Gospel Story Finder

As young parents, Brother and Sister Samad learned the gospel of Jesus Christ in their simple two-room home in Semarang, Indonesia. Seated around a small table, with a dim light that seemed to provide more mosquitoes than illumination, two young missionaries taught them eternal truths. Through sincere prayer and the guidance of the Holy Ghost, they came to believe what they were taught and chose to be baptized and become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That decision, and their pattern of living since, has blessed Brother and Sister Samad and their family in every aspect of their lives.
They are among the early pioneer Saints in Indonesia. Later they received the ordinances of the temple, and Brother Samad served as the branch president and then district president, driving throughout Central Java to fulfill his responsibilities. For the past decade, he has served as the first patriarch of the Surakarta Indonesia Stake.
As one of the missionaries in that humble, faith-filled home 49 years ago, I have witnessed in them what King Benjamin taught in the Book of Mormon: “I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual.” The blessings that flow into the lives of those who follow the example and teachings of Jesus Christ, who choose to be counted among His disciples, are numerous, joyful, and eternal.

Once upon a time there was a little Slobovian boy named Gorb who lived in a little boardinghouse with 10,000 Slobovians. Every morning all 10,001 of them were served the most nutritious breakfast cereal available anywhere—Captain Steadfast’s Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies. Now federal agencies and senate hearings had proven not only that Captain Steadfast’s was the best breakfast food known to man but also that it was, spoonful for spoonful, the most economical cereal on the market. And it tasted great.
One morning just at breakfast time a stranger walked into the boardinghouse and casually tossed a new cereal onto the table that, he said, was groovy, outasight, and everyone was eating. It was called Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop. Some of the guys said they had heard it was pretty bad, but 10,000 hands nevertheless reached for the box and heaped their bowls high because, after all, it obviously was the thing to do. However, when the box came to Gorb he kindly said, “No, thank you,” and he poured himself a bowl of Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies.
“Comment!”* roared a chorus of 10,000 Slobovian voices.
“Well, it isn’t any great mystery,” replied Gorb. “I just read on the box here that Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop has no vitamins, no proteins, none of the good stuff Captain Steadfast’s has, and it even admits to having some real junk in it. The price looks pretty expensive, and I’ve heard it can really taste gross. Besides—I like these Crunchies.”
At that point 10,000 fists hit Gorb on the jaw. “What gall,” mused Gorb as he shrugged his shoulders and went on eating his Captain Steadfast’s.
But even as Gorb was taking his lonely stand, some strange things began to happen around the table. Many of the 10,000 said they were sick; some said they were seeing strange things; a few said they couldn’t see anything at all. Several fell face first into their Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop, and at least one just cried and cried. But those who were still able kept forcing down the G, T, & S because, after all, somebody had said it was groovy and outasight and everybody was eating it.
It wasn’t long before just one person remained sitting at the table; 10,000 others were screaming around the room or sobbing at their benches or just retching on the floor. The place was a bad scene that didn’t look either groovy or outasight, but at least everybody was doing it—except Gorb. He just quietly finished his Whole Wheat Crunchies and wondered why new always meant better to so many people.
Moral: 10,000 Slobovians can be wrong.

I had a friend in my branch of the Church in Russia with whom I socialized at all Church activities. We had a lot in common, I had a lot of fun with him, and I was glad to have such a good friend.
But then something strange happened. For no reason that I could determine, he offended me badly. He did not ask for forgiveness, and I stopped associating with him. I did not even greet him on Sundays. That went on for two months. I was hurt and unhappy, but he said nothing.
Then I found out he was leaving our city. I didn’t think our relationship should stay the way it was; I thought we should reconcile. About then I remembered a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “Go thy way unto thy brother, and first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come unto me with full purpose of heart, and I will receive you” (3 Nephi 12:24).
It was difficult for me to humble myself and take the first step, but I prayed and then called him. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, and I was ready for the worst. What I heard shocked me.
He sincerely asked me for forgiveness, and I could tell by his voice that he had suffered a lot because of his action—just as I had. Most of all, I remember one sentence that he repeated three times: “Natal’ya, thanks for calling!”
I was so happy! He moved a short time later, but we separated the best of friends.
Learning to love and forgive each other is one of our most difficult tasks. Forgiveness—especially when we are not at fault—requires that we be humble and overcome our pride. I learned that taking the first step to forgive and reconcile is worth it.

The young men and young women of the Loomis First Ward, Loomis California Stake, noticed that several members of their ward were military veterans whose service had never been acknowledged. They decided to correct that. The priests and Laurels planned a special program on a day set aside to honor those who have served their countries. The day is known by several different names: Veterans Day, (US); Armed Forces Day (UK); Remembrance Day (Commonwealth nations); Armistice Day (other countries).
The Laurels and priests gathered photos and information from the veterans ahead of time and then put together books complete with photos, descriptions of military service, and letters of appreciation from the youth in the ward. Jennifer Beddes said, “The Veterans Day program opened my eyes to how much the veterans have given to us and how much they continue to support the community.”
During the program, the youth presented the veterans their books. Mikaela Kester, Laurel class president, said, “The event turned out even nicer than expected. It made me appreciate even more what these men have done, and I loved being able to show my gratitude through this program.”
Colin Fluckiger summed up the feelings of the young men and young women who participated: “It was a great time to honor the veterans from our ward and give them the respect and honor they deserved.”

After we got married, I was a fulltime student working on a Ph.D., teaching part time, and we had a new baby girl, Kialoa, our oldest, and I thought I was busy. Then, I was called to serve as the elders quorum president of the Kahaluu Ward by the president of the Kaneohe, Hawaii Stake at the time: President Scott D. Whiting, who is now Elder Whiting whom I just quoted. I laugh now because I thought I was busy then, and now I have six children.

Anyway, I accepted the call with some reluctance. He asked if I had any concerns, and I said something like, “I’m concerned because if I say I’m going to do it, that means I have to do it.” President Whiting, also a lawyer, smiled and said, “It’s funny how that works – when you say you’re going to do something, you have to do it.”

I served as well as I could and then I had to be released because we were moving to Waianae on the other side of the island. When President Whiting released me, he asked, “Why are you moving to Waianae?” I said “I’m pursuing a Ph.D. and doing my dissertation field work there.” “Why a Ph.D.?” he asked. I told him, “My goal is to teach at BYU–Hawaii.” After our interview, I asked him to give me a blessing. The main thing I remembered him saying in that blessing was that our goal of being at BYU–Hawaii would take longer than expected.

A few years later, in 2005, I applied for a position here at BYU–H. I thought the process went well; I think I gave the best research presentation I had ever given (before or since) and felt like that was confirmation that that was the time and place. Humbled is a nice way of saying it, but it was really disappointing and hard to take when I was informed that I didn’t get the job. It didn’t help that the grant I was working under at UH at the time was coming to an end, and I was about to be unemployed when my wife was pregnant with our third child. I thought, “We talk about returnability, but I’m returning home and can’t get a job.” To make a long story short, this was a very challenging time for us but a time we value and have learned from.

Hindsight is always 20-20, and for me, I’m half blind, so that doesn’t help, but I can see clearly now that not getting the job at that time was the best thing that could have happened. I ended up elsewhere, and that experience was invaluable. I completed my Doctoral degree at UH, got a tenure track job at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, we lived on an acre in lower Puna, we made lifelong friends, and my family was thriving. And then to make a long story short, four years after I first applied, I got a job here, and we ended up coming back home; however, it was in a position that I honestly didn’t anticipate or expect to be in.

I guess four years is a magic number for me; it was also four years after we met that we were married. I guess I’m lucky it was not seven years like Jacob or 40 years like Children of Israel.

However, President Whiting’s blessing proved prophetic – it took me longer than expected to return to BYU–Hawaii. In many ways, that’s the story of my life. My name Kali means “wait” in Hawaiian. Things have taken longer than expected. I was born late, and I’m a late bloomer – I was the last of my friends to serve a mission, one of the last to get married, and it also took me a while to finish my education and to start my career.

When I was a teenager, I set the goal of getting a degree in sports. I prayed a lot, asking the Lord to make it so practices would be on Saturdays. However, my team’s practices were scheduled on Sundays. I had to make a choice: give up on my goal or skip church. Since both were important to me, I compromised. I would go to practices for two Sundays and then go to church on the third Sunday. Unfortunately, this little deviation from my faith led to sin, causing much suffering.
It did not take me long to realize my mistake. I asked to be on a different team. However, it was too late; the wrong had been done. I had half opened the door, and Satan had pushed it wide open. Eventually I gave up competitive sports.
I learned two valuable things. The first is that when we seek to compromise with the Lord, we are in great danger. The second is that I had made the mistake of believing my faith was strong enough that I could do without Sunday meetings. Our spirit needs nourishment just as our body does. If we were to eat only one meal and then skip the next two meals, we could not remain in good health.
I love Sundays now. The Lord has blessed me in my studies and my health above measure.

Eighteen months after the surgery, my husband and I were invited to speak at a religious conference. The topic? “What accessing the grace of Jesus Christ daily looks like.” As we prepared, we immersed ourselves in studying Christ’s grace and how it operates in our lives. Grace, as defined in the Bible Dictionary, is “divine means of help or strength, given through the bounteous mercy and love of Jesus Christ.”
One week before the conference, I went on a bike ride with a friend. I rode my recumbent trike, which gives me the freedom to move, while she pedaled beside me on her bicycle. We talked as we rode, and as usual I cried. Sadness had become my constant companion, something the medical world might label as situational depression. I opened up to my friend about how lost I felt, about the overwhelming sadness that shadowed my days.
She asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since: “Stacy, what exactly are you sad about? What do you feel like you’ve lost?” I didn’t have an answer. I knew I was sad about my loss of movement, fearful that I would never regain my strength or the ability to do the things I once could. But the source of my sadness remained elusive.
A few days before the conference, the answer I had been searching for came to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I woke up in the middle of the night, a time when my anxious thoughts usually kept me company. But that night, a phrase echoed in my mind: “Graceful—full of grace.” As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s a good point. Being graceful means being full of His grace. I’ll include that in my presentation.”
When I woke again in the morning, the same phrase was there, clear and insistent: “Graceful—full of grace.” I realized then that this message wasn’t just for the people at the conference—it was for me. That was the source of my sadness. That was what I had lost: my physical gracefulness.
As a young girl, I had been a ballerina, dancing through much of my adolescence and into college. I had never thought of myself as graceful, but years of training had ingrained in me a certain physical poise—a way of standing, moving, and balancing. Even after I stopped dancing, that grace remained. And now, in the quiet of those early morning hours, the Lord was redefining the word for me. I no longer needed the physical grace I once had. I had His grace to lean on in my moments of weakness. His grace was sufficient to help me smile, to shift my focus from my limitations to His strength.
Heaven’s message to me was clear: “You no longer need to rely on the physical grace you’ve learned. My strength is made perfect in your weakness.”
Graceful.
It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained. It’s not about my grace anymore—it’s about Christ’s grace, filling my heart and mind.
Graceful. It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained.
At the conference, I found myself in a room packed with people, needing to cross to the other side. There was no clear aisle, no easy path to navigate. As I stood up, I whispered to myself, “Graceful.” His grace, not mine. That simple word gave me the courage to move, to weave through the crowd without fear.
The more I let go of my old grace and embraced His, the easier life became. I found the strength to do what I could never do alone. His grace allowed me to see myself as a beloved daughter of God, to give my all, knowing He would fill in the gaps where I couldn’t. His grace brought gratitude even for my weaknesses.
I still wrestle with frustration and fear every day. My “thorn” hasn’t been removed. But now when those dark thoughts creep in, I have a powerful tool: the Savior’s grace. I repeat the word graceful to myself and move forward with Him. I don’t know when or how physical healing will come, but I trust that He knows, and that’s enough.
Like Paul, I am grateful for my infirmity because it has opened my eyes to see Him more clearly in my life. I place my trust in Him, and in return He gives me peace and joy and the assurance that He will deliver me.

My good friend at school asked me what I did over the weekend. I told her, and the topic of general conference paved the way for her follow-up questions about my beliefs and the Book of Mormon. I was able to use the Articles of Faith to share some essential differences of our Church from other Christian churches, and I was also able to clearly explain what the Book of Mormon is and how it relates to the Bible.
I am so grateful for this opportunity I had! I know the Spirit guided me with my answers to her questions, and if it weren’t for general conference, I probably wouldn’t have been in the right spirit to readily answer them.
Ellie W., England

A little over a year ago a couple came into my office carrying a little boy. The father said to me, “My wife and I have been fasting for two days, and we’ve brought our little boy up for a blessing. You are the one we’ve been sent to.”
I said, “What’s the matter with him?”
They said he was born blind, deaf, and dumb, no coordination of his muscles, couldn’t even crawl at the age of five years.
I said to myself, “This is it. ‘This kind cometh not out save by fasting and by prayer’ [see Matthew 17:21].” I had implicit faith in the fasting and the prayers of those parents. I blessed that child, and a few weeks later I received a letter: “Brother Cowley, we wish you could see our little boy now. He’s crawling. When we throw a ball across the floor he races after it on his hands and knees. He can see. When we clap our hands over his head he jumps. He can hear.”
Medical science had laid the burden down. God had taken over. …

When I was preparing to go on a mission, I had an interview with my stake president—who was also my father. After telling him about some of my shortcomings, I anxiously awaited his response. Would he be angry? Would he be disappointed? But my dad simply looked at me. He didn’t lecture me. He didn’t shake his head in shame. He just looked at me and told me that he loved me. I felt the most incredible wave wash over me and my entire body tingled. At that moment, I felt more than just the love of my earthly father. I felt the pure and perfect love of my Heavenly Father. I left with the realization that if my imperfect, earthly father can love me despite my weaknesses, my perfect Heavenly Father loves me perfectly and always.

I have been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints my whole life. My parents are strong examples of faith in my life. I never felt the need to do anything more to strengthen and nourish that foundation. I rode on the coattails of their testimonies until I graduated from BYU–Hawaii in 2002.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, “Faith is strong when it has deep roots in personal experience [and] personal commitment to Jesus Christ... Our testimony will be tested and tried. Faith is not faith if never tested. Faith is not strong if never opposed.” [4] I did not know it then, but I was about to have some personal experiences that would test that foundation of faith and start my journey of personal recommitment to Jesus Christ.

My first job out of college was working at a hotel in Waikiki. I was paid $10 an hour with a college degree, which was barely enough to cover the cost for gas, to drive from Laie to Waikiki, five days a week. My husband and I got married later that same year. I quickly learned that, in hotels, there are many opportunities for movement and growth if I was willing to put in the time and effort. My focus shifted and I became more career driven. Hotels are open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. As my career in the hotel progressed, my schedule required me to work on Sundays. By that time, both of my sons had been born, so I justified it at first thinking, I am doing this for my family. As I reflect on this time, I can see that I chose to make the Lord less of a priority in my life. My priority was to move ahead in my career to provide for my family. I worked in hotels for 18 years. I left home before my kids woke up and returned home just in time to say goodnight. Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoyed my work and loved the people I worked with. I met some amazing people and built lasting friendships. I worked in Human Resources, Property Rehab or Special Projects, and various leadership roles in Housekeeping. I learned about union contracts, code of conduct, benefits, project management, standards, policies, procedures, and managing teams ranging from 20 to 800 people. While it was great that my career was advancing, I also felt like a horrible mom. I missed out on so many things: sporting events, birthdays, holidays, and just being around when my kids needed me. I am forever grateful to my husband, my best friend, for taking everything on and being there for our kids. My father-in-law and mother-in-law played an integral role in supporting our family. Our kids also have five amazing aunties, or as my sister says, “mom-ties”. These wonderful people stepped up to fill in for me when I could not be there.

During COVID, I was temporarily laid off because the hotel had to close. This was another challenging time for our family. My husband started working a few months before I was laid off. He was able to work through COVID to provide for our family. I was home for nine months and had to navigate where I fit in my family’s schedule and routine. By then our sons were 14 and 16 years old. Having mommy home was great, but it was different from what they had been accustomed to. This also gave me time to re-evaluate my priorities. I decided to go back to my roots and focus on my foundation of faith and learning to strengthen me and my family. I enrolled in an online MBA program to start working on my master’s degree. I also focused on strengthening my relationship with my sons. Those nine months ended up being the recharge and realignment I needed. Eventually, the hotel reopened, and I was called to return to work. When I returned, I struggled feeling like I could not continue doing this because I needed to prioritize my family. My husband agreed, so I left the hotel. Even though I knew it was the right thing to do for my family, it was still difficult because I built so many great relationships over the years.

I know exactly what it’s like to carry the burden of having a guilty conscience. I had something I needed to confess to my bishop, but it was of such a personal nature that I was horrified of telling him about it. To make matters worse, my bishop was also my neighbor. Every day I would see him and I would feel so uncomfortable when he’d smile at me and ask me how things were going. I knew deep in my heart that I needed to talk to him, but I needed strength and courage. I decided one day to fast and pray and search the scriptures for an answer and strength. I came across several scriptures that seemed to help me: Doctrine and Covenants 64:7; 82:1; 95:1; 98:47 [D&C 64:7; D&C 82:1; D&C 95:1; D&C 98:47]; Mosiah 26:29–30.

It is never easy for one to confess something one has done wrong, but if you will ask Heavenly Father for strength, he will bless you for it. He loves you as he loves all his children. I testify to you that by confessing and sharing your problems with your bishop, you will feel so much better. It will help take the weight off your shoulders and you can start on the road to forgiveness.

Name withheld

I want to talk to you young men about this priesthood and tell you a story or two from our family experience. Several years ago our sons would spend their time during the summer on their grandfather’s ranch. Twelve years ago one of our sons had a horse. It had been given to him when it was born. It had been running with a wild herd of horses on the ranch. It was now two years old, time that it could be broken to ride. Early one summer we went to the ranch. It took all day to get the horses into the corral. Finally we had my son’s horse in a chute and put a heavy halter on it. We put a big rope on it and tied it to a big post. “Now the horse must stay there for two or three days,” I told him, “until it quits fighting the rope, until it settles down.” We worked with it during the morning, and then we went in to eat. He hurried with his meal and then went out to his horse. He was 14. He loved that horse.
Just as we finished the meal, I heard a noise, and I heard him shout. I knew what had happened. He had untied the horse. I had told him not to, but he was going to work with it. In order to hold the horse, he had wrapped the rope around his wrist. As I came out the door, I saw that horse run by. My son was running after it with great big steps, pulled by the horse; and then he fell. If the horse had turned right, it would have gone out the gate into the mountains. It turned left and was cornered by two fences. While it was trying to find its way out, I got the rope off my boy’s wrist and the end of the rope around the post. He was bruised but not badly hurt.
In a little while we had the horse tied up again, and we sat down for a father and son lesson. I said to him this: “My boy, if you are ever going to control that horse, you will have to use something besides your muscles. The horse is bigger than you are; it is stronger than you are. Someday you can ride that horse, but it will have to be trained. You cannot train it with your muscles. It is bigger than you are; it is stronger than you are; and it is wild.”
Two years later we went to the ranch in the spring. This horse had been running all winter with the herd. We went to find it. We found the herd of horses down by the river. I knew if we went too close, they would run. So this boy and his sister took a bucket with some oats and walked quietly to the edge of the meadow. The horses began to move away slowly. Then he whistled, and his horse came out of the herd and trotted up to my boy. We had learned a great lesson. Much had happened in those two years. He had used more than his muscles.
After that near accident had happened, he was frightened. He had disobeyed. And he said, “Dad, what should we do?” And I said, “This is the way we will do it. And one day that horse will run up to you.” He had been prepared and had learned a great lesson.

5:44 a.m. I’m flying through crisp air over lush, green forests and endless rivers, everything peaceful all around.
5:45 a.m. Beep! Beep! Beep! I’m jolted awake, and a frantic hand shoots out of my cocoon of blankets to hit snooze on my first alarm clock. I barricade myself under blankets and drift back to sleep. What happened to the rivers? I try to resume flight, but to no avail. …
5:54 a.m. Beep! Beep! Beep! Shocked back into consciousness, I hit snooze again. I try to open my impossibly heavy eyelids. Everything is a dark blur. Is it always this foggy in here? I have a German test today. I have to stock shelves at work tonight. …
6:03 a.m. Beep! Beep!—Thud! Seminary starts at seven. I have to run eight 200-meter sprints in track today. Chad wants me to quit my job and apply where he works. …
6:12 a.m. Beep! Beep!—Wham! Will Chad’s store hire me if I quit my current job? Isn’t there a permanent record of employment or something? I’m so tired. …
6:21 a.m. Beep! Beep! No more beeping, please. Ugh, my retainer tastes like glue. That English paper is due tomorrow—500 words on The Great Gatsby. But what if I don’t think it’s so great? Has anybody ever died trying to get out of bed? I think I just might be the first. …
6:30 a.m. Buzzzzzzzz! Smack! I hit the off switch of the second alarm clock. Now I have to get up for real. I hate mornings. There’s nothing more difficult than getting out of a warm bed—so, why did I take seminary at seven?
I stumble out of bed and head for the shower.
6:35 a.m. I’m dressed and combing my hair. How do you say, “I can’t take my test today because my German skills slept in,” in German?
6:41 a.m. I pour a bowl of cereal. How do I go to work and tell them I want to quit? Do I want to quit?
6:45 a.m. I finish brushing my teeth. My aching legs complain all the way to the truck. What if they fall off this afternoon after the sixth 200-meter sprint? Would the coaches still make me run the other two?
6:48 a.m. I sit in the cold cab of my grumpy old truck, the engine shuddering. I can let the engine warm up until 6:52. I close my eyes, fold my arms, and bow my head.
I pray silently. Sitting in the cab of the shivering truck, I pray for health, for success in my classes and sports, for the Spirit to be with me, to be kind to everyone I encounter.
The shivering subsides. The cab is still cold, but I’m warmer now—at least inside—and my mind is calm.
6:52 a.m. Timed just right. I glide through the traffic signals—nothing but green lights.
6:56 a.m. I park in the lot across from the seminary building, jump out of the pickup, trot across the street, and scurry into the building.
6:58 a.m. As I walk into class, the warmth I felt inside me while praying builds. My teacher greets me with a warm handshake. “Hello, there! It’s good to see you this morning!”
“It’s good to be here!” I exclaim in return, a smile breaking through my pillow-creased face. The English paper, German test, track workouts, job, early morning blues—all my worries and anxieties—are left out in the cold. I’m certain they’ll reappear after class, and that’s OK; I’ll be ready for them.
And then I remember—this is why I chose seminary at seven. There’s no better way to start the day.

Saint John, New Brunswick—
Growing up in a ward with relatively few young people my age was difficult. Although our stake was quite large, it was spread over such an enormous geographical area that developing meaningful and regular association with other young people in the gospel was nearly impossible.
Life was a constant challenge with all of my friends being nonmembers, and many of them not attending any church at all. When I was 14, I began to challenge the authority around me. To my parents’ credit, they remained firm and steadfast, and never wavered in their guidance or discipline. Despite my constant refusing of alcohol, drugs, and all the other activities which had become regular weekend occurrences among my friends, I remained confused and frustrated.
That year, as always, I took part in our stake temple trip. Living in the Saint John New Brunswick Stake meant an 18-hour journey to the temple in Toronto. Three buses filled with young people began the trip, and I spent the entire week with the youth of our stake. The week was full of excitement and enjoyment. We went shopping, we visited the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York, and had a wonderful testimony meeting on the temple grounds. However, it was during my work in the temple that I would witness one of the most incredible experiences in my life.
I had long been aware that people experience gifts of the Spirit in different ways. For many, it is the familiar still, small voice. For others, a warm sensation or a chill running up their spine. It was after having served as a proxy for a set of baptisms and confirmations that I realized my own ability to interpret the Spirit.
I was sitting quietly looking on as my friends entered and exited the font. I was overcome with a feeling of peace and warmth when suddenly I looked up and was amazed at what I beheld. I watched as the room in its entirety and all its contents began to radiate an aura of light. It was an incredibly brilliant, golden white, and it encompassed everything.
Suddenly I realized I was privileged to have been worthy to enter the temple that day. All the confusion and frustration I had felt because of the challenge of living the gospel vanished. I knew that I was party to a higher realm of existence, one of indescribable beauty and wonder.
I know without a doubt that we all have personal access to divine guidance. Living the gospel standards assures that we are all ready and able to receive the delicate intuitions that are necessary for our progression.
The strength of the Holy Ghost is more than just a tool for helping us determine right or wrong. It flows through us and gives us the power to make positive changes in the world around us.

Several years ago I was running early in the morning on the day before Thanksgiving with a group of women. We called it our Thanksgiving run, and as we ran we called out things for which we were thankful. I had just finished saying that I was thankful for a strong, healthy body when I slipped and fell on a patch of black ice on the road. As I tried to get up, I realized that I was badly hurt. I knew I had broken my leg just above the ankle—and I won’t say how I knew or I could faint right here on the spot. My husband said that if I had been an NFL football player, I would have made the highlight films that night.

As I lay there in the road in the shadows of the early morning light, waiting for help to arrive, I saw the lights of a car come speeding down the road right toward where I lay. The car screeched to a stop, and a man jumped out. He said he had thought I was a garbage bag in the road and almost kept going. I asked if he were a member of the Church, and he replied that he was. I asked if he could give me a blessing because the pain was so severe I didn’t know how long I could stay in that condition. He paused and then said: “I can’t. You better wait for your husband to do that.” Then he got in his car and drove away.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was wheeled into a little cubicle in the emergency room where I waited to be taken into surgery. As they moved the curtains to the side, there were my husband and all five of our sons. As they encircled me and laid their hands on my head, I felt their purity, their power, and their strength. Young men, priesthood men, keep yourselves pure so that you may be able to use your priesthood power at a moment’s notice. That day I was blessed by their priesthood power, which they exercised in virtue and holiness.

When I was about 16, we had an activity about being a full-time missionary. We divided into pairs and lived like missionaries for a week. That was the first time I learned how important it is to share our testimonies with others. This activity helped me realize not only how hard it is to serve the Lord, but also the joy we feel by sharing the gospel and seeing how Christ’s teachings change someone’s life. It helped me understand what it is like to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

This was not your typical Sunday morning. On this particular February Sunday, members were encouraged to gather after sacrament meeting, and some leaders even ended services early, sending volunteers to help their neighbors.
Over 150 youth and adults from the La Crescenta California Stake gathered with shovels, wheelbarrows, and their bright yellow Mormon Helping Hands vests to help move mud. Torrential rains, combined with mountains of earth exposed because of burned-off vegetation, had sent rivers of mud down residential neighborhoods in their area. Homes had three to four feet of mud surrounding them and several feet of mud inside as well.
Volunteers cleared pathways though the mud so that homeowners could get to their belongings and salvage what had not been destroyed. Katie Callister, a Mia Maid in the La Canada Second Ward, said, “I really wanted to help shovel the mud out of the damaged homes, but when I got there I saw the terrible destruction. Seeing the residents’ faces turn from devastation to gratitude was such an amazing experience. It made me feel so happy to know that I was helping someone so much and at the same time serving the Lord.”
Tons of mud, rock, debris, and people’s belongings were moved that day by the youth and adults wearing those yellow vests. Many residents commented that they were touched that teenagers would give up their Sunday afternoon to help strangers.

Next day we visited the Global Expo centre. It was the most emotional day, seeing 2,800 refugees living without basic medical help, and a mountain of volunteers in dire need of additional financial help. The volunteers, from many different churches, were addressing spiritual as well as physical needs. We were with Bellwether International, a human-rights nonprofit organisation, and with them we were able to give socks and other practical clothing.

One year ago last September, my wife and I were in Rome attending a worldwide conference of the heads of broadcasting networks.

Our group of about 150 media executives was invited to Castel Gandolfo, the Pope’s summer palace just outside of Rome along the Appian Way. We gathered in a small palace courtyard and listened to Pope John Paul’s admonition to use the media for better purposes than merely making money. These are his words:

Precisely because the Church is deeply concerned for man and his needs, including those needs that remain unexpressed, she desires to direct the attention of those working in communications to ideals that are at once more lofty and more worthy of man. The Church appreciates the tremendous possibilities offered by the communications media, but she is not convinced that they have to be used as poorly as they sometimes are. For this reason she encourages all efforts to improve not only the technical and artistic quality of radio and television, but also and more importantly, its human quality.

Pope John Paul then went on to say:

The Church appeals to the consciences of individuals employed in social communications and likewise to government leaders and all those to whom radio and television programs are directed. She asks them to make every effort to demand higher quality radio and television programs. Audiences should not be seen as simply the passive recipients of messages that all too often tend to manipulate and exploit.

What an extraordinary message, given to the world’s most influential and powerful broadcasters and given in terms that were unmistakably clear!

What a remarkable experience for me, because earlier that same September, Elder James E. Faust said almost the same thing in his BYU fireside address here in the Marriott Center. Elder Faust told us that we are responsible for our media choices and that we must take great care in making them.