Gospel Story Finder

I would like to start by sharing an experience from the life of President Joseph F. Smith, sixth President of the Church: Joseph F. Smith was raised in a single-parent home. His father, Hyrum, was martyred at Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph Smith. Little Joseph F. was only six years old at the time.

Years later, at the age of 19, Joseph F. Smith was returning home from a mission with a group of other missionaries. His wagon-train journey took him through a dangerous area where enemies of the Church had vowed to kill the Mormons.

I quote now from a biography of President Smith:
“One day after the little company of wagons had . . . made their camp, a company of drunken men rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening to kill any ‘Mormons’ that came within their path. . . . Some of the brethren when they heard them coming had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. . . . Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire when these men rode up. When he saw them, he said, his first thought was to do what the other brethren had done, and seek shelter in the trees and in flight. Then the thought came to him, ‘Why should I run from these fellows?’ With that thought in mind he boldly marched up with his arms full of wood to the campfire. As he was about to deposit his wood, one of the ruffians, still with his pistols in his hands and pointing at the youthful Elder, and cursing as only a drunken rascal can, declaring that it was his duty to exterminate every ‘Mormon’ he should meet, demanded in a loud, angry voice, ‘Are you a “Mormon”?’

“Without a moment of hesitation and looking the ruffian in the eye, Joseph F. Smith boldly answered, ‘Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.’

“The answer was given boldly and without any sign of fear, which completely disarmed the belligerent man, and in his bewilderment, he grasped the missionary by the hand and said: ‘Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.’

“Joseph F. [Smith] said in later years that he fully expected to receive the charge from this man’s pistols, but he could take no other course even though it seemed that his death was to be the result.”

For more than twenty years, Sister Cécile Pelous, a member of the Cergy-Pontoise Branch, Paris France Stake, has worked for the finest fashion houses in Paris—Dior, Cardin, and Ricci. She designs and makes dresses for the wealthiest women in the world.
But since 1986, this graceful, dynamic women has used her glamorous career as a means to do quite a different work. She spends three months every year serving the destitute of India. Working in the impoverished suburbs of Calcutta and in the orphanages of Bengal, she dedicates all of her savings, along with donations from French friends, to the relief of poor children—with the assistance of local people of goodwill.
Cécile discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1974 when she was visiting the United States on a tour. Her group happened to stop at Temple Square and attend a performance by the Tabernacle Choir. “It was an intense emotional experience,” she says. Later, she told her fellow travelers that listening to the Choir was the part of the tour that she liked best.
Months later, missionaries knocked on her door back in France. Cécile was not interested until one of them said he was from Salt Lake City. Remembering her experience there, Cécile asked the missionary if he represented “the church with the choir.” When he said yes, she let them in and listened to their message. She was baptized a few months later—in 1975.
Eleven years later, in July 1986, Cécile took her first trip to India. “I went to Calcutta during vacation, with the idea of helping my neighbor,” she says. “I took with me my first-aid certificate, my goodwill, and my suitcases packed with medicines.” She had read about and had heard lectures describing conditions in India. “I knew there was plenty to do,” she says.
The work she found to do was mostly among the elderly, babies, and handicapped children of Calcutta. “I found opportunities to get busy and stretch myself. Dirty clothes and sheets had to be boiled and washed, meals prepared, patients fed in night shelters and almshouses, and medical care given,” she says. “The dying had to be washed, and warmth and affection had to be given them to help them leave this world. There were babies to change and feed who were so weak that you would wish you could force your own health into their bodies.” She worked first with Mother Theresa’s Sisters of Mercy and then with other groups.
“I am not a heroine,” Cécile says. “My experience in India is one of love and friendship.”
During that first trip to India, Cécile also discovered a home for one hundred elderly people, most of them bedridden. “There were only two Catholic missionaries to cater to the needs of all, and one of them had been sick for three days. When another volunteer and I arrived, we immediately rolled up our sleeves and went to work,” she says. “Sister Thérésina, one of the missionaries, kissed me and said, ‘The Lord has sent you!’ and I believed her.”

Hup, Twop, Threp, Four! I was in the army, alright. Hurry up and wait, a G.I. haircut, oversized fatigues, and only three days out. I was lonely already—demoralized to boot.
Imagine my joy when, while reading my newly issued, olive-drab, miniature Book of Mormon, I was approached by a nice looking fellow soldier.
“Hi! You a Mormon?”
“Yes! You too?”
“No, but I have always wanted to talk to a Mormon. You mind if we talk?”
My heart skipped two beats at the prospect. I was a new, green convert to the Church myself and could hardly wait for the opportunity to share.
“What do you want to know?”
But after a few minutes I wished we had never begun to discuss the Church. This guy turned out to have a master’s degree in philosophy from Columbia University. Since I was no match for him, he proceeded to take me apart, morsel by morsel.
“You can’t possibly prove that the God you believe in really exists, can you?”
“Well … no, but …”
“If God is really as good, if he is really as concerned with all people as you tell me he is, how can he allow all the suffering, wars, hunger, etc., that exist in the world?”
“Well, it … doesn’t have …”
My answer drowned in the laughs of my fellow barracks mates who had cautiously gathered around us. It was probably just as well since my answer was inadequate anyway. In less than half an hour, after I had been picked clean, I returned to my bunk to lick my wounds, stunned, bitterly resolving that this wasn’t going to happen to me again.

Many of them also speak of the trials they were undergoing, and some of those trials Joseph Smith himself imposed on them. For example, Heber C. Kimball records that once they were coming along in a team. And he, Joseph, said, "Drive the team through those two trees." Brother Kimball said there was only room for one team, if that, to go through. He stared at Joseph and Joseph stared back.
"Drive through!" He jerked his reins, popped the whip, and Joseph said, "There, that will do. I only wanted to see you try." [Statement, John Brown, Autobiography of Pioneer John Brown, 1820-1896, John Zimmerman Brown (Salt Lake City: John Z. Brown, 1941), 76.]

When the current edition of the LDS hymnbook was printed, the author of “There Is Beauty All Around” was unknown—neither composer nor author is listed. President David O. McKay, a great admirer of this hymn, asked J. Spencer Cornwall, who was then a member of the Church Music Committee, to find the name of its author.
Soon afterwards while Brother Cornwall was traveling on assignment to Montana, he heard on the car radio a male chorus singing “There Is Beauty All Around.” Reaching his destination he called the station to ask the name of the author and was referred to a station in New Jersey where the program had originated. He wrote that station and was promptly sent a pamphlet stating that John Hugh McNaughton was both the author and composer of “There Is Beauty All Around.”
This information was conveyed to President McKay who remarked that he was sorry it had not been written by a member of the Church but that he was very pleased to know, however, that those lovely words had been written by a Scotsman. (Personal reminiscence of J. Spencer Cornwall.)
SONG: “There Is Beauty All Around.” (Hymns, p. 169; male chorus and tenor solo.)

“Let me tell you of one of the goals that I made when I was still but a lad. When I heard a Church leader from Salt Lake City tell us at conference that we should read the scriptures, and I recognized that I had never read the Bible, that very night at the conclusion of that very sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up in my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a little coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.
“I found that this Bible that I was reading had in it 66 books, and then I was nearly dissuaded when I found that it had in it 1,189 chapters, and then I also found that it had 1,519 pages. It was formidable, but I knew if others did it that I could do it.
“I found that there were certain parts that were hard for a 14-year-old boy to understand. There were some pages that were not especially interesting to me, but when I had read the 66 books and 1,189 chapters and 1,519 pages, I had a glowing satisfaction that I had made a goal and that I had achieved it.
“Now I am not telling you this story to boast; I am merely using this as an example to say that if I could do it by coal-oil light, you can do it by electric light. I have always been glad I read the Bible from cover to cover. …”

After leaving the doctor’s office, John and I called a family council. Our family who lived far away joined us through video conferencing. We began with prayer. Then, as I held John’s hand, I shared his decision and what the doctor told us to expect. I spoke of the peace we both felt and reminded our family of the comforting feelings everyone had experienced for months. All of us, including the grandchildren, realized that Papa (as they called John) did not have long to live.
We had expressed gratitude to God for letting us all know that time with John was short and for granting us the opportunity to prepare emotionally. A few weeks prior to this day, our son Spencer had asked John how he felt about dying. John had responded, “I’ve lived a good life, and I am still trying to do so. I’m grateful for my life! As long as Carma Lee is by my side, I’m not eager to die, but I’m also not afraid.” John was prepared and, because of that, he felt at peace (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:30).
We sat in family council, with our hearts aching and tears falling, yet we also felt peace. We asked John if he had any last wishes. He looked at us with love and longing in his eyes; then, although for weeks he had only spoken in a whisper, he said one word distinctly: “Temple.” His sons immediately replied, “We’ll make that happen, Dad!”
Our family council ended with our sons, who were with us in person, giving both John and me a priesthood blessing. As they laid their hands on my head, gratitude filled me. I felt warmth, like that of a loving hug. I knew God would help us traverse the challenges ahead. He would soften the grief and help us find the joy.
That is exactly what happened! We soon attended the temple again, with our sons helping John through the endowment session. I was so grateful! The Spirit filled our hearts.

The joy of Katya and her family continued to grow. As Katya participated in Personal Progress, she noticed that it focused on the importance of the temple. “There is a whole section dedicated to going to the temple, and I really wanted to get to the temple, but my parents weren’t ready,” she remembers.
Katya was able, however, to attend the temple with her seminary class. She recalls, “I did temple work for the first time. I was really happy, and I wanted to go again. I really wanted my family to go there and be sealed for eternity.”
Katya’s family prepared and finally felt that they were ready to go to the temple. Two years after her first visit to the temple, Katya returned, this time with her family. “I understood that it really is a place where families can become eternal,” Katya says. They were sealed in the Freiberg Germany Temple.

As the usual family festivities of Christmas Eve were drawing to an end, I felt that can’t-wait-until-morning feeling of excitement!
I was eight years of age and the oldest grandchild in my large extended family. Every few minutes, a parent, aunt, or uncle would open the door and exclaim about hearing the faint sound of bells. I could hardly wait for Santa to arrive! Yet Grandpa still insisted on going caroling first—a family tradition. “Santa will never come!” I thought.
As we hopped into our frost-covered cars, we realized it was a lot later than we normally left. The small town where we lived in Idaho was very quiet and cold. Some family members worried that we shouldn’t go caroling so late, but my grandpa insisted that we should visit a couple houses.
As we drove down the small, tree-covered lane, we could see no hint of light in the tiny log cabin belonging to “Old Jim.” Jim was a good friend, and he had a big heart. He had been a widower since I could remember.
“Surely Jim wouldn’t care if we didn’t stop!” I moaned. Santa Claus would miss us for sure!
But my good grandfather persisted: “Just quietly gather by the bedroom window and start with ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’”
Our voices were unsteady at first, but strength lies in numbers, and it wasn’t long until the music swelled into a beautiful, harmonious melody.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
There was still no light on in Jim’s home, but we continued to sing.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth 1
The cabin door opened.
In the moonlight, we could see tears run down Jim’s face. As he embraced us all, he cried—really cried. After a time, he wiped the tears of joy from his face and said to us, “I have waited all year for you to come. You are my Christmas. And when the clock turned 9:30, I thought I had been forgotten. I was so disappointed. I had gone to bed, for there was no reason to stay up anymore.”
Our hearts were filled. As Jim motioned us into his home and turned on the light, we could see that he indeed had been expecting us. His kitchen table was beautifully set, and there was everything from Christmas cake and cookies to cold meats cut and laid out waiting for us to eat. The cups had been carefully counted and lovingly filled with sweet apple cider, so as “not to miss a one of you,” Jim added.
Jim said we had been his Christmas? Not so. Jim had been ours.
The gift of love we received that cold Christmas Eve was more wonderful than anything Santa could ever have left under our Christmas tree. And it was a reminder that the Lord wants us to minister to His children as He does—one by one, bringing His love with us (see 3 Nephi 11:15–17; 17:21).

Early in our married life, when Sister Nelson and I lived in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in the United States, we decided to enjoy a free afternoon with our two-year-old daughter. We went to one of Minnesota’s many beautiful lakes and rented a small boat. After rowing far from shore, we stopped to relax and enjoy the tranquil scene. Suddenly our little toddler lifted one leg out of the boat and started to go overboard, exclaiming, “Time to get out, Daddy!”
Quickly we caught her and explained, “No, dear, it isn’t time to get out; we must stay in the boat until it brings us safely back to land.” We had a hard time convincing her that leaving the boat early would lead to disaster.

Listen to the example of a young woman who wrote: “Right now in my family we are going through a tough time. I have been given the opportunity to fill my mother’s role. Sometimes I have to not participate in activities after school so I can care for my brother. Sometimes I have to not go out with my friends so that I can cook dinner or go grocery shopping.” Then she adds, “Because of this responsibility, I have learned a great deal about being a mother, growing up and taking responsibility, not only for myself but for others.”

Just before April conference in 1986, our missionary son David wrote home: “President Benson has been in Ohio. He’s pushing the Book of Mormon hard and wants us to use it even more in our missionary work. Our Regional Representative told us he’s going to ask the Church members to read the Book of Mormon daily. You’d better get ahead and start reading now! I’m doing great. I’ve never felt better in my life.”
How those words touched me! It had been 15 years ago that the Book of Mormon became an integral part of David’s life. I had read it to him as he lay in bed, at life’s edge.
“What are you reading, Mommy?” David asked in the faintest whisper of a sound. His delicate face closely matched the color of the snowy pillowcase. Deep red drops of blood, descending from a bottle suspended above, provided a vivid contrast as they dropped through a tube into his motionless white arm.
“The Book of Mormon,” I replied. It helped me through the endless hours of watching my son fight a seemingly insurmountable battle. It was supposed to be minor surgery to correct a small health problem, but the whole procedure had become a nightmare. Face to face with the fragile quality of mortality, I groped for an anchor with eternity.
“Read it to me,” David said.
“But you wouldn’t understand it, David,” I told him. “You’re too young. Later, when you’re well and at home, I’ll read you some stories from the Book of Mormon.”
Again the whispered words, urgent this time. “Please read it to me, Mommy.”
Not knowing what else to do, and not wishing to further upset him, I began in First Nephi: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, …” I intended to read a few lines while he drifted off to sleep, and then continue my silent reading. Every time I thought he was asleep, my voice quieted and quit. Then, from the hospital bed, again and again, I heard, “Read it to me.”
And so I read it to him. I read all during the hospital stay, and then at home, where he lay attached to two tubes that drained fluids from his body into bags, one on each leg. Doctors had discovered a congenital defect that gave him only part of one kidney.
I did not read stories from the Book of Mormon. I read from the book itself. One morning, after David’s two sisters had gone to school and his two little brothers were sleeping, we sat together reading as usual. I stopped and looked down at him. “David, do you understand this?”
His blue eyes looked thoughtfully into mine. “Not all. But some of it.”
When I continued reading he stopped me and said, “Mother, kneel down.” Startled by the request, I simply knelt, feeling his small body at my side. Then, totally trusting, he said, “Now pray for me. Pray that I will understand the Book of Mormon.”
By the time we finished the book, David had turned five and was able to recognize and read many of the words on his own. Eventually he read alone. His health improved and, by the time he was baptized, he had read the whole thing by himself more than once. By the time he was ordained a deacon, he was eagerly preparing for a mission.
But during his sophomore year in high school, his physical condition worsened. His one remaining kidney deteriorated rapidly, and a transplant became necessary to save his life. His father was the donor. The eve of the surgery brought our ward members together in prayer and fasting. David was the happiest one present. “I don’t know why everyone is so worried,” he said. “This just means that I can make serious plans for my mission.” And by this time, daily reading of the Book of Mormon had become a habit that sustained him through his recovery.

A few years ago, a young sister from Japan served in the Hawaii, Honolulu Mission. She served faithfully and with distinction. She was born into a faithful family in Japan. She related the story of her grandmother. Shortly after World War 2 had come to a close, her grandmother was lying in a hospital extremely ill and not expected to survive. She had neither the ability to speak nor to move from her bed. A Mormon Missionary living in the area made it a practice to share the Gospel with those Japanese who would listen to him. One of his activities was to visit the sick in the hospital. Moved with compassion on this sick woman, he first visited her and then on regular visits read to her from the Book of Mormon. Though at first she did not respond to his reading, after some time, he noticed she could acknowledge his presence with her eyes and she welcomed his visits. Many weeks passed and the regular visits continued. In time, she regained the ability to speak and they conversed in Japanese. He taught her the Gospel of Christ and she requested baptism. This young missionary asked the hospital to release her for enough time for her to be baptized. They refused saying "she will die if she leaves her bed". He asked what would happen to her if she did not leave her bed. They said, "She will die". "So what is the risk, He asked?" Finding no useful answer to that question, she was given leave from the hospital and taken to a font where the baptism could take place. As she was bed ridden, she could not walk into the font. So it was decided to put her on a chair and with the assistance of 4 missionaries, each on one corner of the chair, she was lowered into the baptismal font where the ordinance was performed. After the service, she was returned to the hospital only to find her room completely emptied and remade. The hospital simply assumed she would die and not return.

She survived, married and had a family. Her granddaughter served in the Hawaii, Honolulu Mission. After her missionary service, the young sister was permitted to attend the Laie, Hawaii Temple prior to her return to Japan. Her visit to the Temple gave opportunity to meet a temple worker who showed interest in her. She related the story of her grandmother's conversion and baptism. The man with whom she spoke, tearfully acknowledged that he knew the story was true because he was one of the missionaries who assisted in lowering the chair with the grandmother in place into the baptismal font.

There can be no coincidence in this matter. The Lord intended this young missionary sister to have a confirming witness by revelation that her grandmother's conversion was real and her story true. And while the Lord could have made this great blessing known in other ways, it was conferred in only in the Sacred Space of the Laie, Hawaii Temple. Why do you think the Lord revealed this to this young sister? The faithful who prepare themselves are blessed with a confirmation that the Lord knows them and is cognizant of their faithful lives. So it can be with you.

My testimony of the Savior has helped me through many difficult experiences including resolving questions about sensitive issues. I would like to share one such experience; I will not share the specifics of my question or my answer, because I want you to feel the joy of discovering and resolving your own questions. As I share my experience, listen for when I learned or applied these principles:

When I was a teenager I was troubled with questions about a particular gospel issue. Early in my questioning I ranted to myself in a demanding voice, wanting to know the answer "why, why is it this way; I just don't get it." Not surprisingly, no answers came while I was in that stage. Just as a parent may let a child storm in private about a family issue; Heavenly Father let me storm alone. He was not going to try to communicate with me, because I was not ready to hear or understand the answers. Rather than abandon my faith over an unresolved issue, I set my question aside for a few years. In the meantime I served a mission, read and studied my scriptures, and spiritually matured. The question never really went away, but I chose to be temporarily satisfied with "I don't know."

Later, when I took the question off the shelf, I was more receptive. I no longer demanded an answer, and I didn't limit the timeframe, or how or where I would receive insights. The answer didn't come all at once. Insights came at odd times and in odd places: while reading an article in a non-LDS magazine, left on an airplane; evaluating a statistical analysis in a newspaper; listening to a discussion in ward council; or doing the dishes. I found it surprising that many of my insights did not come while listening to general conference or during scripture study; but when I received an insight I could see how it fit directly with those sources.

Over a period of several years, my answer was built "line upon line."[17] It was as if a dimmer switch in my brain was gradually increasing the light. A few years ago I thought I had received all the answers that I would get on this issue even though there was still one unresolved aspect. But I am happy to report, that while I was preparing this talk, my daughter shared with me an article written by a faithful LDS scholar that provided a new perspective. I am now analyzing how it fits with my earlier insights and with Church doctrine. And the light has grown brighter yet, in fact it is brilliant.

What if I never had asked the question, or what if I had asked and not sought to resolve it beyond that which I could find on Google or in the first few pages of the Book of Mormon? My life probably would still be okay, but I believe it is richer because I asked and I patiently struggled for years to be brought, as Nephi suggests, "into the light."[2]

One hot summer day our family decided that the best way to enjoy the afternoon would be to go to the mountains. Long on our list of things to do together was a trip to a nearby cave. After we had gotten our hiking gear together, a lunch was packed.
We set out on our journey with anticipation and soon found ourselves in the refreshing coolness of the mountains. At the cave we were greeted by a park ranger, who became our guide. He told us that originally there were three caves, discovered separately, but that now the caves were joined together by man-made passageways. We noticed that there were many levels of interesting rock formations, some of which remained unexplored. Pointing to a slight opening at the side of the trail, the ranger commented that there were two unpenetrated caverns below the path on which we stood. He said, “We hope to explore both of these some day, but as yet we haven’t found a satisfactory way to get in and out of those lower caves.”
Ducking our heads to avoid contact with sharp-edged rocks, we walked along a narrow, slippery path with the unknown leading off in every direction. In order to keep our balance, it was often necessary for us to grip an iron pipe attached to the cave wall alongside the trail.
I had fallen to the end of the group to take some pictures with my camera, when suddenly the electric lights in the cave went out. Whether this was part of a demonstration to a group ahead of us or an unexpected power failure, I don’t know. Far ahead of me our guide raised his voice and it echoed back along the narrow passage. “Be calm, everyone; I’m sure the lights will come on momentarily. Everybody please stay on the trail and hold onto the railing.” His flashlight made only a tiny spark of yellow in the distance.
I had a strong mental image of the many jagged holes and side passages breaking off and down from the place where we stood. A person could get lost in one of these and never be seen again, I worried. To relax, I leaned against the slanted wall of rock. Feeling along the wall with my fingers, I found the iron railing. With the park ranger ahead and by holding onto the railing, we should be able to get out of here, I decided, even if the power isn’t restored.
An excited murmur of voices rose from the group ahead of me, but it soon subsided. We all seemed to sense that as long as we stayed on the trail and followed the advice of the guide, who had been over the path before, there would be no danger. There was no fear because we could hear his voice and feel the railing firmly fixed to the rocky wall of the cave.
After a few minutes the lights came on and we were able to continue our tour and view the wondrous beauty of the cave. But what would have happened if someone had abandoned the trail or let go of the railing? What if anyone had tried to get out by himself by feeling his way along the cave floor in the dark? What chance would any of us have had of getting out without the railing or without the ranger?
There have been many other exciting and memorable family outings, and each one has taught lessons of love, understanding, and cooperation. But on that long-ago day when I held tightly to a damp iron railing in a dark cave, I learned a lesson in faith that I have never forgotten.

Let me share a personal experience that I feel is important for all Young Single Adults to know. You might think this is too high of a standard to live by but I challenge you to listen to the Spirit and raise the bar.
Please note: I do not have time to explain everything about this, for this topic is for another talk, and can be expressed in more detail. But, I am just showing you the basic simple personal revelation I received, and you too can receive the same. You too can pray about what I am about to tell you so you can receive personal revelation on this matter.

As a Bishop years ago, I discovered that most YSA who came to see me, had a lot of dating-related questions. Questions like…"How do I know who is the right person?", "How do I know if he is worthy?", "What is the right way to date?", and many others.
My question I asked Heavenly Father in prayer was, “How can I help them understand dating better so they can be more responsible daters?”
ALL LIGHTS OFF
As I prayed, fasted, and pondered on this, I found myself reading D&C 121:34, 35, 36 and I heard a voice in my head that said, “Why do we need to date?”
The only two reasons I could think of were, first, for fun and enjoyment (group dating), and secondly, to find your eternal companion (singular dating), which is what this template is about.
Then I read, "34-36 Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen. And why are they not chosen? Because their hearts are set so much upon the things of this world, and aspire to the honors of men, that they do not learn this one lesson—That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers OF heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness."11
The voice said, “You need to learn this one lesson.” I felt, this is a calling to be extended to someone who is worthy. As a father, I realized that this is an eternal calling that you, priesthood brethren, will be asking someone, someday: “Will you marry me?” It is important for each of us to know that being a father and mother are eternal callings. It is a calling that we will always have, even in the next life, if we are worthy. The voice said, “You have to be worthy to extend this calling.” That means, you need to be worthy to go on a date because you need to know who, when, and how to extend this calling.
Why? Because, "That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness."
All of this came to me all at once and in an orderly manner. Once I learned this one lesson everything started to fall into place.

Then I read the next verse, "37 That they may be conferred upon us, it is true; but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man."12
This is how not to go on a date! The following came to me: “This is what can happen if we are not worthy to go on a date.” Look what happens as your relationship grows in time, when you have been dating for one week, to six months, and even a year or two. LOOK AT THE SIGNS: “...but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men...”13
For example, a person who is not worthy will never announce that he or she is not worthy to go on a date, thus will cover their sins, and as the relationship continues, they will find that someone will be gratifying their pride, either spoiling you in deeds, words, and or in items, or showing off, being boastful, thus gratifying their own pride. This is where the relationship starts turning for the worst. Having a vain ambition, or exercising control or dominion, is noticed when someone gets jealous in a relationship, or even makes you feel that you owe them something for all he or she have done for you. Remember, no one can buy love. We are not items or slave for anyone. When this happens, we become dominating and someone will exercise compulsion upon us. Note what happens if the relationship continues to that point.
“...in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man."14 If you are planning to get married to someone like this, please ask yourself, are we worthy to go to the Temple? Will our marriage be sealed through the eternities? "...Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man."

As I continued reading I found that verse 41 is the correct way to date. It simply says, "41 No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned."15 This is how we should be going on a date having persuasion, gentleness, meekness, love unfeigned, being pleasant, and having understanding for each other. I believe that if we do not have any of these qualities, we will need to work at it before dating.
Dating should be planned with the other person in mind. “The way we communicate in dating and courtship is a key to building a solid marital relationship. Positive communication practiced in dating increases the likelihood of greater commitment, better conflict resolution, and more love between partners in marriage."16 When we focus on finding the right person, we should also focus on becoming the right person for someone. I encourage all who date to raise the bar and have a prayer before and after the date with the person you go with. Having the spirit with you will play a major part on finding your future companion.

As I read the following, the Spirit told me, this is how I will know whom I should extend the eternal calling to: “Will you marry me?“ We will know..."42 by kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile."17 This is the feeling I should receive while dating, nothing will be in the way of your decision, and it should be as plain and clear as possible. There should be no other outside influence and you should know, I mean really know whom you will be marrying. You will know their strengths and weaknesses and will be willing deal with it. by kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without any deception.
Please note that even if you do not feel that he or she is the right one for you… the main thing is that both of you have learned not only of each other but of who you really are and you can both move forward knowing what you can improve on, so you can be better for the next person you date. Remember, when we focus on finding the right person, we should also focus on becoming the right person for someone else.

Since we are all human, remember that you and your date are not perfect, you my need to correct each other at times while dating. It says this in verse 43, "Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved,…"18 In other words correct each other with sharpness (right away) then showing an increase of love. A young man and a young woman on a date are responsible to help each other maintain their standards and to protect each other's honor and virtue.

If you strive as a couple to honor your priesthood and each other, you will not only be happy, but also know in verse, "44 “That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death.”19 This is a blessing of maintaining your worthiness while you are dating. When you extend this eternal calling. Your marriage will be sealed through the eternities. Not just a worldly marriage but an eternal marriage, stronger than the cords of death.

This revelation has been a blessing in my life as I share it with others. To help them understand their responsibility before and during dating.

I went to seminary and later to institute, I attended Church activities, and I even started my own Personal Progress. I couldn’t wait to go to Young Women activities. I will never forget the hours we spent cooking, making postcards or bookmarks, decorating our classroom, or playing games, as well as the wonderful spirit of friendship between us. Each activity helped me understand my divine nature and role in life.

“It must be nice to be God’s favorite.”

That was my first thought when, just weeks after I had a miscarriage, one of my closest friends got pregnant again. Seemingly effortlessly. Because I had lost my baby, I thought, in my bitterness, that He must just love me less or at least see me as a less capable mother than my friend.

My friend’s announcement was the first of many that reminded me of the painful loss of my miscarried baby. Siblings, mission companions, friends I’d met years ago — they all seemed to be announcing their perfectly healthy pregnancies while I could do nothing but mourn the one I had lost.

I held on to hope. I subconsciously thought that, having experienced a miscarriage, I’d paid my dues. I had suffered! And I’d learned from my experience, just like I was supposed to! So surely God would bless me with a healthy baby soon. But it didn’t happen that way.

In the painful, isolating months that followed my miscarriage, I was again confronted with the thought I had when my friend announced her pregnancy to me: “I guess God just loves me less.” And even though this thought completely contradicted everything I know about God as my loving Heavenly Father, I started to believe it.

But my perspective changed one day when I read 1 Nephi 1:1, the very first verse of the first chapter in the Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father; and having seen many afflictions in the course of my days, nevertheless, having been highly favored of the Lord in all my days” (emphasis added).

I cried at how directly this scripture answered the pleadings of my heart. Had I really thought that God loved or favored me less because of my afflictions? Nephi didn’t seem to think that was the case. And neither did Paul the Apostle, who reminded us in the book of Hebrews that “whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth” (Hebrews 12:6). Neither did Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who expounded on why a God who loves us so deeply could possibly present us with trials that seem so unbearable:
“It simply will not work ‘to glide naively through life,’ saying as we sip another glass of lemonade, ‘Lord, give me all thy choicest virtues, but be certain not to give me grief, nor sorrow, nor pain, nor opposition. Please do not let anyone dislike me or betray me, and above all, do not ever let me feel forsaken by Thee or those I love. In fact, Lord, be careful to keep me from all the experiences that made Thee divine. And then, when the rough sledding by everyone else is over, please let me come and dwell with Thee, where I can boast about how similar our strengths and our characters are as I float along on my cloud of comfortable Christianity.”1

The fact of the matter is that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ do not show Their love by protecting us from all pain and opposition. They show us Their love by helping us endure these experiences so that one day we can be more like Them, a process that is both necessary to our eternal joy and impossible to achieve without enduring the refiner’s fire.

I should be clear that I don’t think God caused my miscarriage. Loss, illness, and death are simply natural consequences of living in a fallen world. And while I don’t think Heavenly Father keeps us from experiencing the pains of mortality, I do know He gave us a Savior, who is an expert at “consecrat[ing] [our] afflictions for [our] gain” (2 Nephi 2:2) and giving “beauty for ashes” (Isaiah 61:3).

Even though I never want to go through that pain again, I’d much rather be the person I am now than the person I was before I had a miscarriage or dealt with other challenges. Through them, I now feel empathy in a way I never thought I could. I’m more sensitive in the things I say and do. I see that others who have seemingly perfect lives have different struggles they face each day too. I know better how to fulfill the covenant I’ve made with God to “mourn with those who mourn; … and comfort those who stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). Jesus Christ has truly given me beauty for ashes and can do the same for all of us who struggle with afflictions.

I wish that the refiner’s fire were easier to get through, but then I wouldn’t be refined as I am now. I now understand that, despite the difficulty of the trial, my miscarriage and all my afflictions are not a sign that God loves me any less. The opposite is true. It’s through this trial, and a million others like it, that the grace of Christ can mold me into the person God knows I can become—a person who will be worthy of leaving this life and spending the rest of eternity with those I love most.

My family’s faith began years ago when my father was 10. When the U.S. Army, under General Douglas McArthur, left the Philippines because of Japanese advancement, they set up a training/recreational base outside Brisbane, Australia. My grandparents were dairy farmers on the Brisbane River and their farm became the base for the encampment of the American soldiers.
One day, while my father and his sister were milking the cows, a soldier, Danny Roberts, offered to give them a hand. He was lonely and his thoughts were of his home on a farm in America. Danny stayed for dinner, and when asked about his religion, he told the story of the First Vision.
With great interest, my family discussed what they had been taught, and asked the question of most investigators: “Could a young boy of 14 really see God and Jesus Christ in our day?” The feeling surrounding the conversation caused great contemplation. Eventually they determined that if Moses and Abraham in years gone by could see Jesus, then why not a prophet in our day as well.
A flicker of faith began in the Maurer family. Did they know for sure that this was true? No. Did they receive a personal visitation from Heavenly Father? No. What prompted them to take the next step? It was the Spirit of God impressing on their minds that this felt right, and a hope that this, maybe, was true.
Faith brings a power and a desire, and it motivates us to action. So strong was the feeling of faith that they wanted to find out more. The nearest Church meetinghouse was over two hours away, but they attended the next Sunday and loved the Spirit they felt there. They loved the people who were so genuine and friendly.
There were no missionaries because of the war, but the leaders and members taught and helped strengthen their faith in Jesus Christ. The family added to their faith and built a stronger understanding of the plan of salvation. Through sacrifice, their faith in Jesus Christ gave them a power they had not experienced in their life to that point.
I have often reflected on that unique experience that my father, his two sisters, Tess and Julie, and their parents had. They sacrificed, endured hardship, and changed their lifestyle—all because they felt that the Lord led this Church, which provides the greatest chance for eternal salvation and lasting happiness. There is a power that comes when faith is exercised.

Chills ran up my spine when Gene Forsberg’s call jolted me late on the afternoon of December 29. “Uncle Jay, we took our Varsity Scouts and Explorers on a snowmobiling outing today. One of the boys is lost in the mountains about ten miles east of town. We’ve scoured the whole place. Can you fly me on a search?”
There wasn’t enough time or light. “Gene, get to the Logan Airport as fast as you can.” Despite fearful conditions and odds against finding the boy, we had to try.
Fourteen-year-old Val (not his real name) was on his first snowmobiling adventure when he disappeared. He did not have enough experience, equipment, or training to survive the night.
I bolted from my office, rushed home, jumped into search clothing, grabbed survival gear, and sped to ready a plane. At the same time an adult assistant and three Explorers roared out of the small town of Paradise, Utah, at full throttle into the adjacent mountains to resume the search for Val. This gritty crew had refueled, obtained food and additional equipment. They had no radio to communicate with the plane but would try to coordinate with us.
Already it was 4:25 P.M. when we lifted off the runway to search 20 miles away. A gloomy overcast blanketed the sky and hung around the mountain tops. It was seven days past the shortest day of the year. Darkness was settling. It was bitter cold—certain to be 30 degrees (Fahrenheit) below zero or lower in the northern Utah mountains during the night. We headed for the 8,500-foot level to begin—and tried not to think of what would happen if we were unsuccessful.
The plane swiftly covered the area where the group had done most of its snowmobiling. The search widened as we failed to detect anything promising. Heading east I dropped the plane to a lower level. Val might have gone into Ant Valley. Nothing! Anxiety increased as we looked over the vast expanse. Where could he be? We climbed back to where our exhausted ground crew had rendezvoused. They did not want to risk losing another in the darkness.
We flew south. It soon would be too late. Almost despairing—all choked up and with tears welling—Gene and I couldn’t talk. We needed help. I silently prayed, “Dear Lord, you know how perilous this is. Please direct us to the boy.”
Seconds later I banked the plane left. We were looking out my side of the cockpit into a deep ravine. Gene yelled, “I think I saw something move by those dark trees in the bottom!” We held our breath as I wheeled the plane around and dove in to the head of the ravine. Even though I was concentrating on the flying, out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark figure with wildly waving arms, now out on the open snow. “That’s him!” Gene joyously shrieked as we blasted by.
I breathed a prayer of thanks. “You’re not the only one who was praying,” Gene said. What a wonderful feeling we experienced. A second pass was made down the ravine to assure Val that help soon would be on the way. We lost no time flying the four miles back to our waiting crew.
To impress them that Val had been found, and provide direction, I swung around and approached from the north. This course was straight from the plane—to the snowmobilers—to Val. While I rocked the wings and Gene switched the landing light on and off, we dove into and pulled up from the dark hollow where they kept their vigil. We continued about a mile toward Val, then banked around to return.
Three of the snowmobiles were moving south through the timber, their headlights sparkling like diamonds. The fourth remained stationary and dark. The crew should know now that Val had been located. But how could they find him without some kind of instruction? I handed Gene my pen and orange-vinyl hunting cap. “Write on it and tell them what the score is.”
A blast of icy air hit us when I opened the cockpit window. Into the hollow we dove at 160 miles per hour. I pointed the plane about 45 feet to the right of and 100 feet above the lone snowmobiler so I could see when to drop the cap. As he disappeared under the wing, I let it go. After clearing the hollow I looked back. There was no movement.
“Looks as if I’ve lost my cap,” I said to Gene. “He must not have seen it. He’s not moving.” A moment later the headlight was on and the snowmobile joined the others. It was so dark hardly anything could be seen.
We circled above Val, providing the plane’s lights as a beacon. The snowmobiles were closing the distance fast, flickering lights marking their progress.
We had taken off with a minimum fuel load so we could climb and maneuver more easily. The gauges showed little left. Considering this, and that the snowmobiles were within one-third mile from Val, I peeled off toward Logan and home. I had not anticipated what difficulty this would cause. The rescuers were then totally without direction. They could see only what was illuminated by their headlights. Was this whole effort going to end in disaster?
The following afternoon, Gene walked into my office, grinning widely, my “lost” cap in his hand. One of the snowmobilers had left the cap at Gene’s home. I then learned what he had printed on the visor:
“OK FOLLOW US HE IS IN RAVINE FOUR MILES SOUTH.”
Gene didn’t know how the rescuers got the cap. I had to find out. I contacted the snowmobiler to whom it was dropped.
“Did you see me waving the cap as the plane approached?” I asked.
“No, I was facing away from you trying to get my engine started.”
“Had it been hard to start?”
“No, it hadn’t given me any trouble before.”
“I couldn’t see you move to get the cap. Where did it land?”
“Right on top of my head!” he blurted out. “It sure shook me up when it slid off by my foot!”
“You really hustled to catch the other guys. How did you get the engine started?”
“Just gave the starter rope another pull and it fired up,” he answered.
Experience in searches and drops during 40 years of piloting has proven to me that, conditions at best, scoring a hit on one man’s helmet was next to impossible.
We often have wondered what the outcome would have been if the engine had started earlier, and the searcher had gone without the cap. Not knowing that Val was in the ravine, the crew likely would have wandered in agonizing frustration. His friends found him pretty well shaken (and, oh so happy they had come) about an hour after the plane left.
We are most grateful for our Heavenly Father’s guidance, and that the cap landed precisely where it needed to—to save a precious life.