Gospel Story Finder

I recall that he lent to young men on different occasions the money necessary to meet their expenses in their study of medicine. He, of course, charged no interest for such loans, which were ultimately paid. At various times when I have met these men since the completion of their studies and their entrance into the field of medicine, they have wept with appreciation for the help thus extended to them, without which it would not have been possible for them to accomplish their ambitions.

It isn’t always easy to reach a Book of Mormon reading goal, so the young women of the Hemet Third Ward, Hemet California Stake, set up a study buddy program where each person drew the name of partner to help encourage each other to read their two pages a day.
At the end of the nine-month program, more than half of the girls and leaders finished the entire book, and it was time for a celebration. They held a “Book of Mormon Fest,” with games like “Get the Gadiantons,” where the girls threw darts at balloons labeled with the names of Book of Mormon bad guys, and “The Mock Walk,” where the girls had to walk a beam representing the straight and narrow path while being mocked with laughter.

It was a warm summer morning as Josh followed his dad into the hardware store. Outside, bees hummed and sprinklers hissed, but inside everything was cool and quiet. Josh stood at the window and watched a bee bump against the glass.
Then something on a shelf caught his eye—a pocketknife gleaming in the sunlight near the window. Josh was sure he could use a knife like that for all sorts of things. But he didn’t ask Dad if he could buy it. He already knew what Dad would say: “You should wait until you’re a Boy Scout to get a pocketknife.” Josh didn’t want to wait until then. He wanted a pocketknife right now.
Josh looked over his shoulder. Dad was busy paying the cashier for some work gloves. Josh snatched the knife and put it in his pocket.
“Ready to go?” Dad asked.
Josh followed Dad to the car, his heart thumping like the bee against the window. As they drove away, Josh smiled. No one had noticed! The knife was his.
So why did it feel like a heavy rock in his pocket?
By the time Josh got home, he felt like he had a rock in his stomach too. Josh went to his room and took out the knife. It didn’t seem to gleam anymore. Josh tried to imagine what kinds of things he’d use it for, but he couldn’t think of any. Besides, if he took the knife out of his room, Dad might see it.
Josh felt anxious all day. The knife’s weight in his pocket kept reminding him of the wrong choice he had made. He had to get rid of it.
“Can I ride my bike?” he asked Mom.
“Yes, just be home in time for dinner,” Mom said.
Josh hurried to get his bicycle from the garage and pedaled onto the sidewalk.
“Hey, Josh! Where are you going?” Josh’s brother Tanner called from his friend Chris’s yard.
Josh didn’t slow down. He raced to the end of the street, where a brick wall was built into a hillside. Josh found a crack between the bricks and stuffed the pocketknife into the dark hole. No one would know what he’d done. Now he could forget about it too.
A few hours later, Tanner and Chris burst into the house. “Look what we found!” Tanner held up the pocketknife.
Josh tried not to look guilty. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
“We followed a bee,” Tanner said.
“You followed a bee?” Mom repeated.
“We were bored,” Tanner said. “We chased the bee to the end of the street. It crawled into a hole in the brick wall, and that’s where the pocketknife was.”
Josh felt sick. Even though he’d hidden the knife, Heavenly Father knew where it was. He went to his room and counted the dollar bills in his wallet. Then he prayed for the courage to tell the truth. When he got up from his knees, the anxiousness in his mind quieted. He felt a little nervous about telling his parents and the cashier at the hardware store what he had done, but he felt lighter than he had all day—like a bee zipping over the rooftops toward home.

We see this promise fulfilled in the lives of faithful people. It was a little over a year ago that I was privileged to meet Travis and Kacie. They were married civilly in 2007. At the time, Travis was not a member of the Church. Kacie, though raised in an active Latter-day Saint home, had drifted from her faith in her teens and had strayed from her foundation.

In 2018, Travis met the missionaries, and he was baptized in 2019. Travis became a missionary to Kacie, who also experienced a life-changing conversion. They were sealed in the temple in September 2020. About two years after his baptism, Travis was called to serve in the bishopric.

Travis has a rare disease that continuously forms clusters of tumors in his internal organs. He has undergone many surgeries to remove the recurring tumors, but the disease is incurable. Several years ago, Travis was given fewer than 10 years to live.

Kacie has retinitis pigmentosa, a rare genetic disease that causes irreversible narrowing of the field of vision until complete blindness sets in.

Kacie spoke to me of her future. She anticipated the time, not far distant, when she would be widowed, blind, without financial support, and left alone to raise four growing children. I asked Kacie how she could handle such a bleak future. She smiled peacefully and said, “I have never been happier or more hopeful in my life. We hold to the promises we received in the temple.”

Travis is now the bishop. Two months ago he had another major surgery. But he is optimistic and peaceful. Kacie’s vision has worsened. She now has a guide dog and is unable to drive. But she is content, raising her children and serving as a counselor in the Young Women presidency.

Travis and Kacie are building their house on the rock. Travis and Kacie trust the doctrine of Christ and the promise that God “shall consecrate [their] afflictions for [their] gain.” In God’s perfect plan, suffering with faith in Christ is linked to our becoming perfected in Christ. Like the wise man in the parable who built his house upon a rock, when the rain descends and the floods come and the winds blow and beat upon the house Travis and Kacie are building, it will fall not, for it will be founded upon a rock.

Every call to serve is a human drama in the life of the recipient. I am certain that such has been the case with each of the Brethren who earlier today were sustained as new General Authorities. Let me share with you some marvelous lessons from the life of one of these Brethren, Jay E. Jensen, as recently reported in the Church News (“Spiritual Foundation Set Early in Life,” 8 Aug. 1992, pp. 6, 14).
Elder Jensen speaks of turning points in his life. His spiritual awakening began when he was a small boy growing up in Mapleton, Utah. His parents held family night long before it became a Church program. He recalled that his father read to him lessons from the Book of Mormon. His mother’s deep love for books also had a favorable impact on her son. However, it was when he read for himself Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision that the witness of its truth became a reality.
Upon graduation from high school, young Jay and his sweetheart, Lona, decided to get married and not wait for a call to serve a mission. “It nearly broke my father’s heart,” Elder Jensen related. “Mother told me that Dad just wept.”
Two weeks later, and before wedding plans were finalized, Jay and Lona attended a sacrament meeting where a returned missionary reported his mission. The Spirit touched their hearts. They concluded to postpone marriage. Jay arose, went to the bishop’s office, and reported for missionary service. The rest is history. Jay served in the Spanish-American Mission.
Lona moved to California for employment and served a stake mission. Upon the completion of Jay’s mission, they were married in the Manti Temple. Elder Jensen’s father lived long enough to see his son serve an honorable mission and marry in the temple. Sister Jensen has often said that sending her husband-to-be on a mission was the hardest thing she ever did, but that it was the most rewarding. “I would never do it differently. We could never have been as happy otherwise.”
Today, Jay and Lona serve in Guatemala. He is a member of the Central America Area Presidency.

Three years ago my family and I were sealed in the Orlando Florida Temple. The temple was as white as snow on the outside and I could feel God’s Spirit on the inside. When I was brought into the sealing room, I felt the Spirit so strong that I was trembling! It was good to have my brother there too. I felt so reverent. Now my testimony of the temple is very strong. I know that it is the house of the Lord.Keegan G., age 8, Florida

Life was still difficult, so much so that I left home for a brief time to give myself moments of reflection. I went to a friend’s house outside of Abidjan. One day around 6 am, a voice said to me: “Get up quickly and join your children in Abidjan”.
When I arrived, my children taught me that they should be baptized at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, whose missionaries had previously taught my children, but to whom I paid little attention because I was not attracted to religions. I was therefore invited to attend the baptism of my children at the Quatre Etages Ward.
Bishop Etian’s speech had a positive impact on me. It was the story of the “King with the Severed Finger” told by Muslim folk wisdom. A king had a finger cut off during the hunt and imprisoned his advisor who told him to let Allah (God) prevail in all things. Sometime later the king and his retinue were captured in the bush by cannibals who did not want him because of his disability. He was therefore the only one released and his life spared. He ran to deliver his servant, apologizing profusely. The latter replied that God is never wrong and that everything works together for our good. He said, “If you hadn’t put me in jail, I would be with you, captured, devoured by the cannibals, and probably dead today.”
From that moment on, I made a firm resolution to take my life and that of my children totally into my own hands by being baptized. From then on, I decided to forgive my husband for the wrongs I had suffered. My husband is still not in our home, but I have a more brotherly and kinder relationship with him through the power of forgiveness. I undertook income-generating activities that have allowed me to provide for my family and especially to ensure the schooling of my children for more than 15 years. Today, two of my daughters are starting careers as teachers in public schools. My last son has just been admitted to the university for which I am looking for ways to finance the courses. They make me proud. I have been able to go to the Accra Ghana Temple where I was endowed and sealed to my deceased parents.
I hope one day to be able to remarry in the temple to have an eternal marriage. The lessons I draw from my life is that everything works together for the good of one who believes in God.

What I charge you with today is what I charge myself with, which is to discover more creative solutions to working these concepts into our everyday lives. You can tell this has changed my life a lot. I hope you can tell that it really has. When I was working on this research four years ago, I came home with a chapter from a book that showed these data analyses, and my wife read it. She reads everything I write. She tells me pretty honestly when it’s not so good. She read the chapter and said, “I think this is really something. I think we can use this.”

“Yeah, we should give more,” I answered. “We should write bigger checks. We should take this seriously.”

She said, “No, no, no. I think we should do something bigger. I think we should adopt a baby.”

And I said, “Sweetheart, it’s only a book.
But I had no argument. We had to do it. And we did it. It was the best thing we ever did. And that changed our lives even more.

As for your money being cheerfully refunded, I can’t guarantee that, but I promise you that this stuff really works. It works—if you want—because of God in heaven, or it works—if you want—because of your neurochemistry, but it really works, and I leave you with that and one more thought.

As an American citizen and as a person with great delight to be here at BYU and living in this great country, one of the things that I’ve learned as a result of my research is that I’m a happy prosperous person because I live in a country with people who serve. Because you give to your churches and the causes that you care about here in Utah, I have a richer, happier, and healthier life even though I live in Washington, D.C. So for all that you do between your student life and your giving and your missions and everything else that characterizes your life of service that helps me so much, my last words to you are thank you.
© Arthur C. Brooks.

During the early years of our marriage, Cathy and I established the practice of family prayer and family scripture study. The memory of our sometimes discouraging efforts came back to me during general conference as Elder David A. Bednar told us that as he and his wife attempted to hold family home evening or family scripture reading, often one or the other of their boys would say, “He’s touching me!” or “Make him stop looking at me!” or “Mom, he’s breathing my air!” (“More Diligent and Concerned at Home,”Ensign, November 2009, 19).
As I read from the scriptures during these early mornings, the children’s eyes were often closed. “Kids, listen up,” I would say. “Dad, we’re meditating,” came the sleepy reply. Or when I would stop to explain a particular scripture, I heard more than once, “Dad, don’t talk about it. Just read it.” We wondered if we were doing any good at all. Now our children have children of their own. And they are having family prayer and family scripture study. And their children close their eyes to “meditate” as the parents are reading. Maybe closed eyes do not indicate completely closed connections.

The first Sunday after the fires arrived was a day of sacred memories on Maui. Unable to access two of our church buildings (which were miraculously and thankfully spared), we combined several of our congregations together for sacrament meetings in the same church building serving as the primary shelter for evacuees. Many of these evacuees joined together with the very members who had been serving them food, preparing their bedding, handing out baby supplies, and providing a myriad of other resources. We united, visitors and members alike, in reverence as the emblems of our Savior’s Atonement were passed along the same pews on which many of them had just spent the previous nights sleeping.

I feel to share a scripture with you that comes to my mind about this:
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.”
And I think it would be okay if I add: “I was caught in a devastating fire and ye took me in.”
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. [4]

There was such a tender closeness in this church building, and the other church buildings, serving as shelters on the island of Maui because we were trying to serve others the way we thought that the Savior would serve if He was there. And, many of us felt that as people slept on those pews, there couldn’t be anything more beautiful. And, that the Savior was truly pleased with what we were doing.

During one of the meetings, a remarkable bishop whose family lost their home and all their belongings, and whose ward lost a beautiful family in the fire, bore a powerful testimony in both English and Tongan. As he humbly spoke to all in attendance, he said something I was certain many in the congregation had also felt about this uncertain time,: “I was not prepared for this.” After he said these words, an impression immediately and clearly came into my mind: He was uniquely prepared for this.

This uniquely prepared bishop spoke of his love for those in attendance, and bore testimony of the Savior’s love and atoning power. Amidst his own sorrow, he—like so many on Maui at this time—offered words of light and encouragement.

Then something happened which I will never forget. The Tongan saints sang “Ko Hoku Tauhi ‘a Sihova (The Lord is My Keeper).” [5] If you have heard the Tongan people sing together, you know what a special experience it can be. Hearing them sing, and at times attempting to sing along with them, is one of the great blessings of my calling at this time. But this particular hymn and these particular saints seemed to gather the grief of an entire island into their hearts. It felt as though the building shook as their powerful voices lifted heavenward. Many eyes were wet with tears, including those whose eyes were tightly closed while singing to the heavens in faith with all their souls.

It felt as though we were surrounded by light and that heaven’s angels joined in their beautiful harmonies. Now imagine with me this beautiful truth: every one of these people singing, and all the others throughout this church building—both when it was a shelter and when it was the place of our Sunday worship—each was uniquely prepared for what they were facing. They were lifting each other up, “mourn[ing] with those that mourn[ed]… and comfort[ing] those that [stood] in need of comfort.” [6]

This concept helped me understand God when I was investigating the church at the age of 16. I can vividly remember the moment I finally decided to get baptized into the Church. I was standing on the shore at Honoli'i Beach Park in Hilo. Wet, holding my surfboard, I was staring out into the surf which I had just finished riding. I was mesmerized by a large dark storm cloud approaching from out in the ocean. As I watched the winds and waves grow from the ominous squall moving closer and closer toward me, I felt small and a little intimidated. This experience reminded me that 1) God is powerful and 2) I needed to commit my life to him in order to be confident in a sometimes-frightening world.

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.
One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:
“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”
I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

Wade remembers making the mistake of asking his brother for advice on what to wear the first day of junior high. “If you really want to make an impression,” his brother told him, “wear a suit and tie.” Wade believed him, donned the suggested attire, and set out for school. When he realized his mistake, he wanted to go home and kick his brother.
Even with such an embarrassing start, Wade managed to have a decent year. He realized that what you wear is not half as important to other people as it is to you. Most people hardly notice.

Knock, knock, knock. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. 5:55 a.m. Pound, pound, pound. It sounded like a mallet was being used to beat down the front door of our condo in downtown Nashville. My husband stirred next to me but was too tired from our late night assembling toys and stuffing stockings to get up. It was early Christmas morning, and the warm lights on the tree in the corner greeted me as I stumbled, still half asleep, to the door.
I opened it to see two young police officers with alarm on their faces. They quickly informed me that there was a public safety threat in the area, and we needed to evacuate immediately. Shocked and a bit exasperated, I said, “It’s 20 degrees outside, it’s Christmas, and we have kids—is this really necessary?”
At the mention of my children, one of the officers froze. “You have kids? Please, get them and leave as quickly as you can.” I could see the fear in her eyes.
Right then the Holy Ghost delivered a very clear, stern warning to my heart, and I knew we needed to get out immediately. I hurried to inform my sleeping husband that we had to leave. I was met with the same questions and groggy reluctance I had just expressed myself, when the Holy Ghost’s warning returned to my heart more urgently than before. I began to panic. I had no idea what threat my family was facing, but I knew we were in real danger.
I pulled my four-year-old from his bed while my husband went to get the baby from the crib. Carrying my confused, sleepy son down the hall in my arms, I covered his eyes to preserve the surprise of what Santa had left for him—the scene I thought we would be running toward as soon as we opened our eyes, not running from. As we hurried to the front door, I glanced back with longing at that scene adorning our condominium: Christmas presents glittering under the tree, backed by hanging stockings; gingerbread houses proudly decorated and on display; the kitchen full of our favorite holiday foods, ready for a Christmas feast. All the makings of a joyful celebration for our family.
Still in our pajamas, we bundled our children in whatever coats and shoes were in the entryway; then I grabbed the scantily prepared diaper bag and walked out. I closed the door, expecting to be gone only a short time and eager to return to the magical morning we had planned with our boys.
Moments later, we were in the car pulling away from our building. As we drove down the street, we noticed the flashing lights on emergency vehicles illuminating downtown and looking almost festive against the unusual Christmas snow that had fallen overnight.
Suddenly … boom! In stunned terror, we turned to watch as a blazing fireball engulfed our street and filled the sky. A bomb had detonated in front of our building.
I took this photo of our street moments after the explosion. The bomb detonated 30 feet from the front door of our building.
There were flames, smoke, and hundreds of broken windows, alarms blaring, cars exploding, water pouring out of unknown places, and our beautiful row of historic brick buildings crumbling to the ground.
In an instant, we were left homeless.
Our only physical possessions were now reduced to the clothes on our backs, the diaper bag, and the car we were driving.
The hours that followed were a blur—our phones constantly ringing with calls or pinging with texts from concerned friends and family, most of which we were unable to answer.
In the midst of it all, I felt an urgent need to call my aunt, whom I’ve probably called five times in my entire life. But every time I see her, she always seems to say something that my soul needs.
When she answered, I was surprised by her upbeat and confident response. “Noelle,” she said, “this is a miracle! You got out!” She continued, “This is only the first of many miracles. Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
I wanted to believe my aunt—to believe in Him. But the grief was real, and the tears were many. The problems seemed too complex to solve, and our hearts seemed too broken to mend. There were times when I would crumble beneath the weight of trying to rebuild an entire life from scratch. I wondered quietly, and desperately, “Will He really lead us now? What will we do if He doesn’t come?” But during the weeks and months following the explosion, we watched in amazement as my aunt’s faithful prediction proved true, and our broken hearts were bound up again and again. I did not know that extreme grief and profound gratitude could co-exist.
Although our hands were empty of the gifts we left under the tree that devastating morning, we were comforted by the words of Moroni that the gifts Christ gives us “never will be done away, even as long as the world shall stand” (Moroni 10:19). Our home was no longer standing, but the Spirit of the Lord stood firmly by our side. In exchange for gifts in wrappings and ribbons, we were blessed with the gift of “the beholding of angels and ministering spirits” (Moroni 10:14).
It is my belief that most of the miracles we see in our lives come through the helping hands of others. We are the workers of many of God’s miracles on the earth. We can often recognize these miracles—these tender mercies—by their timing.
The officers who knocked on our door woke us with just enough time to get our family out.
We drove away to safety—just in time.
In the immediate aftermath, we needed to replace the basic necessities to live, but I was in shock, overwhelmed, and unable to respond to the many wonderful inquiries that came to us of “What do you need? How can we help?” Then came the rescuing phone call from a friend. She said, “I’m standing in the middle of Walmart. I am just going to start saying items that you might need; all you have to do is say yes or no. Shampoo, deodorant, diapers, baby food … ” Her call was inspired, and her list was extensive—and we needed every item.
We had to find a temporary place to live while we looked for a new home. Just as we began our search, a complete stranger reached out to us on Facebook and offered their beautiful guesthouse for us to live in for two months, rent free.
In a blistering real estate market, a couple getting ready to list their home offered it to us, off market, entertaining no other bids. It fit the needs of our family perfectly. Our closing date was set for the day that our temporary housing was ending.
Our friends tirelessly showed up when we needed them, over and over again, to carry us through the endless and complex challenges we faced. They came no matter what time of day or how long we needed them.
I began writing down each of these occurrences, and caught myself questioning some of them: “Are these really miracles? Are these just your garden-variety blessings? Are they even just mere coincidences?”
And then I remembered, it’s all about timing—my timing, your timing, and most important, the Lord’s timing.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said of tender mercies: “I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.”1
Timing was the common thread that connected many of these events. We had been carried through that difficult day and the many that followed by scores of earthly angels—who received specific promptings and promptly acted, performing miracles and tender mercies of every kind.
My aunt promised, “Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Through a series of miraculous events, He did lead us to where we needed to be, when we needed to be there, and to who we needed to become.
My precious family is alive today because miracles happen.
I hope that as we have witnessed and continue to witness miracles, we will become instruments in the Lord’s hands to deliver His miracles to our brothers and sisters—to be His angels of warning, His arms of comfort, His hands of shelter, His eyes of hope, His voice of love.
The author lives in Tennessee.

Young Men and their advisers from the Sacramento Seventh Ward, Sacramento California Cordova Stake, undertook a five-day, 206-mile bike trip from Lake Tahoe to Yosemite. The trip would take them over six mountain passes.
Eleven riders and two support drivers with vehicles for equipment, food, and room to carry injured or tired riders started on the trip. As they reached the top of each pass with burning lungs and muscles, they exulted in the beauty of the summits and the thoughts of a long downhill run.
Pedaling into Yosemite on the valley floor was one of the more memorable experiences for the group. Pride in their accomplishment combined with the knowledge that, with preparation and determination, they had an experience that will remain with them the rest of their lives.

In the face of persecution, Hyrum exhibited faith in the Lord’s promises, including a guarantee to escape his enemies if he so chose. In a blessing Hyrum received in 1835 under the hands of Joseph Smith, the Lord promised him: “Thou shalt have power to escape the hand of thine enemies. Thy life shall be sought with untiring zeal, but thou shalt escape. If it please thee, and thou desirest, thou shalt have the power voluntarily to lay down thy life to glorify God.”
In June 1844, Hyrum was presented the choice to live or to lay down his life to glorify God and to “seal his testimony with his blood”—side by side together with his beloved brother Joseph.
A week before the fateful trip to Carthage, where they were murdered in cold blood by an armed mob of cowards who had painted their faces to avoid detection, Joseph recorded that “I advised my brother Hyrum to take his family on the next steamboat and go to Cincinnati.”
I still feel great emotion as I remember Hyrum’s reply: “Joseph, I can’t leave you.’’
So Joseph and Hyrum went to Carthage, where they became martyrs for Christ’s cause and name.
The official announcement of the martyrdom stated the following: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, … has brought forth the Book of Mormon, which he translated by the gift and power of God, and has been the means of publishing it on two continents; has sent the fulness of the everlasting gospel, which it contained, to the four quarters of the earth; has brought forth the revelations and commandments which compose this book of Doctrine and Covenants, and many other wise documents and instructions for the benefit of the children of men; gathered many thousands of the Latter-day Saints, founded a great city, and left a fame and name that cannot be slain. … And like most of the Lord’s anointed in ancient times, [Joseph] has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood; and so has his brother Hyrum. In life they were not divided, and in death they were not separated!”

May I tell you of my own testimony concerning the benefits of Relief Society for single women?
After my husband’s sudden death several years ago, I felt that life was giving me more challenges than I should have. I felt a large amount of self-pity and rebellion to think that as a relatively young woman, I was facing the fact that I would probably spend the rest of my life alone. While I was wrestling with these problems, the opportunity came for me to accept a position at the headquarters of the Relief Society and to become a member of its general board. There was but one drawback—it required that I move far from my family and friends to Salt Lake City.
Of course, I accepted the calling and loved my work in it. But as satisfying as it was, I found that I still needed friends and companionship outside my world of work.
In Relief Society I found that I had friends in my ward. My testimony was strengthened as I participated in gospel studies and heard the testimonies of other sisters. It brought out my valuable feminine qualities, and I found opportunities for service, as well as for homemaking activities. It brought relief from some of the pressures of life and from loneliness, and it gave me a fresh point of view.

Damon; King; Pythias. (Illustrated by Dilleen Marsh.)
Damon hurried along the cold stone passageway beneath the castle. He was looking for his friend Pythias, who had been arrested by the king’s soldiers. Damon searched among the prisoners until he found Pythias, who was chained in a dim corner of the dungeon.
“Why did they bring you here, my friend?” asked Damon.
Pythias reached his hand between the narrow bars to touch his childhood friend. “I am accused of being a rebel,” Pythias answered. “But I did nothing.”
The two young men did not hear the outer door open as the king entered the dungeon. He stood listening to the boys talk.
“How can I help you?” asked Damon. “Shall I go to your parents and comfort them?”
“If only I could see them again … , ” said Pythias. “If only I could say farewell to them … then I would return again to prison.”
The king laughed aloud. “So, you would come back to die if I would release you to say good-bye to your parents?” the monarch asked skeptically.
“I would come back,” Pythias said simply. “I promise that I would come back.”
“How do I know that you would keep your promise?” roared the king. His eyes glared.
Damon stood before the king. “Let me stay here in his place. Pythias has always kept his word. You may execute me if he does not keep his promise.”
The king could not believe his ears. This would be an interesting story to tell—a boy willing to risk his life for the promise of a friend. “I will grant your wish, Pythias,” said the king, “if Damon will take your place.” And so it was. Pythias was released, and Damon was chained in his friend’s place.
Many days passed. The king came to the prison to taunt Damon. “You will die for your friend—he has not kept his promise!” jeered the king. “Pythias always keeps his word,” replied Damon calmly.
Finally the day of the execution arrived. Many people came to mock the boy who had entrusted his life to his friend. “We told you that he would not return,” they jeered.
“He will come if he can,” Damon said. “It is a long way, and he will come if he—”
“Here he comes!” shouted a soldier. “Pythias has returned!”
Damon smiled as Pythias rushed to take his place. Storms and misfortune had delayed him, and Pythias could hardly breathe after his hard run. “I made it, Damon!” he panted.
“I knew that you would,” his friend replied.
The king was amazed. Never had he known that there could be such friendship and loyalty. His heart softened, and he said, “Go, Damon and Pythias. Go back to your homes. Keeping your promise has set you free.” Then the king turned to the crowd and said, “I would give all my wealth to have one such friend.” (Adapted from “Love Fails Not,” Sharing Time Resource Manual, page 57.)

My great-grandfather was John Pack, one of the early members of the Church. One day he and his wife were surrounded by a mob of Mormon haters, and he was told to make a terrible choice: either he could say that he did not believe in the restored gospel and the Prophet Joseph Smith, or he would be shot on the spot. John Pack stood up straight, looked the men in the eye, and bore a strong testimony of the gospel and of the Prophet. One by one the members of the mob sneaked away, and the leader of the mob could get no one to carry out the evil deed.
John Pack, even at the threat of his life, chose the right and bore testimony of the truth. Ever since I first learned of that story, I have hoped that I would be willing, no matter what the temptation, to stand for what I know to be true and to always choose the right. John Pack’s example has been a source of strength for me.

Ironically, one of the most painful arguments James and I ever had occurred during companionship council. The conflict quickly and unexpectedly escalated past the point of rational conversation, and we were both hurt in the process. But that heartbreaking conflict that began in companionship council was also resolved in companionship council. We knew we would have another chance the next week and the next.
So after a week of pondering and cooling off, we tried again, and we eventually worked through our differences. I felt keenly the “personal peace and a burst of spiritual momentum” promised to us when we resolve conflicts in the Savior’s way. Every conflict we resolve with creativity and love will propel us forward and invite further influence from the Holy Ghost in our relationships.