Gospel Story Finder

Fifteen seems to be a pivotal age in the lives of most youth—at least it was for me. There were many pressures and forces that seemed to be almost competing for my time and attention. Every 15-year-old wants to be with the “in” crowd. Recognition on campus, the spirit of daring, an air of non-conformity—all of these seem so attractive, so desirable, almost worth any cost. An approaching weekend offered two possibilities: The “in” crowd was planning to do something really big time but so close to the edge that the slightest whim or impulse could spell disaster. Joe, on the other hand, was trying to persuade me that nothing could be greater than a cruise to Catalina Island on the sailboat Endymion, the same craft that had recently won the annual Avalon Classic; and not only that, we would work as members of the crew while on board. My love for the sea was too much, and Joe really tipped the scales when he gave up one whole afternoon and evening to help convince me. The Lord must have worked through my friend Joe, because my “in group” friends made the newspaper that weekend. They did get too close to the edge.
The sea spray on my face as we headed for Catalina introduced me to sea-Scouting, which became my main interest for the following two years, and Scouting generally, which has been an important part of my life ever since. I really believe in being physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight. Thanks, Joe!

Let me share a personal experience I had in which the Lord’s hand was clearly manifest. Several years ago I took a trip with my family to Mesa, Arizona. We enjoyed renewing acquaintances, getting caught up on everyone’s lives, and spending time in the swimming pool, a necessity on a summer day in Mesa. My two-and-a-half-year-old nephew Ryan was afraid of the water, so his mom spent one morning in the pool with him trying to get him to overcome his fear. During the time he wasn’t learning to swim with his mother, my two-and-a-half-year-old son was teaching him how to maneuver himself over the locked fence that protected the swimming pool. After spending some fun time in the pool, we retired to the house to eat and relax.

I was enjoying reading a book in the living room. After reading for some time, I took a short break and just sat in the reclining chair enjoying my time away from work. While I was relaxing I had the distinct impression that I should go look in the swimming pool. I thought to myself, “That is strange; no one is currently swimming in the pool.” But fortunately, I followed the prompting and got up out of my chair. I looked out the kitchen window and noticed that there were waves in the pool. The thought again came to me that it was strange for there to be waves in the pool, since no one was swimming. I went outside to check things out more closely, and as I went out the door, I could see a small body floating in the pool. I ran to the side of the pool and saw Ryan, a couple feet from the edge of the pool, floating lifeless in the water. I immediately grabbed him, pulled him out of the water, and began administering CPR. Interestingly, about two weeks prior to our trip, I had just completed a Red Cross CPR refresher course offered at my work.

After a few breaths into Ryan’s lungs, he spit up a significant amount of water and started breathing again. I yelled to some of the kids playing nearby to call 911. They ran in the house and frantically told my wife to call 911. Within a matter of minutes the paramedics had arrived and started Ryan on oxygen and an IV. Shortly thereafter, a helicopter landed in the street next to the house and whisked Ryan off to the hospital. As a family we knelt in prayer and asked for the Lord’s blessings to be with Ryan. We didn’t know at that time what would happen to him. However, after we ended the prayer, a sweet, peaceful spirit settled in upon us. I knew at that time that he would be fine. To all of us present that day, there was no question but what the Lord was with us.

Where was the Lord’s hand more plainly manifest in this event? Was it the fact that modern medicine had advanced to the point that the doctors and paramedics could treat Ryan such that he would fully recover? Was it the fact that we could fly a large metal object through the air, maneuvering around trees and powerlines, land it in the street, then fly it to the hospital? Or was it the still small voice of the Spirit that made the rest of these miracles possible? I personally see the hand of the Lord in all of these things and have thanked Him numerous times for His loving kindness and mercy in this event.

Often times when things go wrong in people’s lives, they ask, “Why me, God?” I have found myself asking that question relative to this situation. “Why me? Why was I blessed with this wonderful experience? Why did the Lord see fit in His infinite wisdom to touch my life with this sweet outpouring of His spirit?” I don’t know all of the answers, but as I have contemplated the happenings of that day, a couple of things have come to my mind.

First, I was available. The other people in the house at that time were preoccupied with making meals, cleaning, etc., and were caught up in doing the chores of this life. The things they were doing were good things, but they were concentrating so much on their work that they were less available to the Spirit.

President Boyd K. Packer stated it this way:
The Spirit does not get our attention by shouting or shaking us with a heavy hand. Rather it whispers. It caresses so gently that if we are preoccupied we may not feel it at all.21
Second, I firmly believe that the Lord, for whatever reason, just wanted to share with me one of His tender mercies. I have looked back on this experience many times in my life as a reminder that He truly is there, that He truly does care for me, and that He is genuinely interested in me. This experience has been a foundational spiritual experience that has helped me weather many of the storms of life I have faced since that day. I don’t know all of the answers to “Why me?” but whatever the reasons may be, I am eternally grateful to know that a loving Father in Heaven is there to help us—personally and individually—when we need that help.

In late summer of 1968 my missionary companion, Elder Ken Heaton, and I visited a part-member family in Kuopio, Finland. The mother and daughter were members of the Church, but the father was not.
At the wife’s request, we taught her and her daughter the discussions—loudly enough for the husband to hear from where he was in an adjacent room. When we tried to get him to join us, he said he didn’t have time. On one occasion his excuse was that he had a pile of lumber in the backyard that needed to be cut and stacked for winter.
“If the lumber were all cut and stacked, would you let us teach you?” we asked.
“Yes,” he replied. But there was so much wood, he added, that it would take him a long time before he could complete the job.
Several days later, after waiting for the father to leave for work, my companion and I returned to the home. With the wife’s permission, we spent the entire day cutting and stacking wood. We finished at 5:00 p.m., just before he returned home. We couldn’t wait to see his face, but we scurried away before he caught us. After riding our bicycles home and cleaning up, we pedaled back to the home at about 7:00 p.m.
“OK, the wood is cut!” we proclaimed. “Now will you let us teach you?”
He could only smile, nod his head, and join us in the front room. Several weeks later, after hearing the missionary discussions, this good brother was baptized and confirmed.

Several months ago I spoke at a Relief Society conference at which more than 300 women were in attendance. The Young Women had also been invited to this event, and I noticed a number of teenage girls in the audience. Early in my talk I heard the sound of whispering at my extreme left. Looking in that direction, I saw three attractive young women talking quietly to one another.
Immediately I felt a little resentful. I am used to audiences giving me their full attention, and I am not very tolerant of people working against what a speaker is trying to do. However, I have spoken to enough young groups to know the gigantic challenge it is to hold their attention, to keep their eyes riveted on the speaker, their hands out of their purses or away from combing each other’s hair, to keep them from trying on each other’s shoes or from poking each other and giggling.
Yet I believe strongly that audiences, even young ones, have an obligation to give complete courtesy to a speaker, to listen without causing distraction. My usual course of action, when a person in the audience continues to cause a disturbance, is to stop speaking, look at the offender and smile until I am noticed and the disturber is sheepishly brought back into line. Then I continue speaking. This generally works.
I glanced occasionally at the three girls on the front row as they continued to whisper to one another, but they did not notice my glances. My resentment built. Where were their mothers, anyway? Why did they come if they didn’t want to hear what I had to say? Why do the leaders force young people to go to things they don’t want to go to and aren’t prepared to appreciate? How dare they talk through my incredibly marvelous and moving presentation when everybody else in the hall was clearly spellbound?
I was reading “The Steward,” my favorite poem to read aloud, and the quiet buzz continued. Several times I looked at them and they looked back and then went on with their quiet conversation, the three of them leaning together. At the end of the poem I closed the book and looked directly at them. I smiled. They smiled back. And giggled. I smiled at them until they stopped giggling and looked at me without a sound. I then continued my talk.
Their conversation was not totally halted, however. It was quieter, but every once in a while I noticed them leaning toward one another and whispering. I gave up and finished out the talk, wishing that whoever had made them come had just let them be and wishing that young people these days placed a higher value on courtesy.
After the talk, as we were having refreshments in the cultural hall, a woman came up to me and shook my hand. “Sister Pearson,” she said, “I hope those girls didn’t disturb you too much. Let me tell you about them. They’ve only been in the country a week. They came from Lebanon, and they just missed the massacre [September 16–17, 1982] by eight hours. They probably would have been killed, but somehow they were taken out of the country and arrived here. Our ward has sort of adopted them. We wanted to have them come tonight in spite of the fact that they don’t speak English very well. They were sitting there trying to help one another figure out what you were saying.”
A tremor ran through my consciousness, shattering a perception and letting me see behind judgment into reality. I no longer wanted to take the girls and shake them by the shoulders. I wanted to take them in my arms and tell them how glad I was that they had come. Suddenly I knew their secret, and it changed everything.

Like all new members, Jana Riess has found learning about the Church to be a “line upon line” experience (see Isaiah 28:10). She was preparing to become a Presbyterian minister in 1991 when she began listening to the missionary lessons. To express her appreciation, one Sunday she invited the sister missionaries to join her for lunch at a restaurant. They kindly explained that they would prefer not to eat out on the Sabbath. Fifteen years and many Church callings later, Sister Riess still sees her own conversion as ongoing. “Discipleship is a lifelong process that doesn’t end when someone rises from the waters of baptism,” she says. “I’m still ‘converting.’”
Looking back, Sister Riess counts among her greatest blessings as a new Church member those who reached out to her and took an interest in her spiritual development. Today she prizes the blessing of being able to help other converts along the path of discipleship by talking to them about their concerns, praying for and with them, and passing along helpful materials to read. She knows that the transition is often more painful and costly than many people realize. So, while her current official Church calling is Primary chorister, she also considers it a personal calling to reach out to other converts and help them become more committed disciples of Christ through the Church’s teachings and programs.

He told me that recently his wife had started feeling ill. “She knew what was happening,” he said, “but she didn’t tell me because she was scared to go to the hospital.”

Within several days, she was spending all of her time in bed. She became confused and didn’t make sense when she talked. My patient had serious health problems himself, and soon their conditions both deteriorated. They could no longer care for each other. When my patient’s sister-in-law visited them, she was alarmed. She called for two ambulances to take them to the hospital. Doctors soon discovered that his wife had advanced breast cancer.

“I never spoke with my wife again,” the man said.

His wife suffered a heart attack and was put on life support. My patient described being wheeled from his own hospital room to the intensive care unit to see his wife one last time. Then he told the doctors to withdraw life support.

The man stopped speaking. Apparently he had said all that he wanted to say. I told him how sorry I felt. He shook my hand and left. I’m glad I sat back down to listen. I’m glad I didn’t leave when I intended to! How would he have felt if I had rushed out of the room right when he was about to share his burden?

I don’t know why my patient shared his story with me that day, but I know why I listened. Alma taught that those who desire to be baptized and to follow Jesus Christ should be “willing to bear one another’s burdens, … mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9).

My patient was bearing a burden, and in a small way, I could help him bear it. He was mourning, and I mourned with him. He stood in need of comfort, so I comforted him. In this simple way, I tried to honor my promise to be more like my Savior.

This became clear to me some years ago when, as a young father, I needed to purchase some temple clothing. Upon entering the store, my attention was drawn to a sign on the counter that read “For Latter-day Saints Only.” The message jolted me. In my mind, an argument ensued. Why does it say “For Latter-day Saints Only”? I asked myself. Why doesn’t it say something like “For Endowed Church Members”? Why does it raise this issue of being a “Latter-day Saint”?

The years since have tempered my impetuous nature. That argumentative encounter of long ago has become a treasured, defining moment. The experience taught me that just being a member of this Church is not enough. Nor is merely going through the motions of membership sufficient in this day of cynicism and unbelief. The spirituality and vigilance of a saint are required.

Just a few weeks ago, while in Bangkok, Thailand, our hearts were touched by a young lady now living in a state of good cheer she never realized possible. Meaningful change has brought great joy and happiness to her and her family. Let me share this message of good cheer as told in her own words.

“In 1975 there was a family who lived near the main road in a small village. My parents were rather poor. My father worked at the local post office, while my mother stayed home caring for the children.
“As time passed by, my mother became bored with her life as a housewife and set out to find a more exciting way of life. She turned to drink, tobacco, and gambling. Many times she would play cards all day and all night and not return to care for her children.
“Meanwhile, my father was working hard to support his family. Things at home were not going well, and many times my father and my mother would argue violently.
“One day my father came home and told my mother that if she continued on with her gambling and didn’t care for the children, he would have to divorce her. The family faced a crisis. At that time I was helping care for my three younger brothers. My parents asked each child who he or she wanted to live with, Mom or Dad. It was a very difficult decision to have to choose between my mother and my father. It was a time of much suffering and sorrow.
“It was during this time that my oldest sister first met some missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She studied about the Church and came to accept the teachings and adopt them into her life. She asked me to go to church with her. I was very sad and angry at first to think she had changed religions. I had only known the teachings of Buddha and had come to love the customs.
“But I noticed a change in my sister. She was more loving and kind and did many things to help our family. I decided to study with the missionaries. My mother listened also. Before very long, we both realized that we had done things wrong and needed to change our lives. We repented of our sins and were baptized. When my father and two older brothers saw the change in us, they decided to study also. My father had been an important officer and teacher in the Buddhist church. He spent much time studying and reading the standard works. He prayed often and sincerely to know the truth. At last his humble prayers were answered. He knew, as we did, that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true.
“The true gospel changed our lives and restored happiness to a nearly devastated home and family. We are all very grateful and happy to now be a part of the Lord’s church and become familiar with and obey his commandments.”

Today this young lady is a missionary for the Church. She and her family are living witnesses that when people come to realize that “I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you,” a whole family can change their despair to good cheer.

When teaching the young women about the importance of personal revelation, Estefani Melero from the Lima Peru Surco Stake was prompted to share her experience seeking a testimony at age 14. She testified to the young women that as she fervently prayed to know the truth of the gospel, a voice seemed to whisper to her heart words she has never forgotten: “You know it is true, Estefani. You’ve always known.”

“Emma goes to our church?” I asked Sister Taylor. I was surprised that she had called Emma’s name while taking roll.
“Do you know Emma?” Sister Taylor asked me.
“She’s in my class at school, but I’ve never seen her at church,” I said.
“Maybe you should invite her to come with you sometime, Maddie,” Sister Taylor said with an encouraging smile.
I nodded my head slowly. I didn’t know Emma very well. We played with different friends at recess. I was afraid to invite Emma to church. What if she said no? But as I thought about it, the Holy Ghost helped me feel calm inside. I knew I needed to try.
The next day at recess I saw Emma jumping rope. I grabbed a jump rope and joined her. We jumped faster and faster, laughing when our feet got tangled in the rope.
“Emma,” I said, untangling my feet, “I didn’t know we were members of the same church.”
“Mormon?” Emma asked.
“Yes. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I said.
She started jumping again. “I was baptized when I was younger, but my family stopped going to church.”
I knew I should ask her to go to church with me, but my stomach felt like it was a tangled jump rope. I remembered I had promised myself I would try, so I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Would you like to go to church with me?” I asked.
Emma stopped jumping. “Sure. If my mom says it’s OK.”
After school I told my mom what had happened at recess.
“Let’s call her mom and ask,” Mom said, picking up the phone. She talked to Emma’s mom for a few minutes and then hung up. “She said that would be fine,” Mom said. “We can pick up Emma before church and take her home when we’re done.”
I was excited when Sunday came. We drove up to Emma’s apartment. She looked nervous in her pink dress. In sacrament meeting she whispered to me, “I don’t remember what to do.”
I whispered back to Emma reminding her what to do with the sacrament bread and water. During Primary I sat next to Emma, and when we got to class I introduced her to the rest of the children.
“We are so happy to have you here,” Sister Taylor said.
By the time class was over, Emma wasn’t nervous anymore. She had a big smile on her face.
I invited Emma to church and Primary activities whenever I could. She came more and more often. The children in our Primary got to know her, and soon Emma had many new friends.
One Sunday, Emma stopped me after sacrament meeting. She was with a woman who had brown hair that matched hers.
“Maddie, I want you to meet someone,” Emma said. “This is my mom.”
“Thank you for being a good friend to my daughter,” Emma’s mom said to me with a smile.
I smiled back. I was glad Emma was my friend too.

The Bread Cast Upon Waters Reverberation Pattern
There is more. (There always is.) The test of a divine pattern is this: An act of divine intervention, when acknowledged as such and testified of, will, like the proverbial bread cast upon the waters, come back after many days to testify, bless, and re-bless, for it witnesses an eternally re-greening and re-blossoming truth. It is a pattern. So Christ becomes alive in us as we bear witness, in any age. So this little contact lens story has reverberated in at least two ways and surprised me both times.

Reverberation One
On the Sunday after the event, I told the contact lens experience to the members of the Wettingen Branch, over which I presided. The Saints, who had witnessed my visual difficulties up close and shared my joy in my newfound vision, reverberated with the larger meanings of the incident and apparently told it to others. In 1986, 28 years later, I returned to Switzerland as mission president. As President Peter Lauener introduced Janice and me to the Bern stake conference, he surprised us: “We all have known about President Cracroft for many years,” he said. “He it is, brothers and sisters, who as a young missionary here in Switzerland exercised faith and found his lost contact lens.” Many in the congregation nodded in recognition.

I was dumbfounded. He turned to me and said for all to hear, “Over many years, that story has been told and retold in all our meetings as an illustration of the necessary steps to faith.” Suddenly I understood that young Elder Cracroft had unwittingly cast his burden on the Lord by taking an inspired and faith-impelled step into the dark. I wondered if President Cracroft, at 50, still possessed that same simple faith.

Reverberation Two
In January 1994, on the day after our 25-year-old daughter and bride of one short year died suddenly, naturally, and without warning—and my wife and I were plunged into the belly of the whale—I received a letter from a former Swiss-Austrian missionary living in Salt Lake City. He knew nothing of our sorrow, of course. He said he had recently read my name on an article and was writing to inquire if I was the same Elder Cracroft he had known briefly in 1958, at the beginning of his mission and near the end of mine. He said he had been deeply impressed by a story I had told at a missionary conference about losing and recovering a contact lens. He had related the incident often over the years and hoped he had told it accurately. He then repeated the story as he recalled it. Although I had not told it in a long time, I was amazed that he had captured it exactly as I recollected it and as I just told it.

The reverberation resounded in my ears. In his letter I read my own story in tears of joy amidst my tears of grief. His retelling us that story 36 years later, at the darkest moment of our lives, was no coincidence. Janice and I had received a message from the Lord reminding us that he was there with us at the fall of our dear sparrow, just as he had been there with me on that long-ago hillside. He was reminding us that this was merely another obstacle on our salvation journey; that all things, including our daughter and ourselves, were in his hands; and that we should press on, confident that, as Lehi says, “All things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things” (2 Nephi 2:24). Who knows, perhaps this twice-told tale may take on new life in the soul of someone in this congregation who needs to hear that message.

Thomas B. Marsh, once one of the Twelve, left the Church. His spiritual slide to apostasy started because his wife and another woman had quarreled over a little cream! After an absence from the Church of nearly nineteen years, he came back. To a congregation of Saints, he then said:
“If there are any among this people who should ever apostatize and do as I have done, prepare your backs for a good whipping, if you are such as the Lord loves. But if you will take my advice, you will stand by the authorities.” (In Journal of Discourses, 5:206; see also Gordon B. Hinckley, in Conference Report, Apr. 1984, pp. 109–12; or Ensign, May 1984, pp. 81–83.)

Hermann Mössner was nervous as he walked into the chapel. He and his friends from the English prison camp were still in their uniforms, marked with the letters “P.O.W.” Everyone knew those letters stood for “prisoner of war.” What would the members of the branch think? Would they see him as their enemy?
Hermann was from Germany. After being forced to fight in World War II, he had been captured by British soldiers and sent to the prison camp. This was the first time he’d been allowed to go to church since being captured.
Hermann took a deep breath as he sat down on one of the benches. He could see the branch president, George Camm, sitting at the front. President Camm was Hermann’s friend. Seeing him smile made Hermann feel better.
Several months ago, President Camm came to visit Hermann at camp after hearing that he was the only member of the Church there. At first Hermann was a little worried. Would President Camm hate him? Their countries had fought against each other in the war, after all.
But when Hermann and President Camm met, they smiled and shook hands. Then they prayed together. They sang songs and talked about the gospel. They even took the sacrament together.
“I love you, my brother,” Hermann said when President Camm had to leave. He saw tears in President Camm’s eyes as he waved goodbye.
After that, President Camm visited Hermann every Saturday. During the rest of the week, Hermann did his best to live the gospel. He shared his testimony with the other prisoners while they worked in the fields. He answered their questions while they carved wood after a long day’s work. Sometimes he prayed with them.
“Hey, Hermann,” one of the prisoners had said one night. “Could I join you and Mr. Camm on Saturday?”
Hermann looked up from the block of wood he was carving. He smiled. “Of course!”
“May I too?” another prisoner asked.
Hermann and President Camm were very excited to teach more of the prisoners. Soon some of them even wanted to be baptized!
And now, as Hermann looked around the chapel at the families waiting for church to start, he felt peace. Some members were nervous around Hermann at first. But soon everyone came to trust him. The other prisoners who wanted to learn about the gospel got permission to leave camp to go to church with Hermann on Sundays. Later, Hermann was even called to be the branch Sunday School president.
Time passed, and Christmas got closer. Hermann wanted to do something to thank the members who had been so kind to him. Then he had an idea! It was almost time for the branch Christmas party. Hermann gathered more blocks of wood and started carving. One by one, he turned the blocks into little cars, elephants, planes, trains, and horses.
Finally the day of the party arrived. Everyone ate food and sang Christmas songs together. Hermann and his friends from camp sang Christmas songs in German.
Then Hermann pulled out a big bag. Inside were 40 wooden toys! Hermann gave one to each Primary child. It was a Christmas they would never forget.
After three years in the prison camp, Hermann returned to his family in Germany. Years later, Hermann visited the same chapel in Leeds, England, he attended as a prisoner of war. Some of the grownups there told him they still had the wooden toys he had carved for them when they were children!
See Come, Follow Me for Moroni 7–9 and Christmas.

I had an experience that illustrates this truth. My wife was very ill. I was in Provo at a Scouting affair—I don’t recall what it was now—and I had promised her that I would come home by six o’clock that night. I had left food at the side of her bed so that she could have something to eat, because she couldn’t get off the bed—she wasn’t able—and I had to leave her alone.
Things took place in Provo so that I didn’t get away until eleven o’clock that night, and I was worried as I headed for home. The roads in those days weren’t like they are today; one had to pass through every town along the way. I passed through Salt Lake at midnight. Going north on the highway—the moon was full; the light was bright; I could see as easily as in daylight; and I was the only person on the road—I went quite rapidly until I got to Farmington Junction where I was to turn off to go up over the mountain road toward home. I turned off on that road, and I really hit it up. I had that car going 70 miles an hour, which was good for those days over that road, and I whipped past the road going over to Hill Field, and then went down into Weber Canyon. I got about halfway down the hill when through the rear view mirror I saw the flashing red light. The patrolman had been hiding up Hill Field road. So I pulled to a stop and got out. (One always wants to get out of his car when a policeman comes, and hold out his hands so the policeman can see that one is not armed—at midnight, anyway!) It was now nearly one o’clock.
So I walked back a few yards and stood there, and his headlights picked me up, and he came to a stop about thirty yards away. He got out of his car and came up to me. He said, “May I see your driver’s license and your car registration.” So I got the car registration, and he took a look at it—he didn’t bother to look at my license.
I said, “I suppose you are arresting me for speeding.”
He said, “Yes, you were going faster than 60 miles an hour.”
And I said, “I was going faster than 70 miles an hour.”
I said, “Well, give me the ticket. I’ve got to get home; my wife is ill and helpless. I’ll pay the fine, but let me go.”
He said, “Well, I’m not going to give you a ticket. I’m going to give you a warning ticket so you won’t do it again. This will make it so you will not have to go to court, but if you do it again, of course, then they’ll collect on both counts.”
I couldn’t imagine why he had given me just a warning ticket. He wrote out the ticket and handed it to me; then he smiled, held out his hand, which a police officer seldom does, and said to me, “My name is Bybee. I used to be one of your Scouts at Camp Kiesel.”
All the rest of the way home, every time the wheels turned, I said to myself, “What if I’d lied to him—what if I’d lied to him—what if I’d lied to him.”

As a young man I had an important decision to make. Congressman Milton H. Welling offered me an appointment to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. This was an outstanding opportunity for a fine education and experience. After careful and prayerful consideration, I declined the appointment and accepted a call to go on a mission. This was a decision that required some sacrifice and greatly affected my life. However, while on my mission I wrote my parents from Boston, Massachusetts, “From my mission I have gained much. … I wouldn’t trade the last two years for anything. They have been wonderful in bringing a realization of life in its true sense.” Yes, my sacrifice, if it could be called that, was bringing forth the blessings of heaven.

One woman felt she had little or no light in her life. Her husband spent three days of each week traveling out of town because of his work. This left her home alone to manage their house and two small children. She was just nineteen when they were married. She had almost no experience in caring for young children, and certainly felt no confidence in handling her own. She often found their demands and the pressing household duties overwhelming. In her frustration, she grew increasingly harsh with them until her abusive behavior became frightening, even to herself. Feeling alone, ashamed, and inadequate, she was often in the depths of despair. What light did the gospel offer to her?
She and her husband considered themselves good members of the Church. But what difference did that make when the children were crying, the laundry piled higher and higher, the letter from her mother remained unanswered, and the dress she was to make this week for her husband’s company party lay unfinished on the sewing machine? All these frustrations spoke so loudly the discouragement of the present. They made the blessings of the gospel seem very far away.
Fortunately, there were those who helped her learn to apply the principles of the gospel in solving many of her problems. Her visiting teachers, responding to her anxiety over her children, brought a special toy for each child. They had carefully selected playthings that an adult could use with a child in a delightful but problem-solving way. They took time to show the mother how to relate to her children through activity. She was surprised to find how happy and responsive the children were. They began to look forward to a playtime association with their mother. She realized that she was providing for their needs through play, and that they were becoming more relaxed with her.
Because of the relationship they were establishing through their activities together, the children were more willing to do as their mother asked—to pick up their clothes, put their toys away, and take their naps. This, in turn, helped her have more time to organize her other responsibilities. She learned to be considerate of her children and sensitive to their concerns. She has continued giving the children this special attention each day. Love in this home is now more than a concept; it is the way they respond to each other’s needs.

While I dreamed of the spotlight and the stage, I could just hear the faint echo of my mother’s proud voice, encouraging me with praises. For as long as I can remember, I have always had a tremendous desire to be a great singer. I didn’t realize it at the time, but inside me was an even greater desire to be close to my mother.
Our relationship needed something, something that some of my friends and their mothers had. It seemed to me that my mother was so caught up in the problems of everyday living that she never had time for me. Sure she did things for me. She cleaned my room, washed my clothes, and cooked my meals like all mothers do. But I needed more and less—less arguments and more love.
I thought my mother always had to be right. When we argued, I would just give up, knowing that would be the only way to settle the conflict. Then later, realizing that she was right, I would apologize. I didn’t feel comfortable unless I did. When I apologized, my mother would turn her head, and from the side view, I could see the movement of her jaw as she gritted her teeth. She would then say, “okay,” with a tone of voice that seemed to say, “I told you so. Just listen to me next time.” I would then storm off, but feeling better that the argument was settled.
One afternoon while sitting on the lawn in front of the Performing Arts Building at Ricks College, waiting for my ride, my neighbor happened to tap me on the shoulder. Connie was a really good friend of my mom’s. I was always jealous of their relationship. I remember overhearing them laughing and talking on the phone. I wished that I could talk to my mom the way Connie did.
Connie sat down beside me. The first thing she said to me was, “I’ll bet I know what you’re doing here.”
“What?” I asked.
“Voice lessons, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Your mother talks a lot about you and your singing. She is really proud of you.”
I was so surprised when she said that. I never knew my mother felt that way. It made me realize that she had been keeping her feelings inside.
That night, as I was climbing the stairs to go to bed, I peeked over the wooden railing to find my mother sitting on the couch. Right then I wanted to tell her that I loved her. It was so hard to even think about saying it. After searching my mind for the words to express myself to her, I just blurted it out, “Mom, I love you!”
It was silent, as quiet as it would be after someone had screamed. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling by the expression on her face. Her big brown eyes filled with tears, the first time I had ever seen my mother’s emotions. With her arms outstretched, she said, “I love you, too.”
Seeing her cry made me want to cry. I ran to her, throwing my arms around her. I never wanted to let go. I couldn’t squeeze hard enough. My heart was full to overflowing as my eyes filled with tears of gratitude. As the tears quietly rolled down my cheeks, I thought of the privilege that was mine to have her as my mother.
I will never forget that. I still remember that night in detail. We talked for two solid hours. It felt so good to let all of my feelings out.
The next day I was to sing at our family reunion. I knew that my mother was going to be there. I wanted to make her proud. After dinner, they announced that I was to sing. I remember being so nervous and turning my head to find my mother looking at me, giving me that certain look of encouragement that I needed.
As I was singing, my throat tightened, and I felt as if my vocal chords had just tied in a knot. It was so hard to sing. I looked at my mom, and I’ll never forget her smile and the nod she gave me. I remember thinking that was better than any command performance I had ever dreamed about. After singing, I sat down beside her and she reached under the table and held my hand.
I’ve learned so much from my mother about being a parent and a friend. Because we took the time to communicate and bridge that gap in our relationship, my mother is my best friend. I’m ready for anything, knowing that my mother is always going to be there for me.
A note from Dianne Francis, Suzanne’s mother: Suzanne wrote this to help other young people see they miss out if they don’t have a close relationship with their mom and dad. Talking helped us realize we were best friends, that we loved each other and enjoyed being together. This knowledge is particularly meaningful to me now, since Suzanne was killed in an automobile accident a few weeks after she wrote this.

The third experience involves me. Since I am the slow one in the family, this experience is more ambiguous than the other two. Some years ago I had the opportunity to make a choice about the path I would take in my career. The two choices offered to me were both good and honorable. I wanted to travel both paths, but that wasn’t possible. I felt I knew which path would be best. It was a path for which I felt I was well suited and that appeared bright with opportunity. Nevertheless, I prayed to know if I was making the right decision. I was surprised at how hard it was to be open and submissive when I had a bias about what I wanted the answer to be. I did not receive a clear direction about which path to take, so I moved ahead and made the best decision I could.

Given that I was unsure what I should do, what is the point of this example? It wasn’t too long after I made my decision that the path I chose—which appeared bright and promising at the time—turned dark and difficult. I lay awake many nights wondering how to address the problems before me. Just because the path I chose did not turn out as I expected does not mean it was the wrong path. In fact, just the opposite might be the case. Perhaps I learned lessons I could not have learned otherwise or I rendered service that I needed to give. But as I look back, I feel that if the same situation were to occur again—that of having to choose between two good paths—I would be less inclined to think I knew which path was best for me and less sure I knew what the future would bring. I would be, I hope, more submissive, more trusting, more open.

The call of duty came to John E. Page when the Prophet Joseph Smith extended to him a call to serve as a missionary. John E. Page “murmured” and responded, “Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”

The Prophet Joseph removed his own coat, handed it to Brother Page, and said, “Here, take this and the Lord will bless you.” John E. Page went on that mission to Canada and, during a two-year period, walked five thousand miles and baptized six hundred people. (See Andrew Jenson, “John E. Page,” The Historical Record, 5:57.)

“We had one lesson at least every two months on preparing to go on a mission,” Elder Kolb said. “On the blackboard we’d list all the things you needed to do to get ready—preparing yourself physically, spiritually, and financially. I felt like my spiritual and physical preparations were okay, but not my financial. So at 15 I got a job planting trees, and I had that job for five years. I’ll be able to pay for my whole mission myself.”