Gospel Story Finder

Daniel knows that he can be a missionary now, too, by being a good example at school. He is the only member of the Church at his school. For reading time at school, he read his Book of Mormon. Being curious, his teacher asked him about the book. He was very happy to tell her all about it. Later, at a parent-teacher conference, the teacher told his parents how impressed she was with their son and his willingness to read the scriptures at school.

Eric couldn’t stop grinning as he walked off the soccer field, the field where his team had just won the league championship. Eric was hot and tired but he knew he had played his best.
As he picked up his bike, he thought of his dad’s familiar words: “Not much of what is important in life comes easily,” his father said. “Our effort puts a shine in things—such a shine sometimes that they glow for years and years in our hearts.”
“This game will definitely glow for years!” Eric thought.
“Hey, Eric!” a voice called from behind him. He turned around and grinned at his teammate, Clay. “Where are you going?” Clay asked. “The victory party is at the coach’s house.”
“I can’t go,” Eric said. “I promised Davy I’d come over right after the game. I was going to spend the rest of the day and evening with him.”
Clay looked upset. “How much fun can you have with someone who’s sick all the time, and can’t even leave the house? We just won the championship, Eric. Isn’t that worth something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Coach said a reporter is coming to the party. He’s going to take our pictures and interview us. We’re going to be in the newspaper!”
Eric’s eyes widened. “Really?” Clay’s excitement was contagious. “I guess I could just see Davy later tonight,” he said.
“You can’t,” Clay said. “Don’t forget the coach said if we won the game he would take us on an overnight campout to Big Bear Falls. Well, the campout is tonight. You don’t want to miss out on that, do you?”
“No way!” Eric said.
“Davy’s just a sick kid with nowhere to go and nothing to do, except ruin somebody else’s fun,” Clay said, spinning a soccer ball on his finger. “Come on, Eric. It’s time to celebrate!”
Eric eyed the spinning soccer ball. The more he looked at it the more his mind began to spin, and he got caught up in the moment. “OK, let’s go!” he said. He jumped on his bike and headed across the field toward the rest of his team.
During the reporter’s interview, Eric looked at the clock in the coach’s living room. It was three o’clock. He had promised Davy he would be to his house by one. He knew Davy would be disappointed. He always looked forward to Eric’s visits with excitement. But because of school, homework, soccer practice, and family and church activities, it was hard for Eric to spend a lot of time with Davy. But today Eric was going to spend the whole afternoon and evening, and Davy had been marking off the days on the calendar for weeks.
The reporter asked each boy how it felt to be part of a winning team. When Eric’s turn came, he didn’t answer. He was thinking of the time he and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. They had come to a three-way fork in the trail and had to decide which path to follow. “Like most things in life, Eric,” his dad said, “it comes down to choices. It’s getting late, so …”
Eric studied the three paths. One was overgrown and hard to see in the evening shadows. It looked jungly and mysterious. The second was straight, narrow, and clearly defined, but uninteresting. The third trail was wide and curving with room to wander.
“What will it be?” Eric’s dad asked.
“The wide one, I guess,” he said. “There are lots of turns so it will be more exciting, not knowing what’s ahead.”
They started down the path, but 20 minutes later it ended at the edge of a cliff. Below them in the distance they could make out the small lake where their family had set up camp. Shadows crept across the woodlands below and the sun had sunk behind the mountains.
“Now which path, Eric?” his dad asked.
“How about the jungly one?” Eric suggested. “It looked cool.”
They made their way back to the original path, then started down the dark, overgrown trail.
After a few minutes, though, the path was lost in the tangles of underbrush. “What do you think we should do now?” Eric’s dad asked. “It’s getting dark and we’re no closer to camp than we were two hours ago.”
Eric pulled a thorn from his shirt and rubbed a scratch on his arm. “I guess we better get back to the path we were on in the first place.”
His dad nodded, and the two started back. They finally set their feet back on the original path and faced the trails at the triple fork. It was dark now, but the stars lit up the final path. “What do you say we take that third trail, Eric?”
Eric glanced around uneasily at the darkening woods and took hold of his father’s hand. “Yes,” he said. “I can see the path clearly because it’s straight, and it’s narrow so we won’t wander off it.”
As they made their way through the night, Eric’s dad spoke up. “The Savior said that we should always take the straight and narrow path for the very reasons you pointed out. We can clearly see our way and won’t stray from the path unless we choose to. This path is like the iron rod in Lehi’s dream, isn’t it? Straight and true. And look,” he said, pointing toward the stars. “They light the path, like the prophets we have to guide us back to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
They paused on a small knoll above the lake, and looking down they could see a glowing light in the darkness where Eric’s mother had started dinner over the campfire. “Kind of looks like the tree of life in Lehi’s dream, don’t you think?” his dad asked. “A welcome sight to any weary, faithful traveler on the road of life. And just like the food your mom is preparing, the Lord has filled His living tree of life with sustenance to nourish our spirits and lift us up in our darkest hours.”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand, and his eyes filled with warm tears.
“What are you crying for, Eric?” Clay laughed. Eric looked around and suddenly realized he was still in the coach’s living room surrounded by his teammates.
The reporter quickly wrote on his notepad and said, “It’s his way of saying what it feels like to be part of a winning team.”
“What it is,” Eric said, “is my knowing that I want to be a part of another winning team, as well.”
The boys looked confused. “Another winning team?” one of them blurted. “What team is that?”
Eric whispered something to the coach, waved good-bye, and left the room.
“What did he say, Coach?” Clay asked.
Their coach smiled. “He told me the name of the other team he wanted to be a part of—the Lord’s team. And he said to be a part of it, he needed to be somewhere else. Any of you boys know where that is?”
“Davy’s place, I think,” Clay said slowly.
The coach’s smile deepened.
Two weeks later, Davy passed away quietly in his sleep.
A few weeks after that, Eric and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. When they reached that familiar triple fork in the trail, Eric paused and studied the straight, narrow path. He took his dad’s hand and they stood quietly for a few moments.
“Which path do you want to take, Eric?” his dad asked.
“The straight and narrow one, Dad,” he said.
“You’re sure?” his father asked, smiling.
“It’s one thing I am sure about,” Eric smiled back. “It is the right way.”

“Recently I have had a lot of personal accomplishments that have helped me feel good about my abilities,” wrote 18-year-old Brian Whitmer. “One night, though, I was reading Alma 26:12 where Ammon gives God credit for everything, and I realized I hadn’t been doing so. Then President Hinckley’s words reinforced my decision to give God credit—to thank Him for His help and blessings in my personal life. Since then I’ve noticed a change in my life as I’ve become more spiritual and more grateful.”

Three to one—that was the ratio published at the beginning of fall semester. Ten to one was more like it. Susan Taylor twisted and pulled herself into a half-lotus position just minutes before midnight, grabbed a yellow, ruled tablet, a no. 2 pencil, and scribbled her New Year’s resolution: “Get a date; get two; get engaged; get married.”
Straightening her spine into correct posture and breathing correctly, she lowered her head within inches of the floor, at the same time forcing her arms into an unnatural, towering position above her contorted body.
Nineteen seventy-four clocked out and 1975 clocked in while she held her breath. Nostalgic dance-band music, filtering into her bedroom from downstairs, signaled the New Year. Hanging full-length on the wall, the mirror reflected her 19-year-old freshman image. She stood, swiveling gracefully from side to side. Would the guys notice? She was slimmer; she seemed taller and prettier. But still, her legs were straight, her shoulders narrow. She had, however, learned to disguise figure faults. Now her brown hair caressed her shoulders. Her new dresses fell full and easy at her ankles.
“If it weren’t for Cynthia,” she thought, “I might have a chance.” Cynthia stalked from male to male—sweet-talking, smooth-walking Cindy lured admirers to her like a spider, trapping them in filmy webs of flattery. Thanks to her, Susan had sat dateless for 12 weeks, eating almond-studded chocolate bars.
But the New Year brought new hopes.
The New Year’s bells could have been campus bells, so swiftly did the time pass for Susan. She and 5,000 other students had blown into Rexburg on a wind and a prayer. They settled down and snuggled in for the winter.
Susan hesitated at the water fountain near the open door of COB 478, her first class of the new semester. She listened for her cue.
“Quiet, please. I’d like to …”
Head held high, Susan swung into the room, swishing an ankle-length plaid skirt. Sashaying, she dipped in and out of regimented rows of students, working toward an empty desk near the window, while the teacher and the students looked on. She flipped the last corner with a flourish, confident she was making a good impression.
Then suddenly an overhead projector loomed large in her way. She stumbled over it, catching her skirt on the neck of the projector. She hit the linoleum with a thud, her straight legs scissored under a row of desks, her skirt bunched at her knees. Students snickered.
“Welcome to class, Miss … uh?” the teacher said with a smile.
“Taylor,” Susan volunteered with a blush and a gulp.
“Did you hurt yourself, Miss Taylor?”
“No, sir. At least I don’t think so.” She pulled herself up.
Phase 2 followed on the heels of her clumsy beginning. It was easy—three public telephones in three boys’ dorms, three slips of paper on which she had written in her best hand, “A cute coed is waiting by a telephone for your call. Why not give her a ring? 356-9927.”
Susan slipped into the dorms early on a Saturday morning. Assuring herself no one was there, she walked on feline feet to the booths, pushed back the doors as quickly and quietly as she could, and stuffed her notes in the coin return slots. After all, who doesn’t look in the slot when he hears the false drop of a coin? It was easy; it was sure. Now all she had to do was wait. Carried along by the early morning wind, she bounded back to her apartment, took the stairs three at a time, and only then caught up with her breath as she sank into a vinyl-covered chair by the phone.
Painting her nails, styling her hair, she waited. Each ring vibrated in her ears and set her to jittering in the chair. Linda’s parents called from Salt Lake; two boys called for Cindy; Susan waited for a fourth call.
Ring! Susan lunged for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hello, cute coed,” the masculine voice drawled. “This is the call you’ve been waiting for. What’s your name?”
“Sue.”
“Sue what?”
A flutter of the heart and a pause.
“Sue Taylor. What’s your name?”
“Joe.” The voice continued, “Joe McIntire.” And then irritatingly, “I repair phones. Now quit abusing the telephone system or I’ll report you!”
Click!
Downstairs the lounge was quiet except for the soft shuffling of papers as Sister Calder sorted through an old cardboard box. Susan shrank past her to the door. She didn’t want to talk to anyone just now, least of all to a successfully married dorm parent. Outside in the hall she slipped a dime in the vending machine, pulled the button, and waited for the sliding and drop of a chocolate bar. She stuffed it into the pocket of her coat, turned up the fur collar around her neck and ears, and walked out into the wind.
The sky was iron-gray, breaking only a little light through at the horizon. Patches of dirt-peppered snow crusted on the frozen grass and at the edges of the sidewalk. Gravel scratched between the walk and her shoes as she turned south toward the hilltop above the campus buildings. She shifted her body first one way and then the other, trying to escape the full force of the wind. She leaned into it, every step an effort; then suddenly, it swooped up behind her, thrusting her forward effortlessly.
“Just like the wind,” she thought, “my life is out of control. Why does everything have to go wrong?” Pulling the hair out of her eyes, she looked for shelter.
Susan passed one house, two houses, three, and then an open field. Bordering the open field, a woodshed extended beyond a garage. She pushed her way there, finding a protected log lying between two cords of wood piled eight feet high. When she straddled the log, the wind raged only three feet above her head but seemed a whole world away. Tucked away in the wood, her head on her knees, she confronted herself. Struggling against the wind had swept her clean. She whispered prayers there among the buoying smells of sawdust and raw, wintry air.
The oncoming night had nearly pinched out the rim of light when she reentered the dorm. It was bright and warm in the lounge. A couple clasped hands in front of the television; Sister Calder knelt on the floor surrounded by piles of papers and magazines. The cardboard box was empty and cast off to the side. She glanced up.
“Susan! You look absolutely frozen. Come and sit for a minute.” Sister Calder smiled broadly and patted a nearby chair.
Thinking it easier to obey than make an excuse, Susan dropped to the chair and rubbed her icy hands on the warm upholstery. She gazed vacantly at the neat piles.
“What are you doing, Sister Calder?” she asked politely.
“I’m trying to sort through some things. Don tells me he doesn’t have room to turn around in that small apartment of ours. The only problem is, I just can’t bear to throw anything away.” She laughed heartily and raised her arms in hopelessness. “Our love letters, my decorating books, these old prints—I can’t part with any of it. Not even this, though I have another copy.” She picked up a New Era that had been making its own pile. “Here, you look at it; maybe there’s something in it you can use.”
Sister Calder thrust the magazine into Susan’s lap. It fell open. Susan held it for a moment, then looking closer, she read: “Young women in Zion, worrying takes energy. Instead of worrying why you don’t date or while you’re not married, expend that energy positively. Take a class. Make a recipe or home decorating file. Join a service club. Spend 15 minutes a day with the written testimonies of the prophets. In short, develop yourself into the kind of person who attracts the priesthood bearer you desire. Happiness does not miraculously begin with marriage—it strengthens marriage. Create your happiness now, for someday it will guide you into eternity.”
Help lay before her on the page. Though printed months before, the words spoke to her at this moment. Susan held it to her.
“Sister Calder, I will keep this, if you don’t mind.”
When Susan opened the apartment door, Cynthia was draped over the couch dreaming, her legs dangling prettily over the couch’s arm. As if suddenly animated, she bounced to her feet and twirled excitedly. Her auburn hair shone in the light; her cheeks flushed with life—she looked more beautiful than ever.
“Guess what?” she exclaimed. “This fantastic guy called from one of the boys’ dorms. He said he found my phone number in the telephone booth. Can you believe that? Gosh, we talked for just hours and hours. And he’s coming over tomorrow night to see me. Oh, I can hardly wait! How will I ever be able to concentrate till then?” Cynthia fell back to the couch in a swoon.
“Hey, what happened to you?” Cynthia looked at Susan as if seeing her for the first time. “You look like you’ve been out in a hurricane. Seriously, where have you been?”
“Seriously, I’ve been learning.”
“Well, that’s what they tell us we’re here for. Just between you and me, though, I’m working toward my MRS degree.” Her secret hardly popped out like a genie long-corked in a bottle.
Susan was amused at her confession. From Cindy’s lips she could hear her own narrow view of life rumbling, tumbling down in a heap on the floor. She started for the bedroom.
“Where are you going now?”
“I need some privacy, Cindy,” she smiled brightly. “I’m rewriting my New Year’s resolutions.” As if lifted up by a breeze, Susan glided past Cynthia into the room beyond.

So at 19 years of age, I left the University setting to travel and figure out my part. On one adventure, I set off for a month-long stay in the ashram of a Hindu Holy Man in Puttaparthi, Andhra Pradesh, India. With the hopes of discovering the "truth", I meditated, I fasted, I chanted, and I prayed. While I had hoped to somehow vet the teachings of my youth, I found in the end, that I came full circle. The Holy Man essentially told me to go back to the teachings of my youth. To be honest, I was a bit stunned! However on further contemplation, I realized I was being schooled! Just like the Lord schooled Oliver Cowdery as he began the work as a scribe in translating the Book of Mormon:
Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?[4]
What greater witness did I need? From that point on, my journey changed- I no longer needed to find my purpose; I just needed to rediscover it. While, it still required time on my part to reconcile and heal, I ultimately discovered the truth was within me all along; I didn't need to have further witness. The Lord directed me to the fact that I already had the truth; I just needed to reflect on it and allow my spirit to recognize it.

“I think you have plenty of petals,” Mom said to Autumn as she carefully placed another handful of pretty pink and white rose petals into Autumn’s basket.
Autumn frowned. “Just a few more,” she said, picking up some red ones.
The rose bushes that lined the sidewalk near Autumn’s house dropped what seemed like thousands of petals on the ground every spring. The neighbor who owned the bushes told Autumn she could collect all the petals she wanted. And Autumn wanted lots of them!
Autumn loved to dress up like a bride and act out pretend weddings. Sometimes she asked her sister to play the wedding song on the piano as she walked down the aisle, and sometimes she convinced a friend to be the pretend groom. And Autumn loved to scatter rose petals on the ground, just like flower girls did for brides in the movies.
One day, Mom told Autumn that her favorite cousin, Angie, was getting married in a few months. She had asked Autumn to be her flower girl! “That means I can walk down the aisle in a real wedding with a real bride and groom!” Autumn exclaimed. “I know just what to do. I’ll carry a little basket with rose petals, and I will wear a beautiful dress, and—”
“Well, not quite,” Mom said. “You will be wearing a beautiful dress, but Angie is getting married in the temple, so she will not walk down an aisle.”
“Will I still throw rose petals at the wedding?” Autumn asked. Now she felt worried.
“No, honey,” Mom said. “Only people who have made special covenants with Heavenly Father can go inside the temple to see a wedding. But you can wait in a special room at the temple, and when Angie and Noah come out, you will be one of the first to see how happy they look. Then they will want to take lots of pictures with you, and they might need your help at the reception that night.”
“But Mom, won’t Angie be sad not to walk down the aisle?” Autumn asked. “That’s the best part of a wedding.”
Mom pulled Autumn close. “No, Angie won’t be sad,” she said. “And I think you know why. What do you remember about the temple?”
“When you get married in the temple, you can be together forever,” Autumn said.
“Right,” said Mom. “For time and all eternity. That means that Angie and Noah will be married forever if they obey the commandments. That’s the best part—and it makes them very happy.”
Autumn believed Mom. But deep inside, she still wished that Angie could walk down the aisle and that she could carry her little basket of rose petals.
On Angie’s wedding day, Autumn wore a pretty new dress and had pink flowers in her hair. At the temple, Autumn waited in a room with her cousins while Mom and Dad went inside to watch Angie and Noah get married. When Mom and Dad came out, they walked with Autumn around the temple grounds, and she saw flowers even prettier than the roses at home.
Soon Autumn saw the temple door open, and Noah and Angie walked out with radiant smiles. They looked so happy! It made Autumn feel warm and light inside.
As Angie and Noah walked around the temple grounds holding hands, Autumn knew they had made the right choice to be married in the temple, even though it meant that Autumn did not get to scatter rose petals like she had seen in the movies.
Mom noticed Autumn looking at Angie and squeezed her hand. Autumn smiled back. “I’m glad I got to see Angie and Noah come out of the temple,” she said, looking up at the beautiful white building. “It was much better than petals.”

Thirty-four years ago, my missionary companion and I met and taught a very intellectual man who was a contributing writer for a local newspaper in Davao City, Philippines. We enjoyed teaching him because he had a lot of questions and was very respectful of our beliefs. The most memorable question he asked us was “What think ye of Christ?” We of course excitedly shared our feelings and bore testimony of Jesus Christ. He later published an article on the same topic that contained wonderful words and phrases about the Savior. I remember being impressed but not necessarily lifted. It had good information but felt hollow and lacked spiritual power.

“What think ye of Christ?” I am realizing that how intimately I know the Savior significantly influences my ability to hear Him as well as how I respond. A few years ago, Elder David A. Bednar asked the following questions as part of his remarks: “Do we only know about the Savior, or are we increasingly coming to know Him? How do we come to know the Lord?”

As I studied and pondered, I came to the stark realization that what I know about the Savior greatly outweighed how much I really know Him. I resolved then to put forth more effort to know Him. I am very grateful for the scriptures and testimonies of faithful men and women disciples of Jesus Christ. My own journey over the last few years has taken me down many roads of study and discovery. I pray that the Holy Ghost will convey to you today a message far greater than the inadequate words that I have written.

First, we need to recognize that knowing the Savior is the most important pursuit of our lives. It should take priority over anything else.
“And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”
“Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”
“I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”
Second, as we are increasingly coming to know the Savior, scriptural passages and the words of the prophets become so intimately meaningful to us that they become our own words. It is not about copying the words, feelings, and experiences of others as much as it is coming to know for ourselves, in our own unique way, by experimenting upon the word and receiving a witness from the Holy Ghost. As the prophet Alma declared:
“Do ye not suppose that I know of these things myself? Behold, I testify unto you that I do know that these things whereof I have spoken are true. And how do ye suppose that I know of their surety?
“Behold, I say unto you they are made known unto me by the Holy Spirit of God. Behold, I have fasted and prayed many days that I might know these things of myself. And now I do know of myself that they are true; for the Lord God hath made them manifest unto me by his Holy Spirit; and this is the spirit of revelation which is in me.”
Third, an increasing understanding that the Atonement of Jesus Christ applies to us personally and individually will help us know Him. Oftentimes it is easier for us to think and speak of Christ’s Atonement in general terms than to recognize its personal significance in our lives. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is infinite and eternal and all-encompassing in its breadth and depth but wholly personal and individual in its effects. Because of His atoning sacrifice, the Savior has power to cleanse, heal, and strengthen us one by one.
The Savior’s only desire, His only purpose from the very beginning, was to do the will of the Father. The will of the Father was for Him to assist in “[bringing] to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” by becoming our “advocate with the Father.” Hence, “though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered; and being made perfect, he became the author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey him.”
“And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind. …
“And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death … and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.
“… The Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance.”

I would like to share a simple experience that illustrates the struggle we sometimes have to embrace the personal nature of the Lord’s Atonement.

Years ago, at the invitation of my file leader, I read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and marked the verses that referenced the Lord’s Atonement. My leader also invited me to prepare a one-page summary of what I learned. I said to myself, “One page? Sure, that is easy.” To my surprise, however, I found the task to be extremely difficult, and I failed.

I have since realized that I failed because I missed the mark and had incorrect assumptions. First, I expected the summary to be inspiring to everyone. The summary was meant for me and not for anyone else. It was meant to capture my feelings and emotions about the Savior and what He has done for me so that every time I read it, it will bring to the surface wonderful, poignant, and personal spiritual experiences.
Second, I expected the summary to be grand and elaborate and contain big words and phrases. It was never about big words. It was meant to be a clear and simple declaration of conviction. “For my soul delighteth in plainness; for after this manner doth the Lord God work among the children of men. For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding.”
Third, I expected it to be perfect, a summary to end all summaries—a final summary that one cannot and should not add to—instead of a work in progress to which I can add a word here or a phrase there as my understanding of Jesus Christ’s Atonement increases.

As a young man, I learned a lot from my conversations with my bishop. During those tender years, I learned to love these words from a favorite hymn:
I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me.
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified,
That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled and died.
Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

The prophet Moroni invited us: “And now, I would commend you to seek this Jesus of whom the prophets and apostles have written.”
President Russell M. Nelson promised that “if [we] proceed to learn all [we] can about Jesus Christ, … [our] ability to turn away from sin will increase. [Our] desire to keep the commandments will soar.”
On this Easter Sunday, just as the Savior came forth from His stone grave, may we awake from our spiritual slumber and rise above the clouds of doubt, the clutches of fear, the intoxication of pride, and the lull of complacency. Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father live. I testify of Their perfect love for us. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

On December 15, 2005 we were interviewed by President Boyd K. Packer. His secretary had called us a few days before to set up the appointment. President Packer was that year's keynote speaker at the BYU-Hawaii December graduation. During the interview Elder Packer told us we would be called as mission president and companion and that we would be reporting to the Missionary Training Center at the end of June 2006, but did not say which mission we would be serving in. He said the apostles would pray about our names and we would be notified later. On January 16th, President Thomas S. Monson phoned us and called us to serve in a Mandarin speaking mission. We had thought we would be serving in Hong Kong where my husband was from and where he had served his mission. I had previously served in the Taiwan Taipei Mission. I asked my husband if President Monson knew the difference between Cantonese and Mandarin. He said, of course he does! President Monson gave us these counsels. He said:

We wouldn't be on our own or only depend on ourselves. We were entitled to ask and receive the Lord's help because we were on his errand.

Well, on Feb 24 we received the official call letter and we were called to the Taiwan Kaohsiung Mission! We were ecstatic! I felt it was my treat! My husband and I both spoke Mandarin, though I cannot read or write much.

Now, some might wonder, why would THEY be called? I can honestly tell you that we are no better than anyone else. We were not more prepared. We were not more righteous. We were just willing to do what was asked of us and to serve the Lord. And we loved missionary work.

I would like to quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell, he said:
"God does not begin by asking us about our ability, but only about our availability, and if we then prove our dependability, he will increase our capability!" (Its Service, Not Status, that counts, Ensign July 1975)

This is true of all our church callings. We know that when we do the Lord's work faithfully, he will guide and help us. We must trust Him. If we are dependable, He will increase our capability. I often say that the reason my husband was called as mission president was because he did his Home Teaching faithfully. We don't aspire for a calling, but we can prepare. Prepare by serving faithfully in whatever calling we have.

We know it's difficult. Our challenges started as soon as the interview with President Packer was over. We had parked our car in the parking lot next to the administration center. It was 1:30 p.m., not long after the graduation exercises. We were gone only about 30 minutes and found out someone had backed into our car leaving a big dent in the trunk. They left no note. Their white paint was still in the car. I started to laugh. I told my husband: I know trials are going to come because of our call, but this soon? I felt sorry for the person who did it, because they did not act honestly.

Other challenging and sad things also happened. One of the main ones was when doing more extensive medical exams for my husband in preparation for our mission, they found out that he had major blockage of his three main coronary arteries. He had had no symptoms and even his EKG was normal; the year before we had even done the Great Aloha Run.

The cardiologist recommended we have the bypass surgery done in the mainland. This was March 27th and we were supposed to report to the MTC June 24th. Do you know the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child?" Well, it takes angels to send a mission president off. Our angels were Kent and Connie Watson. President Watson was a volunteer here at BYU-Hawaii. He had served as Taiwan Taichung mission president and is now the 1st counselor in the Asia Area presidency. He helped us to get in touch with his friend, a cardiologist, and nine days later my husband had 6 open heart bypass surgery done at LDS hospital. We stayed at the Watson's home in Salt Lake City, drove their car and ate their food. They stayed in Laie and took care of our dog and house and ate at Turtle Bay.

My husband had other complications due to the surgery. His vocal cords were damaged due to the prolonged time of the surgery when he had the tube down his throat. He had surgery to correct that because he could only whisper. As you know you can't be a preacher or a teacher without a voice!

His other serious complications developed 3 weeks after his surgery, when the unknown blood clots in his leg went to his lungs. When he fainted in the doctor's office and they called an internal response in the hospital intercom (or a code), I thought we were losing him. We were so lucky the doctor's office was in the hospital, so they could wheel him right into the coronary ICU and give him IV meds. He also developed a stress ulcer which caused him to bleed internally. But we reported to the MTC on time on June 24th. My husband still could only speak in a whisper, so I was the spokeswoman. I didn't mind that!

All these trials only increased our resolve to do our best to serve the Lord. My husband used to say the mission call saved his life and that he was living on borrowed time, so he worked tirelessly.

After the big London fire of long ago, the great English architect, Sir Christopher Wren, volunteered his services to plan and superintend the building of one of the world=s greatest cathedrals. Unknown to most of the workmen, he passed among them often, watching the construction.

To three stonecutters one day he put the same question: “What are you doing?”

One of them answered, “I am cutting this stone.” Another answered, “I am earning my three shillings per day.” But the third stood up, squared his shoulders, and proudly said; “I am helping Sir Christopher Wren build this magnificent cathedral to our God.”

The first stonecutter was only able to see his immediate task. The second was only able to see short-term benefit from his labors. The third saw that he was doing more than cutting stones or making a living, he was able to see he was creating something that would be a blessing for thousands for years and years to come.

Once, when I was trying to develop a habit of getting to bed early, a ward member heard me talk one Sunday about my hope to get more sleep that week. He asked me what I was going to do to make it happen. I committed to go to bed by my desired time at least one night that week. “I’ll ask you about it next week,” he said. I believed he would, so I kept my commitment.

Sure enough, the next week at church he asked if I had met my goal (I had!), and he asked if I would do it again the next week. I knew he would follow up, so I did it. The next week, he encouraged me to meet my goal twice that week. And the next week? He committed me to three nights. He kept encouraging me each week until my plan was a real habit.

Years later, I told that story to another friend at church because I had fallen out of my good habit and knew I needed to start again. “I’ll help you be accountable,” she said. So each week she followed up with me until I developed a habit of good sleep again. Over the years, family and close friends have helped me with goals to get enough sleep, but the two times it has been most effective were when ward members—with whom I wasn’t especially close—helped me set and keep a goal and then followed up with me in an encouraging way.

At first I thought seminary would be hard. I had to change schools, and seminary was early in the morning. I didn’t think it would work because I had a lot of homework and other things going on.
But when I started going to seminary, time just opened up for me. Now I always have enough time for my homework. And I’m always excited the next day to get up and go back to seminary. My friends and I support each other and learn a lot while we’re there.

Joan smiled and flashed her crossed fingers at Bob and Drew as she entered class. The three had completed a special class on how to take tests just in time for midterm exams. It came as no surprise when Mr. Smith, their history teacher, announced the midterm. Joan turned to section one of her notes from the test class: “What You Should Know about a Test.” Her hand flew into the air.
“Mr. Smith, what kind of test will it be?” she asked. “I mean, like true-false or multiple choice.”
“Multiple choice,” he replied.
“How many questions will there be?” Joan pressed.
“Fifty even,” responded the teacher.
Joan followed her outline. “What will the test cover—what chapters in the book? And will it cover our class notes, too?”
“The test will cover chapters one through five in the text and a handful of questions on your notes,” he replied.
“Can you be more specific about the class-note questions?” Joan persisted.
“There will be about ten questions from your notes, and they will cover the same period as your chapter on the revolutionary war through the civil war. Any more questions?” Mr. Smith asked with a smile.
“Yes,” Joan broke in. “Will we have the whole class period for the test?”
“No, we’ll take a little break for roll call,” Mr. Smith quipped.
Everyone laughed, but Joan continued, “You didn’t tell us when the test will be.”
“Right,” answered Mr. Smith. “You haven’t given me a chance! The test will be on Monday, one week from today.”
Bob groaned out loud. That was the same day as his English midterm. Drew Stevens tapped Joan on the shoulder. “Way to go,” he whispered. “Mr. Smith has never been pinned down like that before!”

From the time I was eight years old until I was fifteen, my parents owned and operated a flower shop. It was a family business, and everyone in the family—my parents; my older sister, Pat; my younger brother, Steve; and I—helped in either the shop or the greenhouse. We all helped in delivering the orders.
During the spring, I transplanted flowers in the greenhouse after school and on Saturdays. Another of my responsibilities was to water all the flowers and green potted plants in the large showroom. My father also worked for the railroad, so while he was gone during the day, my mother operated the shop. Holidays were very busy times in the shop. We often worked long into the night, getting orders ready.
Every summer my parents closed the flower shop for two weeks so that we could go on a family vacation. We often went to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. One year we visited a redwood forest in northern California.
When I was about twelve, my parents planned the most exciting trip of all! My father ordered a new car from Detroit, then scheduled his vacation for the following summer, when it would be ready. Our plan was to take the train to Detroit, pick up the car, drive east to New York City and Washington, D.C., and then drive home. We were all very excited that whole year as we planned the trip. By the time school was out for summer vacation, we could not think or talk about anything else.
One day, about two weeks before we were to leave, Dad came home from work with a worried look on his face, and I knew that something was bothering him. He told us that some unexpected things had come up at his office. He would not be able to leave, and we could not take the vacation we had planned. It was hard to believe what we were hearing, and the disappointment was almost more than we could bear. Dad said that Mother, my older sister, and my aunt would take the train to Detroit and pick up the car. I would have to stay home to take care of Steve, who was eight.
At first I felt it was unfair that I should be the one to stay home, but my father explained that my sister, who was then sixteen, could help Mother with the driving, and I was needed to help with my brother. I felt an ache in my heart that I didn’t think would ever go away.
One day after my mother and sister had been gone about a week, Steve was playing with some of his friends in the field up the street. They had made a fire and put a can of water on it. One of the boys accidentally kicked the can, and the boiling water splashed all over Steve’s stomach, burning him badly.
For the next week, I sat with him as he lay on the couch, unable to move. I found things to do with him that helped to get his mind off his pain. We played lots of games. One of our favorites was Fish, a card game. I also read to him. My father told me how thankful he was to have me there. I found that I was no longer thinking about my disappointment; instead, I was thinking about how I could help my brother feel better. And the ache in my heart was gone.
Dad surprised us at the end of the week—the three of us got on the train for Denver, where we would meet my mother, aunt, and sister. I will never forget seeing my brother stretched out on the train seat, unable to sit up because the burn on his stomach had still not healed. For a few days, we stayed with my uncle who lived in Denver; then the six of us drove home in our new car. Even though the trip was shorter and less scenic than a trip to the East Coast, it was enjoyable because our family was all together.
Giving up the trip to Detroit, New York City, and Washington, D.C., was a very difficult experience for me, yet I knew how much it meant to my brother to have me there. I understood why my family needed me to stay home, and it gave me a good feeling to know that I was needed and that I had chosen the right. My brother and I became very close through this experience. We found that we enjoyed spending time together long after he recovered from the burn. As adults, we are still close.

After receiving President Young’s assignment, Maeser moved his family to Provo—where the population at the time was 2,800—and set to work. His annual salary the first year of his appointment was $1,200—modest even in pioneer times for a man of his educational stature and position. The fledgling Academy grew and attracted students in increasing numbers but faced a continuous spate of problems that repeatedly left Brother Maeser wondering if the Academy could survive. By 1884, nine years after Maeser came to Provo, Brigham Young Academy hosted nearly 400 enrolled students and seemed on the verge of financial stability. However, on the night of January 27, 1884, the building occupied by the Academy was destroyed by fire. For the next eight years the Academy occupied several temporary buildings and teetered on the brink of financial collapse. Initially fiercely loyal, faculty grew discouraged as they went without pay and their families went hungry. The daunting challenges associated with the survival of the Academy took Karl to the brink of surrender. Brother Maeser wrote to the First Presidency:
I am worn out and sick in spirit, . . . and with all my love for this Academy, I feel that I owe it to my very life, which is needlessly wearing itself out here in an apparently hopeless task, to accept any change that will promise me opportunities for permanent usefulness.11
Brother Maeser told his wife and daughter that because he couldn’t earn enough to provide for his family, he was going to accept a position at the University of Deseret, where he could get a regular salary. His wife and daughter packed their belongings and waited for several days until his daughter finally asked her father when they were moving.

His response in substance was, “I have changed my mind. I have had a dream—I have seen Temple Hill filled with buildings—great temples of learning, and I have decided to remain and do my part in contributing to the fulfillment of that dream.”12

The Academy, nourished by this vision of its future granted to Karl G. Maeser, survived challenge after challenge to its existence and operation. Eventually construction of a new Academy building was undertaken, and on January 4, 1892, the new building was dedicated. That building, restored to its original splendor, is now the Provo City Library.

One night during this time, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a voice which came into my mind. As I listened to what was being said, I realized that my great-great-grandfather was speaking to me. I lay there for a moment, listening and thinking. My great-great-grandfather was telling me to have his family sealed to him. He had lived in the United States in the mid-1800s. Due to the American Civil War and the economic conditions prior to the war, my great-great-grandfather George Wilkie had been away from his beloved wife and four sons a great deal. Eventually he died while serving his country in the Civil War.
I had read copies of letters George Wilkie had written home to his family and letters his family had sent to him during his many absences. I had also read his journals. These letters and journals reflected the love family members had for one another, as well as their desires to be reunited.
My ancestors were not Latter-day Saints and did not have the blessings of the gospel. Now, in the middle of the night, here was my great-great-grandfather Wilkie saying to me, “Terry Lynn, please have my family sealed to me. I want to be with them through eternity. Please have our temple work done! You are now away from your husband—imagine that for eternity. It is awful! I want to be sealed to my wife.” Then, as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. At first, I thought I must be imagining things, and I lay there and thought about my great-great-grandparents. I decided I should do their genealogy and would start the work when I had the time. Then I began to fall asleep again. I was startled when the voice returned and said much the same thing, only this time urging me to have the work done soon. I decided to do something about it the next day. Apparently, however, my grandfather knew I would probably be distracted the next day, because he spoke to me yet a third time, and told me to do something NOW!
I could not quite believe what was happening, but in the middle of the night I got up and began working on genealogy. I sorted through miscellaneous papers and records and found the information I needed to begin. I then wrote letters requesting birth, marriage, and death certificates. When I had done all that I could do at that time, I finally went back to bed.
I worked on genealogy a lot during the six months my husband was gone. Eventually, I was able to go to the temple with my cousin and have my great-great grandparents sealed. I can testify that I felt their presence there in the temple and knew that, at last, they could be truly happy and together eternally.
Throughout the next four years my husband was required to be away from home much of the time. I was often comforted and strengthened reading the journals of my great-great-grandparents. Knowing that they had experienced similar situations somehow helped me to put my life in the proper perspective. I felt very close to them, and even though I had never met them, I felt I knew them. The example my great-great-grandparents unknowingly set for me has been, and continues to be, an inspiration.

There is one sport that everyone in Brazil loves—football. And there is no bigger football event than the World Cup. So when Fabiana Silva, a member of the Brasil Ward, Vitória da Conquista Brazil Stake, won a contest and got to attend the 1998 World Cup in France, she was thrilled! But she had no idea it would become a missionary opportunity.
The other contest winners couldn’t help noticing Fabiana’s standards as they attended football game after football game, and Brazil headed to the final game against France. They respected her modest dress, her positive attitude, and her clean language. That respect turned to disbelief, though, when she told them she would not be attending the championship because it was going to be held on Sunday.
Despite pressure and even ridicule from the group, Fabiana stood firm. Sunday found her reading scriptures in her hotel room because she didn’t know where to find a local chapel. Brazil lost; the group went home.
A few weeks later Fabiana was surprised to receive a letter from Fábio Fan, another contest winner from across the country. He told her he was impressed by her standards and that he was investigating the Church. Later he sent another letter—he had been baptized. Fábio then helped bring members of his family into the Church and served a mission.
Fabiana also served a mission, to Campinas, Brazil, where she was well prepared because she had already learned that “the most effective tract we will carry will be the goodness of our own lives and example.”

President Heber J. Grant (1856–1945) had a tender heart. He loved to give money and gifts to the people who needed it most.
President Grant hired a typist to work in his office, even though she only had the use of one hand.
She and her husband were poor, and she really needed the job.
With Christmas fast approaching, President Grant wanted to do something more for his typist and her family.
He went home and gathered his children.
“Christmas is coming soon, and I want to bless others the way the Lord has blessed us.”
“Remember how I gave you each money for Christmas last year?”
“Tell me how much money you want for Christmas this year, and I’ll give the same amount of money to my typist!”
On Christmas morning, President Grant went over to the home of his typist.
He gave her family a turkey for Christmas dinner, and gave them several hundred dollars to help pay for their house.
It was a joyful day for the struggling family, and President Grant and his children shared their happiness.
“The true key to happiness in life is to labor for the happiness of others.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Heber J. Grant (2011), 143.

Saturday night, I prayed that my mom would have an open mind about going to church with me the next day since she didn’t usually come. I had gone to church by myself for a year, and I felt like I needed my mom to be part of that.
The next day I woke up bright and early, not because of my alarm clock, but because my mom was getting ready to go to church. I had a big smile on my face as I got ready.
That day was fast and testimony meeting, and I took the opportunity to bear my testimony. I was more nervous than I had ever been. I felt like a little girl going up there. As I gave my testimony, I looked upon my mom’s face, and tears filled our eyes at the same time. I knew that was where the Lord wanted us to be. She must have felt the same way, because after that she slowly became active again.
I thank the Lord for giving me the power to not be scared to share my testimony with others. Now every opportunity I get, I bear my testimony because I know the impact it can have on people.

When he is at home on the farm, Paulo has found a way to share the gospel. “I decided that while I was plowing the fields with my plow behind my horse, I would sing hymns at the top of my voice,” he said, smiling. “My neighbors who are also out in their fields hear me and ask me what I’m singing. That way I can teach the gospel.”
As he plows his farm today, Paulo still tries to plant gospel seeds by singing hymns for his neighbors, and he still travels 40 kilometers to church in Guarapuava. But now he travels with Rita and their son, Saulo, at his side, and rather than leave early Sunday morning, they take the last bus of the week late Friday night. After spending the weekend associating with the Saints and attending Sunday meetings, they return by bus to the farm on Monday morning—happy to have gone where the Lord would have them go.

“Ro-sie!” called Mama. “It is time for you and Heman to take Papa his dinner.”
We needed no second call, for this was one errand we delighted in doing. Mama filled a plate with hot food, covered it with a soup dish to keep in the warmth, wrapped it carefully in a large napkin, and placed it in a basket. Then she handed the basket to us with final instructions: “Carry it carefully, don’t play on the way, and hurry home after Papa has eaten.”
It was ten blocks from our home on East Third South to Salt Lake Temple Block where Papa worked as a stonecutter. But it didn’t seem that long to us as we talked of the fun we’d have while Papa ate his dinner. It was interesting to watch the huge granite blocks being brought in from the canyon quarry by ox-drawn wagons. While the wagons were unloaded, the oxen stood patiently switching at flies with their tails. After the rough blocks were cut and smoothed to the required shape and size, they were tilted and placed in rows like dominoes, leaving the sharp edges protruding like saw teeth. We enjoyed running back and forth on top of these stone dominoes in our bare feet. Shoes were saved for Sunday and for school.
Sometimes we would watch as skilled workmen cut sun, moon, and star designs into certain stones. Each held a small iron chisel in his left hand and a hard wooden mallet in his right, tapping gently so as not to chip out too much rock and spoil the pattern.
Today Papa had a special surprise for us. He said, “The men who are making the circular staircase (there was one in each corner of the building) say you may go up as far as it is completed, but you must be very quiet, because this is the Lord’s house.”
I took Heman’s hand, and together we climbed the huge stone steps—up, up, up until we were out of breath. It was easier going down. Then Papa took us into the carpenter shop where wood for the building was sawed. On the floor was a heap of clean sawdust and Papa told us that the foreman said it would be all right for us to take some home so Mama could show us how to make a pincushion. “Someday it will be a fine thing,” Papa said, “to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”
Eagerly we filled the basket with fragrant sawdust and hurried home. But Mama had no time right then to help with a pincushion. She was trying to finish the washing and ironing for Sister Young, who lived next door, and the baby was cross. I rocked the baby to sleep, then helped Mama prepare supper.
In the evening, after the dishes were washed and put away, Mama found a piece of sturdy brown cloth on which she drew a large fig leaf. She showed me how to embroider green lines for veins and outline the edge with a blanket stitch. A matching piece for the back was sewed to the front, leaving a hole near the top to pour in the temple sawdust until the leaf would hold no more. Then we sewed the hole shut so none of the precious sawdust would be lost. When the pincushion was finished I proudly showed it to Papa for his approval, then placed it on top of Mama’s bureau with my other special treasures.