Gospel Story Finder

1 Sarah and George Benson were excited when they learned that Sarah was to have a baby. They had just been married a few months, and this would be their first child.
2 When Sarah’s labor started on August 4, 1899, both her mother and George’s mother were there with the doctor to offer their help. Sarah was grateful for their support.
3 It wasn’t an easy delivery. The baby boy weighed more than eleven pounds! He wasn’t breathing when he was born, and the doctor didn’t think that the infant would live.
4 But the baby’s grandmothers refused to give up. They each offered a silent prayer while hurrying to get two pans of water, one warm and one cold.
5 They dipped the baby into the cold water, then into the warm water. They did this over and over, praying all the time.
6 Imagine how excited they were when the small baby gulped his first breath of air and let out a cry! Their prayers had been answered.
7 The infant was named Ezra Taft Benson, and he grew up to be a great man. When he was eighty-six years old, he became the thirteenth President of the Church.

One evening in a small courtyard on Mount Zion near David’s tomb, I sat on a weathered wooden bench talking to a group of Yeshivah (orthodox Jewish seminary) students. The sun cast long golden shadows as they told me of God’s purposes for them in Israel. Several of them, American Jews who had immigrated to Israel, felt that God had arranged the events of their lives so that they would finally come to Israel. Their feelings were intense and sincere, and they seemed willing to follow God’s will as they felt it.
Israel seems to be preparing herself to renew her ancient covenant with God.
Even now there is a rapidly growing group of Jewish Christians. These are Jews who believe that Jesus was, indeed, the Messiah. Quite by accident I met a young couple who held that belief. Early one morning I entered a small stationery store in Jerusalem and was greeted by a friendly couple who spoke excellent English. We chatted for a few moments, and they were impressed by my Mormon attitudes, so they invited me out to lunch with them later that afternoon. After a very pleasant meal of Hungarian goulash, we talked for three hours, mostly about the similarities in our religious feelings. They were fascinated by the story of Joseph Smith and the idea of a personal, tangible God. They were especially interested in the Latter-day Saint concept of family unity and exaltation. They warmed to an invitation to attend our branch services in Jerusalem and expressed a desire to learn more about the Church. As we talked, I made a mental note to send them a copy of the Book of Mormon with my personal testimony written on the flyleaf.
Even atheists seem affected by God’s influence. A veteran Israeli soldier told me of his experience during the fighting of the six-day war of 1967. “Even though I was an atheist, a strange feeling came over me when we broke through the opposing forces and reached the Wailing Wall. I stood there crying like a baby. And since then … I don’t know … maybe there is a God.”
Most Latter-day Saints are familiar with the spirit of gathering that has impelled thousands of Jews to leave the lands of their birth, comfortable homes, and good businesses to immigrate to Israel. And they come in spite of extremely high income taxes (generally 50 percent) and the constant threat of war and terrorist raids. One immigrant told me that he had left his whole family and all of his friends in Chile. “I really don’t know why,” he said simply. Another young man from South Africa shrugged his shoulders: “I guess if I’m going to die for something, I want it to be for God.”
“Behold, I will gather them out of all countries, whither I have driven them in mine anger; … and I will bring them again unto this place, and I will cause them to dwell safely:
“And they shall be my people, and I will be their God.” (Jer. 32:37–38.)
Just the land itself is enough to stir up thoughts of ancient prophets and the ministry of the Savior. Jesus spoke of sowing seeds among the rocks; I’ve stumbled through fields that seemed more rock than dirt. Rocks are so numerous that the many hilly terraces, walls, and buildings made up of them do not seem to deplete their endless plenty. Wild flowers, the “lilies of the field,” are in great abundance and beauty. Everywhere there are shepherds and sheep, reflecting a changeless cycle and adding credence to the life of the Good Shepherd.
For me that sense of reality is the strongest message of Israel. The Savior’s feet walked and his voice sounded on the hills I climbed each evening as I wearily, but happily headed homeward after a long day of photography. He saw the sun coming up in the morning and felt its heat at noonday. Even some of the unpleasant odors of Old Jerusalem were common to him. Jesus taught here.
Later I climbed the Mount of Olives by way of a very old stone path. The huge stones were polished from the countless sandals of several thousand years. The feet of Jesus probably climbed this path from Jerusalem to Bethany. It was long and steep, and I stopped several times to gulp much needed air and to wipe the sweat from my eyes. As I lifted my eyes to see the top of the hill, I imagined myself to be one of the Savior’s disciples, following him up the path to Bethany. Perhaps I would have stumbled on a projecting rock and called, “Master, wait for me.” Or I might have asked, “Lord, what of the last days?” For a moment I stood there, aboard my own personal time-machine, wondering about the closeness to Christ that I was feeling. As tears came unexpectedly, I understood those I had seen in President David O. McKay’s eyes during a sacrament meeting a few years ago. He had cried in contemplation of the suffering of a close friend, a man called Jesus.
Later, almost by chance while reading an obscure book, I made a discovery. There were still in existence two pillars, with the original capitals still crowning them, that had been part of the portico of Solomon’s temple. It took special permission from the Arab Religious Council to gain access to them, and then I could only get as close as the open mesh of a wire fence. In breathless silence I looked at a fragment of the glory that was Israel 3,000 years ago. Now they stand in a storage room crowded with empty chairs, silent sentinels of a glorious past.
Even in the midst of modern technology, ancient Israel pokes its way into the present. As they have done for thousands of years, Arab women in brightly colored dresses still carry baskets balanced gracefully on their heads, though the baskets are now made of garish plastic mesh. I saw a woman hand-spinning wool into yarn as she walked along herding sheep; she wore modern slacks under her purple and orange dress.
Such is life in Israel today. An old Arab in the mosque-of-the-Dome area in Jerusalem, caught my eye as I laughed at a group of children teasing him. “Children, the same everywhere,” he smiled. And didn’t the Master of us all say, “Suffer the little children to come unto me”? Jesus did walk and teach in changeless changed Jerusalem.

During the time I was preparing to receive my mission call, I had the opportunity to attend a devotional where Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke to a group of youth and young single adults. I had no idea that he’d be coming, and when I saw him, I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He said he wanted to have a question-and-answer session. And when he asked for questions, I jumped at the opportunity.

“What is the most important thing I can do to prepare to be an effective missionary?” I asked.

He looked right at me and said, “Get over yourself.” At first I was taken aback. I had to think twice to make sure I hadn’t said something wrong, thinking maybe I was being scolded a little.

But then he explained that serving a mission is not about me; instead, it’s about serving the Lord and completely losing myself in that service. This advice completely changed my missionary preparation and my outlook on missionary service.

There are times when joining with my congregation feels really hard. I am shy, and sometimes, I struggle with social anxiety. Sometimes, the hardest place for me to be on a Sunday is with a group of women I don’t know very well. I say that as someone who loves the Relief Society and has a testimony of its mission. I have found that when those times hit, I am often blessed with being called to be the primary chorister, where I can sing my prayers and praises to the Lord with the children of my ward. Like Sister Tracy Y. Browning taught in the most recent General Conference, the Spirit has taught me through primary songs. I, too, have had “primary music [carry] a holy influence in my life and have lifted my soul, taught me eternal truths, and drawn me nearer to the Savior and to His gospel.” [17] I could be the sister whom Sister Browning shared about, the one who credited Primary music with “accelerating her continued conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ.” [18]

Did I mention I’ve been the primary chorister in five different wards? And I’m so grateful for those opportunities. Hymns can teach us through the Spirit in ways that nothing else can.

One night after contemplating the upcoming change, I dreamed about my great-great-grandfather Joseph Skeen. I knew from his journal that when he and his wife, Maria, moved to Nauvoo, he desired to serve, so he sought out the Prophet Joseph Smith and asked how he could help. The Prophet sent him to work on the prairie and told him to do the best he could, so he did. He worked on the Smiths’ farm.

Fulfilling callings requires faith. Shortly after Joseph began working on the farm, he and Maria became very sick. They had no money and were among strangers. It was a difficult time for them. In his journal, Joseph wrote, “We worked along [and] hung on to the Church with what little faith we had, though the devil tried to destroy us and turn us back.”

I, along with hundreds of other descendants, will be eternally grateful that Joseph and Maria did not turn back. Blessings come as we persevere in our callings and responsibilities and hang on with all the faith we have.

Several years ago, President Russell M. Nelson invited the young adults of the Church “to increase their testimony” and “learn all they can about Jesus Christ.” He asked them to spend some time each week “to study everything Jesus said and did as recorded in the standard works” using the scripture citations under the heading Jesus Christ in the Topical Guide or Guide to the Scriptures.

At that time, President Nelson had already “read and underlined every verse cited about Jesus Christ, as listed under the main heading and the 57 subtitles in the Topical Guide.” He studied over 2,200 scriptures! It took him six weeks to complete the task. When President Nelson’s wife Wendy asked him what impact studying all those scriptures had on him, he said, “I am a different man!”

The recital room at the Finnish high school was quiet, even though the hallway outside was not. Outside, students rushed from one class to another, their chatter and laughter filling the hall.
But here in the recital room, with its gilded trim and arching windows, the noise was distant and muffled. Here, where 15-year-old Säde (pronounced saw-day) Metsätähti was about to touch the keys of a black enamel piano, there was peace.
Säde could have played many things—Rachmaninoff or Beethoven, Phil Collins or Billy Joel. She’s learning to be a good pianist, and with practice can work her way through most pieces.
But right now, she only had time to play and sing one song. And so she played her favorite. The tune was simple, but memorable, the kind of melody I knew I would find myself—later in the day—unexpectedly humming.
Saria Karhunen, 16, joined Säde on the chorus. They’ve been friends since they were children, and somehow that showed as the harmony of their voices built power in the song. Säde’s brother Vesa, also 16, watched the two young women and listened. Even though he’d heard the song over and over again, he knew it was his sister’s favorite, and it still made him smile.
The girls finished. “Singing that,” Saria said, “is like singing a prayer.” Säde nodded her agreement.
In English the song is titled “Look Inside” (see page 10). But the Finnish version, translated by Säde’s mother Virpi, expresses the idea even more strongly. “Sydämees kun katsot,” it says, “When You Look to Your Heart.”
The second bell rang, and that meant the brief performance was over. Säde, Saria, and Vesa are on a strict schedule at the Puolalanmaen Koulu, a school for students with musical aptitude. They had been granted only a few minutes for a photo session with the New Era.
The magazine was also allowed a short time in Säde’s Swedish language lab, where, listening on her headphones, she diligently repeated phrases from her textbook. Even though the school caters to students with an aptitude for music, there are plenty of other courses required. For example, in addition to music and Swedish, Säde has classes in math, Finnish, gymnastics, English, biology, geography, and French.
She also studies seminary every day, and meets once a week with the other seminary students in her ward. That meeting would be tonight, and the New Era would take photos there, too. But for the next few hours, Säde had to return to school. As she said good-bye, she left a parting thought.
“That song I played for you,” she said. “I know other people wrote the words and the music. But every time I play it, I feel like it’s my song. I think everybody—everything—has a song of its own, if you just listen close enough to hear it.”
Because of what she said, for me the next few hours were filled with music, the kind of songs even rocks and trees sing if you’re listening. And Turku (toor-koo), the city where Säde lives, was a perfect place to hear them: The medieval songs of cold stone walls and wooden villages, of lives lived in search of fire and food. The Renaissance songs of castles and courtyards. The sea chanteys and songs of the river, for this is a town of both river and sea.
Walking through flower stalls of the open-air market, I heard the songs of spring. Wandering past the museum dedicated to composer Jean Sibelius, I could hear in my mind Finlandia, the anthem of a nation yearning to be free. The Olympic theme, beating like my heart, pounded inside me as I neared the statue of Finnish runner Paavo Nurmi, born in Turku, winner of nine gold and three silver medals. Near the cathedral, I imagined organs and choirs, their praises vaulting higher than the ceiling.
By then it was evening, time to walk back across town, past the windmill, through the park, over by the sports arena to the LDS chapel on the other side of the city.
“When you look to your heart,” I thought, and sure enough, I started humming the tune. Then I heard another song, faint but getting stronger. Was it a hymn like “Come, Come, Ye Saints”? Or the Primary song “I Am a Child of God”? Or was it my own personal song, the one my soul sings when I feel the joy and hope of being a Latter-day Saint?
It was activity night at the chapel, and seminary students, institute students, Scouts, family history workers, and other ward members had gathered for various purposes, but all as brothers and sisters. Did each one, I wondered, hear a song just like me? Did they all make a chorus together?
In seminary I listened.
“How can you get closer to Jesus Christ?” asked Auli Haikkola, the teacher.
“Study the scriptures,” said Aki Keskinen.
“Pray,” said Todd Katschke. “Go to church.”
“Talk about the Savior with your family,” said Jukka Merenluoto.
“Do good for someone else,” said Joni Mikkonen.
“Most people in Finland don’t talk about religion,” Maria Sokoli explained. “They go to church once or twice a year. They don’t understand how it can be such a big part of my life.”
“My friends respect me,” said Heidi Hankiala. “But it still gets tough when they all drink and do other things I won’t do.”
“Maria, Heidi, Saria, and I all grew up in the Church,” Säde explained. “Most of the people in this ward have grown up with the gospel. But now the Church is growing fast, and I see the day when it will grow faster and faster, when there will be lots of young people joining, not only in Finland, but in Russia, in Eastern Europe—all over the world. The Church is the hope of the future, and the youth are the hope of the Church.”
I could hear their song now, pulsing to a crescendo, the song of belief, of faith, of peace, of answers—the song of young Latter-day Saints all over the world.
I wanted to explain what I was feeling. As I interviewed the seminary students, I tried. But my words sounded like an echo compared to a symphony. We talked about how seminary helps prepare young people for missions, about getting up early to study the scriptures, about prayer and families and priesthood and the Spirit and a dozen other things youth all over the Church have in common. But still I wondered if I was the only one hearing the marvelous music.
Too soon, the conversations were over. The youth said good-bye and departed. The seminary room was deserted and the building was almost empty, too. Only a few people lingered.
That was when I heard the song again.
Waiting for her mother, Säde had found a piano. Not an elegant one like the black enamel grand in the recital room at school. This was a brown upright, with a key or two chipped and a scratch in the finish. But the melody she played on it was the same.
The song of faith continued.

Moreover, once sin’s swift current carries us downstream, we can’t always just turn around at will and swim back, against the current, to our point of beginning. We don’t have that much control over our lives. For example, one of the most exciting football games in BYU history was the so-called Miracle Bowl in 1980 against SMU. The Cougars were behind four touchdowns with only minutes to play. Then, amazingly, they came roaring back to win the game with an onside kick and a Hail Mary pass in the final seconds.

The next year, in an early game, BYU fell far behind against a very strong team. Our ten-year old daughter said, “You know, this is a lot more fun for everybody—let the other team get way ahead and then just pass them up like we did last year!” But it wasn’t to be—the Cougars were soundly defeated, and our daughter had to rethink her philosophy about the thrill of coming from behind. She found she had to get real about playing against tough competition. And Satan is a tough competitor.

I would like to share a personal experience from my life that illustrates this principle. In my early youth, pride and peer influence began creeping into my life as it does with many adolescents. I began to take offense easily and was quick to anger. In the 1980's the phrase "burn'd ya" was a way to shown how clever you were at putting others down in a way that made them feel frazzled and unable to defend themselves against your clever criticism. Being good at "burning" people fed one's pride and served to build an increasingly rebellious nature. I succumbed to these temptations and at times responded in hurtful ways to my parents and siblings. Despite this great weakness, I had developed a pattern of consistent personal scripture study and prayer which allowed the Holy Ghost to prick my conscience often. Each time I would get angry and arrogant I would feel disappointed in myself. I finally vowed with intense personal commitment that I would quit it.

Overcoming this weakness, however, was not that easy. Day after day I would try to control my anger by sheer will power. Day after day I would falter. My personal prayers began to include petitions to the Lord to help me with this weakness and these petitions became more and more sincere as they continued for perhaps 3 or even 4 years. By the time I was approaching 16 years of age I still hadn't completely overcome this weakness. Sure I had made some progress but came to the frightening realization that although I was doing my very best it just wasn't enough. I began feeling helpless against this obstacle and knew that it stood in the way of my exaltation. My prayers then began sincerely acknowledging that I just couldn't fix it and that I desperately needed his help. I humbly began asking for a miracle.

What occurred throughout the next months happened quietly and almost imperceptibly until one day I was in a situation that normally would have offended me and made me angry. I recall saying to myself "Wow, I don't feel offended or angry at all". When this continued month after month I realized that a miracle had occurred for me. Not only did I not get angry but I had become very patient -- my weakness had been turned into a strength. I humbly witness to you that it was the grace of my Savior that performed this transformation. I testify that "it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do."[20]

One mother told the following experience that helps to explain this idea. She said, “Sometimes while we are eating, one of my children will get my attention and signal to me while his mouth is full of food. Grunting and waving, he will try to motion for me to do something for him. I know perfectly well that what he wants is for me to pour him a glass of milk, but I will wait until he uses words to ask me before I will do it. It’s not that I can’t understand what he wants but that I feel it is important for him to learn how to communicate well.”

Some people thought the girls were a little off their rockers, but five Beehive girls from the South Cottonwood Tenth Ward, Salt Lake South Cottonwood Stake, decided to help raise money for the Cambodians by staging a rockathon. After getting pledges from friends (paid according to the number of hours rocked), the girls mounted their rockers, made sure they were well stocked with food and blankets, and kept rocking for 24 hours straight. Their mothers took turns staying with the girls, supplying encouragement and meals. At the end of the rockathon, the Beehives had raised $150, which they donated to the Utah Cambodian Fund—and they found that they’d grown to be even closer friends than before!

On registration day several of the young people complained about having the boys and girls on separate campuses, but as the conferences progressed, they all seemed to really enjoy their own activities more without the pressures they usually feel when someone from the opposite sex is around. Bryan Krieger, from Silver Springs, Maryland, felt this separation gave the conference a perfect balance of social, spiritual, and physical activities.
“There is no way we could have accomplished as much all meeting together,” added Randy Tearlink from Charlottesville, North Carolina.
When they did see each other for the first time dressed in their best at the dinner-dance, they appreciated the company even more. Franky Ipsen from Fayetteville, West Virginia, said it was even fun following the advice of the speakers. “The dance really made it worth coming. There were plenty of girls to dance with, and we tried our best to do what we were told in the general sessions, ‘Warm people’s lonely hearts.’”

Over the nineteen years of our marriage, nine beautiful children have blessed our home, along with many financial and occupational disappointments for my husband Craig, failing health for me, and increasing responsibilities outside the home competing for our limited time. During the years, as the stress increased, I found myself saying or thinking, “Maybe we aren’t really right for each other.”
I had also noticed that when Craig and I got a night out together, we really didn’t have much in common. For instance, he’d want to see a movie, and I’d want to go to the temple. He’d want to watch a soccer game or something like that, and I’d want to go to a dance or a concert.
I must have expressed my frustration, because one day Craig found himself repeating my statement, “Maybe we aren’t really right for each other.” Hearing himself say this out loud bothered him, for he spent the next few days praying and fasting about our marriage relationship and the frustrations we were feeling.
Then one evening he said, “You and I are like the basic colors—red, yellow, and blue. Between the two of us we have everything necessary to make a successful marriage and an eternal family. Together, we lack nothing. Just as it takes all three basic colors to make all the other colors, you and I, with Heavenly Father’s help, have the ability to blend our qualities to make a happy, eternal marriage.”
As I thought about that, I saw our differences from a new perspective. In our family, Craig is the one who radiates love. I’ve sometimes been jealous of that ability because I wanted to do that, too. I have a lot of love in me, but my love doesn’t always seem to come out graciously. Once, when I told Craig that I felt sad about not being able to express my love well, he replied, “But you bring spirituality into our family. You love to read the scriptures and listen to general conference, and you’re always eager to share what you have learned.” Suddenly I realized that Craig and I were helping each other and our children: he showed me how to give love, and I shared with him what I had learned from the scriptures and prophets.
Now, when I get caught up in my daily work, I appreciate Craig’s encouragement to stop and relax with him. And when I find him doing more than he should when he helps our children with their chores, he appreciates my encouragement to become a better delegator and let them do more. We are also learning how much joy there is in taking turns: sometimes watching television together for him, and sometimes reading books aloud together for me.
We have discovered that we really do have a lot in common. We both dislike grocery shopping, for instance. But, more important, we have found that we both like long walks, our children, church, a clean house, fresh bread, and—each other! I like to talk; he likes to listen. I am consistent, persistent, dependable, and determined; he is kind, tolerant, patient, and unwavering. We are both honest, loyal, committed, and united in our eternal goal of reaching exaltation.
As I sat in the celestial room of the temple early one morning, I thought that he and I are like the crystal prisms hanging from the chandelier in that room, receiving the light and transforming it into all the sparkling colors of the rainbow. The love we share blends all of our differences into a beautiful, unfolding eternal relationship.
We have found that when we don’t give in to self-pity, anger, and selfishness, we become united. As long as neither of us ever gives up—he helps me when I begin to fail at something, I help him when he is down—we will continue to create a wonderful marriage.
Together, we have the resources to realize that dream. We have the joint responsibility to make and shape our marriage and family. When we are finished, the masterpiece that we have created will be our prize. We decide how beautiful that masterpiece will be.

I explained to Kami that we definitely had been chosen because we would not seek such a challenging assignment. This was reinforced just a few days later when Sister Brough and I were assigned to travel to India for a missionary conference. The flight from Hong Kong to New Delhi, India, was a late-night flight that arrived in New Delhi at about two o’clock in the morning. Even at that late hour, there were hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to provide our transportation. After selecting a driver, we began our journey of about 40 kilometers to the hotel. Even though it was late, the roads were crowded with animals, people, and other vehicles. As we were going through an intersection, the taxi’s motor quit. I watched with increasing anxiety as the driver fruitlessly attempted to start the motor. Finally, in obvious frustration, the driver turned to me and in his very best English said, “Push taxi!” It was three o’clock in the morning, and my wife and I were very tired. I got out of the taxi and tried to push it across the intersection but was not able to do so. The driver then said to my wife, “Push taxi.” Lanette got out of the car and began to help me push the taxi through the intersection. As we were struggling to get the taxi through the traffic, I said to my wife, “There were a few things we didn’t understand when we were given this assignment.”

I shall never forget the experience we had in June of 1993 at a special meeting in Beijing, China, with couples who were then teaching English in North Vietnam and Mongolia. After two days of training and inspiration, we closed with this familiar song:
It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea,
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me.
(“I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270)
As we were singing, my wife leaned over and whispered in my ear: “But it might be ‘on the mountain height,’ or it might be ‘over the stormy sea,’ or it might be ‘at the battle’s front.’” The Lord surely had need for these beautiful people serving in this interesting area of the world. These wonderful missionary couples did not choose to come to these countries. Yet as we now look at the results of their service, I know that they were chosen by the Lord for their special calling.
On four different occasions, Sister Brough and I and our family have excitedly opened the envelope containing the mission call and assignment for one of our children. Each time, we have contemplated with excitement the various possibilities for their service. While preferences were expressed, the moment their eyes saw the words “You are hereby assigned to serve in the (blank) mission,” without exception a wonderful feeling of good and right came over each family member. We each knew that a prophet had guided a divine selection process to which four of our children have gladly responded. Tens of thousands of returned missionaries can also testify of this process and the divine inspiration of their own missionary calling.
I never completely satisfied little Kami’s question that night. Over the years, we have recalled that challenging evening when a small child was a bit overwhelmed with life. We have explored other scriptures and many other stories since that time. We have received the wonderful promise to those the Savior had chosen “that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it [to] you” (John 15:16).
That promise—of answer to our prayers—is directed even to a small child. This was reaffirmed recently when I heard Kami, now 15 years old, respond to a question directed to her by an adult friend: “How come you were so lucky to live in Hong Kong when you were a child?” She looked directly at me as she gave her answer to our friend: “It wasn’t luck; we ‘were chosen.’”
That personal and prophetic revelation is the foundation upon which our Church service is firmly based is my witness, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Joseph Toronto woke up in a panic and looked around the ship’s dark cabin. Pulling the scratchy wool blanket up to his chin, he realized that it was just a dream that had awakened him. He’d been dreaming about how the missionaries who had recently baptized him counseled him to go to Nauvoo. But Joseph loved being on the sea in the sunshine and salty air. Even though he couldn’t swim—none of the sailors could—he planned on spending his whole life out on the water.
Joseph went back to sleep, listening to the gentle creaking of his small ship and the other ships in the harbor as they rocked in the ocean.
The next time he awoke it was morning, and Joseph heard his fellow sailors already at work. Joseph felt troubled about the dream. Pushing the feeling away, he got up and prepared for a long day of trading and selling fruits and vegetables.
It was 1845, and Boston Harbor was one of the busiest trading ports in the world. Ships large and small from many countries sailed to this harbor to trade their products for American goods. Joseph was the captain of his ship, and he had sailed from his home country of Italy to do the same.
On deck, Joseph secured the cargo as his men brought up the anchor. They were going to sail across the harbor to meet with other traders, but a flash of lightning on the horizon made Joseph uneasy. Dark storm clouds were gathering in the sky. Still, Joseph and his crew headed out, sure that they could make it before the storm hit. But they were only halfway across the harbor when the wind started churning up the water. All the ships in the harbor were being tossed around like toys.
Rain poured down, and the rumble of thunder mixed with the sound of Joseph yelling orders to his men to secure the sails and get below. They quickly tied the sails to the tall mast so the fabric wouldn’t rip in the wind, then ran to the lower decks for safety.
Joseph glanced around the top deck to make sure all his men were below, then looked up to see another ship being thrown straight at them by the wind. He jumped toward the door to the lower decks, but the two ships collided and everything went overboard, including Joseph.

Within the week, I listened to one of the brethren who has just returned from the mission field. He has been out nearly five years, and he told of some of the experiences in the field. He told of people that had illness and the doctors did everything they could for them, but they could not heal them. But the humble missionaries, the humble men who held the priesthood, placed their hands upon the heads of those who were afflicted and rebuked their ailments, and they were healed.

Two missionaries asked a new family to kneel in prayer, and the senior companion, not knowing why, asked the husband to move over by his wife and take her hand. He hesitated, and the missionary simply said, “That’s what my mom and dad do at home. Please take your wife by the hand.”

After they were baptized, the husband and wife tearfully confessed that they were on the verge of divorce when they met the missionaries. The husband had already moved out of the home. He was just there to visit the children when the missionaries appeared. The husband said that as his hand touched his wife’s, a healing spirit came over them. Love replaced the wounds and the misunderstandings; they forgave each other, and the husband came home.

I ran the Wasatch Back Ragnar in 2012. A Ragnar race is a relay that covers about 200 miles or so. Teams of 12 runners are assigned segments of the course and hand off the baton to the next runner. It’s basically two days of driving through some beautiful country, hopping out of the van to run like mad, then doing it again and again while you try to occasionally eat and sleep.

My second leg was an 8-mile uphill jaunt up to East Canyon reservoir. [45] I started a bit hesitant because I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I hadn’t had time to adjust to the altitude. Then, a thought came to my mind: “Kevin, you live the Word of Wisdom. You’re promised that you can run and not be weary, and walk and not faint.” That thought filled my body with energy and determination, and I flew up that mountain! I felt such joy and happiness that I couldn’t help offering encouragement to all the runners I passed (much to their chagrin) and reveling in the beauty of the world around me and the miracle that our bodies are.

When we have confidence that we’re doing what is right, our Heavenly Father will help us in our races. He won’t take the mountains away, but he will help us get up them. He’s promised us that when we do His will and follow His coaching, we’ll be strong. With each covenant we make with God, He promises us so many wonderful blessings, and we should be confident in our abilities to live up to our eternal potential.

For Scout camp this summer, we took our Scouts to Flaming Gorge. One day we rafted the Green River below Flaming Gorge Dam. They were letting extra water out of the dam, so the currents in the river were impressive. Each raft had a guide who told us how and when to stroke—“forward three,” “left four,” “back two.” We responded quickly with the required strokes. In this way the guide directed us to currents in the river in which we could enjoy the rapids as well as safety.

Being in high school can make living the gospel pretty difficult; at least, it seemed that way to me. There were very few members at my school, and I just didn’t seem to get along with them very well. The group of friends that I usually hung out with was far from “the right kind of friends,” but I really seemed to get along with them.
Soon, I started to fall away from the gospel and my Heavenly Father. I stopped attending church and Mutual activities and started using bad language. I eventually realized that I needed to change—I needed to become the kind of young woman Heavenly Father wants me to be. But I doubted that I could actually be forgiven for turning my back on the gospel and on Heavenly Father.
Then I remembered the story about the adulteress from John 8; she had committed one of the worst sins possible, but Christ invited her to repent. I realized that if repentance and forgiveness were possible for her, then I could also repent and be forgiven. That night I knelt down and prayed—for the first time in a long time—asking for Heavenly Father to forgive me. I was immediately wrapped in warmth.
I know now that repentance is possible. Satan will constantly try to make us believe that we can’t be forgiven, but I know from personal experience that this is wrong. Repentance can be incredibly difficult, but Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to return to Him. He wants us to be the best we can be, and He will do anything He can to help us if we let Him into our lives.