Gospel Story Finder

From a distance, the future site of Ryan’s Place Park looked like a bumpy field of holes and unnaturally bright grass. But if you looked more closely, you just might see a shovel or a head pop out of one of the holes, and then you’d notice you weren’t looking at grass at all—you were actually seeing more than 200 teens in neon green T-shirts.
Such was the scene at the Providence Utah Stake youth conference. This year, in addition to spiritual firesides, dances, and games, the youth spent several hours up to their elbows in dirt and rocks—lots of rocks—preparing an empty field to become a memorial park.
Volunteers from across Cache Valley (in northern Utah) donated time and money to design and build Ryan’s Place Park, but first someone needed to dig the foundations for the playground supports. That’s where the Providence stake youth came in.
The youth took this message to heart when they arrived at Ryan’s Place Park. Digging more than 100 deep, narrow holes would not be easy. And the soil they dug in didn’t help matters, since it contained more rocks than dirt.
“Each hole took tremendous effort because the ground was so rocky,” explains Becca Smith from the River Heights Second Ward.
Instead of backing away from the challenge, the youth found creative ways to dig. “Some were in holes up to their shoulders, while others were being held by their ankles as they reached down into the bottom of holes to remove rocks,” says Jano Rees from the River Heights Third Ward.
David Thunell, who is from the River Heights Fourth Ward, was impressed by the positive attitudes he saw around him. “Never before have I seen so many teenagers working together with such determination and without complaint,” he recalls.
Kyra Moon, who is from the Fruitland Acres Ward, found that same attitude within herself. “As I crouched in a three-foot deep hole, armed with a plastic cup to get the rocks and dirt out, it hit me that I really wanted to dig holes right then. I wanted to do whatever I could to help.”
All that digging did more than strengthen their physical muscles. The youth realized it was also developing their testimonies and sense of unity.
“It was so inspiring to see so many people dressed in green T-shirts, devoting a few hours of their lives to honor someone they might not have even known,” Kyra says. “We were all of one heart and one mind, working toward a common goal, and we were all happy. It was just like Zion.”
Lindsay Bagley of the Providence First Ward agrees. “I looked out among the youth of my stake, my friends, and I saw hundreds of us all working together to dig holes, and I knew that this was what we were supposed to be doing. We were supposed to be building up our community and building up each other.”
Many of the youth, like Alyna Briscoe of the Providence Eighth Ward and Zac Hendrickson of the River Heights Second Ward, felt the spirit of community so strongly that they came back later that week to finish the park.
Benjamin Allred of the Providence First Ward learned about the joy that comes from service, especially when that service includes hard work. “Digging holes was not what you would call fun, but it didn’t need to be, because it was so satisfying.”
Becca Smith is grateful that this experience helped her gain perspective. “Service has a way of showing me what is important and what isn’t. I can see in more focus where my priorities are and how I need to change.”
For Kyra Moon, building the park became a chance to build a stronger testimony. She now better understands how she can be an instrument in God’s hands through service.
“God used us to help heal broken hearts,” she says. “It’s wonderful that something good came out of this tragedy, and it’s a testimony to me that Heavenly Father cares about us and understands our needs.”
Alex Keith of the Cobblestone First Ward says he has gained a stronger testimony of Jesus Christ. “I have more faith in God than I have ever had before, and I know without a doubt that my Savior lives.”
“I know that Jesus Christ took upon Himself my sins and died for me so that I may have eternal life,” adds Jenna Rounds of the River Heights Fourth Ward. “He died so that all may live again and so that we can be with our loved ones forever.”
After so many hours of digging through rocky soil to create a more solid foundation, these youth better understand the importance of building their lives around the Savior.
“I need to have a solid foundation of rock so that when Satan tries to confuse me about my values, I can do what I know is right,” Jenna says. “The Savior is my rock. In spite of all my weaknesses, He makes me strong.”

Six-year-old Jason rode down the street on his new red bicycle. It was the first time he had ridden his bicycle without his eleven-year-old brother, Ray, riding along beside him. Jason grinned as he thought about his big brother. Ray wa fun to be with. But now Ray had gone on an errand for Mother, so Jason was riding by himself.

“'Aaaa!' he called as he pedaled past his mother.
She smiled and waved at him. Jason didn’t dare let go of the handlebars to wave back, but he gave her a big smile. When he turned around and pedaled back to his house again, his mother motioned for him to stop. Born with a very bad hearing loss, Jason wore a hearing aid in each ear. The only sounds that he could hear were very soft and unclear, so Jason had only recently begun to learn to talk.
“Jason,” Mother said, at the same time using sign language, “I’m going into the house to do dishes now. It will soon be dark. Please come inside in just a few minutes.”
“Okay,” Jason tried to form the word with his mouth as he finger-spelled.
Mom smiled and rumpled his hair before she walked into the house, and Jason pedaled his bike down the street again. It was exciting riding with a rush of the wind against his face. Jason pedaled faster and faster. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going. “Aaaa!” he cried delightedly.
Then the cry froze in his throat as he stared at the unfamiliar houses that he was passing. The bicycle wobbled and nearly fell over before Jason could come to a stop. He looked around him with wide, frightened eyes. Where am I? he wondered.
Jason turned his bicycle around and pedaled back toward the nearest corner. He peered at the houses in the gathering darkness. They were all strange. Jason choked back a sob. How would he ever get back to his own home? He couldn’t ask anyone for help. He pedaled up and down the streets looking for a familiar sight, but it was no use. The longer he searched, the more confused he became.
Soon it was dark, and Jason had never been so frightened. He didn’t know what to do. Suddenly there came to his mind a picture of his family kneeling in prayer, and he thought, I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me!
Jason got off his bicycle, then knelt on the sidewalk and folded his arms. Dear Father in Heaven, he prayed silently, I’m lost. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Jason opened his eyes, half-expecting to see a familiar face, but no one was there. He could see lights shining through the windows of nearby houses. He though about his family in his own home and about how much he loved them. Maybe I’ll never see them again. Tears trickled down his cheeks at the thought. Then the words I am a child of God! Popped into his mind. They were from a Primary song that his mother had taught him.
“You can learn to say the words if you try,” she had said as she signed to him. “Then you can sing it with your voice, your hands, and your heart.”
Jason had tried. It was hard, but he could sing it well enough for his family to recognize it. Now he loved to sing it often, even though he could barely hear the sounds that he made. He knew that there was beautiful music inside him, though, because he had such a happy feeling when he sang.
Maybe, Jason thought, I won’t feel so scared if I sing. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tears and began, “I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. …”
As he sang the last few words, Jason opened his eyes. He could scarcely believe what he saw: His big brother was coming down the street!
“Aaaa!” Jason cried, leaping to his feet. “Aaaa!”
Jason started to run. He didn’t stop until he ran straight into his brother’s open arms. Ray caught him in a big hug, swinging him off his feet.
“I’d never have found you if I hadn’t heard you singing that song!” Ray exclaimed. “You’ve sung it so many times at home that when I heard it in the darkness, I knew just who was singing. It led me straight to you!”
Jason couldn’t follow all that Ray was saying, but he knew that he was safe, and he knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

The air was cold in the barn, and Dave Peters’s breaths came out in white puffs. “Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner Walleniner Hokum Mokum Pokum was her name!” Some of the notes were a little high, but he sang them out anyway, trying to fill his mind with them. “She had two hairs on the top of her head; one was alive and the other was dead.” The cow swished her tail back and forth and chewed slowly on some hay. The cold didn’t seem to bother her much.
“Won’t be long now, lady,” he said, and pinched his first two fingers against his thumb to strip the cream out.
Dave’s hands were getting awfully cold—they weren’t yet used to the fall chill and he never had been able to get the hang of milking with rubber gloves on.
Now Rod Wilson—that was a different matter. Dave laughed to think of how Rod could milk a cow with gloves on, ride a calf without a rope, swim across the narrow part of the lake and back in less than two hours. But not for long—the lake would be frozen up before long. He thought how they would have to go out boating again a time or two before it was too late. No—it was already too late.
He stood up and lifted the heavy bucket over to the can. One more cow and then—warmth! He turned to their big holstein, who had been waiting in the adjacent stall. “She had two teeth in the front of her mouth;” he sang, a little off key, “one pointed north and the other pointed south. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner Walleniner Hokum Mokum Pokum was her name.” And he leaned his loose blond hair against the cow’s tight black and white hair and breathed his white breath down toward the bucket as he milked. The singing stopped—it was useless—and he shut his eyes against the cold air, pushing his head against the cow’s flank and trying to lose himself in the rhythm of the tug, tug, tug, squirt, squirt.
Rod Wilson, Dave thought, sounding the words in his mind. Why? And he thought of that morning at school when between the second and third periods he overheard in the hall, “Rod’s not sick. He died last night.”
The cow was warm, and Dave hunched himself closer. He wished he could use gloves like Rod. It hadn’t taken long for the story of what had happened to sweep through the school; it went like a fire in the wind. Dave heard all the details, even though he didn’t want to: out late at night in his boat, dropped something into the water by accident, dove out to get it, never came home. It was all conjecture anyway, Dave thought. How were all those people who weren’t there supposed to know what happened?
Just a few more minutes and he would be done. It was so cold. Dave picked up the rhythm, listening to the changing sound of milk squirted against milk as the bucket filled. If the cats would come in, he would give them a taste. They were experts at catching the stream of milk in their mouths—Dave didn’t have to be a good shot. But sometimes he deliberately missed and hit them on a leg, the tail, or their bodies. Then they would lick it off fastidiously. Real economists, those cats.
Rod was a better shot at it than Dave. Dave thought of the summer night a couple of years before when Rod had been helping him with his chores so they could go out on the lake together. Rod had the holstein, and Dave had the jersey, and things were going along pretty fast before Rod started shooting him with milk. But Dave had the advantage—he had a cow between him and Rod, and Rod was in clear view. At least the last pint from each cow, before stripping, landed not in the buckets but on the cows, on Rod and Dave, on the walls and floor. They had started laughing so hard that Dave’s dad came out to see what was up. He failed to see the humor in their battle.
Dave started stripping the big cow and tried to swallow the lump that kept rising in his throat. It made it a little hard to breathe. He had to open his mouth to let the air in, and that made it seem a lot colder than breathing through his nose would have done.
In a few moments he was finished. He lugged the bucket over to the milk can that stood in the corner. This cow gives entirely too much milk, he thought. He tipped the bucket and drained it into the can, watching the milk seep down through the filter. Then he put the bucket on the floor and removed the filter. It would go into the trash pile; the rest would go into the house for washing. Next summer his dad promised to pipe hot water into the barn. Dave wasn’t sure he liked the idea. That meant more minutes in the cold during the winter—and that his mom would no longer offer to wash up the equipment.
The filter dripped warm milk down his fingers and onto the floor. That milk-squirting battle he and Rod had had was nothing compared to what happened after Dave’s dad left that night, Dave thought. He remembered he had started it that time. They were just finishing Dave’s chores—Rod’s parents were wealthy, and he never had many chores to do—and were still damp from the squirting. It was then that Dave had thought, I wonder if this filter will stick to Rod’s back. The moment of thought became the moment of action, and the barn was soon filled with flying filters, milk-drenched; their clothes started dripping, a few filters hung on the ceiling and walls. And yes, Dave smiled, the first one had stuck on Rod’s back. It had taken him completely by surprise. In fact, Dave had won that battle. They were teachers back then; and Rod almost had his Eagle award in Scouting. Dave had taken a little longer to get his.
Now they were priests and almost ready to graduate from school. Almost every Sunday they sat together to bless the sacrament. But next Sunday, Dave thought—and he threw the filter as hard as he could against the wall. Then he let the cow out. After their filter war there had still been some hanging on the walls the next morning when Dave had gone out early for the morning milking. Maybe this one would freeze and harden and hang there all winter. Rod would have gotten a kick out of that.
Some friend you are, Dave thought. Here your best friend dies and the next day all you can think of are the milk wars you had and some silly thing he would get a kick out of.
He was finished early and almost impulsively went out of the barn through the cow’s door, and instead of heading to the house across the lawn, he headed toward the lake through the corral. Rod always ran to the lake, Dave thought, and started to run himself. Not too much longer and it would freeze over. Then he could go out and skate on it.
Rod’s mom hadn’t liked the idea of them skating on the lake. “What if the ice isn’t thick enough?” she wanted to know.
It had been Rod’s idea, and he had the answer. “We have a safe and scientific answer,” he said. “A certain depth of ice will support a certain amount of weight. We drill down and see how deep the ice is at different points of the lake. If it’s well over the danger point, we know we can go out on it.”
Dave stopped running and started to walk. It was too cold to run; the air burned his throat and lungs. Rod had all kinds of crazy ideas and they always seemed to work.
He wouldn’t have stopped to walk, either, Dave thought. He would have run all the way and then would have been waiting cool and comfortable at the boat when you came up. Dave could keep up when he wanted to; he could even sometimes win their races. But not in the cold. Dave never could run in the cold.
I wonder if it gets cold in the spirit world, Dave thought. I wonder if Rod can run there.
Dave reached the boat and squatted in the dirt beside it. I wonder who put the boat back, he thought. I wonder how they found him and how they knew where to put the boat. He thought of how that had been his idea, to build the boat, and how he had shown Rod how to do it. Now that was something Rod wasn’t good at—he had wasted a lot of good lumber trying to build his share of the boat. Dave remembered what Rod had said when Dave had mentioned it once: “I’m not too good at this, and I need to learn. What if you die or something? There wouldn’t be anyone here to show me how to build things. I need to learn.” And then he had laughed and shoved Dave, and they had started wrestling. That was another thing Rod was good at. Dave could beat him almost all the time when it came to pure grapple; but if beat meant pin, Dave was the sure loser.
I wonder what Rod’s doing right now, Dave thought, and then he began to whistle softly to himself. He was a little afraid. The quiet night, black and starless, the black and quiet lake where his best friend had drowned the night before, the thoughts of spirits and ghosts—he began to whistle the tune to “Magdalena Katalena” very softly to himself. But as he did, he thought to himself, I’ll bet Rod wasn’t afraid last night. And then he thought, as he shoved the boat out into the lake and jumped in after it, wetting only one leg and that only to the ankle, that it all wasn’t fair; it just wasn’t fair.
He turned his back to the front of the boat and began to row in deep and heavy strokes. It isn’t fair, he thought to the rhythm of his work, that Rod should have to die when he was so capable and so happy and so spiritual—how could a guy like that drown anyway?
He rowed on out to the spot where he heard that Rod had drowned and sat back in the boat and looked up into the sky. It was as black as the water beneath him, but the water scared him. If it could get Rod, he thought, what would it do to me? And he saw in his mind Rod’s face, white in wet blackness, a pale oval beneath the boat, clawing up to air but never finding it. Dave tried to shut the vision from his mind. He thought of the roadshow earlier that year, in the spring, when Rod had played the turnip and Dave had been the dwarf. Rod had been in Dave’s garden, a turnip almost as large as the gardener. They had laid him on Dave’s kitchen table up there on the stage, and Dave had brought out a knife to cut through his red and whiteness.
No, Dave thought to himself and sat up in the boat. You’re really morbid, aren’t you, Peters? So he tried to see Rod somewhere else, and where he saw him was at a special stake meeting as one of the youth speakers. “I’ve been assigned to speak on why I’m going on a mission,” he had begun, and Dave had groaned. What an awful way to start a talk, he had thought. But he did have to admit one thing: even if Rod wasn’t the best speaker in the world, when he spoke people listened because they knew he meant every word of what he said.
Dave gripped one oar by its end and squeezed it hard. What happened here last night? he thought. How could you let yourself drown? It’s unfair! And then Dave finally leaned over the edge to look into the clear black water. He thought of the legends that always circulated around the town in the summer that the lake was bottomless—and that giant prehistoric fish had been seen by skin divers again that spring.
The lake had been where Dave and Rod spent their free time. That blackness was a deep blue during daylight hours, the kind of blueness whose color by itself invited one to enter. Dave could see Rod, standing on the bow of the boat, clad in cut-off jeans and no shirt, saying, “See ya later, pilgrim!” and then jumping in. He could stay underwater longer than anyone else Dave knew.
He dipped his hand into the water. It was terribly cold, the kind of cold, he thought, that could cramp a person’s muscles in a moment. Why had Rod jumped in? Dave wondered. He knew better. He should have been more careful. They had lots of plans together—plans that would make him be careful. Like Ricks College next fall, where they would room together in the dorms; like the missions they had planned. Rod would be glad to see him make it. Dave remembered the long talks they had had about missions and girls and the gospel and their parents. They had shared fears and doubts. But later Rod became set and firm, his doubts gone. He knew where he was going. And he always knew the right things to say to help Dave make up his mind to do what he knew he should do—even though it sometimes took a lot of discussing before those right things came out.
Dave looked back up at the sky—there were stars out now; the clouds had parted some—and he felt the lump growing in his throat again, and thought, Don’t be stupid. Crying won’t bring him back. And he thought, I’ll bet Rod wouldn’t cry over you. He’d just smile and touch your hand at the funeral and whisper, “Take care, buddy. See ya before too long.”
But those thoughts didn’t help, and Dave’s throat swelled until he felt he couldn’t really breathe, and the white puffs that had been coming from his mouth and nostrils nearly stopped for a moment. And then the hurt pushed itself up and out his eyes so they glistened in the darkness and his breath caught, then rushed out, then caught again, and his eyes glistened.
And he lay back in his rowboat and sobbed in the dark over the lake.
“Why did it have to be you, Rod?” he said out loud. “You were the good one, the strong one. I won’t do much good here. But you were good; you could even milk with gloves on—” and then he smiled through his tears and laughed a little even while he was crying.
“Rod would think you’re a pretty dumb guy,” he said to himself. Then he whispered. “We were pretty good friends, weren’t we, Rod?”
He leaned over the edge of the boat. The white puffs of air floated over the water. They were coming more freely now. Heavenly Father, he said in his mind, Rod was a pretty good guy, and I’m sure you were proud of him. You know we were close friends—best friends—and I’m really missing him. I think we did everything together. I’m feeling kind of alone.
Then he closed his eyes tight, and felt the cold tears on his cheeks, and thought. All I ask of thee is to help me become the kind of person Rod was. I want to see him again.
Dave sat up straight on the boat’s crossbar. He and Rod had had a boat race once. A neighbor had loaned them his boat. They were going to go two out of three, but they didn’t need to. Dave won the first two races. They had laughed and teased each other, and then Rod had jumped out of his boat and swam in four or five quick strokes over to Dave’s boat and started rocking it till he had swamped it.
We haven’t had a good tussle like that for a long time, Dave thought.
And then he said, half aloud, “Beat you to shore, Rod.” He started rowing as hard as he could, puffing out the white air until his lungs felt raw. Getting a little out of shape, aren’t you, Peters, he thought to himself. Maybe you ought to go out for basketball this winter.
The boat hit the bank and he clambered out, getting both feet wet and not caring. He pulled the boat up completely onto the bank and left it there without looking back. His house was over a mile from the bank, and his folks might be getting worried, he thought. He took off in an easy run, singing under his breath, “Her lips stuck out like two big weiners; she used them round the house like vacuum cleaners. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner—” his white breath clearing the way through the black night before him.

These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU player, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our missionary book I wrote ‘good prospect.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw what I had written, went to see her, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far.”

Many years ago I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Monterrey North Mission. I felt it a great privilege to give missionary service.
When I began my mission, I left one matter unresolved. I had not yet received the paper relating to my discharge from military service. This document is extremely important. It means that a young man has completed his mandatory military service and has the right to work and study. He is recognized as a citizen of Mexico.
As the date for the issue of this document approached, I began to worry. I wrote to my parents and asked them to see if it was possible for them to pick up my military service book. When I received their next letter, I worried even more. They told me that they had already been informed that it could be released only to the person to whom it belonged.
I felt an urgent need to pray to the Lord and ask Him what to do. The answer, which did not come immediately, was that I should explain my problem to my mission president. During my conversation with him, two alternatives were discussed. One was that I could simply “trust in the Lord.” The second was that I could go in person to pick it up. The decision was mine.
I was unsure about what to do. I confided my concerns to my companion, and we were strengthened as we read this scripture: “Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God? Know ye not that he hath all power, and at his great command the earth shall be rolled together as a scroll?” (Mormon 5:23). This scripture dissolved my cloud of confusion. From that moment I read it, I knew that it was my duty to give my complete efforts to my missionary labors. My problem was in the hands of the Lord.
A little while later, I received another letter from my parents. My father wrote the following:
“Son, I went back to the National Defense offices one more time, to try to find a person who could help us solve your problem. After speaking with a great many people, I was directed to a certain place. I arrived feeling quite discouraged and desperate. The first thing I saw was a huge door, which was opened wide and guarded by very imposing two soldiers. I gathered my courage and passed through, and found the office to which I had been directed. As I knocked, I felt nervous but also that I was being guided by the Spirit of the Lord.
“When I went in, I saw an officer seated behind a desk. On his chest were a great number of medals, and the walls of his office were covered with colorful certificates. He shook my hand firmly and solemnly, and asked, ‘What is the purpose of your visit?’
“‘I have a son who is serving a mission,’ I replied. ‘Because of this, he could not come to pick up his military service book. I have come to see if I can pick it up in his place.’
“‘No, you cannot. It can be released only to the individual to whom it belongs,’ stated the officer.
“At that moment, the Lord enlightened me with His Spirit, and I said, ‘Sir, you have many soldiers under your charge who are responsible to you for the fulfillment of their duties. In the same way, my son is fulfilling his duty to preach the gospel of the Lord at this time. At this very moment, he is a soldier for the Lord.’
“At this, the officer arose from his seat and said, ‘Do you have any identification? What is the name of your son?’
“After I had answered his questions, he called a secretary and said, ‘Bring me the papers for this young missionary.’
“He signed them, sealed them, and turned them over to me. Nothing else was required. I shook his hand firmly and gratefully. My son, your papers are now in order and you must show your gratitude to the Lord by serving Him as a true soldier.”
After receiving this letter, I thanked the Lord for using His great power to intercede on my behalf, for the answer He had sent in response to my prayers, and for enlightening my father. I pray that we may all place our full confidence in the Lord, and never forget His promise: “Ask, and it shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Nephi 14:7–8).

Several years ago I heard about a good brother who described his attitude as President David O. McKay gave the concluding talk of general conference. It was a sultry afternoon, and this was the fifth session he had attended. He was sitting in the balcony, and his mind had a serious wandering problem. He noticed a man sitting in the middle section who had fallen asleep with his head tilted back and his mouth open. It occurred to him that if he were in the roof of the Tabernacle, he could drop a spit wad through one of the vent holes right into the mouth of that sleeping man. What a glorious thought! Following the meeting, he overheard two men talking about their feelings during President McKay’s talk. They were visibly moved by what they had heard. He thought to himself, These two brethren were having a marvelous spiritual experience, and what was I doing? Thinking about dropping spit wads from the ceiling!

In the weeks leading up to my marriage and temple sealing, I started getting a little nervous about all the things I needed to do before I started my new family. Despite all the joy of that moment, I felt stressed about organizing our new routine, getting our finances in order, finding storage for our belongings, and all my new responsibilities as a wife. I wanted to make sure we started off our marriage the right way by making room in our activities for important things like keeping the commandments and spending time together as husband and wife in spite of our busy lives.
As the wedding day came closer, I was surprised by a series of nightmares involving all sorts of troubles that could affect a family. Because I come from a loving but afflicted family, threatened by constant and intense arguments and broken hearts, the bad dreams affected me more than they should have. So one night, after several others like it, I woke up sweating and decided to follow the advice that Sister Neill F. Marriott, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, gave in her talk “Yielding Our Hearts to God” (Liahona, Nov. 2015, 30–32). I closed my eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, what can I do to keep these bad things away from my family?”
The answer hit me as fast and as strongly as if someone had opened a door into my head and put the thought there. The still, small voice prompted me, “Just do what you are supposed to do. Be faithful in each step.” The Spirit whispered some specific counsel, and I felt that if I did those things, everything would be fine.
I smiled and felt my chest filled with warmth. All the worries were suddenly forgotten, because I knew it was true. I had felt the Holy Ghost before, but never as strong as I did that night. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior surround me, and I knew that the comfort and salvation of my family was as important for Them as it was for me.

There was a very popular book series I started reading. At first I liked it, but then it started getting scary and yucky. I felt uncomfortable. I did not feel the Holy Ghost. As I started the second book, it was the same and getting worse.
I talked with my mom about Article of Faith 13. These books weren’t like the article of faith, and I want to live like it says. Finally I stopped reading the books. I felt a lot better right away. I want to feel like that all the time, and I know I can if I use Article of Faith 13 as my guide.
Brooke B., age 10, Utah, USA

On July 27, 1943, Flora received a phone call from her husband. He was in Salt Lake City, Utah, preparing to return from a business trip with their son Reed. She was at their home near Washington, D.C., about 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away. After a sleepless night full of prayer and tears, he telephoned to let her know that the previous day he had been called to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
The news did not surprise Flora. She “had had a strong impression that something of magnitude would happen on [her husband’s] trip.”10 She expressed confidence in Ezra, and her words had a calming effect on him. He later recalled: “It was reassuring to talk to her. She has always shown more faith in me than I have myself.”11

One such decision is whether or not to go on a mission. While I was growing up I had a desire to serve a mission. But when it finally came time to send in the papers, I was hesitant. The decision became filled with pressures. I didn’t know whether to leave after my freshman year, after my sophomore year, or after I had completed my college education. I fought with a multitude of inward thoughts and feelings. I also wondered if I had enough knowledge to go out there and give what was so precious to me to somebody else. I talked to a lot of people, and most of them willingly shared their opinions with me. Some said that I should go immediately, others said later, and some said I shouldn’t go at all. I wonder, if I had asked you, should I go now or later or not at all, what would you have told me?
Perhaps you would have been like one of our great priesthood leaders. I went to him, and we talked about my situation. He listened with patience and concern. After I expressed my feelings about being able to play basketball when I returned, he said, with words that sank deep into me, “Devin, if you serve a mission and serve faithfully, when you return you will be a better basketball player than you are now.”
I had great confidence in that man, and I felt that he was moved by the Spirit to say what he did. I felt he was talking to me personally and not to all athletes who serve missions, because each case is different. He could advise me, my parents could advise me, my friends could advise me, but they couldn’t serve for me. I was the one who was going, and no one else could make my decision. I had to make that myself.
One reason I desired to serve a mission was that I had seen the impact that serving a mission had on my father and mother. Many times in our family home evenings Dad would mention his mission. He told us about his call. He had a desire to serve a mission, but when he expressed that desire to his father, his father discouraged him from going. My dad grew up on a chicken farm in American Fork, Utah. Because of failing health, his father didn’t feel that he would be able to maintain the farm, and there would be no money to finance a mission.
Bishop Melvin Grant came to discuss the matter with my dad’s family. When Dad’s father told the bishop that his son couldn’t go, Dad’s mother stood right up from her chair and said, “I’ll take care of the chickens. My son George is going on a mission.”
And so he went to England. My dad told me that a few months into his mission he received a letter from his mother that said, “I think the chickens know where you are, because they’ve never laid as many eggs as they are laying now.”
In April of 1980 I entered the Missionary Training Center and began to learn Spanish to prepare to serve in Madrid, Spain. While in the MTC, I knew that I was doing the right thing. In my heart I wanted to someday return to play basketball. Yet at the same time I decided that even if I never played another game of collegiate ball I wouldn’t regret the decision that I had made.
In Spain I had the honor of wearing a little name tag that said “Elder Durrant.” That title, Elder, was a greater honor than any I had ever before known. I had many experiences as a missionary. When someone accepted the gospel, I felt indescribable joy. When people rejected the message of the gospel, it brought me great sorrow.
One of my most joyous memories began during the summer of 1981. We had walked the city streets all morning talking to businessmen about the Church. By noon we were hot and tired and ready to take a break. We decided to walk through a nearby park, and as we did so, we could see off to the side a group of young people. We decided to see if they would listen to our message.
As we approached, they looked at us with some suspicion. We told them we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They laughed a little and made a few mocking comments. It seemed obvious that they didn’t want to listen to us. But there was one young man in the group who looked at us with a sincere interest. So we focused our attention on him. He had a guitar. We asked, “Would you play something for us?” He smiled, lifted his guitar, and began to play.
When he finished, we told him more about ourselves and our message. He told us his name was Jose Manuel. We talked for a few more minutes and then ended the conversation by asking if we could talk to him another day about our church. He replied he would be glad to listen to us and that we could find him in the park most every day taking his dog for a walk or playing his guitar.
As we left, we couldn’t imagine this young man ever being baptized. A few days later we were in that same area. To our pleasant surprise, there he was. We asked if he would listen to us. He consented, and we pulled two park benches together, and my companion and I sat on one and he sat on the other. We looked into Jose Manuel’s eyes and told him about Jesus Christ. Near the end of our message we told him about the Book of Mormon and that Jesus Christ had visited America after his resurrection. We challenged him to read about this great event. He said he would. We left the book, yet we had our doubts if Jose Manuel would ever even open it.
A few more days went by, and we decided to see how he had done on his reading assignment. To our surprise, he told us that he had read the part in the Book of Mormon that we had assigned him. He explained that he had told his friend about what he had read. His friend also wanted to read the book, so Jose Manuel had given it to him. He asked us if he could possibly get another copy. We told him that we could probably work something out.
After that we continued to teach him the gospel. We saw him change his appearance and his heart. He wanted to be baptized.
Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for eighteen months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona mission.
We’re all faced with different obstacles that sometimes make serving missions seem difficult. In my dad’s case, his father was ill. Jose Manuel’s family didn’t want him to go. I wondered about my basketball future. Many of the obstacles we face are those within our own minds. For just a minute I want to talk directly to you—just you. You who might say, “I have this girlfriend”; or, “I’ve got a good job and a car”; or, “I’ve never been good at schoolwork, and I know I could never memorize scriptures and all those discussions”; or, “I can’t talk to people who I don’t even know”; or, “I couldn’t be obedient to all the rules missionaries follow”; or, “I don’t really know the Church is true, so how could I tell others about it?”
To those who have such thought and feelings: if you don’t now have a testimony, you can gain one on a mission. Your girlfriend will be all right. You can learn the scriptures and discussions well enough to be effective. You’ll have the courage you need to talk to strangers. You can be obedient. You can do it.
Some of you may be fearful about your ability because to this point in your life you have struggled. Perhaps you’ve not been academically gifted or socially prominent. I agree that being socially graceful, well educated, experienced in leadership, and able to speak well are useful talents for doing missionary work. But there is something beyond these which can give a missionary his real power.
I was told recently of two missionary companions—one had many outward talents, the other didn’t. They had received a letter from a man and his family to whom they had taught several discussions. The letter told the elders to come by and pick up the Book of Mormon because the family had decided they were not interested in continuing the discussions.
The more outwardly talented elder felt confident that by using all his social skills and all his learning he would be able to change the man’s mind. During the meeting he used every persuasive skill he could think of. The other elder listened. Finally the man agreed to continue the discussions.
Later, at the family’s baptism, the talented elder remembered the night with some degree of pride. After the baptism the man told him, “The night I changed my mind and continued to have you teach me was the most important night of my life. As you talked to me, my mind was so determined to not listen that there was nothing you could have said that would have caused me to continue. But then I looked at your companion. His eyes were focused on me. I saw in his face more love than I had ever known before. My heart felt a spirit that made it so I could not resist his silent message. I decided then that if this church could cause someone to love like that, then I wanted to be part of it.”
Outward social and educational talent help, but more needed than these are the inward talents of love and faith and testimony. In these talents we can all be equal.
If your health will allow, make yourself worthy to serve. Push aside the obstacles and go.
I pray that the Lord will bless us in all of our decisions—decisions about missions, decisions about marriage, decisions about character, about dedication, about morality.
I’m grateful for the honor that I had of being Elder Durrant while in Spain. I know that Jesus Christ lives, that while he was on the earth he taught us the way that we ought to live. I know that he expects us as holders of the priesthood to take what he has given us and go out and share it with others. And as we do this, he not only blesses the lives of the people we come in contact with, but he also blesses us. I know that the gospel he has given us is true. That’s why I wanted to share it—because it means so much in my life.
I testify of these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Two days before Christmas I was in Miller’s Department Store buying my mom’s Christmas present. I saw The Embalmer over in the sporting goods department, but I pretended not to see him and went on. When I got to the cashier to pay for Mom’s scarf, I reached into my pocket for the money. But as I pulled my hand out of my pocket, out fell the new Cub Scout knife that I had bought for my brother Jimmy the day before.

On the way home from buying it the day before I had dropped the bag in a puddle, so I had taken the knife out of the bag and put it in my pocket and forgotten all about it. It still had the red price tag on it and, of course, the sales slip had gone into the trash with the bag. Boy, did I feel dumb for a minute, and then I felt scared because I realized what the cashier was going to think and there was no way I could prove what had really happened.

The cashier called the manager and, of course, he didn’t think much of my story. I didn’t know the clerk who had waited on me the day before, and with the Christmas rush there wasn’t much chance she’d remember me. Besides, she didn’t seem to be working that day.

The manager was just calling the police when Mr. Palmer came up to the counter. Great, I thought. With him as a character witness, they’ll put me away for life.

Mr. Palmer asked the manager if he could talk to him for a few minutes first, and they went off together to the manager’s office. I must have lost five pounds in sweat while I waited. There was a stool by the counter, and I sat down on it to wait. My knees were shaking so hard I couldn’t have stood up. I thought about how Mom would cry and how Dad wouldn’t say much, but would get that funny pinched look around his mouth. I thought what kind of example this would make for Jimmy, the Cub Scout. I wondered if I would be expelled from school and if any college would accept me now. I had just resigned myself to scrubbing floors for the Foreign Legion when Mr. Palmer and the manager came out of the office, smiling. Oh, sure, I thought, you can smile. It’s not your life that’s being ruined.

The manager just looked at me and said, “You can go home now, son. After what your teacher has just told me about you, I think we can forget about this, but I hope that we won’t have any reason to regret this decision in the future.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with one of Mr. Palmer’s chemistry exams. I don’t quite remember what happened next, but I guess I paid for Mom’s gift and walked home. I was sort of in a trance all the next day. In fact, I didn’t come out of it until Christmas morning when I was watching my family enjoy Christmas and thought about what it could have been like that morning if Mr. Palmer hadn’t taken my side at the store.

I realized then that I hadn’t even thanked him for what he’d done. I just had to call Mr. Palmer to thank him and to apologize for being so late with my thanks. But there was no answer at his house. I tried all day and all the next week with the same results. I found out later that he had gone out of town for Christmas.

I didn’t see him until third period on the day school started again. He didn’t seem any different, but I couldn’t forget what he’d done for me and I kept wondering why. After school I stopped in at the chemistry room to thank him.

He was in the back of the room cleaning out the caustic chemical cupboard and didn’t see me come in. Seeing him there when he didn’t know anyone was around, I thought he didn’t look like such a bad guy. He was humming “Clementine” off key and a lock of his blond hair had fallen down over his forehead. I realized suddenly that he had freckles. You know it’s funny, but I had never noticed those freckles before. I guess I’d been too busy hating him to think of him as a real person.

“Mr. Palmer, I came to thank you.” I could hear a tremble my own voice. “I don’t know what you told that man at Miller’s, or why you would do that for me, but I wanted to thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. I guess I was kind of shook up, and then when I remembered you were gone.”

“Why, David, I didn’t hear you come in. Sit down.” I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. Mr. Palmer’s eyes were wet.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I just told Ernie what kind of student you are and that I had never known you to be dishonest in any way. I told him about that time when you had been absent for the chemistry exam and I forgot to have you leave when I started to hand back the papers. Remember? You reminded me so that you wouldn’t hear the answers. I know that some of your friends have tried to get you to help them cheat by leaving your answers uncovered during the exams, but you won’t do it.”

I swear, I don’t know how he knew about that, but he did. Suddenly I felt a little braver. “Mr. Palmer,” I asked, “Why did you do it? I mean, I never thought you cared …” That wasn’t the right thing to say. I stopped, embarrassed.

“Oh, David.” There were those wet eyes again. “You’ll never know how much I care about all of you. It’s hard for me to show it, but I do. I really want what’s best for you. That’s why I’m so hard on you sometimes. I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I guess I do, but please believe me, most of the time I don’t even know what I’ve done unless someone tells me.”

When I left Mr. Palmer’s room that afternoon the sun was going down and the halls were deserted. I had learned a lot in that time. I found out that when he was a kid Mr. Palmer stuttered because he was so scared of everything. I found out that one of the ways people hide their feelings is to act like they know everything. I found out that Palmer the Embalmer had gone to Danny Lewis and apologized last September, because he hadn’t known until he saw him walk across the room to his desk that Danny had a problem. Danny doesn’t talk about his triumphs any more than he does about his problems.

Mr. Palmer is still called The Embalmer by the kids at Central High. And I guess a lot of them still hate him. I know better now. I’m in the honors chemistry class at the university and doing well, thanks to Mr. Palmer’s chemistry class.

One Saturday night I went to a friend’s house to watch movies and hang out. Although my friend isn’t a member of the Church, her standards are similar to mine. We were having a good time and we picked out a movie to watch. Then right as my friend put the disc into the player, I felt that I should check the back of the box to find out more about the movie. To my surprise, I found that it had inappropriate content. At first, I didn’t know what I should do, but as I thought about it, I felt it would be wrong to watch it.
It wasn’t easy, but I gathered my courage and told my friend, “I’m sorry, but I can’t watch this movie” and told her how I don’t watch movies with that kind of content. I was afraid that she would be annoyed, but she wasn’t. She knew that I was LDS and respected my beliefs.
Later, as I thought about the experience, I was surprised at how close I had come to compromising my standards. I was able to see that Satan can make something seem so harmless even when it’s not. The next day I was thinking about the experience while the sacrament was being passed. I thanked my Heavenly Father for helping me make the right decision and for the gift of the Holy Ghost to help us get through those situations. I’m glad that I chose the right because if I’d made the wrong choice, I would have felt bad after viewing the content in that movie and not listening to the Spirit when I knew what the right choice was. I’m grateful to have the gospel in my life and to know that if we are worthy, the Holy Ghost will always be there for us when we need Him.

Like the Malmroses, other couples find that when they trust the Lord, He prepares the way. That’s what happened for Alvin and Corazon Rieta of Kawit, Cavite, in the Philippines.
“Two years prior to our decision to serve, we began putting into place firm plans for our family business,” Elder Rieta explains. “Our son and daughter had graduated from college and could take over for us, but we wondered who would solve business problems and how our clients would react to our plans.”
Sister Rieta was also concerned about leaving her aging mother. “I was afraid we might lose her while we were away,” she says. “I also felt unequal to the challenge of teaching the gospel.”
They counseled with their bishop and with a couple who had recently served in Davao. “All of them bore strong testimonies that the Lord would guide each couple to know how to deal with their affairs at home, their family, and the funds for their mission,” Sister Rieta says.
“As we sought guidance,” Elder Rieta says, “our fears were addressed—our business went well in spite of challenges, our clients expressed joy and support, and our family drew closer together in taking care of our sick mother. We began to understand that the Lord truly would help us.”
The Rietas now serve in member and leadership support in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission.

I first read “To Receive a Crown of Glory,” a First Presidency Message by President James E. Faust (see Liahona, Apr. 2004, 2), by myself, then we studied it in family home evening, and then we studied it again in an elders quorum meeting. At that time I was preparing to go to the temple to be sealed to my wife. When I studied President Faust’s words regarding sin and repentance, I realized that I needed to confess an old sin to my bishop. Afterward I felt the peace we are promised when we truly repent. I am grateful to the Lord for His Church and for His leaders who guide us today.Name withheld

Arietana’s home is near the equator, so the weather is hot every day of the year and the ocean is very warm. The children spend much of their time swimming, fishing, or just playing in the water. Arietana likes fishing and digging in the sand for clams. “One day I caught enough fish for my family’s dinner,” he said. “My father was very surprised that I caught so many. When I want to go fishing, I find a small hermit crab for bait; then I drop my line from the bridge and wait for the fish to bite.”

Jared was excited when Mom and Dad brought his new brother home from the hospital. Jared liked to play with his sister, Catherine, but he was glad that now he’d have a brother to play games with.
When he first saw David, Jared could hardly believe his eyes—the baby was so tiny and wiggly! Jared had forgotten that he and Catherine had been little and wiggly too.
“How long will it be until David can play ball with me?” Jared asked his mother.
“It will be a few years yet,” she answered. “But don’t worry—there will be plenty of things to do with your brother before then.”
David grew bigger every day. He and Jared did find a lot of things to do together. They often played computer games. David would watch and clap his hands as Jared’s “good guys” chased the “bad guys” across the monitor. Sometimes they played army men. David would sit in his swing, chewing a soldier, while Jared made battle sounds with the other soldiers. Sometimes Jared would lie down with David to help him go to sleep. Jared was always very careful because David was still small.
Whenever it was Jared’s turn to say the family prayer, he thanked Heavenly Father for David, and he asked Him to bless and protect David.
When fall came, Jared started first grade. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to school, because he would miss playing with David.
Mom knew how much Jared would miss David, so when Jared came home from school, David would be sitting in front of the picture window, looking out. As soon as he saw his big brother, David would wave his arms excitedly.
One day Mom took David to Dr. Karp. David was always having earaches, and she and Dad wanted the doctor to find out why. When he finished looking at David, Dr. Karp told Mom and Dad to take David to the hospital for some tests. To help him discover what was wrong with David, Dr. Karp called Dr. Filopovich. She was a special kind of doctor who helped children fight diseases.
Before taking David to the hospital, Dad and their home teacher laid their hands on David’s head. Dad blessed David that he would get better.
David was in the children’s hospital about two weeks. The house was very quiet with David gone. Everyone missed him, especially Jared.
Dr. Filopovich went to the hospital and looked at David. She asked Mom some questions, then took a little bit of blood from David’s arm. She took the blood back to her office and looked at it under a microscope. When she had finished studying David’s blood, Dr. Filopovich met with Dr. Karp and Mom and Dad. “David’s blood is not strong,” she told them. “It can’t fight off the diseases that attack him. He needs to have a bone marrow transplant. We need to find someone who has blood just like David’s, only stronger, and take some bone marrow from that person and give it to David.”
Before family prayer that night Jared asked, “Will David die if we can’t find someone who has the right kind of blood?”
Dad put his arm around Jared. “David won’t die,” he assured Jared. “I know this because the Lord witnessed it to me when I gave David his blessing. Maybe one of us has the right kind of blood.”
Jared felt better. But before going to bed, he prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, make my blood be the same as David’s.”
The next day Jared and Catherine and Mom and Dad went to Dr. Filopovich’s office. She took a little bit of blood from each of them. A short time later she called to say that both Jared and Catherine had the same kind of blood that David did.
Mom and Dad talked to Jared. They told him that they thought Catherine was too young to understand David’s problem and that she would be too frightened to give David some of her bone marrow. They asked Jared if he would be willing to give some of his to David.
“Will it hurt?” Jared asked.
“Yes, it will,” Mom told him. “I wish I could tell you it won’t, but I think you’d rather I told you the truth.”
Jared watched David crawl across the rug. He said, “I want to help David. I asked Heavenly Father to make my blood be the same as David’s, and it is. So I’ll do it.”
Jared loved his baby brother, but as the time to go to the hospital came closer, he was as frightened as he was brave. Mom and Dad hugged him, and Dad gave Jared a father’s blessing in which he told Jared how proud he and Mom and Heavenly Father were of him. He blessed Jared with peace of mind and promised him that it wouldn’t hurt very long.
David was put in a special room at the hospital. Jared and Mom and Dad could just walk in and visit David, but the doctors and nurses had to wear masks and gowns before they could go into his room.
Jared’s room was in a different part of the hospital. Although he had two roommates, he had a dresser all his own, and he even had his own television. The first night he was there, he had wheelchair races with his roommates, and they watched a movie on a huge television down the hall.
When Jared went to bed, though, it was too quiet. His roommates quickly fell asleep, the nurses were busy in other rooms, and his parents had gone home. Jared was lonely and scared until he remembered the blessing Dad had given him. “I bless you with peace of mind,” his father had said. Jared had a contented feeling and soon fell fast asleep.
The next morning Jared got to ride in a wheelchair to the operating room. Dr. Filopovich was waiting for him there. She smiled at Jared and told him that he would go to sleep for a while. “When you wake up,” she said, “it will be all over.”
Jared breathed into a funny thing shaped like a cup and was soon asleep. While he slept, doctors took some bone marrow from his hipbone and sent it up to David’s room, where another doctor put it into David’s bloodstream. David’s heart would send it to different areas in his body, and in a few months David would have stronger blood.
Even before Jared woke up, his body knew that some bone marrow was missing. It began to make some more. In just a few days his body would make enough marrow to replace all that Jared had given to David.
When Jared awoke, Mom and Dad were there, smiling at him. A nurse gave him a Popsicle. Jared asked, “Is it over? Does David have some of my blood now?”
“Yes, it’s all over,” Dad said. “You were very brave and good, and we are very proud of you.”
Jared stayed in the hospital one more night. He hurt a little, but not as much as he’d thought he would. Dr. Karp called Jared on the telephone and told him that the transplant had gone well. He told Jared, “I think David will soon be well, thanks to you!”
Mom took Jared to see David the next day before going home.
“How long will David have to stay here?” Jared asked.
“Probably a few more months,” Mom answered, “until his blood is stronger. But you can come and visit him on weekends.”
Jared held David for a while. “Mom,” he asked, “do you think David knows what I did for him?”
“No, Jared, he doesn’t. But David knows that you love him. When he grows up, he’ll realize just how great that love is.”
The next day was Sunday. Jared’s Primary teacher gave a lesson about the Savior. She told the class that Jesus loved them and that He had suffered for them because He loved them. She smiled and added that they would understand His love better when they grew up.
Jared smiled back at her and said, “I think I understand already. I really do.”

During a recent trip, Julie and I attended church and saw this verse in action. A young man, soon to leave for his mission, spoke in sacrament meeting.

He said, “You all think my dad is such a good man at church, but …” He paused, and I anxiously wondered what he might say next. He continued and said, “He’s a better man at home.”

I thanked this young man afterward for the inspiring tribute he had paid his father. I then found out that his father was the bishop of the ward. Even though this bishop was serving his ward faithfully, his son felt that his best work was done at home.

A few years ago, Rachel and Melissa were both at home on a Saturday afternoon. The doorbell rang, and Rachel greeted two nicely dressed young men at the door. She thought they were salesmen. Their dad, Gerry, agreed to chat with the young men, who were actually full-time missionaries. Life in the Clancy home changed forever when the girls and their father were baptized.

The Clancy girls soon discovered that living their new religion meant having most of their friendships with people of other faiths, a role that both missionary-minded girls embrace. But where does their strength come from? Some comes from a handful of LDS friends and leaders, but most of what makes these girls strong is what happens within the walls of their home.

This family knows how to work together. Rachel handles laundry, including ironing, while Melissa helps with some of the outside chores, like mowing the lawn. They both look after their younger brother and sister, Matt and Stefany, while their dad is at work or handling Church responsibilities.

The Clancys know how to play, too. In fact, both girls say that most of their best gospel learning experiences come from conversations during fun times with the family jumping on the trampoline, hiking, or swimming.

“This year Dad and Matt and I spent several days hiking at a place called Ayers Rock,” says Rachel. “I like hiking but I’m afraid of heights and this was a really steep hike. We stopped and said a prayer and I felt better. When we got to the top there was a beautiful view. My dad and I talked about how it was a lesson about enduring to the end. It’s my favorite memory from that hiking trip.”

I met Brent during a blind date while we attended Brigham Young University. From the beginning of our relationship, we talked a lot about our shared patriotism. He enlisted in June 2003, three days after proposing to me.
Three months after we were married on September 18, 2003, Brent left for basic training. Once he returned the following November, we started having children. By the time we were expecting our second baby, he was preparing for his first deployment. He did two consecutive tours from 2007 to 2008 in Iraq.
In 2009, Brent got involved in politics. He ran for the city council in North Ogden, Utah, and won. Halfway through that four-year council seat, he was again deployed to Afghanistan for a year.
After Brent returned, he ran for, and was elected, mayor. As he was running for reelection four years later, we learned that he was being deployed yet again. At the time, I was pregnant with our seventh child. Despite the difficulty of leaving his family and office behind, Brent answered the call. He left in January 2018 for another yearlong deployment.
The day after I learned that Brent had been killed, one of my former bishops gave me a blessing that changed my perspective. In his blessing, he said that my purpose as a wife, mother, and daughter of God had not changed. Then he promised that Brent’s purpose as my husband and our children’s father had not changed either.
After the blessing, I remember chanting in my mind: “My purpose has not changed. My purpose has not changed.”
The next morning, as I repeated those words to myself, a phrase came into my mind: “Only the details have changed.” And as I tried to accept the fact that the details of my life had changed from what I thought they would be, another impression came: “God is in the details.”
The Lord was giving me line-upon-line revelation. When He does this, it’s not because He is keeping secrets from us. It’s because He is going at our pace.
In the months after Brent died, I was anxious about what would come next. But I knew that I could take one step forward at a time and that I could trust that the Lord would give me one line of revelation at a time. It might not be the line I thought He was going to give me, so I had to keep making a conscious choice to trust Him with the details of my life.
While on my mission, I served in a ward that needed a bishop. Stake leaders were looking for someone who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, paid his tithing, and had a supportive wife. Leaders considered one worthy priesthood holder, but his wife did not say yes to the calling.
Because of that experience, I promised the Lord that I would never get in the way of what He needed my future husband to do. I promised to always support him in his calling. I’m grateful I didn’t know the future. I don’t know what I would have done if––when I was making that promise––the Lord had said, “That’s a great promise to make because I need your husband to die for his country.”
I thought I was going to be a bishop’s wife. Instead, I became the wife of a worthy priesthood holder who answered the call to serve and sacrifice in a way I had not imagined.
The Lord has made it clear that the priesthood power of my temple sealing to Brent is still available to me. I have felt the power of our marriage covenant sustain me physically. I miss him so much, but I know that with him on the other side of the veil, I can move forward.
Brent is still supporting me. I feel that I’ve inherited many of his strengths. I’m no longer just me, and I’m certainly not him. Rather, I feel that I am both of us. To me, this is a testament of our marriage covenant.
When the world feels in chaos, we have to remember that our covenants are our constant.
I have learned from this experience that there is a beautiful power in letting people help us. It can be a humbling experience, but it blesses both those serving and those being served. We need to let others help us.
“When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God,” King Benjamin taught (Mosiah 2:17). This scripture is also true in reverse. When you are served by your fellow beings, you are being served by the Lord.
Sometimes we worry too much about what we can do or say to help someone. After Brent died, people who just showed up were the most helpful. They weren’t pushy, they paid attention, and they saw a need.
If you feel prompted to serve, don’t overthink it. Show up. Drop off a quick note. Don’t worry that your efforts aren’t perfect. Help anyway. Even if you say or do the wrong thing, those you serve will know that you meant, “I love you.”
We can all do better at letting people serve us imperfectly.
Photograph by Kaitlin Westbroek
Faith starts as a choice. Sometimes we might not see or feel the Lord in difficult times. In those moments when I don’t feel Him, I make a conscious choice. I choose to trust Him. I choose to be happy. I choose to let people help. I choose to ask for help. I choose to let the peace of the gospel guide me. It’s hard, but we have to make these choices. The Lord encourages us to make them, but He never forces us to.
It’s difficult to say that this tragedy has been a blessing. I hate being blessed by tragedy, but I have been. We might say we want the blessings and no trials, but that’s not how mortality works. “For after much tribulation come the blessings” (Doctrine and Covenants 58:4). For me, the Lord has taken this horrible tragedy and turned it into something beautiful.
I had less time with Brent than I thought I would have, but I know that the Lord is not going to shortchange us eternally in any way. I don’t know how, because I don’t have His knowledge and wisdom, but I know that His promises are sure.
Our Losses Will Be Made Up
“All your losses will be made up to you in the resurrection, provided you continue faithful. By the vision of the Almighty I have seen it.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith (2007), 51.

After the battalion departed, Brigham turned again to the next stage of the Saints’ journey. Cooperating with the United States had allowed him to secure permission to establish a winter camp on Indian lands west of the Missouri River. He now planned to winter the Saints at a place called Grand Island, two hundred miles west, and from there send the advance company over the Rocky Mountains.4
As the apostles counseled together, Wilford spoke of other important Church matters that needed their immediate attention. Reuben Hedlock, the man he had appointed to preside over the British mission, had alienated many British Saints by squandering funds they had consecrated for emigration. Wilford foresaw problems within the mission, including the loss of many new converts, until Reuben was released and replaced by more responsible leadership.5
The quorum also knew that impoverished Saints were still in Nauvoo at the mercy of mobs and false prophets. If the apostles did not do more to help these Saints, as they had promised to do in the temple at the October conference, then the quorum would be breaking a solemn covenant with the Saints and the Lord.6
Acting decisively, the quorum resolved to send three of the apostles in camp—Parley Pratt, Orson Hyde, and John Taylor—to England to lead the British mission. They then sent wagons, teams, and supplies back to Nauvoo to evacuate the poor.7
As the quorum sent men and provisions east, Brigham realized his plan to push farther west that year was no longer possible, especially since the battalion had reduced the number of able-bodied men in camp. Thomas Kane recommended building their winter camp at the Missouri River, and Brigham ultimately agreed.8
On August 9, 1846, the apostles announced that the Saints would spend the winter in a temporary settlement just west of the river. Brigham wanted to go over the Rocky Mountains and build a temple as soon as possible. But before then, he would gather the Saints together and look after the poor.9