Gospel Story Finder

Beehive Marianne Miner, of the Salt Lake Valley View Sixth Ward, along with others in her Young Women program, joined in to help make a slide and sound presentation on record keeping. Before this she was unaware that her ward Young Women president, Annette Brantzeg, had a special testimony of keeping records. The presentation explained that when Annette was only nine weeks old her mother died. Annette was raised by her grandparents and was never told much about her mother. Because of unusual circumstances Annette did not see her father for many years. Then when she was 17, he visited her and brought with him a journal that her mother had kept for one year of her life. That journal made it possible for a daughter to come to know her mother. In that record Annette was able to share a part of her mother’s life—her courtship, the discovery of a heart condition, her experiences as a school teacher in Wyoming.
Hearing the story made Marianne think about the importance of keeping records and the many kinds of records we can keep. “I was really moved by Annette’s story. I immediately started my book of remembrance. I’m going to keep things from school and church to put in it. I’m also going to start my life story.”

Gustavo, the Soareses’ oldest child, remembers the night when, as a boy, he disobeyed his parents and slipped away to check out an annual celebration in their São Paulo neighborhood known as Festa Junina.

“I was in the middle of a large crowd having a good time when I heard an announcer call me up to the front,” he says. “That’s when I saw my dad.”

His parents had been worried sick, but rather than scold Gustavo, Ulisses hugged him tight.

“We had a serious conversation about me getting lost, but my parents treated me with respect,” Gustavo recalls. “I felt protected, and I knew that they really loved me.”

When I joined the Church in 1990, I was friendshipped by great families, was given a calling, and felt that I belonged. But a year later, after moving to a new ward, I began to drift away. I stopped attending meetings and started dating a man who was not a member of the Church.
I still believed the Church was true. I just didn’t think I was good enough for it anymore. Then Kathy was assigned as my visiting teacher.
Kathy called every month for the first few months to try to schedule an appointment. Because I always dodged her visits, she started mailing me the Visiting Teaching Message instead. Every month the message would arrive like clockwork. This went on for four years, even after I married my boyfriend and we had two children.
Some months I would throw the message away unread; other months I would read it and then throw it away. When my marriage failed, I found myself with a toddler and an infant to raise alone. I suddenly needed answers. When my monthly Visiting Teaching Message arrived again, I decided to attend church for the first time in ages.
I felt so awkward, as if all my sins were written upon my sleeve. A sister I had known in the young single adult program welcomed me, and we sat down together. Suddenly here came Kathy. I looked away, embarrassed that I had not answered any of her kind notes. She smiled at me, chatted with my neighbor for a moment, and then sat with her husband.
When I got home from work the next day, there was a message from Kathy on the answering machine. I couldn’t call her back. I just knew she wanted to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to come to church anymore, that my sins had been too great. I felt bad that Kathy had to convey this message to me, but I knew it was true. I had no place among the righteous. I couldn’t call her back, but the next evening she called me again.
“I want to apologize,” she said.
Why would Kathy possibly need to apologize to me?
“I didn’t recognize you when I saw you at church on Sunday,” she said. “After sacrament meeting, I asked the sister you were sitting by who you were. By then you had already left. It was so good to see you.”
I was dumbfounded.
“I hope we can sit together the next time you come to church,” Kathy added.
“I’d like that,” I said, suddenly feeling overcome with emotion.
We did sit together the next Sunday—and for many Sundays after that. She served as my inspiration to be a better mother, a better member of the Church, and a better visiting teacher. She always listened patiently, without judging, just as I feel the Savior would.
Kathy sat beside me the day I received my endowment and the day I married my new husband in the temple. She remained my visiting teacher until we moved from the area. Her service blessed my family in ways I’m sure she never could have imagined—all because she wouldn’t give up on me.

Ben Carson said of himself, “I was the worst student in my whole fifth-grade class.” One day Ben took a math test with 30 problems. The student behind him corrected it and handed it back. The teacher, Mrs. Williamson, started calling each student’s name for the score. Finally, she got to Ben. Out of embarrassment, he mumbled the answer. Mrs. Williamson, thinking he had said “9,” replied that for Ben to score 9 out of 30 was a wonderful improvement. The student behind Ben then yelled out, “Not nine! … He got none … right.” Ben said he wanted to drop through the floor.
At the same time, Ben’s mother, Sonya, faced obstacles of her own. She was one of 24 children, had only a third-grade education, and could not read. She was married at age 13, was divorced, had two sons, and was raising them in the ghettos of Detroit. Nonetheless, she was fiercely self-reliant and had a firm belief that God would help her and her sons if they did their part.
One day a turning point came in her life and that of her sons. It dawned on her that successful people for whom she cleaned homes had libraries—they read. After work she went home and turned off the television that Ben and his brother were watching. She said in essence: You boys are watching too much television. From now on you can watch three programs a week. In your free time you will go to the library—read two books a week and give me a report.
The boys were shocked. Ben said he had never read a book in his entire life except when required to do so at school. They protested, they complained, they argued, but it was to no avail. Then Ben reflected, “She laid down the law. I didn’t like the rule, but her determination to see us improve changed the course of my life.”
And what a change it made. By the seventh grade he was at the top of his class. He went on to attend Yale University on a scholarship, then Johns Hopkins medical school, where at age 33 he became its chief of pediatric neurosurgery and a world-renowned surgeon. How was that possible? Largely because of a mother who, without many of the advantages of life, magnified her calling as a parent.1

Stacie Lloyd, 18, Draper 8th Ward, Draper Utah North Stake. Stacie entered BYU in the fall as a freshman. She needed to earn as much money as she could for college. She and her parents agreed that she would pay tuition, and they would help with housing and food.

Stacie had a regular job in a flower shop, but it was a slow time for florists and she was needed only in the afternoons. She got a second job working in the mornings at a local restaurant as a prep girl, making the salads and cutting up vegetables and garnishes. Since she is paid hourly, she didn’t always know precisely how much her paychecks would be. Here is what Stacie estimated her income and expenses would be for one month, and then what actually happened:

Estimate
Actual
Income
$495.00
$526.35
Expenses
tithing
49.50
52.64
savings
315.00
326.69
lunches
20.00
22.00
miscellaneous
25.00
33.69
gas
13.00
4.00
fun
35.00
35.00
clothes
35.00
37.00
total
$492.50
511.02

Stacie followed her plan fairly closely. She only had a few minor problems. She had used up her lunch budget by the middle of the month, so she chose to cut out going out to lunch to meet her plan. In the future, she may have to increase the amount she needs for lunches. Also in the miscellaneous section, she knew she had some expenses for girls’ camp and planned for them. What she didn’t plan on was the birthday cards she bought that month. That put her over in the miscellaneous section. She got a break on gas because she didn’t use the car as much. Stacie’s “fun” category was a little higher than normal because she and her friends had planned to go to a concert and she budgeted in the price of the ticket.

Stacie looked over the month and said, “It was good that I took my savings out first because I spent nearly every single penny I had left until my next paycheck. If something else had come up, I would have been stuck.”

Stacie also just opened her first checking account. She said, “I’ve heard the bad side, that you just write out checks all the time. But I keep forgetting my checkbook, and I don’t have cash very often. I know if I have cash I just spend it. My checking account actually kept me from spending sometimes.”

Now that she’s ready for college, Stacie says, “I wish I had started saving when I was in the ninth grade when I really didn’t have that much to spend my baby-tending money on. I wish I had always put half into savings.”

The bomb went off as suddenly and with as much impact as the one dropped on Hiroshima. I always thought they were happy; it was nearly their 18th wedding anniversary. You never think something like this can happen to you; it’s always the other guy. But this was real, and it was happening to me. My parents wanted a divorce.
Dad moved out. Then I realized what my family meant to me.
I was praying pretty regularly, and I felt I was receiving help. But one place I didn’t get any help was from my church; the members didn’t seem to care. People would say how sad it was, but they really wouldn’t listen. I felt there must be some way to hold a family together forever.
I didn’t know where to start looking, but I could always talk to Jill, a friend of mine. She said she was LDS, and she told me something about her church. We talked about things like temple marriage and the eternal family unit. I went to a family home evening at Jill’s house. Not every family sets aside one night specifically for each other. Her family members were in tune with each other; they weren’t just a bunch of people living together. Jill said she didn’t have all the answers, but she knew someone who could help me.
I became acquainted with the missionaries. Once a week I’d meet with them for a discussion. Some really hit home and helped with my problems. After reading the Book of Mormon I felt something inside hinting that maybe it was true. I attended sacrament and other Church meetings. I began to feel that maybe this church did have Jesus Christ at its head.
Then the big question came up. Did I want to become a member of the Church? I believed the Lord had chosen Joseph Smith to restore the truth, and I felt it was the Lord’s church, but I also realized I would have to live up to his standards. I thought and prayed until the answer came: My family-to-be would be an eternal family.

One of her first experiences as a member of the Church was ridicule by her young acquaintances, and when the family decided to join with other Saints in Far West, Missouri, Bathsheba was disappointed that she couldn’t leave immediately with her married sister, Nancy. While pondering this disappointment, she seemed to hear a voice say, “Weep not. You will go this fall.” And her family did leave for Missouri that autumn.

Chad Bybee, now a returned missionary from the Japan Okayama Mission, ran four years on the Mountain View team. He took second at state in 1989, leading the boys’ team to its first cross-country title. Looking back, Chad realizes how much cross-country helped prepare him for his mission.
“I learned dedication, self-motivation, and self-discipline,” he says. “It also made me fit.” Chad remembers an experience on his mission where his running experience paid off. “One time, our bishop was sick, and he asked us to give him a blessing. My bike got a flat as we were going up the hill to the bishop’s house. So I ran the final 100 to 200 meters up the hill while my companion rode his bike,” Chad says. “Then I ran three-quarters of a mile to a discussion afterward.
“But I knew I could do it because of cross-country,” he continues. “Cross-country taught me how to push myself.”

“I want to be a missionary now. I don’t want to wait until I’m grown. …”* Andrew Gibson understands the meaning of this Primary song—in fact, he lives it! Andrew, a nine-year-old who lives just outside of Erie, Pennsylvania, is an outgoing boy who likes to share the gospel with people he meets. Right now he is the only member of the Church in his school, so he has many missionary opportunities. He says, “I talk about the Church with my friends. If you tell people about the gospel, or invite your friends to church, you’re being a missionary.”
Andrew is preparing now to serve a mission when he is older. “I am trying to obey the commandments,” he says. “And I’m also trying to save money.” He knows that setting and working toward goals is important. In addition to serving a mission, he wants to attend college and earn a Ph.D. For now, he is working on some short-term goals. In the past year, he has learned the multiplication tables, and he is still working to improve his handwriting.
Andrew faces challenges in life, like a life-threatening peanut allergy. He has to be very careful to not eat any peanuts. “The hard part is that you have to read the labels for everything you eat,” he says. “I can’t eat things like birthday cake at parties, just to be safe. My mom brings another treat for me.” He has to carry medicine with him at all times in case he accidentally eats peanuts. But the challenge has helped to strengthen his faith. “Every year before school starts I receive a priesthood blessing, and we pray that I will be safe. I feel like the priesthood blessings have protected me.”
Andrew knows that being a good example is one of the best ways to be a missionary to others. He tries to be an example to his dad, who is not a member of the Church. Andrew and his dad have a lot of fun playing sports and spending time together. Dad, who is also Andrew’s den leader, is helping Andrew work toward his Bear badge in Scouting. One of Andrew’s favorite Scouting activities was going fishing in a parking lot! First the leaders made a “fishing hole” out of boxes and duct tape, then they taught the boys how to cast fishing poles with bait into the “hole.”
Andrew likes to spend time with his entire family, including his mom and his sisters Rachel and Sarah. The family enjoys outdoor activities like swimming. They also like traveling. One place they like to visit is Presque Isle State Park, located on a nearby peninsula that juts out into Lake Erie. The family likes to rollerblade and bike on the paths that wind along the beaches there.
Living in Pennsylvania puts Andrew’s family close to many of the Church history sites. A few years ago, the family visited the Palmyra New York Temple. While there, the family also visited the Sacred Grove. Andrew says, “I remember walking around and looking at the trees. I wondered where Joseph was praying when he saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” His family has also visited the Nauvoo area where he saw Carthage Jail and learned about how the Prophet Joseph was martyred. “It was sad,” he says softly.
Andrew’s testimony has grown in many ways. He says, “I know the Church is true, and that the Book of Mormon is true.” How does he know? “Our family reads the Book of Mormon together every night. I prayed about the Book of Mormon, and I got a happy feeling.” With this strong foundation, Andrew is working hard to be a good missionary now to prepare to serve a mission when he is older.

“I remember more than 30 years ago when I was first called to be a visiting teacher, I was assigned a young woman who never came to church,” recalls Catherine Carr Humphrey of the Hillside Ward, Rancho Cucamonga California Stake. “She impressed me in those early 1970s as a hippie type. I faithfully went every month and knocked on her door. She would open the inside door but leave the screen door shut. I was never really sure what she looked like. She would not say anything. She would just stand there. I would look cheerful and say, ‘Hi, I’m Cathie, your visiting teacher.’ And as she would say nothing, I would say, ‘Well, our lesson today is on …’ and try briefly to say something uplifting and friendly. When I was through, she would say, ‘Thank you,’ and shut the door.
“I did not like going there. I felt embarrassed. But I went because I wanted to be obedient. After about seven or eight months of this, I got a phone call from the bishop.
“‘Cathie,’ he said, ‘the young woman you visit teach just had a baby who lived only a few days. She and her husband are going to have a graveside service, and she asked me to see if you would come and be there with her. She said you are her only friend.’
“I went to the cemetery. The young woman, her husband, the bishop, and I were at the graveside. That was all. I had seen her only once a month for a few minutes at a time. I hadn’t even been able to tell through the screen door that she was expecting a baby, yet even my inept but hopeful visiting had blessed us both.”

“No Santa this year,” my sister Lindi whispered to me. “But we have each other. Besides, next Christmas we’ll have a house.”
What! No Santa? My sister’s remark echoed in my mind. I could do without Santa, and I knew we were lucky to even have a place to live, but how would the younger children understand? Tears formed in my eyes when I thought that the lack of money would make my younger brothers and sisters learn the truth about Santa.
It was almost December. Two years earlier we had left our home in New Jersey for California to support our dad’s dream of owning his own veterinary practice. We left with the hope our house there would sell within a few weeks and we’d buy one in California. It didn’t sell, and the eight of us, and our large German shepherd, spent our first California Christmas in a 20-foot trailer.
A year later the house still hadn’t sold, but we were able to move into the back of Dad’s veterinary clinic. Six of us shared one bedroom, but we each had separate “areas” and thought it wonderful to have our own beds.
Paradise, California, was not a wealthy community. There were a lot of retired people and a lot of young families. Dad couldn’t stand charging those with financial struggles the normal fees, so we adjusted to less material lives, shopped at bargain stores, and dreamed about our future house. In those two years we made a lot of friends and not very much money.
But as Christmas approached, I knew friendship wouldn’t fill the stockings.
I was wrong.
The week before Christmas Dad came back into our apartment at least twice a day with tears in his eyes and candy, cookies, or fruit in his hands. The cards attached to these presents were messages of love and faith. Newly found friends were acting as if we were family.
On Christmas Eve we returned our clients’ kindness by caroling to their doorsteps. We gave our voices, and then a jar of honey from the bees we raised in New Jersey. Our off-key voices competed with barking watchdogs. Then we hugged a lot of adopted grand-aunts and -uncles and went home laughing.
When we got back to the clinic, my brother Vance jumped out of the Suburban. He came back quickly with a ham in his arms. “Santa came! Look! There’s a box of food and this big thing.”
We dashed to the back porch. “Cake mixes and Jello! Wow!” Laurel screamed.
“Dad, look—tamales in cans. You love tamales,” Brett said. We sat under the porch light joyously pulling things out.
Christmas morning we ran to the waiting room where our stockings had been propped in front of the reception desk. “I don’t think Santa left much this year,” Mom said. “What’s in there? Oh, look Lee, he left oranges in the toes.”
“And walnuts and almonds!” Vance said, excitedly. We dug through our stockings for the trinkets and some change Santa also left. Laurel told me she was glad Santa found out where we had moved. “They believe Santa came!” I thought.
Mom and Dad went out back to bring in their presents when we heard Mom call, “Oh, come here!” We all went running and looked outside to see two boxes this time—one full of presents and one stuffed with a turkey.
We brought it all into the cage room and unloaded our third bundle from “Santa” with excitement and disbelief. There were gifts for each of us—all from Santa Claus.
“Does Santa come more than once a year?” asked Bliss.
“I guess anything is possible,” Dad said, and I watched as he and Mom exchanged a look of shock and relief.
Later, as we ate dinner, we heard singing and then a deep voice calling, “Santa’s here!” We hurried for the fourth time to the door. There was a mobile home with Santa and Mrs. Claus out front carrying presents. “Hey, little one,” Santa said to my sister, “what would you like for Christmas? How about a big doll that walks?” He unloaded a doll for Laurel. She nearly burst saying thank you, then hugged him around the neck.
“How about you, young man?” Santa handed a packet to Vance. Vance was speechless. He gently took the package and stood staring with wonder.
The process continued. Mom tried to get their identity, but they simply said, “Merry Christmas!” and left after our abundant thank-yous.
When we got back to the cage room we looked at everything that had been brought and talked about the blessings we had. I will never forget what we learned in our home that season—that the presents were a treasure, but the real gifts were in our appreciation and the generosity of others. Our neighbors and friends shared the most priceless gift with us, the pure love of Jesus Christ.

“Oh, what do you do in the summertime …” three-year-old Katie was singing at the top of her voice.
“Softer,” Angela scolded. “It would be lovely if you sang softer.”
But Katie just screeched all the louder.
“Three-year-olds!” fumed Angela as she closed the door to her room.
Why doesn’t someone write a song about how to get out of doing what your mother wants you to do in the summertime? Angela asked herself. “Maybe I’ll write one,” she muttered. “Then I’ll make a record of it and become a rich and famous songwriting singer. Then Mother will say, ‘Angela, dear, you don’t need to take swimming lessons. Why should a rich and famous songwriting singer take swimming lessons?’ Then I’ll write songs all day and—”
“Angela, dear,” a voice called from downstairs. “Are you ready? Hurry. It’s time to go.”
“I’m coming,” Angela called back. She trudged to her dresser, pulled a bright pink swimsuit from the drawer, and slowly closed the drawer. “Hey, wait!” she cried. Jerking the drawer open again, she shoved the suit inside and raced to her closet. Rummaging in a box, she pulled out a ragged, once-navy-blue swimsuit. Giggling, she put it on, slung her beach towel over her shoulder, and waltzed out the door.
“My goodness, Angela,” Mother gasped. “Where did you get that swimsuit?”
“In my closet,” Angela answered nonchalantly.
“It’s all worn-out. It’s too little. And it has holes in it.”
“But it’s very, very comfortable.”
“Well, if that’s what you want. Come on, let’s hurry. We’re late.”
“What?” Angela couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mother was supposed to say she couldn’t go looking like that.
“Come on, let’s hurry,” Mother repeated, taking Angela by the hand. Stunned, Angela let her mother pull her through the house and out to the car. Then, as she climbed into the front seat, she had an idea!
A bright smile erased the frown from her face as she broke out in song: “A mother is such a lovely person to have around your house. She keeps you happy and makes things snappy and always has a smile.” She sang the keeps you happy especially loud.
“How lovely, Angela dear,” Mother said as she backed out of the driveway. “Did you make that up?”
“I wrote it myself,” Angela answered proudly. “And if I didn’t have to go to swimming lessons, I could write a lot more songs about my beautiful mother.”
“That would be nice. But maybe you could write them on the way to your swimming lessons. It’s very important that you learn to swim. Everyone should know how to swim.”
Angela watched her house shrink smaller and smaller and then disappear as they drove away. “If I could just disappear, too!” she whispered.
“What did you say?” Mother asked.
“I should have stayed home to tend Katie so Robbie could go swimming. Robbie loves swimming. Maybe you should take me back and let Robbie take my lesson. I really wouldn’t mind,” Angela said.
“Robbie already knows how to swim. That’s why he loves it.”
“But I really think I’m allergic to chlorine. Melanie told me it turned her hair green. If it turned her hair green and she’s not even allergic to chlorine, imagine what it will do to my hair—and my skin! Oh, I just know my teeth will fall out!”
“Angela,”—the softness had left Mother’s voice—“your teeth will not fall out.”
“Maybe not with my braces on, but think of all the money you and Dad have spent to fix my teeth. Now they’ll turn green, and the minute the braces come off—plink, plink, plink—out will fall all my green teeth.”
“Angela, my dear”—Mother paused, letting the softness back into her voice—“are you afraid of the water?”
“Me? Afraid? Of course not! I’m allergic, that’s all.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mother said.
“Oh, I know that. All my friends can swim. They go swimming all the time. They tell me all about it. I’m not afraid. Not me. Never. It just doesn’t interest me.”
“Well, just think. After you take lessons, you can go swimming with your friends.”
“Not if I’m all green. I don’t think they let green people into swimming pools.”
“Here we are.” Mother sounded more cheerful than necessary. “Now promise me you’ll do what the teacher asks.”
Why do mothers make you promise things like that? Angela wondered. But she promised and then slowly, very slowly, climbed out of the car.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Mother called as she drove off.
Angela looked down at her faded swimsuit. “I wonder who invented swimming anyway,” she muttered.
“Probably Eve.”
The voice startled Angela. Looking up, she saw a girl about her size who was almost hidden by a small fir tree.
“Eve?” Angela repeated, staring at the girl’s worn, swimsuit.
The two girls stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Angela asked, “Are you going in or coming out?”
“Going in. Mine was the car before yours.”
“Do you swim much?” Angela asked cautiously.
“Nope. I’m allergic to water. It makes my toenails curl the wrong way. That’s why I always shower—I never bathe. Less water that way.”
“My name’s Angela.” Angela couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone she liked so well so fast.
“I’m Mandy.”
“Do you live around here?” Angela asked.
“We just moved into the yellow house with the huge pine tree in front. It’s by the school.”
“Hey, that’s on my street!” Angela exclaimed with a grin.
A whistle sounded. “Girls! Girls!” the swimming teacher called. “It’s time to start.”
“What about your allergy problems?” Angela asked Mandy. “How are you going to swim with your toenails curling the wrong way?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me neither.”
“You’re allergic, too?” Mandy asked in amazement.
“Yes. My teeth turn green. It’s the chlorine. I’m afraid it will make them fall out. After my braces come off, that is. You know—plink, plink, plink—until they’re all gone.”
Mandy grinned at Angela. Then they both giggled.
“Come on,” Angela sighed. “I guess together we can suffer it through.”
“Sure,” Mandy said.
Taking deep breaths, they started toward the pool.
“By the way,” Angela asked, “do you write songs?”
“Oh, yes!” Mandy answered. “I wrote one just this morning.”
“Maybe we could write one together, about people who are afraid—I mean allergic.”
Mandy smiled. “Do you think we could become rich and famous?” Angela grinned. “I think maybe we could.”

One evening several years ago as I was driving home from work after having picked up my two children, I momentarily lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself looking up over the dashboard just in time to see a pickup truck right in front of me. The collision caused me to lose consciousness again. When I awoke, my vehicle was on its side and my children were screaming.
Several people rushed to help me and my children get out because our car’s engine was on fire. I was extremely sore all over, but my children and I escaped serious injury. My greatest concern at that moment was for the occupants of the vehicle I had hit.
Through the hours that followed and into the next day, my attempts to find out about the people in the other vehicle didn’t succeed. Finally, a hospital social worker came to my room and informed me that the driver of the other vehicle had been killed. I was devastated.
In the days following the accident I took time off work to recover physically, mentally, and emotionally. I also learned what had happened. I had crossed the center line into oncoming traffic and had hit a vehicle head-on. I also learned that the wife of the man who had lost his life had been a passenger in the vehicle and had been seriously injured. They had a large family, and although most of the children were grown and on their own, some were still at home. It was so disturbing for me to think that I had caused another human being to lose his life, a wife to lose her husband, children to lose their father, and grandchildren to lose their grandfather.
My physical wounds were healing, but the mental and emotional wounds were not. I kept asking myself, “Why did this happen?” I knew it had been an accident, but that did not make me feel any better. I was unable to sleep or cope with life. I couldn’t bear the thought of what the other driver’s family must be feeling.
I tried to get on with life and return to normal, but nothing seemed to work. All I could do was pray. I remember pleading for Heavenly Father to take this pain and suffering from me because I knew I could not continue on like this and fulfill my most precious callings as a wife and mother.
Then one day my doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a man standing on my porch. He had a very solemn and uneasy look on his face. Without saying a word, he handed me a box and an envelope. Accepting the gifts, I stood there, waiting for him to say something. After a moment I asked the man if I knew him. He shook his head and introduced himself. I instantly felt a lump in my throat as I recognized his last name. He was the eldest son of the man who had died in the accident.
I invited him in, and we talked for a long time. Our families had several common acquaintances, and he had heard through them what a difficult time I was having. He said his wife had asked him how he would feel if he were in my shoes, and that brought him to my doorstep. He told me his family knew it was an accident, and they knew their father and husband had received a call home from our Heavenly Father. He let me know his mother was going to be fine. We then hugged and cried for a time.
The envelope he gave me contained a card expressing that their prayers and thoughts were with my family and me. The box contained a small shelf plaque that reads:
“Dear God,
“We work and pray, but at the end of the day, no matter how hard we try, there are still many reasons to cry. So please send us angels to comfort us in our fears and help us turn the small successes into cheers. Amen.”
My prayers had been answered. I was able to sleep that night for the first time in the two weeks since the accident.
Since then I have seen this man and his wife from time to time, and they always ask how we are doing and if there is anything we need. I remain humbled by their thoughtfulness and unselfishness.
One general conference Sunday, between the morning and afternoon sessions, my doorbell rang again. It was not only this man, but also his mother and younger brother. They did not stay long, but I cherish their visit. Once again they came bearing a gift—a beautiful painting of Christ with this scripture inscribed on it: “I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matt. 11:29). The mother and I hugged and cried.
This family has taught me a kind of forgiveness and love that I never knew. I testify that through others our Heavenly Father and our Savior can convey Their love to us. I know Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers, and I now know that sometimes we have to let the atoning sacrifice of the Savior take away our pain when we have done all we can do. I am thankful that this family was able to feel and follow the promptings of the Spirit to answer my prayers.

He stood about three yards onto the rickety bridge with my two-year-old brother on his back. “Come on, Sian. Hold my hand and we’ll cross together.” His voice was reassuring, but my knees were shaking. I was scared. From where I stood I could see the swaying rope bridge stretch under the weight of the walkers. I could hear the rope creak above the roar of torrential waters in the gully far below. My knowledge of engineering skills was very limited at that young age, but I was convinced that the bridge was unsafe. I quivered with fear and took a step back.
“Sian,” my father’s voice was gentle but insistent, “look at me.” I looked up into his strong, caring face. “Trust me. You’ll be okay.” He held out his hand. I looked into his eyes and stepped onto the quaking bridge. It groaned and I let out a small sob. My father clasped my hand tightly and started forward. I held on and suddenly knew that we would be all right.

Daniel Harbuck and Miguel Peña, both 18, interviewed Ferron Forsgren. They were impressed that he could once type 100 words a minute, wore racing goggles when he drove his first car, and had some good advice about impressing young women. Brother Forsgren also told them how he gained his testimony of the Church and how he has been active all his life. They found out that Brother Forsgren still plays tennis at the age of 87. Daniel says, “That’s the kind of guy I want to be when I’m older.”

Two ministers of one of the largest and most powerful Protestant denominations came to a Latter-day Saint conference to hear me preach.
After the meeting I had a private conversation with them, in which I said they could each gain a testimony that Joseph Smith was the prophet through whom the Lord had restored the fulness of the gospel for our day and for our time.
I told them they should read the Book of Mormon, ponder its great and eternal truths, and pray to the Father in the name of Christ, in faith, and he would reveal the truth of the book to them by the power of the Holy Ghost.
All of this I explained to my two Protestant friends. One of them, a congenial and decent sort of fellow, said somewhat casually that he would read the Book of Mormon. The other minister, manifesting a bitter spirit, said: “I won’t read it. We have experts who have read the Book of Mormon, and I have read what our experts have to say about it.”
This account dramatizes one of our problems in presenting the message of the Book of Mormon to the world. There are sincere and devout people everywhere who have heard what other people say about this volume of holy writ, and so they do not read it themselves.

When I was growing up, one of my jobs was to burn the trash. I would gather the garbage from the house. I’d put it in a big metal barrel in the backyard. Then I would light a match and drop it in the barrel.
One day it was really windy, and the match just wouldn’t stay lit. I decided to make a torch out of newspaper. I thought that way the flame would last long enough to light the trash on fire. I remembered that it wasn’t smart to play with fire, but I ignored the warning feeling. I rolled up some newspaper into a cone, lit it with a match, and dropped it into the barrel.
Whoosh! The strong wind made the newspaper burst into flames, and the trash quickly caught fire. Big flames blew past my face. Luckily most of my hair was pulled back into a ponytail. But my bangs were singed into crisp little wisps! My eyelashes were gone, and my eyebrows too. It just happened so fast!
That taught me a lesson: if you play with something dangerous, you can get hurt! Our parents and the Holy Ghost warn us to avoid dangerous things like pornography and drugs. If we choose to ignore the warnings, there are consequences.

Certainly family concerns are real and should not be considered lightly. But we cannot meet our family challenges without the blessings of the Lord; and when we sacrifice to serve as full-time missionary couples, those blessings will flow. For example, one couple worried about leaving their youngest daughter, who was no longer active in the Church. Her faithful father wrote: “We prayed for her continually and fasted regularly. Then, during general conference, the Spirit whispered to me, ‘If you will serve, you will not have to worry about your daughter anymore.’ So we met with our bishop. The week after we received our call, she and her boyfriend announced they were engaged. Before we left for Africa, we had a wedding in our home. [Then we gathered our family together and] held a family council. … I bore testimony of the Lord and Joseph Smith … and told them I would like to give each of them a father’s blessing. I started with the oldest son and then his wife and proceeded to the youngest … [including our new son-in-law].”

As we consider couple missionary service, it is appropriate to involve our families in the same way. In family council meetings, we can give our children the opportunity to express their support, offer special assistance we may need, and receive priesthood blessings to sustain them in our absence. Where appropriate, we may be able to receive priesthood blessings from them as well. As the faithful father in this story blessed his family members, his son-in-law felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. The father wrote: “By the end of our first year [the] heart [of our son-in-law] began to soften toward the Church. Just before we returned home from our mission, he and our daughter came to visit us. In his suitcase was the first set of Sunday clothes he had ever owned. They came to church with us, and after we returned home he was baptized. A year later they were sealed in the temple.”

Four months later my twin was still asking questions. I told him that I was happy to talk to him about it but that ultimately he would have to ask God for himself. A few weeks later he came to me and said: “I asked, and now I know the Book of Mormon is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. How do I get in touch with the missionaries?”
Imagine my joy a month later when I had the opportunity of baptizing my twin brother. We both served missions; I was called to Chile and my brother to Mexico. Like Paul of old, we are trying to give back a little of what we received.

Now, brethren, we are going out now with a determined activity to bring these our brethren into activity—activity of some kind. One of the mission presidents, with a group of his missionaries back in the Eastern States some years ago, was meeting in a hall with pillars that ran down the center of the hall, and he said to one of the missionaries, “Get up and push that pillar over.”

“Well,” said the missionary, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the weight of that ceiling is all on top of the pillar.”

Then the president asked, “Suppose that weight were lifted off. Could you push the pillar over then?”

The missionary replied, “Why, sure, I think I could.”

Then the president said, “Now, brethren, you and I are just like one of those pillars. As long as we have a weight of responsibility in this church, all hell can’t push us over; but as soon as that weight is lifted off, most of us are easy marks by the powers that drag us down.”