drunken men from Monte came in view, on their road to San Bernardino to kill the “Mormons,” as they boasted.

The oaths and foul language which they uttered, between their shooting, and the swinging of their pistols, were almost indescribable. . . . They were all cursing the “Mormons,” and uttering boasts of what they would do when they met them. They . . . caught sight of the mail wagon. . . . [His companion] and the mail carrier, fearing for their safety, had retired behind the chaparral, leaving all the baggage and supplies . . . exposed and unprotected.

Just as [one] drunken man approached, [young Joseph F.] came in view . . . , too late to hide. . . . The ruffian was swinging his weapon, and uttering the most blood-curdling oaths and threats ever heard against the “Mormons.” “I dared not run,” says [Joseph F.] Smith, “though I trembled for fear which I dared not show. I therefore walked right up to the camp fire, and arrived there just a minute or two before the drunken desperado, who came directly toward me, and, swinging his revolver in my face, with an oath cried out: ‘Are you a —— —— —— “Mormon?”’”

[Young Joseph] looked him straight in the eyes, and answered with emphasis: “Yes, sir’ee; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.”

The desperado’s arms both dropped by his sides, as if paralyzed, his pistol in one hand, and he said in a subdued . . . voice, offering his hand: “Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake. I am glad to see a fellow stand for his convictions.” Then he turned and [left].

I think of Oliver Cowdery. Here was a man who gave up his work as a teacher to go to assist the Prophet Joseph Smith in the translation of the Book of Mormon. While so serving, a question arose concerning baptism. The answer to their prayer was the bestowal of the Aaronic Priesthood under the hands of John the Baptist.
It was Oliver Cowdery also who, in company with the Prophet Joseph Smith, experienced the laying on of hands of Peter, James, and John, the Apostles who had received the priesthood from the Lord Himself while in mortality. It was Oliver Cowdery who became a witness of the plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated. He became the second elder in the Church. He was one of the three who were asked by the Prophet to seek out the first Twelve Apostles in this dispensation. He instructed them in words that ring with power down to this day.
And yet this same Oliver Cowdery let a few trivial things get in his way. He became disaffected and sullen and critical of Joseph Smith. The spirit of apostasy gnawed at him until he left the Church.
He later came back, asking only to be accepted as a member. Of him Wilford Woodruff declared:
“I have seen Oliver Cowdery when it seemed as though the earth trembled under his feet. I never heard a man bear a stronger testimony than he did when under the influence of the Spirit. But the moment he left the kingdom of God, that moment his power fell like lightning from Heaven. He was shorn of his strength like Samson in the lap of Delilah. He lost the power and the testimony which he had enjoyed, and he never recovered it again in its fulness while in the flesh, although he died in the Church” (Stanley R. Gunn, Oliver Cowdery—Second Elder and Scribe, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1962, page 73).

One incident happened where I witnessed my dad’s priesthood power in action.

In the aftermath of a disastrous hurricane in 1966 in Samoa, my sister Taeasina Ruta had a severe sickness when she was about ten years of age. She was treated with Samoan herbal and medical medicines, but she silently slipped into a coma, and was thought to have died.

That was when I witnessed my dad exercise his priesthood authority, when he, and my grandpa administered the blessing with the anointed oil to my sister. We waited! Feeling despaired! Our house was crowded with inquisitive villagers. Not sure if they came to lend a helping hand, or just to be noisy. Ruta recovered! A miracle! If there was ever one.

I define my sister Ruta’s malady as a blessing in disguise. Her sickness and subsequent recovery happened, at the time the church growth in Laulii was rather slow. The few members of the church were greatly outnumbered by other church denominations. There was hostility, sarcasm, and ridicule directed to the church members, including our family. I believe that the Lord provided a way, through Ruta’s blessing for the non-believers to witness the miracle. The word about Ruta’s recovery spread, and so was the Lord’s gospel. After a while, the villagers’ attitudes towards our family, and other church members, subsided. Respect, and belief for the church was evident, some non-member relatives baptized, and joined the church.

Fifty-two years later, where there was only a branch, there are now two wards, and these two wards have yielded patriarchs, stake presidents, numerous missionaries, and faithful saints.

Ruta is now 62, a mother, grandmother, a bank manager, and a temple ordinance worker.

I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of this country and shown who they were, and from whence they came; a brief sketch of their origin, progress, civilization, laws, governments, of their righteousness and iniquity, and the blessings of God being finally withdrawn from them as a people, was made known unto me; I was also told where were deposited some plates on which were engraven an abridgment of the records of the ancient Prophets that had existed on this continent. The angel appeared to me three times the same night and unfolded the same things. After having received many visits from the angels of God unfolding the majesty and glory of the events that should transpire in the last days, on the morning of the 22nd of September, A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord delivered the records into my hands.

These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance of gold, each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long, and not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with engravings, in Egyptian characters, and bound together in a volume as the leaves of a book, with three rings running through the whole. The volume was something near 15 cm. in thickness, a part of which was sealed. The characters on the unsealed part were small, and beautifully engraved. The whole book exhibited many marks of antiquity in its construction, and much skill in the art of engraving. With the records was found a curious instrument, which the ancients called “Urim and Thummim,” which consisted of two transparent stones set in the rim of a bow fastened to a breast plate. Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim, I translated the record by the gift and power of God.

In this important and interesting book, the history of ancient America is unfolded, from its first settlement by a colony that came from the Tower of Babel, at the confusion of languages to the beginning of the fifth century of the Christian Era. We are informed by these records that America in ancient times, has been inhabited by two distinct races of people. The first were called Jaredites, and came directly from the Tower of Babel. The second race came directly from the city of Jerusalem, about six hundred years before Christ. They were principally Israelites, of the descendants of Joseph. The Jaredites were destroyed about the time that the Israelites came from Jerusalem, who succeeded them in the inheritance of the country. The principal nation of the second race fell in battle towards the close of the fourth century. The remnant are the Indians that now inhabit this country. This book also tells us that our Savior made His appearance upon this continent after His resurrection; that He planted the Gospel here in all its fulness, and richness, and power, and blessing; that they had Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, Teachers, and Evangelists; the same order, the same priesthood, the same ordinances, gifts, powers, and blessings, as were enjoyed on the eastern continent, that the people were cut off in consequence of their transgressions, that the last of their prophets who existed among them was commanded to write an abridgment of their prophecies, history, etc., and to hide it up in the earth, and that it should come forth and be united with the Bible for the accomplishment of the purposes of God in the last days. For a more particular account, I would refer to the Book of Mormon, which can be purchased at Nauvoo, or from any of our Traveling Elders.

As soon as the news of this discovery was made known, false reports, misrepresentation and slander flew, as on the wings of the wind, in every direction; the house was frequently beset by mobs and evil designing persons. Several times, I was shot at, and very narrowly escaped, and every device was made use of to get the plates away from me; but the power and blessing of God attended me, and several began to believe my testimony.

The air was chilly as my friends and I walked around the playground. We stopped at the red swing set. Usually, I loved to swing high and feel the wind blow through my hair. But when I sat down this time, I didn’t move. Ruth and Amruta sat in the swings next to me and didn’t swing either.
“I’m scared,” Amruta said. “Are you?”
I kicked the sand under my feet. “Yeah. Especially when I watch the news.”
“Me too,” Ruth said. “I’ve slept in my mom’s bed all week.”
Last week there had been a terrorist attack. Everyone was talking about it. Mom told me a terrorist attack was when bad people hurt other people who haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t understand everything that had happened, but it made me want to cry.
After Mom tucked me into bed that night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking about the people who had died or been hurt. How did their families feel? I wanted to help them, but I didn’t know how.
When I got home from school the next day, Mom looked a little more cheerful. “Our neighborhood is going to have a lemonade stand. We’ll raise money for the firefighters who helped during the attack. Do you want to help?”
“Yes! How will the money help the firefighters?” I asked.
“Well, it could help them pay for doctor visits. Or it could help their families,” Mom said.
“Let’s do it,” I said. Finally, something I could do!
On Saturday, Mom, my brother, and I spent all morning baking Mom’s special triple-chocolate-chip cookies to sell at the lemonade stand.
That afternoon we carried trays of cookies to the street corner. Our neighbors were waiting for us with pitchers of lemonade and plastic cups. A boy from school waved at me.
“Hey, Aaron!” I said. “Are you helping sell stuff too?”
“Yeah! This lemonade stand was my mom’s idea.”
“Cool! Want to try a cookie?” I asked.
After eating chocolatey cookies and sipping sweet lemonade, Aaron and I hung up signs that said, “Lemonade Stand” and “Help the Firefighters!” All afternoon Aaron and I waved at cars, poured lemonade, and traded delicious cookies for crisp dollar bills.
Even when people didn’t stop, they honked their car horns and waved as they drove by. Mom said it meant they thought we were doing a good thing.
Then Aaron’s mom passed around a card to send to the firefighters. It had pink and red hearts on it. I signed my name and wrote, “Thank you for saving lives!” I drew a heart and a smiley face too.
By the end of the day, I was tired, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
“I feel better now,” I told Mom as we walked home.
“I’m so glad. When you help others, you are being like Jesus. And the Holy Ghost can help you feel safe and happy.”
When I went to bed that night, I thought about how happy the firefighters would be when they got the money and card. And I thought about how happy Heavenly Father is when we serve others. I snuggled up in my blankets and smiled. I wasn’t scared anymore.

I had 467 full-time missionaries given to me over a period of three years. What a glorious experience. I remember I hadn’t been in New England more than an hour when the telephone rang. On the line was an elder I hadn’t met yet, an elder who had been in the mission field just one week. He had some concerns, as sometimes missionaries do, and he wanted to go home. He didn’t just say, “I want to go home.” He announced he was going. He was a small young man in stature, quite good-looking, and a sharp athlete; but he was born with a handicap, and this was one of his barriers. He had only half a larynx. When he spoke he spoke with a harsh voice, and people often made fun of him. He announced on the phone, “President Dunn, I just called to tell you I’m going home tonight, so don’t try to stop me.”
I said, “Well, at least pay me the courtesy of coming over and getting acquainted and saying good-bye.”
“All right, I’ll come by on my way to the airport.”
He came over. In the meantime, I checked his file and found among other things one thing in my favor—he wanted to be an athlete. He was a good one. He wanted to make a career out of sports. I sat him down. He said, “Now, President, you’re not going to talk me into staying.”
I said, “Didn’t intend to. Tell me your problem.”
He said, “It’s very simple. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t believe in the Lord. Furthermore, and you’ll learn sometime, my home life hasn’t been what it ought to be. I hate my dad, I hate my mother, I hate this Church, I hate this mission, and I already hate you.”
I thought, “Well, this is a thrilling challenge; first day on your mission and you’ve got a young man thinking like this.” I said, “I don’t know what all the circumstances are, but let me tell you something. The Lord lives, and he loves you. Your parents, for reasons you can’t fully comprehend, love you. This Church loves you, this mission loves you, and I like you a little bit. Now,” I said, “you can walk out of this mission anytime you want; but I don’t think you’re going to and let me tell you why. You’re not a quitter. You may have a lot of hang-ups and problems, but you’re not a quitter. I noticed from your athletic record that you don’t quit. Let me tell you something you may not know. I played professional baseball for a number of years and found myself behind in early and middle innings of many a ball game. If you were my coach, and we were behind five to two in the seventh inning, and I came to you and said, ‘Coach, let’s get out of here while we can and save face,’ what would you say?”
He said, “We’ve got two more innings to catch up and win.”
I said, “Exactly, and a mission is no different!”
“Well,” he said, “that’s baseball.”
I said, “No, it isn’t. The game of life plays by the same rules and principles. I just don’t think you’re going to quit because you’re not that kind of player. There’s the door. You can go if you must, but I don’t think you will.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll try it one more week.”
“Fine. One more week. You call me next week, and we’ll talk about it.”
He called me the next week, and he gave me the same dialogue. He didn’t even miss a line. He had it out again, and would you believe for the next 103 weeks. Every week, through the mail, in person, on the phone, “I’m going, President!”
“So long, Elder; but I don’t think you are.”
And then it happened, the 104th week. Another phone call and he said, “I’ve got to tell you. It happened. I got the spirit!” And he told me of some very special experiences he had had that week, how the Lord had answered his prayers and how he received a testimony. Through real hardship and prayers he got an answer.
The following Sunday he came into the mission home for his last evening prior to his departure home. We used to have a simple ceremony when a group departed; and when it came time for him to speak he said, “Can I say something, President?”
I said, “You haven’t hesitated up to now. What do you want to tell us?”
He said, “You know what I found out this week? I’ve found what a testimony is. I believe in the Lord. He lives, and I love him. I love my mom and dad. I love this Church. I love this mission, and I kind of like you.”

While living in Salt Lake City in 1978, my wife, Linda, and I attended a reunion of returned missionaries. At one point, one of the former missionaries enthusiastically reported that his family had been rising early each morning to read the scriptures.
I had heard about people like that. It was all I could do to read the scriptures myself on a regular basis, let alone get the entire family our of bed early each day to read a few verses.
However, Linda and I knew it was something we should do. We realized that such a habit, formed when our family was young, could provide a great foundation for our children.
A few mornings later and a few minutes earlier than usual, we gathered the family to begin reading the Book of Mormon.
We chose the Book of Mormon because of its wonderful stories and plain presentation of gospel principles. It was also the only one of the standard works for which we had a large-type edition for the children. Angela was six years old, Jamie was three, and Dallas was newly born. At first, Jamie and Dallas had poor attendance, but Angela zealously showed up each morning.
About ninety seconds into our first morning, a few things became obvious: We were not going to finish for a very long time. Second, too much reading at one time would make this project miserable for all of us. And third, the children’s joy would come as much from reading to Mom and Dad as from the messages they learned from the Book of Mormon.
Keeping these things in mind, we decided to read one column of one page each day. We would each take a verse, in order, and read it aloud. For Angela, whose reading skills were limited, it usually meant that Linda or I would say one or two words and she would repeat them.
Discussions were prompted by questions from the children or the need for emphasis from Mom and Dad. Many times a short introduction to what was ahead made the reading more exciting. When a great prophet died, we felt sad and talked about it. When we came to a favorite story or favorite prophet, we mentioned it.
From the first, we recognized that reaching the book’s final verse wasn’t the point; the fun was in getting there. We soon lost any feeling of desire to get the book read in a hurry. If it took five years, so what? If the children, or even Mom and Dad, seemed to tire or become distracted, we would not read as much. We could always pick up the next day where we had left off.
We ended each session on our knees in family prayer.
As the weeks became months and the months became years, a miracle unfolded. We saw our children learning to read. Better yet, we saw them becoming acquainted with the prophets, stories, and teachings of the Book of Mormon.
As our family grew older, our children slowly mastered the text. They needed less and less help pronouncing words and names, and they rarely missed a word like Lamanite, even though they sometimes needed help with more common words. That large-type edition was soon passed from Angela to Jamie, from Jamie to Dallas, and then to our latest child, Jill. As the older children received their own copies of the Book of Mormon, their satisfaction grew even greater.
Along the way there were many triumphs. Whenever a child was able to read a whole verse without assistance, the family rewarded the effort with a spontaneous cheer. When we read 3 Nephi, we all sensed a special spirit. The children felt the importance of the verses. We read some of the passages more than once, pausing for discussion. As we read of the Lord’s love for the children and how he blessed them, our children felt that the Book of Mormon was written just for them.
We also had our setbacks. Summer was a hard time for our reading program. While the children had their school holiday, they had no need to get up as early as I did, and we missed many days during these summer months. Still, we had no trouble starting again once school started.
The greatest challenge came in 1983, when we moved. We lived outside of a city, and I commuted an hour each way to work. This meant that I had to leave home every morning before the children woke up.
We solved the problem by switching our scripture reading to evenings, just before bedtime. Reading then required much more discipline. Busy schedules, homework, television, and even Church activities competed for our time. But after a few weeks the routine was established, and we continued on our way.
About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.
We are convinced that the Lord provided a special blessing for our children. They have all learned to be fine readers. The have also learned to love the Book of Mormon. Above all, we are bound together by the knowledge that we have obey the prophet, by the strength we gained from the counsel in the Book of Mormon, and by the love we developed during those minutes every day when each child was the focus of attention and nothing else really mattered.

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).
This verse also helped me make a difficult decision. My friend and I had been inseparable for five years. We played sports together, went on trips together, and hung out every weekend. But she began hanging out with an older group of friends who I didn’t want to be around. In the end she made me choose between having her as a friend or sticking to my beliefs regarding the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity. I was devastated. I never knew that standing up for what I believed could be so hard. But I chose to make new friends, always keeping in mind Heavenly Father’s promise to Joseph Smith that everything would work out all right.

A few years back I went through an especially dark season of my life. I faced many difficult challenges, and I felt depressed and overwhelmed by heavy burdens.
At church one Sunday, I looked around at all the happy families singing hymns and tasting of the love of God. I wanted to feel the same way, but something felt physically wrong with me.
I had felt the Spirit in the past, but I had been unable to for some time. As in Lehi’s vision of the tree of life, I felt as if I were completely surrounded by mists of darkness—I couldn’t even see the tree (see 1 Nephi 8:2–24).
When the sacrament prayers began, I closed my eyes and reached out to Heavenly Father, pleading for assurance of His love. I asked Him why I couldn’t taste of the fruit of the tree of life.
As I pondered Lehi’s dream, I had a piercing realization. “Why haven’t I remembered this before?” I thought. Traveling through mists of darkness is a completely normal part of God’s plan. He allows us to experience difficulties from time to time so that we can completely depend on Him and His Son. The key is to cling to the iron rod. I still saw myself in mists of darkness, but I had hope.
As this impression left my mind, I felt a sweet reassurance from the Holy Ghost that my trials would pass. The Spirit testified that Heavenly Father was there. I wiped the tears from my eyes, grateful that I had been able to feel the Spirit again.
I began to immerse myself in the scriptures. I still had many dark days, but I had faith that if I clung to the iron rod—the word of God (see 1 Nephi 11:25)—I would be freed from the mists of darkness. I’m not sure how long it took, but one day I could at last taste of God’s love again. It was like warm sunshine after a long winter.
As I have struggled off and on with life’s challenges, I have remembered my promise to cling tightly to the iron rod by studying the scriptures and the words of the prophets. I know that when the mists of darkness come, I have the tools necessary to see my way through them and the promise of a warm reception on the other side.

Normandie Luscher, 29, a Master of Fine Arts student in Maryland, USA, uses her artwork for good. “I’ve been focusing a lot over the last couple of years on the most important commandment, to love God and to love our neighbor,” she explains. “In my artwork I’ve been focusing on telling stories. We can really learn how to be compassionate and love our neighbors more by listening to them and hearing their stories.”
A self-proclaimed “idea person,” Normandie brings people together for good in many ways. A school project led her to put on a fundraiser for a local women’s shelter: a gallery show featuring paintings she created telling the story of Job through a woman’s perspective. “Other women came and shared their stories and their experiences,” she explains. “And I thought that was a really powerful thing.”
Another idea Normandie pursued was for a collaborate zine (a self-published or online magazine). She reached out to other artists, and together they told Book of Mormon stories through the lens of contemporary art.
Personally, Normandie has found that she can be an influence for good by opening up to others. “I’ve been working on developing the courage to be vulnerable and share my own experiences and perspectives. Art is about being honest and sharing ideas. So in terms of being a force for good, I’m just trying to embrace those ideas of being honest and courageous and reaching out to other people and communicating through visual art.”
She encourages other young adults to develop courage to do good too. “Don’t be afraid of not being able to do enough,” she says. “I think a lot of people get overwhelmed with, ‘There’s nothing that I can do,’ and falling into that fallacy prevents so much good from being done. Don’t be afraid. Be courageous to move forward and to act.”

Several years ago I went to Chapman College, and at the time I was the first Mormon to enroll in the school’s history. It is a religiously oriented school. I majored in the New Testament because of my lack of background in the Bible. I was so rare they used to put me on display there every Friday—you know, a real, live Mormon. Go look at him. I took time while at school to study our faith all the more diligently so it was kind of a two-pronged approach. I fell into the good graces of a marvelous professor of New Testament who later became a close friend of mine. In fact, I had the privilege 23 years later of performing his baptism—think of it—23 years of teaching and fellowshipping.

That fellowshipping started the first day I walked into a New Testament class. We met frequently during their so-called coffee breaks, and we would talk. We corresponded after I graduated. We had several personal meetings. I had him in my home. He later became critically ill. I left Salt Lake City on one assignment to the South, stopped off in Los Angeles, and went out to the Veterans Hospital to give him a priesthood blessing in a ward of about 200 men, none of whom belonged to the Church. It was interesting on that occasion to find that, when I called them to order the way the priesthood would do it, many others witnessing the scene were very interested. It’s in that kind of environment I find the real power of what we are and what we have, if we are not embarrassed, or if we will take the lead and go with it.

He later joined the Church. I had the privilege of confirming him. A few years later it was my honor to perform the sealing for him and his wife right here in the Provo Temple. He later became a member of this faculty. He died two years ago. I had the privilege of speaking at his funeral. I met him, I taught him, I baptized him, I fellowshipped him, I performed his marriage, and I buried him. Can you think of anything I left out? It’s that kind of wholeness that I think the gospel basically requires.

When our daughter, Emi, was a little girl, she liked to watch my every move as I got ready for church. After observing my routine, she would comb her hair and put on her dress, and then she would always ask me to put on some “shiney.” The “shiney” she referred to was thick, gooey cream that I used to prevent wrinkles. As requested, I would put it on Emi’s cheeks and lips, and she would then smile and say, “Now we are ready to go!” What Emi didn’t realize is that she already had her “shiney” on. Her face glowed because she was so pure and innocent and good. She had the Spirit with her, and it showed.

There are positive examples of the same principle. I recall a story told by Elder Harold B. Lee in a devotional address here at BYU 52 years ago last month. (Incidentally, I was a student at BYU that year—1952.) His story has had a significant impact on me for several reasons. I quote Elder Lee:
I was around ten or eleven years of age. I was with my father out on a farm away from our home, trying to spend the day busying myself until my father was ready to go home. Over the fence from our place were some tumbledown sheds that would attract a curious boy, and I was adventurous. I started to climb through the fence, and I heard a voice as clearly as you are hearing mine, calling me by name and saying, “Don’t go over there!” I turned to look at my father to see if he were talking to me, but he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no person in sight. I realized then, as a child, that there were persons beyond my sight, for I had definitely heard a voice. Since then, when I hear or read stories of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I too have known what it means to hear a voice, because I’ve had the experience. [In Harold B. Lee, Stand Ye in Holy Places (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1975), 139]
Consider some of the effects of that experience. First, it taught the reality of revelation to a young boy who was to become a prophet. Second, it may have protected young Harold from some hidden danger in those old sheds. That was the way I interpreted the story for many years, and perhaps that is true. We will never know. But perhaps the warning he heard was not to protect him from danger. Perhaps it was to test his willingness to be obedient to heavenly guidance. Surely he passed the test, and where did that lead? It kept the channel of revelation open for further guidance, and it was a formative experience in the life of one of our greatest teachers. Following an impression may seem a small thing now, but where it leads can be immensely important.

For a moment let me take you with me back to my college days. As a student at the University of Utah, I was attending a dance on campus. I was dancing with my date, a girl from West High School, when a young lady from East High School danced by with her partner. Her name was Frances Johnson, although I didn’t know it at the time. I just took one look and decided that there was a young lady I wanted to meet. But she danced away. I might never have seen her again.

About two months later I did. One day while waiting for the streetcar in Salt Lake City, I looked across the way and couldn’t believe my eyes. There was the young lady I had seen dancing across the floor. She was standing with another young lady and a young man whom I remembered from grade school days. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember his name. I had a decision to make. What should I do? I found in my heart an appreciation of the phrase: “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.” I squared my shoulders and plunged toward my opportunity. I walked up to that young man and said, “Hello, my old friend from grade school days.”

He looked at me blankly and said, “I can’t quite remember your name.” I told him my name. He told me his name, and then he introduced me to the girl who later became my wife. That day I made a note in my student directory to call on Frances Beverly Johnson, and I did. That decision, I believe, was perhaps the most important that I have ever made.

Ann liked living next door to Bishop Woodland. She liked to sit in the corkscrew willow tree that grew between their driveways. He was always going and coming. Whenever he did, he’d look up and say with a grin, “Be careful, Ann—I don’t want you falling out of there and cracking my driveway.”

“Why does Bishop Woodland come and go so much?” Ann asked her mother one morning.

“He’s usually going to help someone.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, people who need food or who are unhappy, or older people who need help.”

“How does he help? He’s old himself.”

Ann’s mother laughed. “I guess he is. But he can still listen and help. Sometimes he asks other people to help, like the Relief Society or a priesthood quorum.”

“Would he help me if I had a problem?”

“Of course he would. You could talk to him anytime.”

Ann asked this because she did, in fact, have a problem. She was thinking about it the next day at recess, when Cindy, her life-long friend, said, “Let’s play at the park after school.”

Ann had already told Janie, a new friend who had just moved there that year, that she’d play soccer with her after school. “Can Janie come, too?” she whispered back to Cindy.

Cindy frowned and shrugged.

Ann felt bad. Why couldn’t her two friends like each other? She was sure they would if they just knew each other better.

As it turned out, Janie had to postpone their soccer playing and help out at home. But that didn’t solve the problem.

After dinner Ann sat in the tree and watched for the bishop’s car. When she saw it turn the corner, she scrambled down and waited for him in his driveway. He was slow getting out of the car. When he finally stood up, his eyes were pinched with pain.

“Are you OK?” Ann asked.

“It’s just my back hurting me a little,” he said. Then he smiled, and his eyes were merry again. “I see the bird has come down from the tree.”

“Bishop, I need to talk to you, please.”

“This sounds serious. Let’s sit here on the front steps for a minute.” He lowered himself carefully onto the step. “Look at all those leaves!” The front lawn was covered with red and brown maple leaves and a few yellow ones from the willow tree. “I don’t know how I’ll get them raked up with this back. Sister Woodland can’t do it any more, either.” He turned to Ann. “But we’re here to talk about your problem, not mine. Tell me about it.”

“My two best friends don’t like each other. They don’t really know each other, because Janie is new. But they don’t want to do things with all three of us together. If I go with one, the other is mad at me. Maybe they’ll both get so mad that I won’t have either of them as my friend.”

The bishop put his chin in his hand. He thought a minute. “Maybe you could do something fun together, something at which they’d have to get to know each other better.”

“Maybe a party?”

“Good idea, But don’t watch TV or videos. Play games or do something where you work together.”

“Like making cookies or something?”

“That might work, especially if you ask the Lord’s help. A good, earnest prayer might help your plans.”

“OK, I’ll try it!” Ann jumped up. “Thank you, Bishop. I hope your back feels better.”

The bishop smiled, shook her hand, then went into his house.

“Who helps Bishop Woodland when he has a problem?” Ann asked her mother the next day.

“That depends on his problem. Why?”

“His back hurts him.”

“I know. He had surgery on it a while back. I think it’s getting better, though. I guess anyone who loves him and sees a way to do it would be the one to help.”

Ann did a lot of planning before she said anything to Cindy or Janie about a party. When she learned that the Woodlands were going away for the day on Saturday, she knew that that afternoon would be perfect. She talked to her mother about her plans, and she talked to the Lord about softening her friends’ hearts and about helping her say the right things. Then she talked to Cindy and Janie separately and told them about raking the bishop’s leaves and then having pizza.

“Bishop Woodland helped my dad get a job when he was out of work,” Cindy said. “Sure, I’ll come.”

Janie didn’t know Bishop Woodland because she was in a different ward, but she said, “Why not? I love pizza, and it sounds like fun.”

On Saturday afternoon Cindy and Janie both arrived promptly at four o’clock. They glared at each other but said hi.

“Let’s get to work!” Ann suggested, trying to sound cheerful and assured. They picked up the rakes and leaf bags she had gotten out and went to the bishop’s yard.

Each girl started in a separate corner of the yard and worked silently. Soon they had a big pile of leaves in the middle of the lawn. Ann looked at the pile. “I can’t resist!” she said, jumping into the middle of it.

Cindy laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing.” She jumped in too.

“Well, why not?” Janie drawled, joining them. The three of them rolled around and threw leaves at each other and laughed.

“Janie has the longest hair,” Cindy said. “She can be the leaf queen.” She and Ann wove handfuls of leaves into Janie’s hair. Janie smiled regally. Then they all filled Cindy’s hair and Ann’s. “We’re leaf princesses,” Cindy said.

They lay back in the leaves. The sun was going down, and the sky glowed with pink and gold. “My grandpa calls it ‘the gloaming’ when the sky looks like this,” Janie remarked.

“My mother says that, too,” Cindy said.

The three girls lay in the leaves and talked about their mothers and other things for a while. Suddenly Ann jumped up. “We have to hurry—I’m starving! Besides, it will soon be dark.” They held the sacks open for each other and stuffed them full of leaves. Janie swept the walk while Cindy and Ann carried the bags around by the bishop’s garden. “Janie’s fun,” Cindy said as they walked into the backyard.

Ann smiled. “I know. And so are you.”

Back at Ann’s house, they hurried to wash up so they could eat. After everyone was full, they baked the cookies that Ann’s mother had mixed. Then they arranged a basket of apples and cookies for Ann to put on the bishop’s front porch just before the Woodlands came home. Cindy decorated the note that Janie wrote to put in the basket: “From some people who love you.”

That night, Ann thanked Heavenly Father for helping her friends become friends—and for being able to help yet another friend, the bishop.