Gospel Story Finder

Ron, 16, sat in his early morning seminary class wondering what to do with feelings of discomfort that were welling up inside him. He had attended this class for about two months. His dislike seemed to grow day by day.
Ron took seminary because he knew that his parents wanted him there. He didn’t want to disappoint them. His bishop had also encouraged him to be actively involved in the program. Even so, he was unhappy and uncomfortable in class.
As Brother Jones talked about the gospel of love, Ron didn’t really listen. He could only think of the times he felt Brother Jones had put him down in class because Ron’s ideas had not seemed to agree with his. Ron also knew that some of the other class members felt this same way, but no one seemed to know what to do about it.
On the other hand, some of the members of the class seemed to be perfectly at ease and quite comfortable. Ron often wondered if something might be wrong with himself. He knew he shouldn’t judge others, but little by little his dislike for Brother Jones grew. In moments like these he felt guilty for his feelings toward his seminary teacher.
Being out of tune is usually associated with the field of music and refers to discord or the clashing of musical sounds and lack of agreement between notes in a chord. One can also be out of tune with life. In these instances it may be defined as a clashing of beliefs and attitudes. You can feel out of tune with yourself if you believe one way and behave another. Your behavior and your beliefs will lack agreement, and you will experience discomfort. In some instances we find ourselves faced with ideas, behavior, and attitudes from important people that clash with our own. Ron, the seminary student, is experiencing being out of tune. He senses discord and lack of agreement between himself and Brother Jones.
Every person attempts to put himself in situations that are in agreement with the way he feels about himself and the way others feel toward him. This reduces the uncomfortable feeling. When a person finds himself in a situation where there is disagreement between his own feelings and the feelings of others, he will often want to escape from it. Ron does not see any possible escape from the seminary class, and so he sits, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The more frustrated and confused Ron feels, the more distance he feels between himself and Brother Jones, and the more uncomfortable he is. What should he do and what are some of the possible consequences?
In life there are very few situations where an individual has only two choices. Usually if we take the time and do some thinking, we can come up with several. Some of the choices may be better than others. Ron’s is such a case. There are several ways he can move to rid himself of the discomfort he is experiencing.
He may simply drop the class or refuse to attend. By so doing he would not have to face Brother Jones and feel the discomfort every day. A social scientist would refer to this way of handling discomfort as “flight.” There are some disadvantages to this choice. Should Ron choose to drop the seminary class, he may hurt his parents by disappointing them. He may also cause some concern for the bishop, to the point that the bishop might call Ron in to find out why the change was made, thus putting another kind of pressure on him. Yet Ron can choose to drop out in spite of these consequences.
Another choice open to Ron is to rebel against Brother Jones and to act out his frustrations and feelings right in class. This method of solving problems might be referred to as a “fight” process. This choice may tend to relieve Ron of some of his discomfort, or he may have even more discomfort as a result. Such a choice might cause Brother Jones to resort to the use of power, and he might dismiss Ron from the class. Should he do this, Ron would face the same disadvantages and consequences as he did with choice number one.
As a third choice he can simply attempt to ignore the feelings he is having and to stick it out. The disadvantage here is that Ron hasn’t been able to ignore his feelings, and they are, in fact, becoming worse from day to day. If Ron chooses to do nothing, we can predict with a good deal of confidence that his attitudes toward other teachers and Church programs will become more negative. (This very real danger is illustrated in a recent study that examined some general attitudes of a group of early-morning seminary students toward the Church programs and teachers. The study indicated that if a student had some feelings of dissatisfaction in one area of the Church, these feelings tended to carry over into other areas.)
A fourth alternative to Ron’s dilemma is for him to work out a way of dealing directly with the problem so that his uncomfortable feelings will be reduced. There are several possible ways of doing this, but before discussing some of these, let’s examine some other ideas for working out problems.
When we come into contact with an idea that agrees with the way we feel, we can easily accept it. If, however, we come into contact with an idea that does not agree with the way we feel, someone needs to make some changes. We either have to change something about the idea itself or change our attitude toward it. If neither changes, we begin to feel quite uncomfortable. Ron is in this situation right now. He is very uncomfortable. If he fails to accept the situation with Brother Jones, he will remain in this uncomfortable state, and things will likely get worse. He must do something, but from what we have discussed, he is not able to drop out of the class because such an action will not solve the problem nor really relieve the source of the negative and uncomfortable feelings.
Ron’s feelings are real. His problem is real. He wants to do the right thing, but he just doesn’t know what that right thing is. He wants to be in seminary, but he finds that he is very uncomfortable there. Something has to change. In Ron’s case he can change his attitude or change the seminary teacher, or change both, but Ron should realize that it is difficult to change another person very much. Even in the face of the difficulty of changing self or another, Ron must realize his best course of action is to act.
We cannot give Ron specific solutions to his problems. We can, however, offer some suggestions. It is up to each individual to determine the direction of his personal efforts. In this case prayer would be a good first action. Ron should do as the scriptures suggest and “ask of God.”
Another suggestion that might help Ron find the comfort he is seeking is for him to express his feelings. He needs to go to the other person and there seek to solve his problem. The Savior suggested this process in his Sermon on the Mount when he told us to go to the person with whom we are having problems and to make things right with him before attempting to do other things, even though these other things need and ought to be done.
For Ron this means that perhaps he should find the opportunity to approach Brother Jones and discuss with him the feelings that are there. If this is too threatening, perhaps Ron can go to his parents and share his feelings. On the basis of their acceptance and understanding, he can then approach Brother Jones. If Ron wishes to seek further counsel, he may seek the help and understanding from his bishop or priesthood leader.
Another solution might be for Ron to take a good look at himself and see where he might possibly change his attitude and behavior. Again, the scriptures give us evidence of this type of approach. The situation is not the same, but the process can be applied in both instances. When Christ was questioned as to whether or not he was preaching his own gospel, he responded with these words: “If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.” (John 7:17.) If we apply this to Ron’s situation, we are suggesting that Ron should examine his basic attitudes toward Brother Jones long enough to really attempt to gain something out of the class. He should attempt to find out what Brother Jones’s will is with respect to him as a class member. Next, Ron should attempt to do Brother Jones’s will and see if his negative feelings leave. He may well determine that the problem is due to his own attitudes and not just to the behavior of the teacher.
Another positive approach open to Ron is to attempt to determine in his own mind what is wrong with the class in general, rather than with himself or Brother Jones. Once this determination is made, he may be able to approach Brother Jones with some suggestions on how the class might be made more enjoyable for more of the students. If this choice is followed, Ron may find that he can be a real asset to the class and improve the relationship between himself and Brother Jones at the same time. If Ron were to accept this challenge, he might learn for himself the great truth found in the Savior’s words that a person can find his life by losing it in the service of others.
One thing is for certain: Ron must do something. The longer this situation is allowed to go on, the more complicated it becomes and the greater the danger that this negative attitude will carry over into other areas of his life. Ron must make a decision of some kind. Suggestions have been made for positive and constructive choices. He should make his choice(s) on the basis of his own feelings and thoughts. Once the decision is made, he should then take it to the Lord for confirmation. Such were the directions given to Oliver Cowdery in section 9 of the Doctrine and Covenants, and they can be just as applicable for us today. If this process is followed, Ron can be assured he has made the right decision, and the “I’m uncomfortable” feeling will vanish.

I went to a Young Women activity at a beach, where we all took 20 minutes to silently ponder and meditate. I sat on a rock, listened to the crashing waves, and saw the serene sunset. But I was disappointed to find that even after 20 minutes, I still had not been able to find reverence. My distracted mind was too busy turning its wheels. I was consumed with my college application process. I was having trouble getting into my school of choice, and I felt like I had forgotten to breathe every once in a while.
When I realized I was having trouble feeling calm, I began praying for peace and relying on the Lord more. Instead of reciting a wish list in my prayers, I tried to remember that the Lord’s will was more important than my own. I prayed for what the Lord wanted to happen, not what I wanted to happen.
I felt more at peace over the course of the next few months and saw miracles in my life. I realized the Lord was trying to show me that He loved me. The peace I felt helped me to know of His love. I know that it is possible to find reverence despite our everyday distractions. If we seek peace and reverence, then we can more fully usher in the feelings of love that come from our Heavenly Father.

It has been a most important influence also in missionary work. For example: When I was a young missionary, I had as a companion a wonderful man from Rupert, Idaho. His name was Elder Henry L. Baker. We tracted together in a city in eastern Canada.
As we came to one door, a woman responded to our knock and immediately invited us in—before we had a chance to give the usual door approach! Hardly had we entered the house when she said, “Where is the book you were to bring me?”
Naturally we were astonished. But she quickly explained. She said that during the previous night she had had a dream in which she saw us come to her home. It was so vivid, she said, that when she saw us approaching her door, she recognized us instantly. She was told in the dream that we had a book that would lead her entire family to salvation.
Immediately we gave her the Book of Mormon and discussed it at some length with her. She invited us to return that same evening to meet her family, which we did. After an appropriate period of study, the family joined the Church and all are still faithful and true.

Thabo and Andronica Lebethoa read the Book of Mormon daily in their family. This has been a blessing in their lives, but they believe special blessings occurred from this daily reading when Thabo was called as mission president of the South Africa Cape Town Mission in late 2016. In a recent missionary couple devotional, President and Sister Lebethoa shared their experiences:
Thabo told of how his family had completed the Book of Mormon in their daily scripture reading in August 2016. The family decided they would start reading one of Thabo’s favorite volumes of scripture, the Doctrine and Covenants. This was soon to change.
During the October 2016 general conference, Thabo and Andronica felt impressed that they needed to read the Book of Mormon again as a family. They immediately started reading it again, but this time, in the early chapters, the journey of Lehi and Nephi’s family stood out. Little did they know in those early readings that they would be able to “liken” these chapters unto their family.
First, in November 2016, Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles interviewed Thabo and Andronica about their worthiness to serve in some unspecified calling. They were told not to worry, that likely nothing would come of the interview. But in December 2016, they had an interview with President Henry B. Eyring of the First Presidency. Thabo was called to serve as a mission president. President Eyring made them feel comfortable, and they left the interview feeling that all was well. They were asked to not tell anyone of the call until mission assignments had been made and the calls were made public.
Once they were able to tell their family of this new call to serve, doubts started arising as family asked questions such as, “What will you do with your house?” “Are you moving your children to another school?” Anxiety hit. But Thabo and Andronica found that their recent reading of the Book of Mormon helped them to be strengthened. They remembered how Lehi was called by an angel to leave his home in Jerusalem and go to another place; that he was told to take his provisions and his family and leave. For their family, it would not be to an unknown place, but they knew they had been called of God as was Lehi, to leave their home, friends, and extended family for three years. Just like Lehi and Sariah, they would take the provisions they were told to carry. They would take their children. They would find schools for them in Cape Town. Just as Nephi told his father, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). The Lebethoas knew that the Lord had commanded them on a journey to serve in Cape Town and that He would make it possible for them to leave their home, find schools for their children, and do all that would be required of them.
Thabo and Andronica also wanted to help their children understand the implications of this new assignment on their family. In a February 2017 interview, Thabo relates, “As you know in the first chapters of the Book of Mormon, Lehi is instructed to take his family and move into the wilderness and to take nothing save it were the essentials. It is interesting that we were able to use the story of Lehi and his family to help explain to our children what the Lord was going to do here with our family. We were now connecting two families—Lehi’s and ours—together. We helped our children understand that this was becoming real in their lives, ‘Wow, you know that Nephi says we must use the scriptures and liken them to ourselves and so we painted that picture for them.’”
Thabo bore his testimony that daily reading in the Book of Mormon has helped his family in the past and as one of the goals set by the Africa Southeast Area Presidency, “Read the Book of Mormon daily” will help all of us as we “liken the scriptures unto ourselves.”

While the waterfall project was underway, Brother Kamauoha challenged the young girls to make a path that would lead people from the village to the waterfall. They planned one pathway, but upon inspection they could see it wasn’t right, and so Brother Kamauoha challenged them to try another one. This still wasn’t any good. They reported to him, and he confirmed that it wasn’t right and told them that the reason it wasn’t right was because they hadn’t tried hard enough. “The third time they did their best, and the planned path was perfect. It curved properly, they had avoided the boggy spots, and the entire path was ideal,” he said.
Every evening after school the girls carried baskets of pebbles up from the river and placed them on the path. Each of them would carry 25 to 40 baskets of rocks each evening, and with everyone working, it took only a few months to complete.
Then the boys and girls brought young trees from the mountains to plant beside the trail. They also brought orchids, tree ferns, and other plants to make the trail beautiful. And they named their trail Losa (Rose) Lane.

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.”

I had a fun experience not so long ago with our youngest daughter. We were picking up leaves in our backyard and I noticed she was only using one hand to do so. Needless to say, I was picking up most of the leaves. Upon closer inspection, I could see her phone was clasped tightly in her hand. I suggested the job would go far more quickly if she put away her phone and picked the leaves up with both hands. But even more quickly, she explained that that wasn’t possible because she was in the middle of a text conversation with her friend.

With my patience now a tad thinner, I responded her friend could wait a few minutes and to put the phone away. She refused. Our conversation then went something like this “Phoebe, put the phone away.” “No Dad.” “Phoebe, put the phone away, right now.” “Aww Dad.” “Phoebe, I am going to count to three, if you don’t put the phone away by the time I’m done, you are going to lose it for the next month.” She barely put it away in time.

This experience reminds me of movies when the police officer tells the bad guy to “put the gun down” or “move away from the gun.” Needless to say, with my daughter using both hands and her full attention, the job was soon finished and there was still time to text her friend.

Of the many happenings that I remember when thinking of these delightful outings, the incident I remember best happened one summer on Puget Sound in Washington.
A cunningly hewn, 30-foot Indian war canoe with a high animal head for the prow was our home and our method of travel for that summer. We were truly “roughing it” and had become tanned, tough as leather, and happy as could be.
Toward the close of this very enjoyable outing, we had pulled the canoe up onto a sandy beach and had been lazily lying around on the sand just passing the time in complete relaxation. Then the sudden inspiration came to us to move on somewhere. It was unanimously felt, so although it was late afternoon, we all got into the canoe, spread our blankets on the floor for those who wished to sleep, and pushed the canoe toward the shore on the other side of the bay.
The canoe was so wide that my father had equipped it with oars. We each rowed with just one oar, like the galley slaves of olden times. We were rowing along contentedly, paying little need to our exact destination, when suddenly we sat up and took notice. The shore seemed to be rapidly leaving us. We were caught in a rip tide and going swiftly out to open sea. My father, having been a ship’s captain and steamboat man knew there was trouble ahead. A storm was coming, a big storm!
He had mother and the two children sit in the canoe bottom to balance it as much as possible and then said, “Now, you four kids (meaning my brother, two sisters, and myself) row, but save your strength because you’re going to need it before we’re safely out of this fix.
Soon the storm began; the waves rolled higher and higher and the distant hills to which we must row were becoming misty and purplish with the on-coming night. My father, an expert boatman, was guiding the canoe between the great waves that now foamed all about us. Just one great wave over the side of the canoe would be enough to finish us.
Still, on we rowed and then came the night. Few words were spoken. The wind was in our hair and the salt spray dashed against our faces. We moved our oars carefully, fearful lest one of the waves bury them and throw us into the sea.
On and on we rowed, our arms becoming weary. But we dared not stop. My arms were numb. They had become mere mechanical devices that made the oar go forward and back.
Through the wind came my father’s voice: “Is everything all right?”
“All right,” was the reply, and on through the night we crept, barely moving against the wind and tide.
Hours passed before the dashing of waves against the rocks could be heard above the wind and the roar of the incoming waves. Ahead loomed the darkness of the cliffs toward which we had been rowing. The sound of the breaking waves on the rocks would have to be our guide. We could not turn in the wild tumult of those giant waves on the bay without capsizing, and we had to go ahead as fast as possible to have headway enough to move between the waves as they tumbled forward. But toward what were we moving? Although accustomed to the dark by now, we could discern outlines but nothing definite. We came closer.
I remember distinctly my father’s words: “Please forgive me if I fail this time. There’s one chance in ten thousand that we will see the sunrise again, and it is that chance I must take now. Are you ready?”
“Ready,” was the reply.
Straight toward the ominous cliff we rowed. I did not look ahead anymore but just rowed hard. Soon the canoe turned quickly.
“Oars in!” shouted father.
We quickly drew in our oars. A soft grating of sand could be felt. The canoe scraped to a stop. Our heads buzzed as the wind whistled through trees far above our heads but did not touch us.
We felt nothing but the large swells raising and lowering the canoe. No one spoke for a while. Then, as if without knowing that he spoke aloud, my father said, “Truly there is a God.”
We had to remain in the boat until dawn. I dropped off to sleep from sheer exhaustion, but father and mother kept watch. The tide might go out and leave us in a dangerous plight.
When next I opened my eyes, I saw a cozy little cove a little larger than the canoe, which was then resting on sandy bottom. A wall of rock all but surrounded us, with a break just large enough for the canoe to pass through into this shelter. Had father’s eyes been less keen, or his hand less capable with the paddle, none of us would have remained to tell the story. For kilometers up and down that coast, the cliff was otherwise unbroken.
To pass through that storm in a canoe that tossed about like a peanut shell, and in the dark come directly to that one possible shelter that was barely large enough to enclose the canoe, was truly a thing that could not be attributed to anything but the care of our Heavenly Father.

Women and men who can hear the voice of the Lord, and who respond to those promptings, become invaluable instruments in His hands. I will never forget an experience I had following a stake conference. I was asked to participate in a blessing for a young woman who was suffering with cancer. The family were converts, and they had found peace through the promptings of the Spirit. Prior to our giving the blessing, this dear sister said to me: “Elder Ballard, I am not afraid to die, but I would like to live here with my family. I am prepared to accept the will of my Father in Heaven. Please bless me to find peace and to know that He will be with me.” What faith, insight, and courage the Spirit had blessed her with! A few months later the family advised me that Heavenly Father had called her home. She died in peace, and the family lived in peace because they were familiar with the Spirit. One of the sweetest messages the Spirit will relay is how the Lord feels about you. And that reassurance will strengthen you in a way that almost nothing else can.

I remember when I used to dread fast Sundays. Going without food was awful. My stomach made big growling sounds all through sacrament meeting and Primary. It was embarrassing. All I could ever think about was food. And in sacrament meeting, the men and women always seemed to be crying. Mom said that it was because they felt close to Heavenly Father. I thought that it was probably because they were hungry.
That’s how I felt until something happened when I was nine years old. My younger sister, Millie, was climbing the big old tree in our backyard. No one was paying much attention to her because we were always climbing that tree. I was busy building a castle in the sandbox when I heard tree branches breaking. I looked up just as Millie hit the ground headfirst. When I ran over to see if she was all right, she didn’t move. “Millie!” I screamed. But she didn’t answer. I began screaming for Mom as loudly as I could.
Mom came running out of the house. White-faced, she bent over Millie to listen for a heartbeat and breathing. “Stay here,” she said to me. “I’m going to call the paramedics.” I didn’t know if Millie was dead or alive. I was afraid to even touch her.
Soon an ambulance and the paramedics came. After checking Millie with their instruments and bracing her head, they very carefully lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her to the ambulance. Mom got in too. Sister Lindsay, our next-door neighbor, came over to stay with my brothers, Ben and Jeff, and me. She told us that everything would be all right, but I wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen Millie lying there.
Dad came home about eight o’clock that night so that Sister Lindsay could go home. Looking very sad, he said, “Millie broke her neck. Mom is going to stay at the hospital with her. She’s unconscious, and we can’t make her wake up. Even if she does wake up, there’s a chance that she might be paralyzed for the rest of her life.”
I wasn’t sure what paralyzed meant, so I asked, “Does that mean that she’ll never be able to walk again?”
Dad looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Yes, it does, Beth. She may not even be able to move her arms and hands.”
I was horrified. Jeff began to cry, and Ben pleaded, “Can’t they do something to make her get well?”
As Dad tried to comfort us, he said, “They’re doing everything that they know how to do. But we can do something to help Millie too.”
“If you mean prayer,” I said, “we’ve been doing that. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.”
“I’m glad,” Dad said. “But prayer is only part of it. I called Grandma and Grandpa Wilson and Grandma and Grandpa Abbot, and they have called your aunts and uncles and cousins. Tomorrow they are all going to join with us in a special family fast for Millie.”
The next day we all fasted, and that evening Mom came home from the hospital to get some sleep. Before Dad went to take her place next to Millie’s bed, we all knelt and had a special family prayer for Millie. He told Heavenly Father that we wanted Millie to get well, but we would accept whatever He thought was best. We all felt better after the prayer.
Sometime in the middle of the night the telephone rang, and I was scared. Why would the telephone ring now, unlesssomething is wrong? I strained to hear what Mom was saying. Although I couldn’t understand all the words, she didn’t sound sad at all. I got up and went down to the kitchen.
“Oh, Beth!” Mom said as she hung up the receiver, “Millie is awake! She opened her eyes and said, ‘Daddy.’”
Ben was standing in the hall. “Can she move?” he asked.
Mom’s eyes clouded a bit. “No,” she said. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t. She may just need more time.”
Two days went by. The Relief Society sisters took turns staying with us kids and bringing in meals so that Mom could stay at the hospital with Millie, and Dad could go to work.
On the afternoon of the second day, the telephone rang. Sister Stevens handed it to me. I had barely said hello when Mom cried, “Oh, Beth, she moved her fingers! Millie moved her fingers!”
“Does that mean she isn’t paralyzed?” I asked excitedly.
“At least not from her waist up,” Mom replied. “I was just so happy that I wanted you to know right away. Tell the others, won’t you, Beth?”
Grandma Wilson arrived that night to stay with us. And Mom and Dad were both home for supper. Now that Millie was awake, they dared leave her for a little while. Mom said that the doctors were pretty sure that Millie would soon be able to move her toes and legs. “They said that children’s bodies mend much more quickly and better than adults’ do.”
“Mom,” I asked, “do you think that that’s why Millie is getting better?”
Smiling, she asked, “What do you think, Beth?”
My cheeks felt like they were glowing when I answered, “I think that Heavenly Father blessed her because of our fasting and prayers too.”
Dad grinned at me and said, “I’m sure of it.”
Millie had to stay in the hospital for a long time, and even after she came home, it was a long time before she could run and play like she used to. But she did get completely better.
I’m eleven years old now—almost twelve. I don’t mind fast Sundays anymore. I even understand why some people cry when they bear their testimonies—I did when I stood up to tell everyone that I knew that fasting and prayer really work.

Long ago, King invited all the animals to a party. Cat forgot when it was and asked his neighbor, Mouse, who wasn’t feeling well, just when the party was to be held. Mouse accidentally gave Cat the wrong date.
All the animals except Cat went to the party, and King decided to name the years after his twelve animal friends who were there. Since Cat was left out, he was very angry, and that is “why Cat and Mouse do not get along well to this day.”

“Circle up!”
The wagon master signaled the wagon train of Danish immigrants to form their evening circle. It was a bit early to make camp, and it was sunny there in the valley, but black clouds had been pouring their wet fury on the Rocky Mountain range rising grandly before them, for a good while. It would be miserable to make camp in the rain, so everyone quickly began their assigned duties.
Maren dropped her last armful of limbs onto the pile of firewood. As she brushed at the bits of bark clinging to her dress, she heard happy peals of laughter, then an impatient exclamation from her mother. Turning, Maren felt like laughing, too, as her mother tried to brush away the dust that made a squirming little boy look more like a coal miner after work than her four-year-old brother.
“Maren,” Mother pleaded, “please take Rasmus down to the stream and clean him off as best you can.”
Wearily Mother turned back to her cooking, only to see her six-year-old poking a handful of dry grass into the fire. Too late, the curious boy dropped the flaming grass and shook a burned finger in the air.
“Mor (Mother),” Maren quickly said, “let me take Jens down to the stream, too, while you finish supper. I’ll watch them there, and you can call us when it’s ready.”
Mother’s face softened. “Thank you, dear. It shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”
On her way across the circle of covered wagons, Maren saw Annie sitting on an overturned bucket, idly scratching lines in the dirt with a stick. Maren had been thrilled to find another eleven-year-old girl in the company of covered wagons. Together they shared their dreams of what they thought Zion would be like, and they had become close friends despite being very different. Maybe Annie would like to go down to the stream too.
“Ya, Annie may go with you,” Sister Christensen said, eyeing the dust-covered Rasmus Maren clutched by the hand. “It looks as if you could use some help, anyway. Be sure to stay together, and don’t be late for dinner.”
The climb down the high bank of the ravine was steep. Years of spring flooding from the great mountains beyond had slowly cut deeper and deeper into the rolling plain, carrying the dirt far away to some distant river valley. But it was midsummer now, and only a thin trail of water wandered down the streambed. The ravine would probably be completely dry by fall.
“Surely there’s deeper water than this!” Annie made a face at the shallow stream. “Maybe there’s a pool around that bend.” She headed downstream. Whooping, Jens slapped his make-believe horse and galloped out of sight behind her.
“Wait for us!” Maren shouted. She hoisted little Rasmus up onto her hip and struggled along as fast as she could. But her brother and her friend weren’t just around the bend when she got there. They weren’t around the next one, either.
When Maren finally found them, Annie was joyfully wading through a lovely pool. Jens was staring at frog eggs he’d found clinging to the grass at the edge of the water.
Annie splashed water at Maren and laughed. “Come on, slowpokes. There’s even a sandy bottom.”
In no time at all, there was not a sign of a grimy child. Rasmus’s cheeks were pink from the scrubbing, and his hair was shiny in the sun.
Contented, the two girls sat in the soothing quiet and watched the boys toss pebbles into the pool, making ripples that rocked leaf boats across the crystal surface. If it hadn’t been so quiet, they never would have heard the whistle. It drifted ever so faintly down to them—two shorts and a long.
Annie looked up curiously. “What kind of bird was that?”
At once alert, Maren stood up. “It sounds like Far (Father). In Denmark that was his signal for me to herd the cows back to the farm. We’d better go back now.”
“But it hasn’t been near an hour since we left camp,” Annie protested. “Just think how long it’s been since we’ve been able to enjoy water like this!” Annie’s pretty mouth was beginning to pout.
The whistle came again—two shorts and one long.
Maren searched the top of the ravine. She put her fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle in reply. “I’m sure that’s Far. We need to go and find out what he wants. Come on, Rasmus,” she coaxed. “You, too, Jens. Far must have some reason for us to come now.”
Annie’s face was as dark and cloudy as the western sky. “No!” she protested again. “You go if you want. I’ll stay here a while longer. Your far has work for you to do, not me.”
“But your mor said we must stay together. I can’t leave you here alone. We must go. Please come, Annie. Please?” Maren’s kind eyes begged Annie.
They heard the whistle once more. It was closer now.
Annie could not resist Maren’s worried expression. “Very well,” she finally said with a sigh. “You’re probably right. You usually are. Let’s go.”
With a relieved smile, Maren led the way to the wall of the ravine. With some difficulty the four children scrambled up the steep bank. At the top, they could see three men running toward them along the lip of the ravine.
As the children paused to catch their breath, even above their own puffing, they could hear a grating roar. Frightened, they looked everywhere but could not tell where the terrifying sound was coming from. Seeing that two of the three men hurrying toward them were their fathers, they ran to meet them.
Then they saw what was making the strange noise.
Rushing and crashing down the ravine was a ten-foot-high wall of water! The heavy rain of the mountain thunderstorm had funneled into the ravine and tumbled trees and boulders before it as if they were feathers. Ripping out sagebrush and whole chunks of earth from the steep banks that normally confined the stream, the raging torrent swept up everything in its path, roaring past the seven immigrants and around the bend to where the cool, quiet pool lay with leaf boats floating on its glassy surface.
Far knelt to gather his shivering children into his strong arms. “I thought we’d never find you,” he choked, blinking his eyes to clear the wetness.
Annie tearfully hugged her own father closely and whispered, “It was Maren who saved us. She heard and obeyed.”

I hurriedly stuffed my “stripes” and whistle into my tote bag, dreading the long winter drive home. As the dressing room door swung closed behind me, I hefted the bag onto my shoulder and strolled out onto the darkened gymnasium floor. I glanced up once more at the still-lit scoreboard that read: Home 37, Visitors 41.
Only moments earlier five young men had been playing their hearts out, struggling to win their first and only victory at the end of a long, frustrating season. The crowd had filled every available seat and standing space in the small rural gym. They had yelled their throats hoarse, urging their sons and friends to perform at some superhuman level so that the memory of the season might not linger so disappointingly in their minds.
The burden of performance rested most heavily on a tall, square-shouldered farm boy. Even though he was notably the most talented of the small hometown squad, his and his teammates’ best efforts were not enough to achieve the victory that their hearts desired.
As I approached the exit on the far side of the gym, this same tall farm boy stepped from the crowd of somber teammates and school chums. I was somewhat apprehensive as he timed his stride to meet me at the door. Much too often in my 18 years of officiating high school basketball and football I had been approached by a disappointed fan or player wishing to release his frustration by verbally insulting my ability as an official or even my nonpartisan posture during the course of the game.
The young man had a hard, firm expression on his face as he blocked my exit. Suddenly he extended his hand and with a humble awkwardness blurted, “I would like to thank you, sir, for calling a good game. You know how much we wanted to win this one. We tried hard, but … anyway I know you tried to call just as good a game as we tried to play. Besides, it’s only a game.” He turned and melted back into the crowd of his friends. A warm feeling came over me as I stepped out into the harsh winter wind. This young man had achieved the greatest victory that could be won on the floor that evening. He had been a sportsman.
I’m not sure what ever happened to that young farm boy. I do know that he never reached any great level of athletic achievement. He doesn’t have any memories of state championships or come-from-behind victories. He was just a hardplaying young man who gave his best when he walked onto the court and understood that regardless of the outcome, “It was only a game.”

I would like to tell you children of the Church to be worthy to receive miracles in your lives. Every day I remember a miracle that came to my family in 1973.
My wife, Mary, and I and our two daughters were living in Colombia, South America. We had joined the Church in 1968. There were no temples in South America then, but we wanted to be sealed in the temple. We could not afford to buy airline tickets to go to one, so a friend of mine asked the owner of a travel agency to give us a 5 percent discount on our airfare. The travel agency owner was not a member of the Church and was not even a religious person, but when he found out why we needed the tickets, he gave us a pass that could be used to go to any city in the United States. Mary and I were able to be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. The following year, our daughters, Maritza and Liana, were sealed to us.
I know that the temple is the place where the Lord will bless us. Many South American members of the Church make great sacrifices to travel to one of the temples in South America. Some must make a very difficult trip by boat or bus, traveling four or five days each way.

Born and raised in the Philippines, I came from a family with strong, traditional values. I followed in the footsteps of my parents as a devout Catholic. In fact, in high school I was being groomed to become a Catholic priest. The Philippines is predominantly Catholic and it is not uncommon for heads of state to counsel with the Catholic Church leaders regarding political turmoil, just as Cory Aquino did in the mid 1980s shortly before Ferdinand Marcos was ousted out of our country and exiled here to Hawaii. So you see, the church has some influence over politics.

It was a pinnacle of pride for a Filipino family to have a priest in the clan. I looked forward to serving Heavenly Father for the rest of my life, with no hopes of an eternal marriage or a large family.

But my career and life plans were shattered by two young men with black name tags and clean-cut hairstyles. My father started discussing religion with these lads. Week after week, the rest of the family grew interest in their discussions. It also peaked my mother's interest and soon the entire family was involved. It was one Sunday evening after I came home from mass as an altar boy when my father made a special request for me to meet the missionaries. As an obedient son, I did not argue and I listened intently to their teachings.

The missionaries' presentation of the first vision will forever be imprinted in my mind. I had no doubt that a 14-year-old boy had seen a vision of two personages. When asked, "Do you believe that God the father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith?" I replied with no hesitation, "Why not?" I strongly believed in apparitions or visions. I was 17 years old then; Joseph Smith was 14. If my conviction in God remained strong at my age, it was easy for me to understand Joseph Smith's faith.

I knew that most apparitions happen to young people. But I sensed that there was something different as to why I believed Joseph Smith's experience.

Behind the resentful attitude I manifested during the discussions with the missionaries, there was always a burning feeling present in the room and in my heart. Even before the missionaries could finish their thoughts, the message seemed so clear and familiar to me.

I believed every word they uttered about the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was something I could not explain in words, but felt so strongly about in Spirit.

The influence of the Holy Ghost was working ever so strongly. I could not see him, but I could feel warmth, as if thrills were circulating in my heart and going up and down my spine. I did not know then what it was until the missionaries helped to recognize that the burning sensation in my bosom was indeed the Spirit of the Lord testifying of the truth and of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

I am thankful that my heart was softened then because the strong spirit that I felt lead me to join my family in the waters of baptism. I have learned throughout the years to allow the Holy Spirit to guide us every day; that we should always take the time to listen to promptings and pray.

Dalisey Brooks of Cape Town, South Africa is a Latter-day Saint, a Young Women president, online BYU student, and budding entrepreneur in the Church’s self-reliance program.
When she was 16, the Spirit guided her to talk to some missionaries she saw on the street which led to her conversion and baptism. Years later, this same Spirit has guided her to the Church’s Self-Reliance program to start her own business. With the help of her self-reliance group, she created an online store to sell her own line of handmade South African sandals and clothing.
Dalisey recalls that, “even as a little girl who owned only one red dress and no shoes, I loved fashion. Despite my shyness, I worked in the retail industry of South Africa to develop communication skills and self-esteem. By day, I design and sell quality sandals, accessories, and clothing. By night, I study for a bachelor of science in business management with a finance emphasis through BYU.”
In 2020, Dalisey was looking for help to start her business. At the same time, across the globe, a new self-reliance instructor in Idaho was looking for members to attend his first self-reliance group. “Because of the pandemic, I couldn’t get anyone to attend. So, I created an online group instead. I found one member from South Africa [Dalisey] to participate,” said Ben Davidson of the Pocatello Idaho East Stake. “Our weekly Zoom meetings eventually pulled in a class of BYU-I students working with Brother John Ward of the Rexburg Business Development Center.
“I always wanted to start my own business,” explained Dalisey, “but I didn’t have anyone to guide me.” Thanks to the Church’s self-reliance program, Dalisey is now a business owner. “I am grateful beyond words,” she says. Her unique line of sandals and accessories use colorful fabrics, soft ropes, and leather available in South Africa.
“Having firsthand experience with poverty, I believe in serving and giving back to the community. The products are handcrafted there in Cape Town. My brand, Chipantha, is named after my grandfather. He didn’t see me as a helpless little girl in a village. He saw who I might become. He gave me the ability to persevere,” explains Dalisey.
“Dalisey’s strength and testimony bless me each week we meet as part of the Church’s self-reliance program. I feel blessed to serve in a Church of brothers and sisters who are united in so many ways, including a self-reliance class that joins members from Cape Town, Pocatello, and Rexburg,” says Davidson.

Even though I lived with a father who didn’t follow God’s teachings, God placed others in my life to support me as a good father should. I had a wonderful bishop who always took a minute to say hello and see how I was doing. Bishop Hicken treated me the same way he did all the youth in our ward. He held interviews with us, went to our activities, and had us in his home for firesides. He was loving, kind, and patient. I watched how he treated his wife and children, and it helped me believe that my Heavenly Father was like that. He was a happy man, full of life and love. I tried to live better because he expected us to.
I was a late bloomer when it came to dating, and it seemed that when I got my first date, everyone knew about it—even my bishop. The big day arrived and the young man picked me up. While we were at a stoplight, someone very carefully bumped into the back of my date’s truck. As we turned around to see who had done this, I saw a man marching up to the driver’s side of the truck. It was my bishop! As my date rolled down his window, my bishop said, “That’s my girl you have in there and I want her home by 10 o’clock.” I don’t remember much about that night except that I was home by 10:00. But I will never forget that I was “his girl” and that he loved me and cared about me. I knew then that my Heavenly Father cared about me, too.

Nearly one year ago, our daughter Alisa died. She had struggled with cancer for almost eight years, with several surgeries, many different treatments, exciting miracles, and deep disappointments. We watched her physical condition deteriorate as she came to the close of her mortal life. It was excruciating to see that happen to our precious daughter—that bright-eyed little baby who had grown up to be a talented, wonderful woman, wife, and mother. I thought my heart would break.
Last year at Easter time, a little over a month before she passed away, Alisa wrote: “Easter is a reminder of all that I hope for myself. That someday I will be healed and someday I will be whole. Someday I won’t have any metal or plastic inside of me. Someday my heart will be free of fear and my mind free of anxieties. I am not praying that this happens soon, but I am so glad I truly believe in a beautiful afterlife.”1
Each of us has physical, mental, and emotional limitations and weaknesses. These challenges, some of which seem so intractable now, will eventually be resolved. None of these problems will plague us after we are resurrected. Alisa researched survival rates for persons with the type of cancer she had, and the numbers were not encouraging. She wrote: “But there is a cure, so I’m not scared. Jesus has already cured my cancer, and yours. … I will be better. I’m glad I know this.”10
I long to see my mother again and feel her gentle touch and look into her loving eyes. I want to see my father’s smile and hear his laugh and see him as a resurrected, perfect being. With an eye of faith, I picture Alisa completely beyond the reach of any earthly troubles or any sting of death—a resurrected, perfected Alisa, victorious and with a fulness of joy.
A few Easters ago, she wrote simply: “Life through His name. So much hope. Always. Through everything. I love Easter to remind me.”23

Shannon, a young mother, did not expect that she would teach her children the power of prayer when they piled into their van to drive to their home just 40 minutes away. There was no storm when they left their grandmother’s home, but as they began to drive through the canyon, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The van began sliding on the surface of the road. Soon visibility was near zero. The two youngest children could sense the stress of the situation and began to cry. Shannon said to the older children, Heidi and Thomas, ages eight and six, “You need to pray. We need Heavenly Father’s help to get home safely. Pray that we will not get stuck and that we will not slide off the road.” Her hands shook as she steered the car, yet she could hear the whisper of little prayers repeatedly coming from the backseat: “Heavenly Father, please help us get home safely; please help us so we will not slide off the road.”

In time, the prayers calmed the two little ones, and they stopped their crying just as they learned that a road closure prevented them from driving any farther. Cautiously, they turned around and found a motel for the night. Once in the motel, they knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for their safety. That night a mother taught her children the power of holding true to prayer.

The story is told of Ali Hafed, a wealthy ancient Persian who owned much land.
An old priest told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms. “If you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”
Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm and away he went in search of diamonds. After years of searching, he had spent all his money, and he passed away in rags and wretchedness.
Meanwhile, the man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. In the black stone was a diamond. According to the story, this marked the discovery of the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world.
Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields, rather than traveling in strange lands where he eventually faced starvation and ruin, he would have had “acres of diamonds.”1