Gospel Story Finder

Let’s all learn from my friend Mick. One day he was swimming at a party given by the company for which he was working that summer in Nebraska. He dove into the water and hit a shallow spot very hard. A broken neck was his diagnosis, and his whole body was immediately paralyzed. He even lost the capacity to breathe. The doctor said, “He may not make it through the night.”
He had earned a B.A. degree in political science after serving a mission in Japan. At the time of this tragic accident he had just one year left in law school at BYU. He was married and had two children. This tragic accident changed his whole life, as if from day to night. He wasn’t sure whether he would make it until the next day. It was inconceivable, the emotional and physical pain that he must go through as a quadriplegic.
Even though he was in this condition in the University of Utah Medical Center, he was determined to graduate from law school. It was an almost impossible task, but good friends, true Samaritans, brought him notes and taped lectures from Provo. Oh, God bless these true Christians. He turned pages by a mouthstick, and if his book flipped shut, he waited for a long time until someone came to help him.
Finally, he graduated from law school, passed the Utah bar exam, and became a licensed attorney. While he was studying, exercising, and maintaining doctor’s contact to gain strength, his wife took his two sons and divorced him. This was the most “sorrowful and very heavy” period of his life. (Matt. 26:37.) But he never complained and even blessed the leaving loved ones. In his heart he prayed, “Thy will be done, O Lord!” (Matt. 26:42.) It was his own Garden of Gethsemane, and he took his own cup and drank it as his blessing.
My friend Mick met a most beautiful lady, Cheryl. They married and now the greatest joy has come to their lives. His wife is expecting a baby. It is a miracle. The Lord said, “I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless.” Last Friday, they were sealed in the temple for time and for all eternity. It was my privilege to perform the ceremony for this beautiful couple.
His stake president, President Banks, described him as “a most humble person with strong faith,” and his secretary said of him, “Time has always been important to him. A span of a few brief seconds means the difference. He has no wasted time. He has accomplished more than ever.”

Before I came to teach at BYU, I—like many of you—had decisions before me as to which major to choose and, eventually, what to do with my life after graduation. I am thankful for prayer and for the inspiration that came through the Holy Ghost. When answers about which path to pursue did not come in the time I had hoped for, I learned to rely on faith and trust in God that whatever decision I moved forward with, He would guide me differently if that path was not the one I should take.

In my undergraduate years I initially started out in one major. However, in my second year, after receiving mostly C grades in a couple of courses for my major, I thought that I should be doing better in my major. I began seeking other avenues. In the university’s career center I searched through a book for potential career options. I stumbled across a description of a pediatric nutritionist. I became more excited as I read, and I felt that this might be my answer. I recalled taking a nutrition course in high school and thoroughly enjoying the class. After meeting with the academic counselor for nutrition science, I decided to switch majors. Given my current faculty position, you can probably guess that this major stuck. The course content was exciting to study, and I felt like I couldn’t wait to learn more in each class.

Looking back, I have been able to identify what made the difference, and this realization is the advice I share with students when they mention trying to decide on a major: find your passion and then work hard at it.

What you have done remarkably well together is to cherish, watch over, and comfort each other. I was a witness of that threefold miracle just one month ago in your service to one sister. As her father, I thank you and I want to extend my thanks to God, who guided one visiting teacher.
Our daughter Elizabeth, who lives in another state and time zone from us, was at home with her three-year-old daughter. Her other child was in her first week of kindergarten. Elizabeth was six months pregnant and looking forward to the birth of her third child, which the doctors said would be another girl. Her husband, Joshua, was away at his work.
When she saw that she was passing blood and that the flow was increasing, she called her husband on the phone. He told her to call for an ambulance and that he would meet her at the hospital, which was 20 minutes from her home. Before she could place the call, she heard a knock at the front door.
At the door she was surprised to see her Relief Society visiting teaching companion. They had no appointment for that morning. Her companion had simply felt she ought to come by to see Elizabeth.
She helped her into the car. They arrived at the hospital minutes before Joshua arrived from his work. The doctors decided in less than 20 minutes to take the baby by surgery to save Elizabeth and her baby. So a tiny girl came into the world, crying loudly, 15 weeks ahead of schedule. She weighed one pound, eleven ounces (765 g). But she was alive, and so was Elizabeth.
The words of Lucy Mack Smith were in part fulfilled that day. A faithful member of the Relief Society, prompted by the Holy Ghost, watched over, cherished, and comforted her sister in God’s kingdom. She and the tens of thousands of others who have given such inspired service over the generations have not only the thanks of those they helped and their loved ones but also of the Lord.
But the miracle of one Relief Society sister arriving to help just in time is multiplied through the power of a unified society of sisters. Here is just a part of the message Elizabeth’s bishop sent to Elizabeth and to Joshua at the hospital hours after the baby was born: “The Relief Society president has everything under control. We are already building a future plan to assist with your girls at home so Elizabeth can travel back and forth to the hospital while the unnamed cute baby remains there. We’ve done it before, long term, and [our] people jump at the chance.”
The bishop went on to say, speaking for himself and the ward: “We’ve even come to the hospital and sat with kids in the playroom when moms didn’t want to leave them somewhere else.”
And then: “We won’t execute our plan without coordination and concurrence from you, of course. Just wanted to let you know not to worry about the things we can [and will] do.”
What they did for my daughter made it possible for her to have a precious moment when she held, for the first time, her tiny daughter.
And then the bishop closed his message to Joshua and Elizabeth with one that sisters send out of their commitment across the earth to serve others for the Master: “Keep the faith.”

I wanted to feel the Spirit more in my life, so I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked how I could do that. I was in a quiet place and I opened the Book of Mormon.
I looked up “Holy Ghost” in the index. I found Alma 13:28, which says, “But that ye would humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear, and thus be led by the Holy Spirit.” This was a beautiful answer to my prayer. The answer to my prayer was prayer!
As I tried to humbly come before the Lord in prayer and ask for the Spirit, I was able to feel it more in my life. I felt like I had more opportunities to serve, and I felt more connected to Heavenly Father throughout my day.
Even though this was a simple answer to my simple question, it helped strengthen my testimony that when we ask in faith, we will receive the wisdom we need from God.
Olivia T., 13, Hawaii, USA

Sometimes you can wonder if your offers to be a catcher are ever hitting home. Upon graduation Kim and I packed up our belongings and our new little baby—who is now thirty-two years old—and headed for St. George, Utah, where I began my teaching career. We lived next door to Trish and her husband, Al. Trish wasn’t a member of the Church, and Al was a member but didn’t attend very often. We tried to do all the things a good neighbor does—plates of cookies, Christmas greetings, all that sort of thing—but we never received much reciprocation.

One day, out of the blue, I suggested to Kim that we purchase a gift subscription to the Ensign for Trish and Al. She is used to crazy suggestions from me, so she agreed.

A few months later, while riding my bike home from work, I noticed Trish was standing outside our home looking right at me with a sort of intense look.

I thought, “This is unusual.”

I stopped to greet her, and she asked, ”Are you the one who sent us the Ensign?”

I thought, “Uh oh, I’m in trouble now,” and I meekly replied, “Uh . . . yeah.” How’s that for being bold?

She said, “I want to thank you for sending it to us, and I have one question for you. Would you mind coming to my home and teaching me about your church?”

I baptized Trish three weeks later.

Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.

What a sacrifice these good sisters made! Some mothers lost their own lives in childbirth. Many babies did not survive. My wife’s grandmother, Elizabeth Riter, was born at Winter Quarters in the back of a covered wagon during a rainstorm. Fortunately, both the mother and the newborn infant survived. With great love for the woman who gave life to her, Elizabeth often lovingly recounted how an umbrella was held over her mother throughout the ordeal to shield her from the water leaking through the wagon’s cover.

South Wales Police were called to a home very close to the Bridgend Ward chapel, following a tragic and devastating incident resulting in the loss of a precious two-year-old boy.
The family and community were in shock, and the incident resonated beyond the immediate vicinity, as the details of it came to light. This sensitivity arose from another local domestic homicide, which had occurred a week earlier, when the life of a young five-year-old boy was lost.
One of the police officers called upon to assist in the investigation was Constable Jon Shorland, the elders quorum president for the ward, who was working an evening shift. That very day President Shorland had been engaged with the incident in a Church capacity. A request had been posted on social media by a local resident enquiring if the chapel could be opened for members of the public to attend, lay flowers, and grieve. Never had such a request been made before.
President Shorland immediately requested permission from the stake president, Jason Spragg, and set to work coordinating the ward’s response to the local need. Shortly afterwards, the opening of the building and the attendance of full-time missionaries and ward council members was organised, and the opportunity for anyone to attend was advertised on social media.
Several members of the community, along with Church members, subsequently attended to lay flowers and to pay their respects. Messages were written on decorative hearts provided by the stake Relief Society president, Carolyn Davies, who had been given them only a week before as a donation from the Welsh Millennium Centre.
That evening, the specialist team, in which President Shorland was attached, were deployed to the scene, and this tested their emotional resilience.
Following the completion of their duties, and to President Shorland’s surprise, he was called upon by one of his colleagues to say a prayer. This colleague mustered the team of nine officers on to the front lawn of the family home, where they stood reverently in prayer.
President Shorland was impressed by his colleagues, almost all having no religious affiliation, and their desire to take part. All left uplifted and comforted.
Over the following days, the entire family of the deceased boy attended the chapel, while it was open, where they displayed incredible faith and were extremely grateful for the ward’s response.
A two-minute silence was also held for both boys during sacrament service that following Sunday, to which all members, family and the community were invited.
The next day, President Shorland was contacted directly by the family asking if they could attend to grieve collectively without the public or media representatives being present. He made the necessary arrangements. Time was spent in the chapel reading the messages and in a prayerful reflection. President Shorland said it had an “extremely spiritual impact” on him.
The donation of the hearts, President Shorland’s pastoral response and attendance at the incident as a police officer, the family contacting him and the availability of missionaries and members, and their desire to help, were all blessings for affected individuals and families, and the community.
Locally, the Church has a relatively small membership and is somewhat unknown to the public, but the circumstances and the ward’s response illustrate the depth and majesty of the Lord’s influence in the daily lives of all in the community.
Said the Bridgend full-time missionaries: “As missionaries, we speak a lot about baptism, how it’s a commandment, how we can be forgiven of our sins, and become a member of Christ’s Church. However, during our time acting as servants to the community, offering consolation and refuge for those experiencing horrible loss, we recall the covenant we make at baptism, in addition to every other: ‘To mourn with those that mourn; … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ (Mosiah 18:9). It was sobering to act as representatives of Christ at the chapel, offering hopeful words to those who came there with heavy hearts. The gospel is a joyous thing; because of Christ, there is peace and comfort to be found even in the hardest times.”

Norberto and his family were brought into the Church through an uncle they call “Ton Ton.” Ton Ton bought their family a subscription to the Church magazine in French in 1985. So when he visited the family in 1991, they already had an idea of what the Church was about. Ton Ton said, “The Church has now come to Madagascar. Let’s go find it.”

They found the meetinghouse, but the first time the family attended, Norberto’s father, Elie, couldn’t go. He still had responsibilities with the young men’s group in another church. Norberto’s mother, Esther, came home from that first meeting and told her husband, “We’ve found the right church.” Elie went with them the next week, and the entire family accepted the gospel. Norberto was a baby at the time. He was baptized when he turned eight, even though he was afraid to go under the water.

Elder Choules served in the Marine Corps during World War II. “When I returned from the service,” he said, “the bishop talked to me the first Sunday I went to church about going on a mission. As I thought about going on a mission, I thought that when I returned I might be too old to start college. As I look back on the day that I told the bishop that I would go, the things that motivated me the most were my father’s teaching and the fact that I had always planned on going on a mission.”

During the night a little bird had been blown from its nest by the high winds in the storm. Apparently hatched just a few days earlier, it had few feathers, but enough to be identified as just a common sparrow.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman walking to her car in the parking lot saw the little sparrow and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless little bird, she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues, which were changed often to keep a clean and comfortable bed for the little bird.
She fed it often each day, watching it gain strength, and within a few days it opened its eyes and could see for the first time. It saw the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It heard and became accustomed to the sounds around it, and it was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage.
The sparrow trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings rapidly, and when the cage door was opened it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand as she walked through the house and even when she went outside. To help it become accustomed to the outside world where it soon would have to live, she would take it out on the lawn where she and her sister would sit under the tree and visit while the bird would look and observe all around it.
It came time for the girl and her sister to go to girls’ camp, so the bird went with them and spent the week on Cedar Mountain with the girls. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flying from the girl’s hand to the low branches in a nearby tree.
The bird was glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love, and although it was learning to fly, it did not leave. When the girls’ camp was over, the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
The girl, realizing the bird must soon join its own kind, took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. The girl left it there, assuming it would now join the other birds, and she returned into the home.
It wasn’t long before a chirping could be heard outside in front of the home, and when the girl went out to see what the bird was chirping about, it flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the first few nights the bird would come back to the house and want to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends, living in the trees close by the home. When the girl would go outside and whistle, it would respond and return and land on her hand, and my daughter, Trinilee, would feed it.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend and could be in great danger for its life amongst humans, it trusted her and had faith it would not be harmed and would be fed by her—and it responded to her beckoning call.
Have you ever wondered about our faith? Do we have that kind of trust and faith in the Lord? Do we respond to His beckoning call to serve and be fed at His hand?
We should strive to be in His presence and to respond to His call, yet many of us lack the faith and the trust to come unto the Lord when He calls. He is calling us today to be faithful and to trust Him, that He might feed us.
The Savior, speaking through the Prophet Joseph Smith, said to John Whitmer: “And now, behold, I say unto you, that the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father. Amen” (D&C 15:6).
I believe our Heavenly Father, and I trust Him. When He reveals to us, speaking through our living prophet today, that we need to do more and that more of us need to become involved in the work of bringing souls unto Christ, then we need to step forward and say, “Here am I; send me” (Isa. 6:8).
I truly love my Heavenly Father and our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, and I am grateful for the many blessings and opportunities They have given me. I pray with all my heart and soul that I can measure up to the plans They have for me, whatever those plans may be.
I pray we will all show the kind of faith and trust in the Lord that the little sparrow demonstrated in my daughter and that we will respond to the call of the Lord.

The experience of the converting power of the Book of Mormon did not end after my mission. In 2016, I was called to teach institute classes for adults. That year, we were studying the Book of Mormon. One day, as we studied King Benjamin’s powerful and inspired discourse in the book of Mosiah, two brothers in my class, carrying a secret burden of deep family problems, were moved to tears. Without saying a word, they left the classroom, and instinctively, I followed them. In the church courtyard, I found them talking, crying, and supporting each other. Respecting their privacy, I returned to the classroom, but concern tinged with hope accompanied me. At the end of the lesson, the two brothers returned, but this time, their presence was marked by peace. One of them spoke, sharing the miracle that had just occurred. He explained that thanks to the teachings of the Book of Mormon and the words of King Benjamin, they had found the strength to confront their family difficulties. In that testifying moment, I was reminded of Alma’s words, “The preaching of the word had a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them.” (Alma 31:5).
That day, those brothers experienced the testimony of more than one in its fulness through the power of divine words, confirming the universal truth that the word of God can breathe life into the most wounded hearts.

Amid the bustle of the Christmas Eve excitement, my father was preoccupied. His thoughts kept returning to the used bicycle hidden carefully in the garage rafters. Next to it lay the boxes holding two brand-new shining black, matching three-speed bikes which he had purchased for my two older sisters. The budget strains of Christmas had prevented Dad from buying a third black three-speed for Leanne, my third sister.
Instead, he set about restoring the old single-speed, fat-tired bike the older two no longer rode. Scouring pads and elbow grease made the rusty spokes shine. The inner tubes were patched, and a new coat of paint erased the battle scars of collisions and neglect. A replacement set of handgrips made the handlebars look almost new.
This Christmas Eve, when he finished the bicycle assembly projects and rolled out and placed the rejuvenated old bike next to the new ones, the stark contrast of the old half-sized, blue, thick-tubed bike against the sleek, black beauties made the revamped two-wheeler suddenly look small and old-fashioned. Had he made a mistake in trying to redo the old bike for Leanne? Would she feel slighted?
Early Christmas morning, we were poised in our annual positions in the hall—all in a row, youngest to the oldest. Dad was in the living room making the movie camera and the lights ready to record our grand entrance. My older sisters spotted their black beauties, gave them the once over with due praise and admiration, and moved on. Amid the chaos and clutter, Leanne stood firmly next to the old blue bike. She was touching every part and talking aloud, “Look, it has new grips and new paint! Just look at those pedals, and it’s my very own, my very own bike!”
She stayed near the bike and repeated the same speech several times, though no one was listening, no one, that is, except my father. He stood silently, the movie camera held low on his side, listening to Leanne. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he witnessed this perfect acceptance of his imperfect gift.
(December 1984, p. 29.)

This training has paid off. The Tse sisters, Ling-ling, 20, Wai-wai, 19, Mei-mei, 15, and Bing-bing, 14, know why members are referred to as “active.” Within two days of their baptism, the younger three sisters all had at least one position in the Lai Chi Kok Branch. (Ling had joined the Church when eight.) Even before they were members, they had “unofficial” responsibilities in the branch. Today Ling teaches the Gospel Essentials class for investigators and serves as a district missionary working with the full-time missionaries. Wai writes for the mission newsletter and fellowships inactive members. Bing is the Merry Miss teacher in Primary. And Mei is the Junior Sunday School coordinator. Her hardest job, she says, is convincing the children that they really can manage a short talk assignment.
Ling was the first of the sisters to join the Church. Their uncle is a member and would take her to Church when she was a child. Shortly after she was baptized at age eight, her mother forbade her to attend her meetings. Several years passed before she was allowed to return. By then she was 14, and the missionaries had retaught her the discussions. Her first Church responsibility was taking care of the bulletin board. It was through Ling that her three sisters became interested in the Church. Their parents and two younger brothers are still nonmembers, and the sisters say their greatest desire is to see their entire family active in the gospel.

Elder James E. Talmage, a man who is remembered for his doctrinal teachings, showed great kindness to a neighbor family in distress. They were complete strangers to him. Before he was an Apostle, as a young father he became aware of great suffering at a neighbor’s home whose large family was stricken with the dreaded diphtheria. He did not care that they were not members of the Church; his kindness and charity moved him to act. The Relief Society was desperately trying to find people to help, but no one would because of the contagious nature of the disease.
When he arrived, James found one toddler already dead and two others who were in agony from the disease. He immediately went to work, cleaning the untidy house, preparing the young body for burial, cleaning and providing for the other sick children—spending the entire day doing so. He came back the next morning to find that one more of the children had died during the night. A third child was still suffering terribly. He wrote in his journal: “She clung to my neck, … ofttimes coughing [germs] on my face and clothing, … yet I could not put her from me. During the half hour immediately preceding her death, I walked the floor with the little creature in my arms. She died in agony at 10 a.m.” The three children had all departed within the space of 24 hours. He then assisted the family with the burial arrangements and spoke at the graveside services. This he did all for a family of strangers. What a great example of Christlike kindness!

On February 4 of 1990, our third son and sixth child was born. We named him Tyson. He was a beautiful little boy, and the family greeted him with open hearts and open arms. His brothers and sisters were so proud of him. We all thought he was the most perfect little boy who had ever been born.
When Tyson was eight months old, he aspirated a piece of chalk that he had found on the carpet. The chalk lodged in Tyson’s throat, and he quit breathing. His older brother brought Tyson upstairs, frantically calling, “The baby won’t breathe. The baby won’t breathe.” We began to administer CPR and called 911.
The paramedics arrived and rushed Tyson to the hospital. In the waiting room we continued in fervent prayer as we pled to God for a miracle. After what seemed a lifetime, the doctor came into the room and said, “I am so sorry. There is nothing more we can do. Take all the time you need.” She then left.
As we entered the room where Tyson lay, we saw our lifeless little bundle of joy. It seemed as though he had a celestial glow around his little body. He was so radiant and pure.
At that moment it felt as if our world had come to an end. How could we return to the other children and somehow try to explain that Tyson wasn’t coming home?
I will speak in the singular as I relate the rest of this experience. My angel wife and I experienced this trial together, but I am inadequate in expressing the feelings of a mother and would not even try to do so.
It is impossible to describe the mixture of feelings that I had at that point in my life. Most of the time I felt as if I were in a bad dream and that I would soon wake up and this terrible nightmare would be over. For many nights I didn’t sleep. I often wandered in the night from one room to the other, making sure that our other children were all safe.
Feelings of guilt racked my soul. I felt so guilty. I felt dirty. I was his father; I should have done more to protect him. If only I would have done this or that. Sometimes even today, 22 years later, those feelings begin to creep into my heart, and I need to get rid of them quickly because they can be destructive.
About a month after Tyson died, I had an interview with Elder Dean L. Larsen. He took the time to listen to me, and I will always be grateful for his counsel and love. He said, “I don’t think the Lord would want you to punish yourself for the death of your little boy.” I felt the love of my Heavenly Father through one of his chosen vessels.
However, tormenting thoughts continued to plague me, and I soon began to feel anger. “This isn’t fair! How could God do this to me? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” I even felt myself get angry with people who were just trying to comfort us. I remember friends saying, “I know how you feel.” I would think to myself, “You have no idea how I feel. Just leave me alone.” I soon found that self-pity can also be very debilitating. I was ashamed of myself for having unkind thoughts about dear friends who were only trying to help.
As I felt the guilt, anger, and self-pity trying to consume me, I prayed that my heart could change. Through very personal sacred experiences, the Lord gave me a new heart, and even though it was still lonely and painful, my whole outlook changed. I was given to know that I had not been robbed but rather that there was a great blessing awaiting me if I would prove faithful.
My life started to change, and I was able to look forward with hope, rather than look backward with despair. I testify that this life is not the end. The spirit world is real. The teachings of the prophets regarding life after death are true. This life is but a transitory step forward on our journey back to our Heavenly Father.
Tyson has remained a very integral part of our family. Through the years it has been wonderful to see the mercy and kindness of a loving Father in Heaven, who has allowed our family to feel in very tangible ways the influence of Tyson. I testify that the veil is thin. The same feelings of loyalty, love, and family unity don’t end as our loved ones pass to the other side; instead, those feelings are intensified.
Sometimes people will ask, “How long did it take you to get over it?” The truth is, you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fulness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the First Resurrection.

The title of my talk, “The Messy Middle of Revelation,” was inspired by a conversation that I had in 2007. I was part of a team that hosted the national meeting for the Acoustical Society of America in Salt Lake City. A dozen of our colleagues had come from around the United States to plan the technical program and assign rooms to different events. After our long planning session, we took our guests to the Roof Restaurant, with its lovely view of the Salt Lake Temple. I’m sure dinner was amazing, but I remember this night so vividly because of the conversation I had with two of my colleagues on the walk back to the hotel.
As we were walking, one turned to me and asked, “Do you really believe what they say about Joseph Smith?”
I replied that I did—and still do—believe that, in the spring of 1820, Joseph Smith prayed to know which church to join. In answer to the humble prayer of this fourteen-year-old farm boy, God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, appeared and called Joseph to restore Christ’s Church to the earth. Joseph Smith was the first latter-day prophet.
I then explained that the Church of Jesus Christ has been led by prophets to this day. As members, we each have the responsibility to do as Joseph Smith did—to ask God and receive our own personal confirmation of what the prophet tells us.
His response surprised me. He said, “That sounds very disorganized.”
As I was wondering how to respond, our colleague from New Orleans, who had recently lived through the cleanup after Hurricane Katrina, emphatically said, “If there is one thing their Church is, it’s organized.”

Valerie Bean, 14, picked up a piece of wood, a twig really, and tossed it to the flames. She kept reviewing what another ranger—this one a Latter-day Saint named Lee Skabelund—had said the night before at the fireside.
He had quoted from the scriptures.
“All things which come of the earth … are made for the benefit and the use of man, both to please the eye and to gladden the heart;
“Yea, for food and for raiment, for taste and for smell, to strengthen the body and to enliven the soul.
“And it pleaseth God that he hath given all these things unto man; for unto this end were they made to be used, with judgment, not to excess, neither by extortion” (D&C 59:18–20).
Valerie thought of a campground she’d seen, littered with trash.
“It made me mad,” she thought. “I mean, if you ruin it, who’s going to fix it?”
Now, thinking about the scripture Brother Skabelund had quoted, she realized something important.
“I bet the Lord is disappointed when we don’t take care of the earth,” she thought.
She picked up another twig and fed it to the flames.

I am grateful to the Lord that my temple memories extend back even to young boyhood. I remember so well, as a little boy, coming in from the field and approaching the old farm house in Whitney, Idaho. I could hear my mother singing “Have I done any good in the world today?” (Hymns, 1985, no. 223).
In my mind’s eye, I can still see her bending over the ironing board with newspapers on the floor, ironing long strips of white cloth, with beads or perspiration on her forehead. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “These are temple robes, my son.”
Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.

That was the case for my wife and I when we married, got through 4 years of Phd education and work and got a job straight out of my program that provided for us through the first two of our great kids. We had our problems, like everyone, but we were cruising, and we knew that our faith would carry us through whatever came. There are many references in the scriptures to light. The majority of these references are in relation to our Saviour Jesus Christ. Christ said to the Nephites, “Behold I am the light; I have set an example for you” (3 Nephi 18:16) and to those in Jerusalem, “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12). We figured we were living in that light, and that would mean a string of joy with a few minor problems like a B on a report card, a broken transmission occasionally, or a child who didn’t get into the ivy league college he or she wanted, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Any of you who know my wife will know that she is a happy person. People comment on it. For most of her life, my wife was the sort of person about whom the apostle might have been speaking when he said, “Ye are the children of light.” She naturally carries a light about her, and that is the result of her relationship with her savior. That was for the most part our situation at that point in our lives. We were prospering in the land.

Then in April of 2009, our third child, Mathew, was born. The excitement of a new child carried us through the first few months of sleeplessness, sibling rivalry, and other transitions, but then something changed. Something inside of her changed. The hope and joy that brought light into her life dimmed. As the months went on, she found herself in complete darkness. For the first time she began to doubt, to wonder and to question, and she began to stumble. She had never really questioned her faith or the direction God was taking her life, but for the first time, she did. Everything she held close: her family, faith, confidence, joy, crumbled away, leaving her feeling alone, disconnected, and unsure. She often couldn’t feel anything or only sadness and despair when she did, and she certainly couldn’t find any light. This lasted years and while it has gotten less it hasn’t really ever left, but over time my wife has learned an important lesson, and she has brought me along: even when there is darkness, that darkness doesn’t have to become the focus of our lives.

In President Uchtdorf’s April 2013 General Conference talk he describes a painting in his office entitled “Entrance to Enlightenment”. President Uchtdorf states, “The painting shows a dark room with an open door from which light is shining. It is interesting to me that the light coming through the door does not illuminate the entire room -- only the space immediately in front of the door.” He continues by saying, “To me, the darkness and light in this painting are a metaphor for life. It is part of our condition as mortal beings to sometimes feel as though we are surrounded by darkness . . . but even though we may feel lost in the midst of our current circumstances, God promises the hope of His light -- He promises to illuminate the way before us and show us the way out of darkness.”

God will illuminate one step at a time if we turn to him. He is there wanting to show the way, but it is up to us to decide if we’re willing to trust in him that the next step we take will take us one step away from our darkness and one step closer to his light. For my wife some steps were a constant stream of prayers to get her through just a part of a day, one small act of service for her family or someone else, making sure to read her scriptures even if it was just one verse, a conference talk at just the right time, especially those by Elder Holland. A few years later after renovations and rededication were complete she was able to attend the temple, one more small moment of light to help her see at least the next step. Other steps came to be going for a run to help clear her mind or hiding in her room to read a book or sleep, and other activities she could do by herself to help calm her mind. One step at a time and slowly, with a lot of help and patience from her family and her Heavenly Father, she was able to find a time when her steps were more in God’s light than in her darkness. “He that followeth me,” the savior said, “shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”