Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, when I was in the navy during World War II, I received orders to report to the fleet headquarters at Pearl Harbor. My family took me to Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay, where I boarded the plane there, an old sea plane called a Pan-American clipper. On board that plane were some high-ranking medical officers going out to prepare and build up the hospital support because the battle of Tarawa would be taking place within a few weeks. Because of my rank, I was assigned to sleep in a sleeping bag out in the tail of that plane, where I could see the starboard engines as we were flying over San Francisco, which was under military blackout. It was black as we were flying out into the Pacific, and I thought the starboard engine on that old Pan-American plane was on fire. I couldn’t sleep as I watched it throughout the entire flight.

During that sleepless night I wondered about my own life and whether I had been living up to the opportunities that would be mine and the responsibility that would be mine as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood—the responsibility to be an example and to live the way I should so that I would be able to fulfill the calls that might come to me. In that sleepless night I took an inventory of myself, of my attitudes, wondering if I was doing all that I might. Even though I had always accepted my Church assignments, I wondered if I was fulfilling them with all of my heart, might, mind, and soul and living up to the responsibility, the blessing, that I received as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood and what would be expected of any of us who received this blessing.

Looking back on that sleepless night, I thank the Lord for His blessings today and for all that I have had the opportunity to be involved in. I try always to live the gospel to the fullest, to do everything I am called on to do with all of my heart, might, mind, and strength, to fulfill any call that might come to me so I may be qualified to do whatever I might be asked to do someday.

When I served as a mission president in Hawaii, I had many opportunities to speak with young elders and sisters struggling to become better missionaries. I remember one missionary who became deeply discouraged. His missionary work had become unbearable to him, and he started doubting his testimony. He came to me with the request to send him home.

Instead, I asked him to follow the example of Nephi in pondering and praying about his concerns and desires (see 1 Nephi 10:17; 11:1). This is a practice I have followed for many years and a practice many other General Authorities of the Church follow. I asked the missionary to go to his apartment and do the following:
Rise from his bed early—in his case, a few minutes before 6:30 a.m.
Exercise for a few minutes.
Wash his body and shave—make himself clean.
Dress for the day.
Go to a quiet place inside his apartment.
Kneel, subdue his spirit before Heavenly Father, and call upon Him. Talk with Him in reverent prayer.
Wait for His holy inspiration, pondering the scriptures or a recent general conference talk and think about the specific problems he faced.
I promised this young elder that if he did this and immersed himself in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, for a few minutes every day, he would experience feelings of joy and would receive strength to go on.3
A few days later he came to see me. His eyes filled with tears as he told me of his experiences during his early-morning devotional time. He served wonderfully as a servant of the Lord and completed an honorable mission. His wife recently told me that he continues to rise early to have private time with his Heavenly Father.
I taught this same principle to each of the missionaries over whom I had the privilege to preside. I was concerned that we were not doing all we could to bring the light of the gospel to the Hawaiian people. Within a relatively short time after the missionaries started this practice, the number of referrals we received from members increased, teaching opportunities went up, and the number of baptisms in our mission doubled and then tripled. All of this happened because the missionaries’ efforts were magnified by power of the Holy Spirit.

In June 1972, Sister Nelson and I decided to take our family on a rafting trip down the Colorado River. We thought that it would be fun to be together for a week, and we were told that the water level was low, so we believed that it would be safe. We had no idea how dangerous the trip would turn out to be!
Our youngest child was only four months old then, so we left him with relatives and went with our nine daughters and one son-in-law. On the second day of the trip, as we started to go over what were called the Horn Creek rapids, we suddenly saw a drop ahead that seemed to be the depth of a several-story building. These precious people in my family were about to drop down a waterfall in a small rubber raft, and I was frightened! By instinct I let go of the rope in the raft and protectively put one arm round my wife and the other around our youngest daughter, Marjorie, who was not quite seven years old.
I was sitting in the back of the raft, and as we hit the rapids, I was thrown into the air. I landed in the water, and each time I tried to reach the surface, I found myself trapped underneath the raft. I was tossed about by the water like an egg in an eggbeater, and I had no air and nearly drowned. My family couldn’t see me, but I could hear them shouting, “Daddy! Daddy! Where’s Daddy?”
I finally came to the surface, and my family was able to drag me, exhausted, out of the water. They were relieved to see me—and I was certainly glad to see them!
The next several days we went over rapids that were much more calm. Then, toward the end of the trip, we approached rapids that were much more difficult than any we had previously gone through.
We decided to have a family council, so we stopped the raft by the side of the river. We knew we had to have a plan if we were going to live through this experience. I was so worried about the safety of my family that if there had been a way to end the trip right then, I would have done it. But there was no other way to get to our destination or to return to where we started. I said to my family, “The only way we can make it through these rapids is to understand that the raft will make it through no matter what, because it will float. So if we hold on to the rope on the raft with all our strength, we will make it through the rapids. Even if the raft flips over, we will make it.”
I turned to my littlest daughter. “Marjorie,” I told her, “you will need to hold on to your daddy. Get behind me and put your arms around me and hold on tight!”
We went through the terrifying experience of going down those steep, rough rapids where, as we later learned, people had lost their lives in the past—and we made it.

Romans 8:16 says, “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.” The first time I remember feeling with all certainty that Heavenly Father knew me, loved me, and cared for me was when I entered the waters of baptism at age 15. Before then, I knew God existed and Jesus Christ was the Savior of the world. I believed in Them and loved Them, but I had never felt Their love and care for me, individually, until that day as I rejoiced in my opportunity to make baptismal covenants.

I realized what a great miracle it had been to have been found and taught by the missionaries, especially with only a handful of missionaries amongst two million people! I knew then that Heavenly Father knew me and loved me in such a special way that He guided the missionaries to my home.

Last year, my wife received devastating news. Her mother and father were both diagnosed with cancer. A few months later, my own father underwent surgery, and my wife was diagnosed with two breast cysts that could have been cancerous. Thankfully, the results after surgery showed no cancer. Then, our daughter had appendicitis. All of this happened within six months, and none of them had ever had surgery before. At around the same time, I received a new church calling that required extensive travel and time, and my new job kept me working late most nights.
To cope with these challenges, I knew only the Savior could help me through. I tried to draw closer to Him by spending more time studying the scriptures, listening to General Conference talks during my commute, and worshipping in the temple. I chose not to be consumed by worry, but to think celestial and rely on the power of the covenants I had made in the temple. This brought me peace. The Savior has promised, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).

Afele Schwenke, born on April 10, 1912, was deeply rooted in his faith and dedicated to his family. Together with his wife, Soala, Afele served the missionaries of Malaela Aleipata for nearly two decades. The couple opened their home to the missionaries, insisting they stay in their Western-style house while Afele, Soala, and their children lived in their Samoan fale. His generosity left a lasting impact, and his home became a place of gospel teaching.

Although Afele had a strong testimony and faithfully paid his tithes, he struggled with fully living the Word of Wisdom. His love for the Church never wavered, but he passed away in 1967 without receiving the blessings of the temple.

After crossing the Arkansas River on September 16, the new battalion commander, Lieutenant A. J. Smith, sent most of the women and children to the Mexican village of Pueblo (in present-day Colorado) for the winter. The soldiers were upset because they had been promised that their families could travel with them to California. But it was a wise decision because the battalion marched at a rapid pace with little time to rest. Just a month later, a group of sick men and women were also sent to Pueblo.
The weary soldiers trudged into Santa Fe, New Mexico, on October 9, 1846. Colonel Philip St. George Cooke became their new commander, with orders to blaze a wagon trail from Santa Fe to California. The work wore heavily on the battalion, and in November 1846, a third group of fifty-five weakened and tired soldiers turned back for Pueblo.

Julischka Schlatter, 8, lives about an hour away from Bern, Switzerland’s capital. She could tell you about the city’s quaint medieval streets, its old cathedrals, and the Glockenspiel, a clock tower built in 1530. But instead, she will probably tell you about the beautiful white building on a hill nearby. Here President David O. McKay dedicated the first European temple 50 years ago, and Julischka is glad he did! At age 6 she entered the Bern Switzerland Temple with her mother, Chantal, and stepfather, Philipp, to be sealed together as a family.
“I remember the beautiful room and bright chandelier,” she says. She remembers wearing white and seeing her parents waiting for her in the sealing room. She especially remembers listening to the temple sealer’s words.
“That day was very special,” Julischka’s mom says. “I didn’t receive just a husband for time and eternity, but my daughter too.”

Some years ago down in California, where I presided as a stake president, a bishop asked a young man in his ward if he would be willing to spend his summer months in doing missionary work. He was studying medicine, but he agreed that he would. Do you know what he did? He went around to the boys and girls he had attended high school with and said to them, “My Church has asked me to do some missionary work for it, and I am not very well prepared. How would you like to give me a few nights of your spare time and let me practice on you so that I will become prepared to do my missionary work?” With just that one little thought, he brought four of those high school friends into the Church during those summer months. Isn’t that better than sitting around twiddling your thumbs, wasting your time? There is opportunity all around us on every hand.

Why is Floriano Oliveira, a member of the high council in a stake in Brazil, so successful as a missionary? Because he obeyed the Lord’s counsel to open his mouth and share the gospel. One day as he was driving through the congested traffic of São Paulo he took his eyes off the road for but a second and crashed into the car in front of him. He jumped out of the vehicle, hurried up to the car he had hit, opened the door and said, “I am so sorry I hit you. It was all my fault. I accept the full blame and will pay the total costs. I had no intention to do this, so please forgive me. Yet if I hadn’t hit you, you wouldn’t have received this message I have for you, the message that you have waited for all your life.” He then explained the restoration of the gospel to this man, who was a medical doctor, and the man joined the Church two weeks later. Why has Brother Oliveira had so much success in baptizing more than two hundred people? Obedience—obedience to the request of the Lord.

My initial feeling of peace stayed with me for another week and a half. I was sitting in a wheelchair watching fireworks through the hospital window on the Fourth of July when it hit me—my mom was gone. She wouldn’t be at my high school graduation. She wouldn’t be there when I received my endowment in the temple. She wouldn’t be at my wedding. She was gone.
That’s when things started getting really hard. The pain in my leg was terrible, and I had no appetite. I watched TV without seeing it, and I mostly just slept. My family worried about me because I wasn’t crying very much.
The tears came a lot more when we finally went home to Oregon to an empty house. I suddenly had to take over some of my mom’s responsibilities, and my siblings often looked to me for comfort. I tried to be strong for them. But it wasn’t easy.
Going back to school was tough. Everyone had heard about the accident, and if they hadn’t, they heard about it when my teachers introduced me as the girl who was in the accident. I felt isolated.
It was especially hard when my dad remarried nine months after my mom died. I knew that my stepmom would be good for our family and that we needed her, but it was hard to adjust.
Not everything was dark during this time though. I felt a lot of love from my Father in Heaven, my family, and my Church leaders. What helped me heal and move forward after the accident was doing simple things that strengthened my faith. Every day I spent an hour before going to bed reading the scriptures, praying, and writing in my journal in my closet. In the privacy of my closet, I didn’t have to be strong for my siblings. I could cry as much as I needed and pour out my heart to God. I told Him exactly what I was feeling and how much I missed my mom. I know He heard me because of the many tender mercies I felt. That closet space became sacred to me.
Doing those simple things helped me stay connected to God instead of pushing Him away and becoming bitter. I didn’t see the accident as God hurting my family. I felt more power to be patient and submit to His will and keep moving forward through my hard days. And there were some really hard days.

A few weeks later I started to struggle with school, friends, family, and even my faith. I was reading my scriptures one night, and as I was about to stop, I felt the urge to keep reading. I followed the prompting and read several scriptures that mentioned prayer. I then recalled my patriarchal blessing and how it said that I need to pray often and have a close relationship with my Heavenly Father and the Holy Ghost. I had not been the best at saying my prayers. I realized that I was missing out on one of the blessings I would have been getting.

When we refer to the Holy Ghost as the still, small voice, it is not an understatement. He truly speaks in still and small ways. We must pay close attention to make sure we don’t miss what the Lord is trying to tell us or advise us to do. I know that we will be blessed if we always listen to the still, small voice.

When I heard Elder Rasband’s talk about acting on the first prompting, I wish I could say it turned my life around. Unfortunately, I have a lifetime of listening to the second voice. For example, I felt prompted when in the pharmacy section of a grocery store to buy yellow flowers and who to take them to. Instantly, I argued saying, “I don’t know her. What will she think?” Because I was more concerned with what man thinks of me. I am ashamed to say I didn’t buy the flowers. The next Sunday, during fast and testimony meeting, the sister got up and thanked the person who brought her yellow flowers. It was her anniversary, and her husband had passed away earlier in the year. He had always brought her flowers, and yellow were her favorite.
If you suppress a generous thought, then you are suppressing to do a kind act for Christ. Christ even told us, “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.” [9] I never want to feel that way again.

“I have a great respect for nature, and I have always loved animals and birds and have tried to protect them. Once when we were youngsters, a friend of mine and I were riding double on a horse along the railroad track. Suddenly I spied an owl that had a broken wing and couldn’t do anything but run along the ground. I slid off the horse, caught the owl, and got back on the horse behind my friend. I remember that it was a beautiful white horse with a long mane. We started galloping along the railroad track, and the owl started to wiggle. It stuck its claws into that horse, causing it to jump straight into the air and make a big kick. I rolled off backward, but somehow I kept my hold on the owl, and it never got away. We took the owl home, put splints on its broken wing, and turned it loose.

“My wife and I have had a wonderful experience in the Pacific Islands. One day we went to a little Tahitian island on a boat, and as the boat pulled up to the dock, twenty-seven children were standing on it, singing, ‘I Am A Child of God.’ I thought, What a beautiful, beautiful thing to know that children all over the world are singing the hymns of the Church and beautiful Primary songs.

“Heavenly Father loves all children. Jesus loves them, too—children of all countries, colors, and creeds.

“Live the principles of the gospel so that you can live again with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Listen to the counsel of the prophets. Stay pure and clean after your baptism. Your parents and Primary teachers will teach you the things that you should do. Listen to them and do what they tell you.”

One summer’s day, whilst sitting outside having lunch with some work colleagues, the beginning of a new insight came. I was asked why I always had a soft drink with my meal, rather than a beer like the rest of the group. I answered that it was a life choice, hoping that would suffice. But on this occasion, my interrogator would not let the matter go. The conversation continued, and it wasn’t long before I was being asked questions about what I believed as a member of the Church. My contract was coming to an end that week, so I took confidence that I could weather the inevitable storm of questions for a few more days. I gave them deep meaningful answers to all the questions they asked.

While giving an answer, the penny dropped for me. All my colleagues wanted empirical evidence to be able to believe in God, and I was offering all the evidence I had learned, to help convince them I was right—but it wasn’t enough. I then bore my testimony about what I believed, but that wasn’t enough for them either. I pointed out that proof and faith are on opposite sides of a scale. If you are looking for proof, you are not exercising faith. If you are exercising faith, you don’t necessarily need proof. I realised that if you want to look for reasons to prove or disprove your belief in the gospel, you will find both, but neither one will build your faith. The more proof I found that challenged my belief in the gospel, the more faith I would require to continue believing it is true. “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11).

A young mother found herself struggling with depression. She worked with doctors to get her medication just right, but the process took time. One day was especially difficult, and she made an urgent appointment with her doctor. They decided together she should be admitted to the hospital.
Ward members came together to make visits, care for her children, and provide help with meals. During the weeks and months afterward, the woman’s depression made reaching out for help difficult, so ward members learned to take the initiative in offering support.
Later, the sister related that help came at inspired moments, just when it was most needed. She mentioned that one of the most valuable things that came from that time was knowing that her sisters and brothers cared about her and were there to support her. She felt the love of the Savior through the service of her ward members. She learned for herself that He was aware of her and her struggles and that with His help she could endure her challenges with faith.

Priscila, age 9, is a very good gymnast. She practices three to four hours after school each afternoon Monday to Saturday and three hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon during school vacations. She hopes one day to represent Guatemala in the Olympics. She worries about competing against other girls who are also good gymnasts. “Sometimes I feel very nervous and think I can’t do it and that I am going to fall while doing flips or somersaults,” she says. When she feels that way, she asks her father to give her a blessing. After a blessing, she feels calm and knows that she can do her best. “I have felt the blessing as I perform in the various events,” Priscila says. She is currently in first place in her category in Antigua.
How would she feel if she had a blessing but didn’t win a competition? “I would still know that Heavenly Father loves me and is helping me do my best,” she answers. She is grateful that all the competitions are on Fridays or Saturdays: “If they were on Sundays, I wouldn’t compete.”

I recall just a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.
I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands. His white shirt was a little frayed and was probably never worn except on Sunday.
There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.
Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.
I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, “This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Wait and enjoy it.” So I stopped. I moved to the back of the crowd to watch. The passengers were starting to come off the plane.
I found myself wondering as to who would be first to breakaway from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.
As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary start to come down the stairs from the airplane. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother, and it had made him exactly the missionary he appeared to be. He had his hair trimmed for the trip home, his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about.
He came to the bottom of the steps and started out toward the airport building and then, sure enough, somebody couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children, or even the girlfriend standing nearby. It was father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man pushed his way past an airline attendant and ran out and swept his son into his arms.
The missionary was probably 6?2? or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.
And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his son go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn’t have to do it, paying his own expenses, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, “It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.
I stand all amazed that even for a man like me, full of egotism and transgression and intolerance and impatience, there is a chance. But, if I’ve heard the “good news” correctly, there really is a chance—for me and for you and for everyone who is willing to keep hoping and to keep trying and to allow others the same privilege.
I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine. …
I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt!
Such mercy, such love, and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat,
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet. …
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!
(Hymns, no. 80.)
In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

To illustrate the importance of these differences associated with our personalities, I will use an example of my college senior design project. At BYU we call it a capstone project. It is the final, culminating experience of an engineering student’s undergraduate education.

As you may guess from my job here as a mechanical engineering professor, I was, at one time, a mechanical engineering student. To attain this degree, as a senior you must design and build something that solves a given problem. For my senior design project, my group was given the task of creating a cheap machine that would test the strength of objects under a dynamic load. A dynamic load is a force on an object that changes over time: it increases, decreases, and then repeats, increasing and decreasing. For example, all of us sitting here on the stand represent a static load, or a constant force the structure must withstand. But if all of a sudden everyone stood up and started jumping up and down at the same time, this would represent a dynamic load. Our weight is applied and then removed, applied and then removed. I am unsure if this stand has been dynamically tested. Would anyone like to jump with me and find out?

Dynamic loading machines are generally not cheap because they must move, so our goal was to make a cheap one. With a few other senior mechanical engineering students, all of whom had taken the same courses and had the same collegiate educational background, we began brainstorming ideas to solve this problem. In this phase of the design process it became immediately clear that the variety of our life experiences was essential to a good design. Although we all had the same formal training, we each had come from different backgrounds and had spent our free time doing different things. Our individual inspiration for what this machine would look like was also different.

One student, whose parents owned a business melting metals and creating art, had ideas associated with changing the temperature, which would cause expansion and contraction, thus applying an oscillating load. Another student, who enjoyed sailing, discussed systems of pulleys that could change a one-directional loading motion into a rotational loading motion. A few of us rode bikes, and we realized that the rotational motion of the wheels allows for dynamic loading on the wheels as they rotate. With a number of other ideas, and after much discussion, we eventually settled on a disk system in which the rotation would provide the dynamic part of the process but a single connection would allow for one-directional loading.

We moved on to accomplishing ­mathematical calculations, creating computer drawings, building a prototype, and writing a report. In this stage of the process, our individuality in preference became clear. I quite enjoy math and took the bulk of that responsibility. Although I can create computer drawings, one of my teammates was not only better at it but also truly enjoyed creating them, so he put his main efforts there. The same was true for building and writing.

Together we were able to create a cheap, working machine that applied the necessary dynamic loads to the objects to be tested. None of us alone would have come up with the final design we used. Individually we would not have been as ­successful or enjoyed the work as much. It was absolutely necessary for each of us to truly be individuals with different ideas, stemming from different life experiences and different preferences, while all still being qualified mechanical engineers.

We often hear the phrase “Trust in the Lord,” but what does that really mean when life gets complicated? For me, it was tested during my first year of nursing school at St. Paul University Dumaguete.
I was invited to serve as part of the health team for FSY 2022 in Bacolod. Though I was still a student, I felt honored and excited to help. But two weeks before the event, I discovered that FSY’s opening day fell on the same day as my final exams. I was torn. I wanted to serve, but I also needed to fulfill my academic responsibilities.
So I prayed, asking the Lord to help me find a way. The answer came quietly but clearly: Go.
I asked the FSY coordinators if I could travel solo to Bacolod after my exams. To my surprise, they said yes. That was the first miracle.
On exam day, my dad drove me to school. As we passed the FSY buses, I jokingly said, “Sana all!” He replied, “Just do your part, and God will do the rest.” Normally, I’m the last to finish tests, but that day I was done by 10 a.m.—miracle two.
Then came a twist: an announcement about additional face-to-face exams in the afternoon. I felt crushed. But after another prayer, a second announcement followed—the exams were moved online. Miracle three.
I rushed to the gate, praying for a ride. Just then, an empty bus heading toward Bacolod pulled up. Miracle four.
While traveling through the mountains of Mabinay, I received a message: the online exam would start in 30 minutes. That area had no signal. I prayed again. Suddenly, my phone showed full 5G. I joined the call, completed the exam, and submitted it. As soon as I logged off, the signal vanished. Miracle five.
I arrived in Bacolod safely and on time. Miracle six.
During FSY, seven youth developed high fevers. The health team and I stayed up all night caring for them— checking vitals, doing bed baths, and praying. By morning, all had recovered. Miracle seven.
On the way home, I checked for signal in the same mountain spot. Nothing. Brother Romil confirmed, “That place never has signal.” That moment reaffirmed everything. The Lord had truly intervened.