Gospel Story Finder

Spending time with my family is always a cherished experience for me. Because I work as a railroad engineer, my schedule is unpredictable. Occasionally I am transferred to distant locations and become temporarily separated from my wife and children. During these times, I see them only a few days each week—and only after a lengthy drive home.
Once, my wife, Scarlett, and our sons traveled to visit me during one of my breaks. Our sons enjoyed sleeping in a motel room and eating at restaurants. This trip became a vacation for them. This refreshing reunion passed quickly, and before too long we were hugging and saying good-bye. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw Scarlett’s car disappear from view as we got on opposite on-ramps to the freeway. I was traveling back to the railroad, and Scarlett was taking our children home.
I smiled as I thought about my family and decided to call Scarlett to thank her again for coming to visit me. I reached for my cell phone in my coat pocket, but it was not there. After an unsuccessful search, I realized that the phone must have been put in Scarlett’s car by accident.
I used my cell phone to keep in touch with my family, but it was also necessary for my work. My wife and I had been driving in separate directions for 10 minutes, but I knew I had to retrieve my phone. I decided I would dash up to the next overpass, turn back in the opposite direction, and try to catch her. As I prepared to turn around, I seemed to hear a voice say, “Stop!”
I began slowing down, even though each passing moment was making it more difficult to recover my phone.
A second thought came: “Stay here!”
This strong feeling swept over me. Defying logic and reason, I pulled over and turned off the car. I did not know why, but I sensed that I should stay put. As I yielded to what I felt was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, I felt panic being replaced by peace. I offered a humble prayer, grateful for Heavenly Father’s direction and guidance.
Shortly thereafter I caught sight of Scarlett driving toward me. When she saw me, she quickly brought the vehicle to a halt and came over to me with the cell phone in hand.
“How did you know to stop and wait?” she asked.
Joyful tears filled our eyes as I related my experience receiving promptings from the Holy Ghost.
That incident has stayed with me, and I can never deny the divine help I received that day. It strengthened our testimonies that Heavenly Father is aware of the seemingly minute details of our lives. I strive to remain worthy of that same guidance I received many years ago.

I once listened to the experience of an engineer who had recently joined the Church. The missionaries had called at his home, and his wife had invited them in. She had eagerly responded to their message, while he felt himself being pulled in against his will.

One evening she indicated that she wished to be baptized. He flew into a fit of anger. Didn’t she know what this would mean? This would mean time. This would mean the payment of tithing. This would mean giving up their friends. This would mean no more smoking. He threw on his coat and walked out into the night, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets, swearing at his wife, swearing at the missionaries, swearing at himself for ever permitting them to teach them. As he grew tired his anger cooled, and a spirit of prayer somehow came into his heart. He prayed as he walked. He pleaded with God for an answer to his questions. And then an impression, clear and unequivocal, came almost as if a voice had spoken with words that said, “It’s true.”

“It’s true,” he said to himself again and again. “It’s true.” A peace came into his heart. As he walked toward home, the restrictions, the demands, the requirements over which he had been so incensed began to appear as opportunities. When he opened the door, he found his wife on her knees praying.

Then before the congregation to whom he told this, he spoke of the gladness that had come into their lives. Tithing was not a problem. The sharing of their substance with God, who had given them everything, seemed little enough. Time for service was not a problem. Responsibility was not a problem. Out of it came growth and a new outlook on life. And then this man of intellect and training, this engineer accustomed to dealing with the facts of the physical world in which we live, bore solemn testimony with moistened eyes of the miracle that had come into his life (from Ensign, July 1973, 50).

Years ago, when my husband and I still had six of our children at home, we also had a foster home where we cared for elderly Alzheimer’s patients. At that time, we grew a large garden and preserved a lot of our food. One year we didn’t have access to peaches or pears, which were favorites of our family and especially good for the Alzheimer’s patients who needed soft foods.
I decided to pray about this need. I asked Heavenly Father to lead me to some inexpensive peaches and pears if He knew of some that were available. My hope was to find fruit that would otherwise go to waste.
A couple of days later, I drove my children to the church for a youth activity. A sister who was new in the ward approached me and asked me if I could use some ripe peaches. Her family had just bought a home with many peach trees in the yard, and there was more fruit than they could use. I was able to pick many boxes of peaches and preserve them at no cost.
Some time went by, and I didn’t find any pears. I reasoned to myself that Heavenly Father knew I was very busy getting the children settled in school and preserving the food from our garden and didn’t have time for the pears.
A few months later, after all the fruit was harvested, I was in the waiting room of my chiropractor’s office. As I sat there, a man came in and began talking with the receptionist. To my surprise, I heard him ask her if she knew anyone who could use some pears. He had bushel boxes of pears in cold storage and wanted to find a home for them so he could turn off the refrigeration for the winter. I was able to buy boxes of large, beautiful pears for only three dollars each—a highly discounted price compared with what I normally pay!
Heavenly Father answered my prayer from months before, and He also arranged for the pears to be kept cold until I had more time to preserve them.

One day a stranger came to our door. She introduced herself as Barbara and told us that she was looking for household work so that she could pay her power bill. My mother invited her in and listened to her. Mother told her that we didn’t have much money but that we would share what we had. Mother asked if she would clean a window to earn some money. While she was cleaning, we talked to her and found out that she had three young children and no job and had just recently moved from another city.
As she cleaned the window, we felt impressed that she needed some clothes, toys, and food for her children. My little sister, my mother, and I began preparing a box for her to take home. I put some of my toys in the box for the children. I wanted to give something more, so I decided to give her the money that I had been saving for a toy that I really wanted, money I had earned by working at my Grandpa Brown’s house.
I also wanted to share the gospel with her. I knew it would help her. It is so important to my life, and I knew it could help her family, too. I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon and explained that we belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I bore my testimony. I taught her the plan of salvation, using a chart that I had. She listened and took the Book of Mormon.
After some lunch, Barbara left. My mother read Matthew 25:34–40 to my little sister and me and told us that when we helped Barbara, it was as if we had done those things to the Savior. I felt the Spirit, and I knew that I had done something that Jesus would have done for another.

This story happened in Zimbabwe.
“I love to see the temple. I’m going there someday,” sang Ryan.
“Going there today!” said Ryan’s older brother Roy.
Momma folded some clothes and put them in a travel bag. “We’ll begin today, but it will take us two days to get to the temple in South Africa,” she said.
Ryan and his family had waited a long time to go to the temple. And now it was finally time! They would be gone for a whole week.
“Momma, tell us again about Tawananyasha,” Roy said.
Momma smiled at the boys. “Tawananyasha is your older brother. He died when he was only one. But he is still a brother to you, just like Tafadzwa and Tatenda. Papa and I love all five of our sons.”
Ryan smiled as he thought of Tawananyasha. It felt good to know that their parents loved them all.
“That’s why we’re going to the temple,” Momma said. “To be sealed together as a family forever!” She zipped up the travel bag. “Now get your things. It is temple time!”
Roy helped Ryan carry their travel bag outside. Papa joined them, carrying a box of food Momma had prepared for the trip. Tafadzwa and Tatenda carried their bags too. Soon the whole family started walking to the church. A bus was waiting for them there to take them to the temple.
Ryan climbed up on the bus and sat next to Roy. Three other families from their ward were also loading the bus. When everyone took their seats, the bus set out on the long drive to the temple.
Ryan and Roy looked out the window. It was the rainy season, so everything looked green and beautiful. They passed fields and roadside stands where people sold tomatoes, bananas, and potatoes. They even saw monkeys on the road! Ryan wondered what other animals might be hiding in the tall grass and trees.
Soon day turned into night, and the bus drove on. It was a long ride, but Ryan and Roy didn’t complain. Ryan fell asleep thinking, It is temple time!
As they reached the city, everyone on the bus watched out the windows. Who would see the temple first?
“There it is!” Roy said.
Finally, the time came to go inside the temple. “It is temple time!” Roy whispered to Ryan as they walked inside. They changed into white clothes. Then the boys sat in a waiting room with the other children for a while.
Soon a nice temple worker took the children to join their parents. They walked into a room that had a soft table in the center for people to kneel at. It was called an altar.
“Welcome to the sealing room,” the worker said at the front of the room. “Today I will use the priesthood to seal each family together forever.”
Ryan and Roy watched as the other three families were sealed. Then it was their turn.
Ryan and his brothers knelt with his parents around the altar. The sealer invited one of their friends to represent Tawananyasha. Roy looked at Momma and Papa as he placed his hands on theirs. He saw tears sliding down Momma’s cheeks, but she was smiling big.
When the sealing was over, Ryan gave Momma a hug. “You look like angels,” she whispered to her sons.
“It feels like an angel is with us,” Roy whispered back. “I have a special feeling in my heart.”
“Me too,” said Ryan. It felt amazing to be in the temple with his forever family!
Because of the priesthood, we can be with our families forever!
Illustration by Rachel Hoffman-Bayles

But the second semester this year, a young man, a returned missionary, who serves as an assistant to the president and I won't say which mission, and [with] tears in his eyes, he said, "Brother Kikuchi, I have a problem. Since I returned from my mission my spirituality is really not what it ought to be. Would you help me so that I can get back to the spirit of the mission?"
I said, "Before I answer that question, could I ask something? What time [do] you usually sleep? What time [do] you get up? And what [are the] activities in the morning as you get up?" And so on and so on. And so I ask, "What time [are] you planning to go to bed?"
"That's about one o'clock and sometimes two."
"Are you studying?"
"Not necessarily."
"Then what time you get up?"
"Well, I have to take a bus to the school and I need to get up at least thirty minutes [before]."
"Can you freshen up within that few minutes and then catch the bus? Do you have a breakfast?"
"Well, most of the time I don't."
"Well, is there anything of the special things you do to communicate with Heavenly Father?"
"Well, I read the scriptures occasionally but not steady."
"Do you have a chance to visit with Heavenly Father often and in a steady way?"
He said, no.
"Well, you are a little far from Heavenly Father now. May I suggest the prescriptions for you if you are willing to listen to me?" He said, "I would do anything I need to [get the] spirit back again."
Then, I said, "When I became a General Authority and I was called, and one of the presidency of the Seventy trained me. [He told me] when he was called, he asked President David O. McKay, 'President McKay what should I do to deepen my spirituality?'" And [President McKay answered] pointing at five fingers and I hope you remember:
"I arise early. I wash my body and I put my new linen and those of us [who have] been through the temple the holy garment. Then, I subdue my spirit-number four-before God; I am kneeling before Heavenly Father. Number five," he said, "I wait for the inspiration of the Holy Father in Heaven. When I do that I come home, come back, and I am immersed into the scriptures daily."
Well, this man that trained me-he really, really taught [me well]-and he was convinced [by President McKay] that he really should do [these things]. And [in turn] he really convinced me and I believe that the best methods-[this] simple prescription-[are the best] methods I have heard. So my brothers and sisters-I did [them].
Then a few days later and almost a week later [the young man's] countenance was different and his demeanor [was] changed and this time it's different tears. He expressed profound, profound love for Heavenly Father and closeness to his Savior.

There was little time for grief that first year. The awesome responsibilities of my new role as sole parent were overwhelming. Ralph had been very much in charge, and I relied heavily on his judgment and leadership. Attempting to establish my authority was of prime importance. The children thought they were very funny when they made birthday and Mother’s Day cards depicting me in a general’s uniform. However, I knew my authority was finally recognized when I overheard one small child say to another, “What are Mother and Daddy going to do when they get together again, now that Mother’s the boss?”

After a meeting with a group of students recently one young man waited to ask a question. “Elder Hanks,” he said, “what are your goals? What do you want to accomplish?” I observed his seriousness of purpose and answered in the same spirit that my strongest desire is to qualify to be a friend of Christ.
I had not responded to such a question just that way before, but the answer did put into words the deep yearnings of my heart.
In ancient times Abraham was called the “friend of God.” Jesus, shortly before his crucifixion, said to his disciples, “Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call you not servants … but I have called you friends. …” (John 15:14–15.)
In 1832, to a group of elders returning from missionary service, he repeated the message: “… from henceforth I shall call you friends. …” (D&C 84:77.)
Today I would like to speak of one lesson among many that he taught us and that you and I must learn if we are to merit his friendship.
Christ’s love was so pure that he gave his life for us: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13.) But there was another gift he bestowed while he was on the cross, a gift that further measured the magnitude of his great love: he forgave, and asked his Father to forgive, those who persecuted and crucified him.
Was this act of forgiveness less difficult than sacrificing his mortal life? Was it less a test of his love? I do not know the answer. But I have felt that the ultimate form of love for God and men is forgiveness.
He met the test. What of us? Perhaps we shall not be called upon to give our lives for our friends or our faith (though perhaps some shall), but it is certain that every one of us has and will have occasion to confront the other challenge. What will we do with it? What are we doing with it?
Someone has written: “… the withholding of love is the negation of the spirit of Christ, the proof that we never knew him, that for us he lived in vain. It means that he suggested nothing in all our thoughts, that he inspired nothing in all our lives, that we were not once near enough to him to be seized with the spell of his compassion for the world.”
Christ’s example and instructions to his friends are clear. He forgave, and he said: “… Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” (Matt. 5:44.)
What is our response when we are offended, misunderstood, unfairly or unkindly treated, or sinned against, made an offender for a word, falsely accused, passed over, hurt by those we love, our offerings rejected? Do we resent, become bitter, hold a grudge? Or do we resolve the problem if we can, forgive, and rid ourselves of the burden?
The nature of our response to such situations may well determine the nature and quality of our lives, here and eternally. A courageous friend, her faith refined by many afflictions, said to me only hours ago, “Humiliation must come before exaltation.”
It is required of us to forgive. Our salvation depends upon it. In a revelation given in 1831 the Lord said:
“My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they were afflicted and sorely chastened.
“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:8–10.)
Therefore, Jesus taught us to pray, “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” (See Matt. 6:14–15.)
Does it not seem a supreme impudence to ask and expect God to forgive when we do not forgive?—openly? and “in our hearts”?
The Lord affirms in the Book of Mormon that we bring ourselves under condemnation if we do not forgive. (See Mosiah 26:30–31.)
But not only our eternal salvation depends upon our willingness and capacity to forgive wrongs committed against us. Our joy and satisfaction in this life, and our true freedom, depend upon our doing so. When Christ bade us turn the other cheek, walk the second mile, give our cloak to him who takes our coat, was it to be chiefly out of consideration for the bully, the brute, the thief? Or was it to relieve the one aggrieved of the destructive burden that resentment and anger lay upon us?
Paul wrote to the Romans that nothing “shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom. 8:39.)
I am sure this is true. I bear testimony that this is true. But it is also true that we can separate ourselves from his spirit. In Isaiah it is written: “… your iniquities have separated between you and your God. …” (Isa. 59:2.) Again, “… they have rewarded evil unto themselves.” (Isa. 3:9.)
Through Helaman we learn that “whosoever doeth iniquity, doeth it unto himself …” (Hel. 14:30); and from Benjamin, “… ye do withdraw yourselves from the Spirit of the Lord. …” (Mosiah 2:36.)
In every case of sin this is true. Envy, arrogance, unrighteous dominion—these canker the soul of one who is guilty of them. It is true also if we fail to forgive. Even if it appears that another may be deserving of our resentment or hatred, none of us can afford to pay the price of resenting or hating, because of what it does to us. If we have felt the gnawing, mordant inroads of these emotions, we know the harm we suffer.
So Paul taught the Corinthians that they must “see that none render evil for evil unto any man. …” (1 Thes. 5:15.)
It is reported that President Brigham Young once said that he who takes offense when no offense was intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense was intended is usually a fool. It was then explained that there are two courses of action to follow when one is bitten by a rattlesnake. One may, in anger, fear, or vengefulness, pursue the creature and kill it. Or he may make full haste to get the venom out of his system. If we pursue the latter course we will likely survive, but if we attempt to follow the former, we may not be around long enough to finish it.
Years ago on Temple Square I heard a boy pour out the anguish of his troubled heart and make a commitment to God. He had been living in a spirit of hatred toward a man who had criminally taken the life of his father. Nearly bereft of his senses with grief, he had been overcome with bitterness.
On that Sabbath morning when others and I heard him, he had been touched by the Spirit of the Lord, and in that hour through the pouring in of that spirit had flooded out the hostility that had filled his heart. He tearfully declared his determined intent to leave vengeance to the Lord and justice to the law. He would no longer hate the one who had caused the grievous loss. He would forgive and would not for another hour permit the corrosive spirit of vengefulness to fill his heart.
Sometime later, touched with the remembrance of that moving Sabbath morning, I told the story to a group of people in another city. Before I left that small community the next day I had a visit from a man who had heard the message and understood it. Later a letter came from him. He had gone home that night and prayed and prepared himself and had then made a visit to the place of a man in his community who had years before imposed upon the sanctity of his home. There had been animosity and revenge in his heart and threats made. That evening when it was made known that he was at the door, his frightened neighbor appeared with a weapon in his hand. The man quickly explained the reasons for his visit, that he had come to say that he was sorry, that he did not want hatred to continue to consume his life. He offered forgiveness and sought forgiveness and went his way in tears, a free man for the first time in years. He left a former adversary also in tears, shaken and repentant.
The next day the same man went to the home of a relative in the town. He said, “I came to ask your forgiveness. I don’t even remember why we have been so long angry, but I have come to tell you that I am sorry and to beg your pardon and to say that I have learned how foolish I have been.” He was invited in to join the family at their table, and was reunited with his kin.
When I heard his story I knew again the importance of qualifying ourselves for the forgiveness of Christ by forgiving.
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote: “The truth of Christ’s teaching seems to be this: In our own person and fortune, we should be ready to accept and pardon all; it is our cheek we are to turn and our coat we are to give to the man who has taken our cloak. But when another’s face is buffeted, perhaps a little of the lion will become us best. That we are to suffer others to be injured and stand by, is not conceivable and surely not desirable.”
So there are times when, in defense of others and principle, we must act. But of ourselves, if we suffer injury or unkindness, we must pray for the strength to forbear.
Christ gave his life on a cross; and on that cross he fully, freely forgave. It is a worthy goal to seek to qualify for the friendship of such a one.
More than 250 years ago Joseph Addison printed in The Spectator a paragraph of sobering thoughtfulness:
“When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tombs of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great Day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.”
God help us to rid ourselves of resentment and pettiness and foolish pride; to love, and to forgive, in order that we may be friends with ourselves, with others, and with the Lord.
“… even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.” (Col. 3:13.)
In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Then one day his old tutor Rodriguez appeared. Disapproving of the way Simón was living, he persuaded the young man to go with him on a walking tour of Italy. They carried their own packs, slept in haystacks, and talked as they roamed the country in the fresh air and sunshine.
They stopped to rest one afternoon on a beautiful green hillside overlooking Rome. Fired by Rodriquez’ ideas and remembering the humiliating experience of being mistreated by the police in Madrid, Simón suddenly arose, stretched out his arms, and solemnly declared, “On my life and honor I promise most faithfully not to rest until I have freed America of her tyrants!” The rest of Simón Bolívar’s life was dedicated to keeping this promise.

And then there is Maddy. When her family stopped attending church, Maddy was confused and not certain what to do. She realized something significant was missing. So at age 13, Maddy began attending church alone. Even though being alone was sometimes hard and uncomfortable, she knew she could find the Savior at church and she wanted to be where He was. She said, “In church my soul felt like it was at home.”

Maddy held onto the fact that her family had been sealed together for eternity. She started bringing her younger brothers with her to church and studying scriptures with them at home. Eventually her mom began joining them. Maddy told her mom of her desire to serve a mission and asked if her mom could be ready to attend the temple with her.

Today Maddy is in the MTC. She is serving. She is witnessing of Christ. Her example helped lead both of her parents back to the temple and back to Christ.

Cameron watched from his home as the flames grew closer. An out-of-control forest fire had been burning for six days. Cameron and his dad used hoses to wet down the sides of their house. Smoke clogged the air, its thick haze stinging their eyes.
The next morning, they listened to the news on the radio. Cameron’s parents exchanged worried looks.
“We have to evacuate,” Dad said to Cameron and Mom. “Take what you can.”
They went through the house, gathering up family pictures, scriptures, and genealogy records. Cameron looked out the window and saw a line of trucks and cars coming toward their house. “Mom, I think I see the bishop’s truck,” he said.
His mother came to stand beside him. “You’re right.”
“How did they know we needed help?” he asked.
“They’re our friends,” she said, her eyes shiny with tears. “They must have been listening to the radio too.”
The bishop and others helped Cameron’s family carry out the boxes they had packed.
Their family stayed with friends that night. In the morning when it was safe, they returned to their home and gathered up more of their belongings. With the help of their friends from the Church, Cameron’s family stored their furniture in different homes and garages all over town.
Within the next few days, the temperature dropped and the wind died down. Cameron’s home remained untouched by the fire.
“I think the worst is over,” his dad said.
With the danger of the fire past, Cameron and his parents returned to their home. It was smoky inside, and a thick layer of soot covered everything. Cameron’s mother knelt down and motioned for him and Dad to do the same. “The first thing we need to do is offer a prayer of thanks,” she said.
Mom said the prayer, and all three remained on their knees for a few minutes afterward. Cameron quietly wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t stopped the fire before it nearly ruined their house.
Mom rolled up her sleeves. “We’ve got work to do.”
Once more, their friends returned, this time with mops and buckets, soap and rags. They scrubbed walls, mopped floors, wiped down counters, and washed linens. Men carried in the furniture and arranged it in the rooms. Cameron worked alongside his dad and the other men, all the while watching and listening.
The workers took a break only once, when Cameron’s mother and some of her friends served lunch picnic-style on the floor.
“We don’t know how to thank you,” his dad said to their friends at the end of the day.
The bishop smiled. “You’ve already done it.”
“That’s right,” one of the other men added. “You would have been there if we needed you.”
For the first time in a week, Cameron and his parents sat down to dinner in their own home. After the blessing on the food, Cameron couldn’t keep his question to himself anymore. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father stop the fire before it got so close to our home and made everything so dirty?”
“Heavenly Father did stop the fire,” Mom said. “He also sent friends to help us. That’s how He works—through His servants.”
Cameron thought about how hard everyone had worked to help his family. He smiled. Though many years passed, he never forgot the example of service and friendship his Church family had shown him.

I hadn’t driven down the Claytons’* long gravel driveway since I had graduated from high school almost 20 years before. Kerri Clayton and I had been best friends then. Now, knowing that we would both be in town to visit our families at Easter, we had arranged to get together at Kerri’s house.
As I walked to the door, I thought of the heavy burdens the Clayton family was bearing at this time. With three children, Kerri was going through a painful divorce. Her father had recently suffered a stroke, and her mother was struggling to care for her husband and meet the family’s financial obligations.
It’s too much pain for one family, I thought as I rang the doorbell.
Kerri opened the door and threw her arms around me. Though five years had passed since we’d seen each other, I immediately noticed the toll that my friend’s emotional traumas had taken on her. She was too thin, and I could sense desperation in her hug. In contrast with the smiling eyes of her girlhood portrait on the wall, my friend’s eyes were filled with pain.
Kerri’s mother came to greet me, and Kerri called her three beautiful children, two girls and a boy. I recognized their father’s features in each face and felt again the hurt and pain of the divorce. I wondered how the family would survive.
Kerri mentioned that her father was in an upstairs bedroom. I offered to go up to visit with him, but Kerri told me that he wanted to come down on his own. “It will take him some time, so let’s sit and visit,” she said.
We sat across from each other in the living room where we had often laughed together as schoolgirls. We did not laugh today. As Kerri told me about her struggles with finances and facing the future alone, I could only listen. She had so many questions, and I had no answers.
After a while, I heard a rustling on the stairs. I turned to watch Kerri’s father begin his shaky journey down. Grasping the handrail, he inched his feet forward on each stair. His wife stood beside him, but he refused her help. When he finally reached me, he grasped my hand and said, with effort, “So good to see you, Annette.”
After her parents went into the kitchen, Kerri asked, “Did you ever think life would be this hard? Did you ever think you’d be sitting here listening to my terrible divorce story and watching my dad suffer? Why do things like this happen?”
In the silence that followed, I could hear Kerri’s mother counting slowly in the kitchen as she exercised her husband’s arms and legs. Wondering what she felt as she cared for him, I began to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Kerri said. “Here you come home for Easter, and you get all this.”
“It’s okay,” I sniffled. “That’s what friends are for. I’m just trying to think of something to say that could give you some help, some hope.”
Just then, Kerri’s mother began to sing. Kerri and I stopped speaking and listened to her angelic voice coming from the kitchen. The hymn was perfect for that Easter weekend and perfect for that moment:
Christ the Lord is ris’n today, Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heav’ns, and earth reply, Alleluia!
(Hymns, 1985, number 200)
As she sang all the verses and her alleluias rang through the house, I thought about Christ’s suffering, his victory over death, and his resurrection. I felt light and hope replacing the day’s darkness and despair. I knew that this family was loved and watched over by the most tender of shepherds.
“You’re not alone,” I said gently to Kerri. “You are in Heavenly Father’s hands, and so is your father.”
“I know,” Kerri said. Our tears flowed freely as our hopes rose heavenward with the hymn.

It was just an old board Kristen and I had found—maybe 10 feet long and just wide enough to sit on. The desert sun had already started to turn the board gray. But, even faded, it was the perfect addition to our makeshift playground. In fact, other than a lot of sand and a few toy trucks, it was the only thing in our playground. Laid across a big rock sticking up in the backyard, that old board became a teeter-totter, kind of like the one at the park by Grandma’s house. Of course, our teeter-totter didn’t go as high as the one at the park. But it was ours.
One day we were teetering and tottering when a couple of men came to visit. I didn’t know what they wanted, but they talked to Mom in the kitchen for a while. Kristen, who was a year older than I was, said they were from church—the new one we had just started going to. One of them was young, and the other had white hair and a white beard. He was the oldest man I’d ever seen. As they were leaving, the old man walked over to us and watched as we went up and down on the teeter-totter.
“That’s a nice looking board you have there,” he said. “Would you mind if I took it with me for a while? I could sure use a board like that.”
We both looked at Mom, who was standing by the kitchen door. She told us to give the man the board. So Kristen and I got off our teeter-totter, and the man put the board in his truck. He and the man with him said good-bye and drove away.
“Mom, what were those men doing here?” I grumbled.
“They’re our home teachers; the church we went to on Sunday sent them to make sure we’re okay.”
“I’m okay, but I was better when I had my teeter-totter.”
Mom ran her fingers through my hair. “I know, honey. It’s almost dinnertime. Go inside and wash up.”
Most kids would have probably put up a fuss when someone took their favorite toy, but we knew if Mom said it, we should do it.
That night, Morn said the old man’s name was Brother Andelin. My four-year-old mouth had to work to get his name right. Mom said Brother Andelin lived on the other side of town but would come and visit again.
A few days later, I was on the porch when Brother Andelin’s truck came rattling up the drive.
“Hello, Bobby. Would you like to see what I built out of that board you gave me?” he said, getting out of his truck.
I ran behind him to the back of his truck. He pulled out the board, now painted green with a seat and handle at each end. In the middle, on either side, were some steel rings. Also in the truck was a big, wooden, pyramid-shaped box, painted the same color as the board.
“Is your sister here?” Brother Andelin asked. “Run and get her while I set this up in the yard.”
I ran into the kitchen and down the hall. “Kristen,” I yelled, gasping for air. “Brother Andelin brought our board. But he, he—come see.”
Mom followed as Kristen and I ran outside. Brother Andelin had fastened the board on top of the box.
“It’s a real teeter-totter,” Kristen whispered to me. “Is it for us?”
“I don’t know. Ask him.”
“You ask him.”
“Brother Andelin,” I said, stepping closer, “is this for us? For keeps?”
“It’s your board, isn’t it?” he said. “Besides, what am I gonna do with a seesaw? My kids have all grown up.”
Kristen and I climbed on the new teeter-totter. It wasn’t like before. When we went up, we went off the ground way up in the air. Brother Andelin laughed as we played, his teeth smiling from behind his long, white beard.
After that, when Brother Andelin visited, Kristen and I didn’t keep playing. We would go inside to listen to his stories about growing up in Utah, about his pioneer grandpa, and about this new church we were going to.

For instance, I once visited in a counseling session with a young woman in her early twenties, hurt and angry because her father had verbally exploded at her the night before. She asked, “How am I supposed to feel any self-esteem?” With a strong sense of ill-usage, she told of a friend working in law enforcement who wanted to prosecute her ex-boyfriend who had introduced her to illegal drugs. She thought this was unfair and she felt responsible for her ex-boyfriend’s getting in further trouble with the law. You see, this boyfriend had returned to dealing drugs after serving a prison term for the same thing. In addition, he had kept all her furniture the last time she moved out and, incidentally, had given her an STD. Yet she had just a week previously contemplated moving in with him again, rather than stay with a new boyfriend (not an ex-felon and with a stable job).

It’s important to understand that this was a very nice young woman. She was attractive and could obviously be lively and fun. She wanted to be drug-free and out of debt (“but how am I supposed to pay my bills if I’m in a re-hab center?”). Those living at a telestial level are not necessarily unpleasant or “bad” people. Nevertheless, they are allowing appetites and passions to govern their choices and their lives. Eventually, the consequences start to pile up for them and for those around them. While not a terrible person, this young woman was not a very safe candidate in terms of potential for marriage or motherhood.

The wide-bodied airliner began its takeoff roll, returning us to the United States after a four-year business assignment in Switzerland. As we accelerated past the B Concourse at the Zürich International Airport, I strained to see if the faithful farewell wishers from our Zürich Second Ward were there. Sure enough, there standing on the upper spectator deck waving to us were Sister Gräub and Sister Kappes. By bus, tram, and train they had made this extraordinary effort to say good-bye to the Hancock family. Pent-up emotions erupted as tears unashamedly poured down my cheeks. One of our four children returning with us inquired of her mother, “Why is Daddy crying?” Connie responded, “Because he loves the people here so much.”

Growing up, I thought I knew what serving a mission would be like. My older siblings had served missions, I had seen movies about missionaries, and I was ready to get to work. But as my mission got closer, my plan quickly fell apart.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned from my original call in the Philippines to my home country of Australia. When I arrived in the mission field, my experience was different than what I had expected. I desperately wanted to go home.
After I talked with my mission president, he gave me the option to finish my mission early and return home—exactly what I wanted. But when I was presented with that choice, I felt an overwhelming feeling from the Spirit that I should stay in the mission field.
I had a choice to make: act on revelation or act on my own desires.
Because of past experiences following promptings, I trusted that even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, this prompting to stay on my mission would ultimately be for my good.
I ended up serving a full two years and completing my mission. I wish I could say that the remainder of my time was super easy, but it wasn’t. However, the things I learned, the daily habits that connected me with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and the deeper testimony I gained from serving have kept me grounded in the gospel.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles addressed this sort of situation when he said: “Very rarely does one prompting bring an answer. There’s almost always a sequence, ‘line upon line, precept upon precept’ (2 Nephi 28:30).” Even though my mission was tough, I was able to press forward with hope that God had a plan for me and that my struggles wouldn’t be in vain, because of the revelation I had received.

In the final years of young Brother Uchtdorf’s high level training as a pilot, he was flying solo with an instructor “on his wing” in another aircraft, directing his maneuvers and giving instruction. In one particular maneuver he was to represent an emergency landing by making an abrupt approach to the runway, requiring a sharp, steep embankment of the airplane before leveling out just in time to land. As young Dieter made the maneuver and attempted his steep, angular descent, the steering control of his airplane did not respond. He had, in airplane parlance, a “stuck stick.” The result would be a continuing roll of the airplane, leading to a crash landing upside down. “Bail out!” the instructor called. “Bail out!” But the man with “the courage of a bull,” as one of his Brethren described him, reversed the stick away from the extremity he had put it in and tried again to land. Once again the mechanism froze. “Bail out,” the stern command came again, this time with genuine concern in the instructor’s voice.

Determined that he be in charge of the aircraft, not the other way around, this future Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ wrestled physically with the steering, somehow breaking it free of the earlier resistance, made his sharp descent as prescribed in what was now not an imagined but very real emergency landing, and walked away grateful for divine help in times of need. “Man könnte sich darüber ärgern, aber man ist nicht verpflichtet dazu.” Such will be Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf’s determined and faithful service to the holy apostleship he now holds. He will give his all for the Lord Jesus Christ, His gospel, and His Church. In doing so he will lead untold legions of others on to new horizons.

Two young couples from the Northwest came, bowed in sorrow. The husband of one and the wife of the other had lost themselves in frustration arising out of disloyally finding comfort where no association should have been tolerated. Their problems reached the maximum, and sorrow resulted.
It is generally the same. The two young people, unfaithful to their spouses, had conversed and confided too much; then secret meetings followed, then disloyal disclosures concerning the spouse of each. And finally, that which surely could not have been dreamed of—the transgression.
Both couples had reduced their activity, become casual in their church-going. They had joined a social group who were also turning to spiritual casualness like themselves. Their new way of living was beyond their means, and debts crowded out tithing.
Too busy they were for home evenings and too rushed for family prayer, and when the great temptations came, they were not prepared. Their grass had been consumed, and with it the poles had been burned off and the dangling charred stubs were hanging to the sagging wires.
Sin comes when communication lines are down—it always does, sooner or later.

Last January, seven-year-old Sailor Gutzler and her family were flying from Florida to Illinois in a private airplane. Sailor’s father was at the controls. Just after nightfall, the aircraft developed mechanical problems and crashed in the pitch-dark hills of Kentucky, upside down in very rough terrain. Everyone but Sailor died in the accident. Her wrist was broken in the crash. She suffered cuts and scrapes and had lost her shoes. The temperature was 38 degrees Fahrenheit (or 3 degrees Celsius)—it was a cold, rainy Kentucky winter’s night—and Sailor was wearing only shorts, a T-shirt, and one sock.
She cried out for her mother and father, but no one answered. Summoning every ounce of courage, she set off barefoot across the countryside in search of help, wading through creeks, crossing ditches, and braving blackberry briars. From the top of one small hill, Sailor spotted a light in the distance, about a mile away. Stumbling through the darkness and brush toward that light, she eventually arrived at the home of a kind man she had never met before who sprang to her care. Sailor was safe. She would soon be taken to a hospital and helped on her way to recovery.
Sailor survived because she saw a light in the distance and fought her way to it—notwithstanding the wild countryside, the depth of the tragedy she faced, and the injuries she had sustained. It is hard to imagine how Sailor managed to do what she did that night. But what we do know is that she recognized in the light of that distant house a chance for rescue. There was hope. She took courage in the fact that no matter how bad things were, her rescue would be found in that light.
After the crash, Sailor had a choice. She could have chosen to stay by the airplane in the dark, alone and afraid. But there was a long night ahead, and it was just going to get colder. She chose another way. Sailor climbed up a hill, and there she saw a light on the horizon.
Gradually, as she made her way through the night toward the light, it grew brighter. Still, there must have been times when she could not see it. Perhaps it went out of view when she was in a ravine or behind trees or bushes, but she pressed on. Whenever she could see the light, Sailor had evidence that she was on the right path. She did not yet know precisely what that light was, but she kept walking toward it based on what she knew, trusting and hoping that she would see it again if she kept moving in the right direction. By so doing, she may have saved her life.
Just as Sailor had to believe that she would find safety in that distant light, so we too must choose to open our hearts to the divine reality of the Savior—to His eternal light and His healing mercy. Prophets across the ages have encouraged us and even implored us to believe in Christ. Their exhortations reflect a fundamental fact: God does not force us to believe. Instead He invites us to believe by sending living prophets and apostles to teach us, by providing scriptures, and by beckoning to us through His Spirit. We are the ones who must choose to embrace those spiritual invitations, electing to see with inward eyes the spiritual light with which He calls us. The decision to believe is the most important choice we ever make. It shapes all our other decisions.
Sailor could not know at first if what she was doing as she pushed her way through the underbrush would actually work. She was lost and injured; it was dark and cold. But she left the crash site and ventured out in hope of rescue, crawling and scraping her way forward until she saw a light in the distance. Once she had seen it, she did her best to move toward it, remembering what she had seen.

The log cabin was small and homey, a chimney rising from one end and two windows and a door on the front.
Around it the fertile fields of Fayette, New York, were greening. Nearby trees were awakening to spring, shading the fresh, new blossoms struggling to lift their heads to the sun. Parked around the cabin were the horses, buggies, and wagons that had carried the many men and women who were gathered there on that Tuesday morning. It was April 6, 1830, the day chosen by the Lord for the official organization of His church in the last days (see D&C 20:1–2).
Inside the main room of the cabin, the Prophet Joseph Smith, only twenty-four years old, asked five of the men present to join him in legally organizing the new church so that the requirements of the law could be met. Then, after all those present had knelt together in solemn prayer, Joseph asked them if they would accept him and Oliver Cowdery as their teachers and leaders. They agreed. Joseph turned to Oliver, laid his hands on his head, and ordained him an elder in the Church. Oliver in turn ordained Joseph. In a confirming revelation, the Lord called Joseph “a seer, a translator, a prophet, an apostle of Jesus Christ, an elder of the church” (D&C 21:1).
The sacrament was blessed and passed. Others were ordained and confirmed. The gift of the Holy Ghost was given to many, and its presence filled the hearts of all. The small cabin overflowed with gladness and hope.
Among those who accepted baptism into the Church that day were Joseph’s parents, Joseph Smith, Sr., and Lucy Mack Smith. The young prophet was so moved by this and by the joy of the occasion that he went alone into the woods and wept.
The Church of Jesus Christ was again upon the earth. A prophet of God stood at its head. Its members were few and humble, some with little formal education, but that Tuesday they faced the future with great courage, and they were eager to learn the things of God and to serve Him and His church. Mistakes would be made and some would stumble, but the work would go forward, for the Lord promised them, and us, “I will bless all those who labor in my vineyard with a mighty blessing” (D&C 21:9).