Gospel Story Finder

Each worshipper at the conference could extract their own personally satisfying and needed messages from the talks, but I got mine in three words that took me back to a previous time. A young man whose beginnings in the Church had not been auspicious or helpful and who said he knew nothing about the gospel had been sent to me for help in learning about it. I asked him how he would like to go about learning or where he would like to start. He said that he didn’t know enough to know, so how about starting with the alphabet. I said, “Okay, we’ll start with the A’s.” And in the conference this time, those three A’s that I talked to him about came immediately to the fore: atonement, agency, and accountability.

The thing I noticed immediately as we entered the ice cave was how cold it was. And the farther we went in the cave, the darker and spookier it got. Surprisingly, despite the darkness and gloom of the cave, the time I spent there during a girls’ camp hike gave me a chance to think about the direction my life was taking. And I decided there were some things I wanted to change.
We soon reached an area where we had to climb over boulders to reach our destination. I thought about how those boulders are like my own personal obstacles. I found myself asking if I climbed confidently and carefully over each one, or if I struggled to get to the other side.
Lagging behind, I looked up and saw the lights of the girls in front of me, moving forward almost as if the rocks weren’t there. It seemed their faith was so strong that I felt a new burst of strength that carried me on.
When we reached the end of the cave, one of the leaders had us turn our flashlights off. When all was dark, it struck me that this cave might be like the place where Satan lives—cold and dark. I decided right then and there that I would set new goals to return to my Father in Heaven and live with my family for all eternity.
The lights came back on and we all headed out. Toward the beginning of the cave there was a hand-painted sign that read, “Remember This Place.” I thought to myself, I will remember this place and how it helped me want to do what’s right.

During my freshman year at BYU, my testimony blossomed. I developed a deep love for the Savior, the prophet Joseph Smith, and the restoration of the gospel, and I had a real desire to serve a mission. The fall semester at that time, ended late in January but, my 19th birthday was not until the end of March. I was confused about my timing and spent many hours in fasting and prayer to know the Lord's will. By Christmas I still had not received an answer; so I registered for another semester.
On the second day of the semester, I was on my way to the field house for the first devotional when I received a strong impression, "Sit in front."
Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the Quorum of the Seventy was the speaker and the first words out of his mouth were, "If there is any one in this audience who is thinking about going on a mission, go now!" There was my answer.
After the devotional I called my parents, checked out of school and, before returning to my home in Idaho, I met with both my Bishop and Stake President. Then, as was required in those days, I drove to Salt Lake for an interview with a General Authority.
The authority I was assigned to was A. Theodore Tuttle, the very man who had spoken at the devotional a week earlier. I told Elder Tuttle of my experience and he said, "As I arose to give my talk I was impressed to give that advice." The rest of the talk had nothing to do with missionary work.
I tell this story for two reasons: first, to emphasize how important devotionals can be in your lives if you come prepared and open to be taught by the Holy Ghost and second, to demonstrate that God is aware of each of you and your desires. He will answer your prayers and fulfill the righteous desires of your hearts. I know this is true!

Knocking against the low-hung branches of the bush, the grackle fell over onto the lawn. Jimmy sprawled on his stomach for a closer look. The bird was black and had an iridescent green-blue head and neck. Two yellow eyes stared in alarm. Seeing Jimmy, the bird tried to scurry away. But each time it hopped, it fell over sideways. Spreading its wings, the bird tried to steady itself. However, it seemed to use only one leg; its other leg dangled helplessly. The bird made one last attempt and fell back underneath the bushes.
Jimmy ran into the house and brought his mother outside to see the injured bird. “Can we help it?” Jimmy asked, bending low to see the bird huddled deep in the dimness of the branches.
“I doubt if we can get close enough, Jimmy,” Mother said. “Perhaps the injury will heal by itself. Many times in nature this happens.”
“Would it help if I brought some food here by this bush?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you try it!”
Every day Jimmy dropped pieces of whole wheat bread near the bird, and every time after he left, the grackle would emerge from its haven and gobble them up. Soon the bird began to realize that Jimmy was not going to harm it. As long as Jimmy sat quietly a few feet away, the grackle fed unafraid. Although Jimmy never tried to touch the bird, he still felt that they were good friends. However, he was worried. It seemed to him that the bird’s leg should have healed by now, but it hadn’t.
One day the grackle did not come when Jimmy called. No soft chirps came from the bush. In the evening Jimmy took more bread to the usual spot. Still his friend did not come.
“Maybe the bird was strong enough to join the other grackles,” Father suggested. “Let’s just wait and see.”
The next morning Jimmy sprinkled more bread by the bush, but only a crow swooped down and gulped the tidbits.
Now Jimmy was really concerned. He told his father and mother about the crow at lunch. They listened sympathetically and afterward Dad suggested a game of catch.
“Here comes my fastball!” Dad shouted. “Ready?”
The ball whizzed low and Jimmy felt it smack the edge of his glove and ricochet into the bushes. Crawling under the low limbs, Jimmy reached for his ball. But his hand suddenly stopped, for in a knot of brown leaves he saw his grackle, its bad leg curled and shriveled.
“No! No! Dad, my bird is … is dead! Why? I fed it …”
“Its injury was too serious to heal by itself,” Dad explained, coming over to the bushes. “It wasn’t strong enough to survive. Perhaps nature knew best, son. Even if it survived for a time but couldn’t fly away with its friends, it wouldn’t have had a very happy life. You did a good thing by making its last days as pleasant as possible, and it’s best it didn’t have to suffer long.”
“But I wish it didn’t have to die,” Jimmy said, tears welling in his eyes.
“I know, Jimmy, but the rule of survival has been nature’s way ever since life began.”
Jimmy was silent. He thought about the grackle—chirping, pecking, hopping, falling—always falling. He looked away from the bush and out across the lawn. Several other grackles strutted through the grass.
“I see you’re watching the other grackles in the yard,” Dad said. “Robins and sparrows too. And there’s a cardinal. They all seem to be looking for food.”
“Well, I guess I could feed them even though they aren’t hurt like my grackle,” Jimmy murmured slowly.
“Sure you could,” Dad agreed. “All birds have a problem finding enough food, especially in cold or stormy weather.”
“I could build a feeder so they could have their own restaurant,” Jimmy suggested, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.
“That’s a great idea, son!” Dad encouraged. “And I’ll help if you need me. I can see that the birds around here will never go hungry.”
“That’s right, Dad,” Jimmy said. “Now I know what you mean about that survival rule. It’s sad when a bird dies, but we have to think about the ones that are still alive. And now I’m going to help take care of them.”

Almost as soon as the caravan stopped at the end of the forest road, the doors popped open and Scouts, dads, and a lot of backpacking equipment and fluorescent-orange life jackets came tumbling out of the cars and trucks. In no time at all the Scouts were lined up, drawing their allotment of food to carry, and stuffing it into their packs. Everyone seemed to know his duty and how to perform it. The few dads who were along to help were impressed with the organization. In fact, the only person not surprised by all this super efficiency performed by 12- and 13-year-old boys was their Scoutmaster, Nob Wimmer.
For Brother Wimmer this trip with the American Fork Utah 14th Ward Scouts was only one of hundreds of Scouting outings he has participated in during his 25 years of Scouting experience.
When asked how he got 12- and 13-year-old boys to perform much beyond their years, he commented on his philosophy:
“The age of the boys isn’t that critical. With cooperation you’d be surprised what even young boys can accomplish. There are three elements that do seem to make for a great trip. First, you need to plan well in advance. Second, a trip needs to require effort from everyone. Preferably the work starts a long time before the trip. If it does, the people involved get more excited about the actual event, they learn more, and they improve their teamwork. Then when we have taken care of all the variables that we can control, the third element of a great trip often comes into play. This is the element of surprise—the unexpected or the unusual happening that really makes the event stay alive in people’s minds long after the trip is over.”
To the 35 Scouts and adults who went, the trip was a success. They had been planning for months; each of them knew his duties and how to carry them out. They had also been working very hard to get ready. They learned how to handle canoes. They conditioned themselves to their backpacks, and many of the Scouts invested extra hours in learning to tie fishing flies. They worked one evening a week with Brother Wimmer learning how to do it, and then they tied quantities of flies in anticipation of the trip. In addition, every meal of the five-day camp was carefully planned in advance. Then, a few days before the trip, the food was bought and repacked so it would be easier to carry. They used off-the-shelf grocery items rather than the more expensive dehydrated backpacking foods. They even made their own oven-dried jerky to save on weight and expense.
Once the gear was out of the vehicles and strapped on backs, everyone started up the trail together. The few miles to the lake seemed more like a dozen since each person not only had to carry his own personal gear but also had to take a turn helping to carry one of the canoes.
At the lake, supplies and Scouts were ferried across the water to a lovely campsite. Scouts built simple, plastic-covered shelters under the pines, and had camp completely set up and organized in time to take in an evening’s fishing.
It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”
The next morning Bishop Bean found fresh moose tracks around his sleeping bag, and there were deer tracks all through camp. After that everyone kept watch for the abundant wildlife in the area. Every morning and evening they were able to watch moose saunter down to the lake for a drink and a swim.
“The wildlife provided the unusual and the unexpected on this trip,” said Brother Wimmer. “Each day most of the boys got to see deer and moose in their natural setting. The animals didn’t even seem frightened of us. We didn’t bother them, and they seemed content to let us share their lake for a few days.”
Everyone caught some fish, and even one boy who had been cool on the trip in the first place had a terrific time. He told the leaders when they were planning the trip, “I don’t want to go up in the woods somewhere and play cowboys and Indians.”
“He sure got interested when the fish started biting,” said Bishop Bean. Like the rest of the boys, he had set goals he wanted to accomplish on this trip. Each boy became more proficient at some skill, and they were all better trained to operate as a group than ever before.
During lunch one day one of the adults was swatting at some of the huge horseflies that seemed to be everywhere. “These horseflies are terrible,” he said.
Brother Wimmer piped up, “Don’t say that! Nothing up here is terrible!”
“Okay, I’ll just say the horseflies are mildly aggravating.”
“Fine,” said Brother Wimmer with a smile, and then let silence complete the sermon. It was a sermon that was relived time and again as the boys later shared the memories of this experience at troop meetings and a special ward banquet in their honor.

Andy’s little sister, Trisha, had been born with many health problems. She needed extra help to do even the smallest thing. Trisha was 18 months old, but she couldn’t walk or sit up or even roll over. She couldn’t feed herself and had to eat through a tube.
Andy’s daddy, grandpa, and uncles had given Trisha many blessings, and Andy wanted to do something to help her too. He set a goal to help her do the things she couldn’t do for herself.
Every day Andy looked for ways to help Trisha. When he saw her trying to roll over, he gently helped her roll from her tummy to her back. When she struggled to sit up, Andy supported her.
One evening after Andy had helped Trisha sit up, Mommy and Daddy sat down to talk with him.
“We know you love Trisha very much and want to help her,” Mommy said. “But it’s important to let her become as independent as possible. That means we need to let her do the things she can by herself.”
“But Trisha can’t sit up by herself,” Andy said.
“She can’t sit all the way up,” Mommy said. “But she can pull herself up partway. We need to let her do that.”
Andy knew how hard Trisha struggled to pull herself up. He didn’t want her to have to work so hard. “Why can’t I help her?” he asked.
“When she tries to do things by herself, it helps her to grow stronger,” Mommy said. “I know it’s hard to watch her try so hard to do something. I want to help her too, and then I remember that Heavenly Father is always there to help and bless her.”
“Will Trisha be sick forever?” Andy asked.
“She’ll always have some problems,” Daddy said. “But we know that one day she’ll be resurrected with a healthy, whole body, and that she’ll be with our family forever.”
Andy knew that his parents had been sealed in the temple, and that he and Trisha were sealed to them.
Andy thought about what he could do for his little sister. He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and Trisha and that He listened to prayers. “I can pray for Trisha,” Andy said.
“That’s the best gift of all,” Mommy said, and gave him a big hug.

Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Seventy, who served with Elder Uchtdorf in an Area Presidency, remembers the stature and appropriate pride that Elder Uchtdorf’s service gave to other members of the Church—and the courage with which he faced opposition. He remembers vividly the difficult situation that developed when the German government was cracking down on some lesser-known religions. An initial list of “sects” included The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To oppose this serious threat to the work, Church leaders needed the most resolute and reputable German representative they could find to go to Bonn. That was Dieter F. Uchtdorf. His bold, courageous presentation there was so persuasive and articulate and his reputation with Lufthansa so widespread and admired that the German officials giving him audience were somewhat stunned at what they had inadvertently done. They said in effect: “If you are a Latter-day Saint, we do not need any more evidence than that. Your church will certainly not be included on any such list of religions in the future.”

Initially I speak to the worthy young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. When I was a very small boy, my father found a lamb all alone out in the desert. The herd of sheep to which its mother belonged had moved on, and somehow the lamb got separated from its mother, and the shepherd must not have known that it was lost. Because it could not survive alone in the desert, my father picked it up and brought it home. To have left the lamb there would have meant certain death, either by falling prey to the coyotes or by starvation because it was so young that it still needed milk. Some sheepmen call these lambs “bummers.” My father gave the lamb to me, and I became its shepherd.

For several weeks I warmed cow’s milk in a baby’s bottle and fed the lamb. We became fast friends. I called him Nigh—why I don’t remember. It began to grow. My lamb and I would play on the lawn. Sometimes we would lie together on the grass and I would lay my head on its soft, woolly side and look up at the blue sky and the white billowing clouds. I did not lock my lamb up during the day. It would not run away. It soon learned to eat grass. I could call my lamb from anywhere in the yard by just imitating as best I could the bleating sound of a sheep: Baa. Baa.

One night there came a terrible storm. I forgot to put my lamb in the barn that night as I should have done. I went to bed. My little friend was frightened in the storm, and I could hear it bleating. I knew that I should help my pet, but I wanted to stay safe, warm, and dry in my bed. I didn’t get up as I should have done. The next morning I went out to find my lamb dead. A dog had also heard its bleating cry and killed it. My heart was broken. I had not been a good shepherd or steward of that which my father had entrusted to me. My father said, “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” My father’s remark hurt me more than losing my woolly friend. I resolved that day, as a little boy, that I would try never again to neglect my stewardship as a shepherd if I were ever placed in that position again.

Brethren, after more than sixty years, I can still hear in my mind the bleating, frightened cry of the lamb of my boyhood that I did not shepherd as I should have. I can also remember the loving rebuke of my father: “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” If we are not good shepherds, I wonder how we will feel in the eternities.

I was shopping with my mom and I saw some money on the floor, so I told my mom. She picked up the bills, and it was $430! I did what Heavenly Father would want me to do and took the money to the service counter. They asked for our names and phone number. The employee called us about 10 minutes later and said the owner had claimed the money and had left $10 for me as a reward for being honest. It gave me a good feeling.

I still had a long way to go to gain a better understanding of Heavenly Father’s concern for His children, but from time to time in my life I had other spiritual experiences. I tried to read all the books about God that I could find. I went to many different churches. But not until about eighteen years later, when the elders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on my door, did I begin to really understand. I came to know our Heavenly Father, how to make a covenant with Him, and how to receive the right to speak with Him always. I learned to feel accepted and welcomed by Him.

When my daughter was about six years old, we tried as much as possible to have her watch the baptisms of other children. After each baptism, we talked to her about what happened. We helped her understand that when she was old enough to be baptized, she would be able to judge right from wrong. After each baptism, she would say, “Soon I will be eight, and I will be baptized too.”
Finally my daughter turned eight. She was baptized and confirmed. Now she had the gift of the Holy Ghost. We told her that one of the best ways to keep the Holy Ghost with her was to take the sacrament.
When you take the sacrament, you promise to always remember Jesus Christ. The Holy Ghost will help you to do the things Jesus taught and remind you what you learn about Him at home and in Primary. The Holy Ghost speaks with a still, small voice and will help you understand what is right and what is wrong.
Now my daughter loves the sacrament so much! And you can too. As you take the sacrament each week and remember Jesus Christ, you will feel the Holy Ghost more, and He will continue to guide you. You will be able to always remember Jesus Christ.

One of the greatest examples we have of someone who has humbly sought the Lord’s guidance in fulfilling his mortal mission is President Hinckley. Sister Sheri L. Dew, in the preface to her biography of President Hinckley, writes of one of her early meetings with the prophet. She met with him after he had read the first third of the manuscript.

After an uncomfortable pause, . . . he began: “I am sick, sick, sick of reading about Gordon Hinckley. There is just too much about Gordon Hinckley in this manuscript.” I groped for a response. “Whom did you want me to write about in your biography?” came to mind, but I couldn’t think of a respectful way to phrase the question so I remained silent.

Then I had my first exposure to a mini-sermon he would repeat at least a dozen times during succeeding months. “Adulation is poison,” he said, emphasizing each word. “Adulation has ruined many a good man and woman, and I don’t want this book to portray me as something I’m not.” I finally replied: “President, I can see that we have just one small problem here. You want me to write a book that says you are just a common, ordinary man.” “Well, I am,” he interrupted. [Sheri L. Dew, Go Forward with Faith: The Biography of Gordon B. Hinckley (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1996), pp. ix–xvi; emphasis in original]

Sister Dew then explains in the preface that she never found anything “to support his claim that he is a common, ordinary man” (p. x). She notes that by the time he became president of the Church, President Hinckley had served nearly 60 years at Church headquarters. After 38 years of service as a General Authority, and 15 of those years in the First Presidency, his influence in missionary work, temple building, and public affairs is now recognized. President James E. Faust, his second counselor, said that perhaps no man who has become president of the Church has been more extensively or better prepared to lead the Saints than President Hinckley. Sister Dew concludes:

Indeed, there is no hyperbole in stating that President Hinckley has influenced the onward march of the gospel kingdom in a way paralleled by few others. And in the process, he has molded a life worthy of emulation. [Dew, Go Forward, p. xi]

President Hinckley has lived his life according to one simple maxim: “The only way to get anything done is to get on your knees and ask for the Lord’s help, and then get to your feet and go to work” (Dew, Go Forward, p. x). I believe the prophet sees himself as an ordinary man—one who has only done the work the Lord has asked of him the best he could. If only we would go and do the same.

When I was a boy, my mother had to go to work at Garfield Smelter and work like a man to help support the seven children. She worked the graveyard shift as much as she could, I’m sure to be with us during the day. I don’t know when the poor woman slept. One Saturday morning, she got off work about 7:00 or 8:00 A.M. She went to bed for a couple of hours and then got up. She had invited all her relatives to dinner. There must have been 35 or 40. She decorated the tables and arranged the chairs and put all the dishes and silverware out. She cooked and baked all day long. The dirty pots and pans and dishes stacked up.

Everyone came to dinner, and after dinner all the dirty dishes were brought into the kitchen. The food was cleared and stacked on the table and cupboards; then the kitchen door was closed and the family began to visit. It was about 8:00 P.M.

I remember standing all alone in the kitchen. In my young mind, I thought: My mother worked all night; she has worked all day to get this dinner. When everyone leaves, she will have to do the dishes and put the food away. It will take two or three hours, and that’s not fair. Then I thought, I will do them.

I washed the dishes, did the silverware, the glassware. We didn’t have an electric dishwasher; ours was a manual dishwasher, and that night I was manual. I used a half-dozen dish towels. I was drenched from head to foot. I put the food away, cleaned off the table and drainboards; then I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. When I was finished, I thought the kitchen was immaculate. It took about three hours.

Then I heard the chairs shuffling, and everyone left. The front door closed, and I heard my mother coming to the kitchen. I was pleased and thought she would be. The door swung open, and even at the age of 11, I recognized that she was startled. She looked around the kitchen, looked at me, and then there was a look I didn’t recognize at the time. I do now. It was something like “Thanks. I am tired. I think you understand, and I love you.” And she came over and hugged me. There was a light in her eye and a warmth in my heart. I learned it is a wonderful feeling to turn on the lights in our parents’ eyes.

I was on a Church assignment in Hong Kong in 1996 (before many of you were born). I was attending the Hong Kong temple dedication -- what would be the first temple in China. The day before the dedicatory sessions I was sitting in a missionary meeting at the back of a chapel with rows of elders and sisters filling the room. I was there just as an observer, waiting to hear President Gordon B. Hinckley and President Thomas S. Monson address the young missionaries. As the two came in the door everyone stood in quiet reverence.
But I wasn’t expecting what came next. A powerful spiritual manifestation came over me as President Monson strode down the aisle, his broad smile and his 6 foot three frame a commanding presence. At that moment I was filled with the pure knowledge that he was called of God, a prophet for our time. And then the spirit confirmed to me that he would someday lead the Church.
There was nothing special about me. I knew President Monson only by his messages at General Conference and I wondered why the Lord had given me such a profound witness. Indeed, I felt like Jacob who wrote, “I had heard the voice of the Lord speaking unto me in very word, . . . wherefore I could not be shaken.”[i]
It would be years before that singular moment in time would make sense to me.

While serving in Santiago, Chile, as a mission leader with my husband, who was a mission president from 2012 to 2015, I learned some life-changing lessons about the reality of miracles and how they come about. Accepting this calling put me way out of my comfort zone because of my inability to speak the language of our mission. I initially felt overwhelming inadequacy.
Early in the mission, a call from a family member helped me realize that I was focusing way too much on myself and my struggles. Remembering the advice that President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) shared from his father to “forget yourself and go to work,”1 I decided to change my focus. Whenever I was feeling discouraged, I would ask myself, “Whom are you thinking about?” The answer was always me. So I would repent and turn my thoughts outward instead. I chose to focus on the missionaries, those they were teaching, or my family.
I also tried to remember what I could do, not focus on what I couldn’t do. I could smile, give hugs, and get to work learning Spanish, even though that meant frequent failure. I went out with the sister missionaries often (rather than hide away in the mission home where it was safe), even when I felt like there wasn’t much I could add.
As long as I was willing to keep taking little steps of faith, I felt the strengthening power of Christ through His atoning sacrifice helping me to overcome my weaknesses (see Jacob 4:7). As I pondered over the experiences I was having, I recognized a similar pattern in the lives of my favorite people in the scriptures. Here is my journal entry from October 2014:
“Examples from scripture of people choosing to step out of their comfort zone are many—such as Mary the mother of Jesus, Ruth, Esther, Paul, Enoch, Lehi and Nephi, Alma, Ammon and his brothers, Samuel, Abinadi, the 2,000 stripling young Lamanites, Joseph Smith, and many others. These all embraced opportunities that made them vulnerable. They could not predict or control the outcome of their circumstances. They were placed in situations far beyond their comfort zones of familiarity, and the risk of danger, pain, suffering, rejection, and failure were all possible, creating a need to be rescued by the Spirit and gifts from God.
“The natural man [see Mosiah 3:19] wants certainty, security, and control, but I have learned that that is not generally the threshold in which God works His miracles. My experience here has taught me that when people choose to limit what they can and will do, based on what they are comfortable with or to avoid failure, they limit what God can do with them. He seems to work His miracles with us more often when we have made ourselves vulnerable [to His will], when we are willing to step out into the unknown … and lean more completely on our faith in Him and not in our own abilities. I have learned that if I am more concerned with the learning, growing, and becoming process than with risking failure, I open myself to the strengthening power that Jesus Christ’s Atonement offers me.”
Divine Discontent
“Of course, all of us will fall short of our divine potential, and there is some truth in the realization that alone we are not enough. But the good news of the gospel is that with the grace of God, we are enough. With Christ’s help, we can do all things. The scriptures promise that we will “find grace to help in time of need” [Hebrews 4:16].
“The surprising truth is that our weaknesses can be a blessing when they humble us and turn us to Christ. Discontent becomes divine when we humbly approach Jesus Christ with our want, rather than hold back in self-pity. …
“Have you ever felt your talents and gifts were too small for the task ahead? I have. But you and I can give what we have to Christ, and He will multiply our efforts. What you have to offer is more than enough—even with your human frailties and weaknesses—if you rely on the grace of God.
“The truth is that each of us is one generation away from Deity—each is a child of God.”
Michelle D. Craig, “Divine Discontent,” Liahona, Nov. 2018, 54.
One experience that helped me learn this lesson took place when Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited our mission, together with the three other missions in Santiago. There were over 1,000 missionaries gathered in our chapel where my husband had been asked to conduct the meeting. Elder Holland entered the chapel, took the seat next to my husband, leaned over to us, and said, “Okay, here’s what we are going to do. Sister Wright, you will speak first and represent all of the mission presidents’ wives here. Then President Wright will follow.”
I honestly didn’t hear the rest of the agenda. It had never occurred to me that Elder Holland would ask me to speak, so I had made no preparations. I prefer time to prepare to speak, time to gather my thoughts a little at least, but I would be speaking immediately after the opening hymn and prayer.
As my thoughts began to swirl, I felt the sudden desire to share my message in Spanish. However, though we were a year into the mission, and I had worked very hard to learn Spanish, I was still struggling with the language, and I was definitely not fluent in it. The translator was available to me if I spoke in English, but this was a Spanish-speaking mission, and I really wanted to speak in Spanish. Speaking would be a hard thing for me to do in English; speaking in Spanish felt like a giant leap. So amid the sound of 1,000 missionaries singing “Called to Serve” (Hymns, 249), I took a deep breath, confessed my inadequacies to my Father in Heaven, and pled for help to be rescued by the Spirit.
I told Heavenly Father that I had no idea what to say or how to say it in Spanish, but I promised Him that I would open my mouth and do my best, having faith that He would fill it (see Moses 6:32). In that moment, I felt a peaceful assurance come over me. After the prayer I rose to the pulpit and began to speak. Words I had pondered before came back in that needed moment, even in the foreign language I was struggling to communicate in. I sat down after my short three-minute talk, still feeling at peace but unsure about how effectively I had communicated.
After the meeting, the brother who had translated for Elder Holland approached me and said, “Sister Wright, I had no idea you spoke Spanish so well!” I replied, “I don’t.” He assured me that I hadn’t made any mistakes.
I am sure that none of those missionaries remembers anything about my short message that day. But for me it was a life-changing experience. I learned to put my trust in Heavenly Father and the Savior, that They could and would strengthen me despite my weaknesses when I was willing to take a leap of faith. If I had chosen the safe route and used the translator, I might never have learned how They rescue us when we open ourselves to letting God prevail.2
I have always loved this portion of the definition of “Grace” in the Bible Dictionary: “It is … through the grace of the Lord that individuals, through faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ and repentance of their sins, receive strength and assistance to do good works that they otherwise would not be able to maintain if left to their own means.”
I felt His grace that day. Taking that leap of faith gave me the courage to leap out of my comfort zone again and again in the future. Failure will always be a part of the learning process, and I experienced plenty of that with the language for the rest of my mission. But when it mattered most, I felt Jesus Christ’s support and strength lift me above my natural abilities so that I could be the instrument in His hands that He needed me to be to bless others. My faith and trust in Him have grown exponentially, which is the greatest gift I took home from our mission. By the time we came home, I was able to speak Spanish fluently, and I am now able to use it to serve others as a volunteer in my community and in the Spanish branch where we currently attend church.
I have a testimony that “if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).

Restless and excited. Eager, yet uncertain. These were my feelings as the train sped closer to our destination.
It was June 1961, and I was journeying with sixteen other students on a Brigham Young University travel study tour to study French in Quebec, Canada. We would be there tomorrow, and it was natural that our anticipation was increasing.
As my anticipation grew, so did my apprehension: for I had two problems facing me. The first and most important was the challenge I felt to be a missionary, an exemplar of gospel living. Since the Church had begun stressing that every member should be a missionary, I had thought a great deal about it.
I had been brought up as a member of the Church in a small Idaho town where all the townspeople were Latter-day Saints. In fact, all of the surrounding communities were also predominantly Latter-day Saint, and most activity, social and civic as well as religious, centered around the Church. From there I went to the wholesome atmosphere of Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. The result was that at nineteen I had never really had any close associations with nonmembers.
On the few occasions when I had met nonmembers, I had wanted to tell them about the Church, but I would suddenly feel self-conscious and unable to speak, almost embarrassed to steer conversation in that direction. The Golden Questions “What do you know about the Mormon Church?” and “Would you like to know more?” would seem to lodge like a lump in my throat, and my voice would tremble when I wanted to speak with conviction. It was difficult to speak of what I felt so deeply, and I believed I was prying if I asked someone about his religion. Afterward, when the opportunity had passed, I would be angry with myself. If, like the apostle Paul, I was “not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16), then why was it so difficult for me to tell others about this good news?
My second problem was a much simpler one. After we arrived in Quebec, Canada and registered at the Universite Laval, we would be expected to speak French for the duration of our summer-long stay. I had studied French only one year, and my command of the language was far from skillful. However, this problem was one that most of my fellow students shared, and I knew that one purpose of the travel study tour was to help us improve our French.
I was not the only restless one that day. Night had fallen, and the other occupants of the passenger car in which we rode were beginning to settle down for sleep; but our group was too full of expectation to think of sleep.
“Let’s go into the dome car and sing some French songs and practice our French,” someone suggested.
We filed out of our car and into the connecting dome car. A railway dome car consist of two levels: a lower level similar to a regular passenger car but with fewer seats, and a stairway leading to the upper level, or dome. The dome features a panoramic view through large curving windows from this lofty height. As we entered, we noticed that the lower level was completely empty. We climbed the steps into the dome and here found only two occupants, a young mother and her tearful little son.
After the mother assured us that our singing would not disturb them, we began to sing, hesitantly and with many misuses of French accents and stumbling over words. Quickly our meager repertoire of French songs was exhausted, and we drifted comfortably into the familiar music and language of our Latter-day Saint hymns.
It was comforting and strengthening to sing the hymns I’d sung since childhood, and I noticed the little boy stopped crying as we sang. Soon he fell asleep across his mother’s lap.
I don’t know how long we sang, but I recall the lifting of my spirit and the deepening of my conviction as we sang “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” and “O My Father,” and the happiness we felt as we sang “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Finally, we ended with “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” and as the last strains of “All is well” faded, we began to move quietly out of the dome.
I was first to leave the dome to descend to the lower level of the car, and I was unprepared for the sight that met my eyes. Dozens of upturned faces were looking toward us. Every seat, which had been vacant when we entered the dome car earlier, was now filled, and people were even standing and sitting in the aisles. Unknown to us, these people had gathered to listen as we sang.
A woman standing near the stairway touched my arm, and I saw that there were tears in her eyes. “You young people sing so beautifully,” she said, “because you sing from your hearts. Who are you, and where do you come from?”
“We’re Mormons, ma’am,” I replied. “We are students from Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.”
“Mormons … ,” she murmured.
She was right. We had sung from our hearts, and my heart was still singing. I heard myself saying, “What do you know about the Mormons?”
“Well, I have heard your lovely Tabernacle Choir,” she replied.
“Would you like to know more about the Mormons?” I asked.
“Yes, I really would.”
“What do I do now?” I thought in panic. “I’ve finally asked the Golden Questions, but now where do I begin?”
Then a calm, sure voice behind me spoke, and I turned to see a returned missionary from our group reach out and take the woman’s hand in a warm, firm grasp.
“Perhaps you have heard of a man named Joseph Smith,” he said. “Let me tell you more about him.”
Soon he was telling of Joseph Smith’s first vision and explaining the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. Several people who had listened to us sing stayed to hear what this earnest young member of our group had to say, and some left their names and addresses with requests for missionary contact or for copies of the Book of Mormon.
I was filled with peace and joy. I had asked the Golden Questions, and my friend, the returned missionary, had shown me where to go from there. Only a short while before, we had sung about Joseph Smith’s first vision in “Oh, How Lovely Was the Morning.” From their earliest years in Primary, children in the Church hear the story of “the boy’s first uttered prayer.” What better way to introduce the gospel than to relate that beautiful story? This experience was to guide me many times throughout the summer ahead.
In years to come I was to learn to follow up the Golden Questions with an invitation to my home to see a film and meet the missionaries. And I have learned that there are many other effective ways to introduce the gospel to others. But I like to remember that night on the train when we sang from our hearts, unaware of our listeners. We truly did have something to sing about, and our message had been heard.

One final story from my time spent serving in student wards. Unfortunately, this is a negative example; an example of how someone who didn=t understand this principle Elder Holland was teaching may have became a stumbling block to those around him.

It is often said, Aobedience is the first law of heaven.@ While I don=t know where this exact saying originated, there are many scriptures that teach the importance of obedience. Even the very scripture about love that has been the center of our discussion today reaffirms the importance of obedience:
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you. (John 15:12-14)

Any successful returned missionary can bear testimony to the truth of this principle of obedience. If they can=t, I would submit to you that their mission was not as successful as they may think. My story is about one such returned missionary.

As in all singles wards, our brethren consisted of both returned missionaries, the experienced, all-knowing, and mighty RMs, and those whom the sisters lovingly referred to as Apreemies.@ You know what I=m talking about. Too much fun, I fear, may have been had at their expense. But one day they will return to campus, having served the Lord valiantly for two years, and claim their rightful place and the title of Returned Missionary.

In my position as the bishop, I was aware of the influence many such returned missionaries had on the younger brethren in our ward. Great was the example of many of these men on those who would shortly find themselves called as ambassadors of the Lord Jesus Christ throughout the world. Unfortunately, there were also exceptions.

I remember one day as one of my returned missionaries walked into the Elder=s Quorum meeting just before it began and sat down close to a few of our younger brethren. He was an outgoing and seemingly carefree person that seemed to thoroughly enjoy life. Today he was wearing a most unusual and bold necktie. It literally screamed at you, so much so, in fact, that it spawned several comments from those around him.

He explained that he had purchased the tie while on his mission but that his mission president didn=t like it and had asked him not to wear it. Then he said something in such a dismissive way that it made me want to cry for him, and scream ANo@ in the ears of those future missionaries, literally sitting at his feet. ASo I just didn=t wear it whenever the President was around.@ Several laughed with him and the meeting began.

What effect had this blatant expression of a disobedient attitude from one who should have known better had on those who heard it? I would probably never know for sure. Some would argue that we=re only talking about a necktie. But in my mind=s eye, I could easily imagine these future missionaries struggling, as all successful missionaries must do to some extent, to come to an understanding of the importance of obedience in their own lives. My disobedient and unthinking returned missionary certainly had not made their struggle for understanding any easier.

A year or two later I would unexpectedly encounter this same young man in a parking lot in Utah. We chatted briefly about how he was doing and what he was doing after having left Ricks College. I couldn=t help but notice that he was wearing very short cutoffs and a tanktop. It hadn=t just been about neckties, after all. It was, in fact, about obedience and temple covenants. How many others had been, and would be affected by the poor choices he was making in his own life?

Katie smiled as she hurried to her piano lesson. Today was Store Day! Every time she practiced the piano, she earned points to spend on prizes. Katie had worked hard, and she couldn’t wait to see all the cool things she could buy.
She looked at the row of prizes carefully. There were candy bars, colored pencils, baseball cards, and even a book of jokes. Then Katie noticed two little red and white boxes. She picked one up and opened it. Inside the box was a shiny red harmonica. The other box had a shiny red harmonica too.
Katie counted up her points. She had enough for the harmonica. In fact, she had enough for both harmonicas! She would give the other one to her little brother Ryan. He was going to be so excited! Katie could hardly wait.
When Katie got home, she tied a little ribbon around the box and gave it to her brother. “My own harmonica?” Ryan asked when he opened it.
“Yeah!” Katie said. She pulled out her matching harmonica to show him. “We both have one!”
“How will we tell them apart?” he asked.
Katie showed him where she had marked an “R” in black marker on the side of his harmonica. “Yours has an ‘R’ for Ryan, and mine has a ‘K’ for Katie.”
Ryan smiled. He took a deep breath and blew into his harmonica. Then he laughed. “You’re the best,” he said.
Katie loved seeing how happy the harmonica made Ryan. He carried it in his pocket everywhere he went. He even tucked it under his pillow before he went to bed.
A few days later, Ryan came inside from helping Dad in the yard. He was crying. “What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“My harmonica,” Ryan said. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
“I’ll help you look for it,” said Katie. They went outside and crawled through the grass, searching behind bushes and under rocks. Dad helped them look too.
“Do you think we should say a prayer?” Ryan asked. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help us find my harmonica.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said.
They knelt down in the grass and Ryan said a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help us find my harmonica.”
The three of them kept looking, but it was nowhere to be found. Ryan went to bed without his harmonica under his pillow and cried himself to sleep.
Seeing Ryan so sad made Katie feel sad too. “Heavenly Father, please help Ryan to not feel so upset. Please help him find his harmonica.” Katie finished her prayer and climbed into bed.
Then an idea popped into her mind.
She crawled out of bed and pulled out her own little red harmonica. She washed it with soap and water. She could still see the “K” written on the side, but the harmonica’s shiny red color made it look brand new. After Ryan fell asleep, Katie sneaked into his room and slipped the harmonica under his pillow. Then she went back to bed and tried to fall asleep. She was so excited to see Ryan’s face. It felt like waiting for Christmas morning!
The next day, Katie woke up extra early. Soon Ryan was awake too. She heard him yell in surprise and ran to his room. Ryan was holding the harmonica, smiling big. “Look! It’s my harmonica!”
Then Ryan noticed the little “K” written on the side. “Wait,” he said. “This one’s yours.”
“I know,” said Katie. “It’s for you!”
“Really?” Ryan asked. “But I thought Heavenly Father was going to answer my prayer.”
“I think He did,” Katie said back with a big smile. “He just let me help Him!”

The town is part of the Villa Verde Ward in the La Romana Stake, but because of its remote location, until recently the missionaries hadn’t been able to spend time there. Last summer the sisters serving in the Villa Verde Ward (Sisters Aguilar and Largespalda) noticed an increase in references to Guaymate, so they spoke with their bishop in a ward council about getting some help to reach out to these interested individuals. The bishop spoke with the stake president. They decided on a specific Saturday to do a blitz and invite any interested individuals to a local special sacrament meeting in a member’s garage. This blitz involved returned missionaries from several of the wards in the stake, and the special sacrament meeting had about 20 individuals in attendance.
From there the ward started sending a private bus to transport 15–20 people each Sunday from Guaymate to the ward in Villa Verde. There was such a positive response that the bishop contacted President Luis Chavarri, the Santo Domingo East Mission president, asking if he would place missionaries in this town because of the interest they were seeing.
On August 5, 2024, President Chaverri, along with George Mármol, the La Romana Stake president, his counselor Emmanuel Jerez, Bishop Jose Aponte, and his counselor Jeffrey Collado of the Villa Verde Ward visited Guaymate to look at the possibilities for opening full-time missionary work in the area. President Chaverri was hopeful, but they had yet to see any baptisms. He assigned some elders to spend two to three days a week traveling to Guaymate to see if they could find anyone who was serious about baptism.
That was when the first miracle happened. It started with one young man who had a strong desire to be closer to Jesus Christ and be baptized, and he shared it with a friend, and they shared it with another friend. These three young men were the start of the new growth in this area of the Lord’s vineyard. But the elders knew they needed families to lay a solid foundation and establish the Church in Guaymate, so they fasted and prayed to be led to a family ready to learn about the gospel.
One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.
We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.
Today, Julian, Carmen, and their family are part of the new Guaymate group that is meeting in an apartment below where the elders live. This little group is evidence that the Lord is involved in the details of all our lives. He loves us and wants us to make eternal covenants with Him.

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.
My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.
It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.