Gospel Story Finder

At times the need for mercy can be found close to home and in simple settings. We have a four-year-old grandson named Jeffrey. One day his fifteen-year-old brother, Alan, had just completed, on the family computer, a most difficult and rather ingenious design of an entire city. When Alan slipped out of the room for just a moment, little Jeffrey approached the computer and accidentally erased the program. Upon his return, Alan was furious when he observed what his brother had done. Sensing that his doom was at hand, Jeffrey raised his finger and, pointing it toward Alan, declared from his heart and soul, “Remember, Alan, Jesus said, ‘Don’t hurt little boys.’” Alan began to laugh; anger subsided; mercy prevailed.

After graduation, at summer’s end, I moved away from home to attend college as did she, leaving hundreds of miles between us. We kept in touch. It would be another three years before Annemarie would confront me about the Church.
“I’m here!” she shrieked, bounding across the crowded room and grabbing me in an enormous bear hug. I bounced up and down, laughing like a third grader, and ignoring the fact that I was not only 21 years old but at the center of attention. Friends and family members smiled in amusement at my joyous reunion with Annemarie. “I was so afraid I would be late,” she panted, squeezing into a chair next to me.
“I wouldn’t have started without you,” I assured her. Then I took a deep breath as a hush fell over the room. I carefully opened the large envelope and silently read the first few lines. “Santiago,” I whispered.
“What?” my parents screeched. “Speak up!”
I cleared my throat and announced, “I will be serving in Santiago, Chile!”
After congratulations had been given and treats passed around, Annemarie and I escaped onto the front porch swing.
“What are you thinking about?” she questioned.
I smiled with satisfaction. “My mission, what else? I’m so excited to serve!”
She smiled back, but there was sadness in her eyes. “I’m happy for you.”
“But … what?” I prodded. Only the lazy creaking of the porch swing and crickets chirping in the distance interrupted the silence. My inquiry hung in the air for several moments before she spoke.
“Do you remember when I asked you if your church makes you happy?”
I nodded, smiling regretfully in remembrance of that first time I bore my testimony to her. I had been so unsure of myself, so timid. Now, within a few months, I would be testifying to strangers in broken Spanish.
Annemarie continued, “I want you to know that you’ve proven yourself to be right. You are the most religiously enthusiastic person I’ve ever met. My admiration started that day in ninth grade when you refused that beer, and it’s been growing ever since.”
I stared, dumbfounded. “How come you never told me that before? I’ve always wondered what makes you so apprehensive to talk about religion.”
She frowned in thought. “It makes me sad,” she admitted. “Religion makes you happy, and it makes me sad.”
“Why, Annemarie? That’s not the way Christ would have us feel.”
“I’ll never be able to feel enthusiastic like you about my religion, and I wonder if it’s my fault. It’s not that I haven’t tried. What am I doing wrong? I’m afraid I’ll forever be a failure at faith. So I end up avoiding church altogether. That is why church makes me sad.”
“I am happy for you,” she reaffirmed, smiling shakily. “I just wish I could be like you. Isn’t that what you and all of our friends have been hoping for all these years? That one day I would be a member like all of you?” She winked knowingly.
“Yes!” I replied with a laugh. Then more seriously, I said, “That is what I wanted in the beginning. That was before I understood some things. I don’t want you to be like me at all. I want you to join the Church of Jesus Christ so you can come to know and to be like Him. That’s what my church is all about.”
“Mine, too.”
“Look, please don’t feel that I’m degrading the church you attend in any way, but not all Christian churches contain the fulness of His gospel.”
“And you think that is found in your church?” she asked.
I looked into her dark blue eyes, channeling all the strength and emotion of my soul into bearing witness. “I want you to know that I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true and contains the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“How do you know it’s true?” Annemarie challenged. “Can you tell me the exact moment you knew your church was true?”
“No,” I admitted slowly. “I don’t remember an exact moment when I knew. I think somehow I’ve always known it.”
“Lucky you,” Annemarie teased with a smile.
“You can know it too. Ask in faith and God will show you the way.”
“I’ve been wanting to find the way for such a long time,” she sighed wearily. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Read the Book of Mormon and pray about it,” I said. “If the book is true, the Church is true. It’s that simple.”
“I’m glad that’s your idea of simple!” Annemarie burst out. A moment of indecision flashed across her eyes, and I watched her gradually relent. “Okay, Beth. I’ll do it.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” She added, “Don’t get your hopes up. Be good out there, Beth. I’ll miss you.”
Two months later, I entered the Missionary Training Center, satisfied with the testimony I had left with my friend back home and excited to testify among my new friends I had yet to meet in South America.

As a young boy in Australia, I played a lot of sports. I ran track, and I also played rugby and cricket. I really liked team sports. In those sports, it wasn’t just me playing but a group of people working together. One of the harder sports I tried was rowing.
My friend and I took out a boat called a “tub pair” on the river. I rowed on one side, and he rowed on the other. As we rowed, we tried to prove we were stronger than each other. The boat turned in one direction and then another. We zigzagged up the river. It was slow going. We didn’t work together very well.
After that, we got a coach to help us. He told us what to do and how to help each other. We practiced the things he taught us. Eventually we became very good and won many races.

Dawn raced up the stairs and into the kitchen.
“You’re an early bird,” Mom said. “No one else has come upstairs yet, but here you are, fully dressed with your hair combed. What’s up?”
“It’s store day at school,” Dawn said. “I’ve been waiting for this day all year!”
During the year at Dawn’s school, the students could earn tickets by getting good grades and being good citizens. At the end of the school year they could turn in the tickets for prizes.
The principal had shown the students some of the prizes—candy bars, books, movies, sports equipment, and a doll that had been made by a student’s mother. Dawn wanted the doll the moment she saw it. She talked about it every day.
Dawn’s brother Clinton walked into the kitchen, still in his pajamas.
“Please hurry and get ready to go so we can leave early,” Dawn said.
“The bus comes at the same time every day, and I’m never late,” Clinton said.
“But it’s store day! Aren’t you excited?”
Clinton shrugged. “I can’t see why you’re so worked up over a silly doll. You should spend your tickets on something useful, like the basketball. Besides, I bet I have more tickets than you do!”
“I have 375,” Dawn said proudly.
“Well, I’ve got 525,” Clinton bragged.
“I don’t care as long as I have enough for my doll.”
When Dawn and Clinton got to school, Dawn ran to the gym before class to see the prizes on display. She saw the basketball Clinton wanted, and then she spotted her beloved doll.
A moment later, she was almost in tears. The doll cost 500 tickets, which was more than she had earned. Heartbroken, Dawn went to class.
When the lunch bell rang, Dawn returned to the gym, hoping she could persuade the teachers to lower the doll’s price or give her more time to earn tickets. But her heart sank when she walked through the door. The doll was gone. Someone else had bought it. Dawn’s eyes filled with tears, and she sat alone in her classroom until lunch was over.
After school, Dawn got on the bus and gazed out the window, expecting to see Clinton bouncing his new basketball. But when he appeared he was not carrying a ball. Clinton was holding a doll—her doll.
“Hey, Clinton, I didn’t know you liked dolls!” yelled a boy. Other students near him laughed.
Clinton ignored them and boarded the bus. When he reached Dawn, he handed her the doll.
“Why didn’t you get the basketball?” Dawn stammered.
“I can always buy a basketball, but this doll is one of a kind,” Clinton said. “I knew you didn’t have enough tickets, so I bought it.”
“Thank you,” Dawn said. “I think you’re one of a kind too.”

Recently my husband and I returned to our home on a hill overlooking the Salt Lake valley to find that all of the electrical power was off in our neighborhood. As we approached our darkened house, a young neighbor boy observed us returning home in the darkness and ran over to offer his lantern. “We have another one at our house,” he said. “You can keep this one as long as you need it.”
I was impressed by the concern of that little boy. He had a light he was willing to share. He really cared about us. He was prepared to help us in our time of need.
I thought a great deal about that little boy in the days which followed. He was so helpful, so happy, and so willing to share his light.
To me, his actions represent the fundamental message of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the motto of Relief Society as well: “Charity never faileth.” First, because my young friend was prepared. He and his family had a light on hand to help them pierce the darkness when their primary source of light was temporarily withdrawn.
We each should take seriously the counsel to prepare. Recall the parable of the ten virgins, in which they “took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
“And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
“They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them:
“But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.” When the bridegroom came, they were ready. They “went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.” (Matt. 25:1–10.)
We should have the wisdom to personally prepare by understanding truth and living it with integrity so that we might be worthy disciples of Christ. Then, with him as the center of our lives, we can develop those Christlike qualities which will make us worthy of exaltation. We will gain added strength and a greater capacity for love. We will improve the skills of giving our love in such a way that we are prepared in the time of need.
My young friend also cared enough to observe a need. He ran to us in the darkness. He held out his light to illuminate our darkened way.
Jesus directs us to do that in poignant parables, saying:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matt. 25:35–36.)
He clearly explains that we must care enough to offer ourselves to meet the physical and spiritual needs of those around us. Doing this is charity. It is a beginning of the pure love of Christ.

Jim and Marian spent much of their time determining who was making the greatest contribution to their marriage. They believed that a marriage would work only if it was a 50–50 relationship. Neither felt that the other was being fair. Each was constantly upset about how little the other partner gave to the marriage.
When Jim and Marian changed their focus from how much they each could receive to how much they each could give, their marriage began to improve. Mormon said that “charity is the pure love of Christ” and that charity “seeketh not her own” (see Moro. 7:45, 47). A principle for making this work is found in the Sermon on the Mount: “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets” (Matt. 7:12).
To make this work, Jim and Marian each needed to find out what the other really wanted. Marian had a romantic nature and valued thoughtful notes, an occasional flower, and frequent verbal reminders that she was loved. By contrast, Jim felt that he best said “I love you” by fixing things around the house, keeping the yard neatly groomed, and providing financial security for the family. Neither of these orientations is superior to the other. Once they learned that the “language of love” was different for each of them, they began to speak each other’s language. As a result, they began to see each other’s contributions to the marriage as fair.

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for me. It seemed that I had a chance to feel the Spirit more strongly when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressure of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates to his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Dear Father in Heaven. I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices and strive for the Holy Ghost to find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. It was speaking of the Liahona. “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. … Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. I think he knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But it was obvious that I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This was not helping me “progress in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, it is our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for me so much that he would speak to me through the scriptures.

A young woman sat across from me describing what seemed to her to be a “hopeless” marriage. She had been married in the temple only a few short months before, but things just weren’t working out. The romance was disappearing, she said; her attraction to her husband had been lost in the daily responsibilities of living. When I asked why he hadn’t come with her, she replied that he didn’t see any problem in their relationship. “He’s really a good man,” she said, “but I’m just not committed to him anymore. My love is gone.”
I have thought many times since that day about commitment in marriage. The Savior taught the principle of commitment when he answered the Pharisees, saying, “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife. … What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.” (Matt. 19:5–6.) The word cleave is a powerful action word meaning to adhere closely.
Love is the necessary ingredient in cleaving to one’s spouse. “Thou shalt love thy wife with all thy heart,” the Lord said, “and shalt cleave unto her and none else.” (D&C 42:22.) However, the term love has different meanings to different people. To some, love is only an emotional and physical attraction accompanied by romantic idealization. To them, love doesn’t necessarily include the important concepts of commitment and cleaving. To others, love is the quiet, steady feeling that develops between people when they share important life experiences. Both kinds of love are important; both contribute to good marriages. But in many cases, romantic love is overplayed, while the commitment that leads to true cleaving is lacking.
As a young missionary in the Republic of South Korea, I was impressed with the quality of many of the Korean people’s marriages. When I was told that the marriages were arranged by parents, I wondered how two people could cleave so well without having first developed romantic love toward each other. Because of the narrow view I had at the time of commitment in marriage, I thought romantic feelings were the sole binding force.
But I learned some basic principles about committed love as I observed those marriages. I learned that when two people work with each other to produce a home, when they struggle to keep children fed and healthy—then love occurs. When illness or adversity strikes and one spouse sacrifices to help and care for the other—then they learn to love. When husband and wife are progressing together spiritually and emotionally—then love grows. Love, I learned, comes as the marriage, and the marriage partners, develop.
How then can a married couple foster commitment to each other?
Crises can build strong marriage. It is unfortunate that some couples see struggles in marriage as an excuse to escape. Too often they fall into blaming each other for the stresses rather than relying on each other for affection and support. Trials in life can serve as a foundation to committed love.
Recently my wife and children were very ill from an unusual bacterial infection. I gave them blessings and prayed for them. Then, not wanting to expose anyone else to their sickness, I arranged my work schedule to be able to be home to care for their needs. It was soon apparent that my acts of service to help them through three weeks of illness became a strong binding force for us. Such struggles in life sometimes push marital partners apart, but crises can serve as the training ground for commitment. We often perform such acts of service because we are committed beforehand, but in many instances service precedes commitment. It is in serving each other that we become committed to each other.
The marital relationship is much like raising rare, beautiful flowers. You plant the seed and nourish it with water, food, soil, and light. If the delicate balance of these ingredients is upset, the growth and beauty of the flower may be disturbed for a time. But working to achieve a balance of required nutrition, you can overcome the problem. Commitment to the flower comes as you take care of its needs and try to help it grow into beauty.
President Spencer W. Kimball has discussed the relationship between marital love and adversity: “a marriage may not always be even and incidentless, but it can be one of great peace,” he has promised. “A couple may have poverty, illness, disappointment, failures, and even death in the family, but even these will not rob them of their peace. The marriage can be successful so long as selfishness does not enter in. Troubles and problems will draw parents together into unbreakable unions if there is total unselfishness there. During the depression of the 1930s there was a definite drop in divorce. Poverty, failures, disappointment—they tied parents together. Adversity can cement relationships that prosperity can destroy.” (Marriage and Divorce, Deseret Book, 1976. pp. 19, 22.)
In my own marriage I have made a very conscious decision to not let outside struggles drive me from my wife. I have learned that, besides the Lord, she is my greatest support in any crisis. If I allow fears and irritations about a problem to divide us, I have excluded the person who could best help me turn the crisis into a strength.
Even when a couple experiences a division between them, working toward a shared goal can revive the ties that bind them together. Too often couples negatively emphasize the differences between them. It is more important to emphasize shared aspirations and work toward them.
I learned this principle as a Boy Scout leader in a struggle to get two groups of boys to change their negative attitudes toward each other. After trying several unsuccessful strategies, I placed them in a situation which required cooperation to overcome an obstacle. They united to achieve a common goal, and we never experienced conflict between the two groups after that day.
Recently I listened as a couple complained that they had few interests in common. She liked to read; he didn’t. He played racquetball, but physical problems kept her from doing so. The list of differences went on and on. I asked if there wasn’t just one interest they shared. They shook their heads. Finally I suggested they take a ceramics class together. Neither had tried anything like that, so it gave them a new, common interest. The effect was unbelievable. As they worked toward a common goal, the excitement of growing together helped them gradually forget their differences.
It would be wise for all of us to ask the following question frequently: “What have I done recently to improve my spouse’s feelings about himself or herself?” By deciding to enhance one another’s self-esteem, we become very committed to each other; the other’s improvement in the way they feel becomes our success as well. In addition, we need to be willing to help our partners grow in whatever area they might desire. Spouses need to encourage each other in spiritual pursuits, intellectual development, and physical fitness. It is important to encourage them, rather than discourage them by nagging remarks and demands. When we accept the goal of helping our spouse grow in a chosen area, we will experience the commitment to that person which accompanies such an attitude.
Nurturing also means finding strengths rather than weaknesses in our spouse. One of the recurring differences in studies of happily married couples compared to marriages in trouble is the amount of positive daily conversation. A good rule is to make at least two-thirds of our conversations with our spouse pleasant, positive, and nurturing to both. Problems need to be talked about and worked through, but to spend all of our time together solving problems isn’t appealing in any relationship.
“He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth it and cherisheth it.” (Eph. 5:28–29.) It is extremely difficult to be committed to our husband or wife when we feel we have nothing to offer. Just as we can’t focus primarily on our spouse’s weaknesses, we should strive to give positive messages to ourselves.
We sometimes have degrading conversations within ourselves. Listening to the thoughts and feelings that enter our minds when we look in the mirror, meet someone for the first time, or complete a task can be a key in determining the degree of love we have for ourselves. Replacing negative thoughts with positive ones can increase our self-love. Another assignment that has benefitted many individuals is to imagine themselves behaving in successful and positive ways.
We never know all there is to discover about anyone. Even though we may be married to someone for a lifetime, that someone is growing and changing. This fact makes marriage exciting—there are always delightful new things to learn about our spouse if we search for them.
One husband was recently astonished at the depth of his wife’s knowledge about political candidates. She had studied the issues and analyzed each candidate’s stand. He gained a new respect for her in his attempts to learn from her study. Another couple spends time sharing the books each reads. The husband doesn’t have as much time to read, but he enjoys her sharing what she reads. The nicest part is that he learns a great deal about his wife’s values and feelings through their discussions. This keeps their marriage vibrant and stimulating.
Some parents become closer to their children than to each other. Children might even try to get one parent to side with them against the other. When this occurs, it does not help the child or the parents.
Likewise, people and activities outside the family can have a stronger hold on us than our wives or husbands. Work, leisure, and friends can interfere with the strength of the marital commitment. It is important to guard against this by planning and taking time to talk and be together as a couple.
Anniversaries are significant events because they symbolize the marital commitment. Other events and places associated with the marriage or courtship can also become symbolic. By renewing acts such as giving flowers, writing notes, or observing special celebrations, couples are reminded of their bond. Some couples plan a time when they can leave the children with a competent babysitter for a weekend and get away. These practices serve to strengthen “cleaving together.”
At a very young age I realized my father and mother loved each other very much. It became evident in the symbols that represented their bond. Their anniversary was an event marked with great celebration. At other times of the year, outward symbols served to renew their marital commitment. The look on my mother’s face when my father presented her with a dozen red roses is indelibly painted in my mind. The symbol was powerful in my life, and my parents renewed the event many times as I grew older.
On my own wedding day, we also selected roses to represent our special occasion. Thus we continued a tradition that symbolized commitment, a symbol I had loved to witness in my parents.
Celestial living involves a never ending marital commitment. The life that results from obedience to gospel principles is one of service and compassion to one’s spouse and family. When a man and woman are married for eternity, they decide that they can better progress spiritually together than either could alone. The temple marriage does not promise to erase the struggles of married life, but it does offer the potential for commitment that can be achieved in no other way.

When I was born, my father was reading a textbook on wills and testaments in the hospital waiting room. He had decided to become a law student when he worked with lawyers at the Los Angeles Flood Control District in Southern California. Always a family man, my dad felt he could support the family better if he were a lawyer himself. With a wife, two children, and a full-time job, however, he knew school and studying would have to be at night.
Later, when I was in law school myself, I wondered how my dad had managed. I asked, “When did you sleep?” He said he studied as much as he could, and when he was so tired that he couldn’t study anymore, he would sleep for three to four hours. That went on for five years. I marveled at his grit.

Brother McAllister moved into the house down the street from my family at about the time my father died. Mom told me Brother McAllister had been a patriarch in a stake across the mountains, and that he and Sister McAllister had moved to our town to work at the temple. At that time I thought a patriarch was an old, old man. And Brother McAllister fit the description. He seemed about as old as a man could be.
I saw him just about every day, but I never spoke to him. I guess I was a little bit afraid of him. It was partly because he once yelled at me for hitting his window with a green apple I had aimed at a neighbor girl. But I was afraid of him mostly because he reminded me of a skeleton. He was so frail and thin that he looked like he might tumble over at any moment. And his eyes—pale blue—set in his square face burned with a fierce energy.
Early every morning he walked out of his house in a stiff, slow-motion gait wearing an immaculately pressed old-fashioned brown suit. Then he helped Sister McAllister get into their car before he drove away at a snail’s pace toward the temple. In the evening, he put on coveralls and worked in his yard. I wondered why he bothered, since he obviously didn’t have long to live.
When it came time for me to be ordained a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, I told the bishop I would accept a home teaching assignment. I was assigned to go home teaching with Brother McAllister.
The first time was very awkward. I had forgotten he was coming, so I wasn’t ready. I put on a clean shirt and walked behind him to his car, feeling like I was being taken to the gallows. The way he did everything so slowly nearly drove me crazy.
Our first appointment was with Brother Tuttle. On the drive to the appointment, Brother McAllister told me Sister Tuttle had recently died and that Brother Tuttle was very lonely. I didn’t say anything. I knew Brother Tuttle as a grouchy old fellow who lived near my grandmother’s place. Once he had chased me out of his raspberry patch, and more than a few times told me not to play in his tumbledown barn. I was surprised when he greeted me warmly and told me a story about my grandfather. When he and Brother McAllister began discussing the lesson, I found myself staring at my companion’s carefully polished high-topped shoes. I noticed he put the laces in them so they went straight across instead of crisscross. Obviously, I wasn’t listening.
It went on like that for months. All the people we visited were old. They talked a lot about aches and pains, but were concerned about other things, too. Brother McAllister brought up the subject of dying, and said he was trying hard to get ready to meet the Savior. At first it really bothered me when he said things like that, but after a while, it didn’t. He seemed totally at peace with the idea. He talked about it the same way I talked with my friends about going on to high school. We were a little worried, but anxious to move on to something better. Slowly I began to understand why the pioneers and early Church members were willing to put their lives on the line for the gospel. Brother McAllister’s testimony had simply taken away all his fear of death.
Before long, I began to enjoy our visits. Even though I didn’t have much to say, I still felt like these people enjoyed having me come to their homes. Listening to Brother McAllister bear his testimony made me feel more confident about mine, and hearing talk about growing old gave me a totally different point of view.
I began to be ashamed of the pranks I had sometimes played on elderly people. When one of my friends suggested soaping windows or stealing fuses, I would picture Brother Tuttle or one of my families sitting alone in the dark, or trying to clean up the mess. I decided I would begin volunteering to chop wood or mow lawns for the widows in my neighborhood.
When Sister McAllister died, I attended her funeral. It was the first funeral I had dared go to since my dad died. Soon after her death, I was given another home teaching assignment. I didn’t speak with Brother McAllister much after that, but I noticed he still put on his brown suit and went to the temple every day. I marveled at how tidy he kept his yard, and wondered how he found the strength and determination to keep going. He even built a new carport.
The year I was picked as seminary president, Brother McAllister moved away to live with one of his children. I thought about him occasionally, especially when we had lessons about resurrection or the temple. Shortly after I entered the mission field, Mom wrote to tell me Brother McAllister had died. I thought about him that whole day, feeling sure he was happy and at peace. Later that night, I thought of him again when I found myself telling an investigator how a testimony of Jesus Christ and the ordinances of the temple could remove his fear of death.
I was still thinking about my home teaching companion when I said my prayers before going to bed that night. As I arose from my knees, I looked at my polished shoes and something dawned on me. I realized why it was I liked to put the laces in with the strings going straight across instead of crisscross.

I spoke one day to a friend who escaped from his native land. With the fall of his nation, he was arrested and confined. His wife and children were able to get away, but for three years and more he was a prisoner without means of communication with those he loved. The food was wretched, the living conditions oppressive, with no prospects for improvement.
“What sustained you through all those dark days?” I asked.
He responded: “My faith; my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. I put my burdens on him, and then they seemed so much the lighter.”

One Saturday afternoon my little sister, my mom, and I decided to make cookies. My mom suggested we make a double batch and give them away.
While the cookies were baking, we talked about listening to the Spirit and serving others. My mom told us how grateful she was for inspired sisters around her that had recently brightened her day with a phone call or nice card. She then suggested that we give the cookies to someone Heavenly Father would like us to serve. We all went into different rooms and said our own personal prayer about who should receive the cookies. My mom and I had two of the same names, and my mom and little sister had also agreed on a family. The names we came up with were not even people that we typically interacted with.
From this experience, my testimony of prayer has been strengthened so much! Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and guided us to the people we should serve.
I will always remember that special day when we delivered the cookies to those who the Lord wanted us to. I am so grateful to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in my life. I am glad that I can pray for direction and help. I love the Church and my family. I am so blessed to have Young Women leaders to teach me about our gospel.

When I was 17 my mother found out she had breast cancer. The shock overwhelmed my family and brought me to my knees in deep prayer. I cried for almost an hour, asking God why He would let this happen and if He would heal my mom. Relief began to come a few days later when our ward members, extended family, friends, and neighbors learned of the news. They rushed to our aid. Meals were brought in, kind words and deeds were exchanged, concern and sympathy given. The love we felt from them was deep.
But even though we received so much help, I fell into a deep depression. I didn’t care what happened to me. I stopped doing things I loved. I became lazy and careless with chores, schoolwork, and my Church calling. I saw my situation and the extra responsibility placed upon me as a great burden. I felt I could do everything myself and did not need anyone’s help.
Satan worked especially hard on me, telling me that I should feel burdened, that God wanted me to be unhappy, and that I wasn’t anything special. Sadly, for a while I believed it. I couldn’t see the bright side of anything. I did not see myself as a daughter of God. Confusion blinded me, and I couldn’t see my many blessings. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I felt pain and heartache.
Thankfully, a close friend spent a lot of time helping me, and my siblings supported me as well. I became more open with my parents, who in turn became more open with me. But still I struggled.
My mom would often comfort me when I felt down. When I felt like all hope was gone, it was nice to have someone to talk to and help me out. She would come home in between treatments and iron our clothing, prepare meals, and offer us comfort and counsel. It amazed me how she could endure such trials and yet be so selfless.
When I discussed my depression with her one day, she told me that just because I cried and admitted I needed help, it did not make me weak. She was taking care of me when I should have taken care of her.
After one of her many surgeries, my mom was in the recovery room. At the time, I couldn’t help but think I needed my own recovery room. I had no idea where to start the healing process, but I had to do something.
So I started renewing my talents and abilities as well as developing new ones. I cooked and did the laundry. I took more walks to think. I sang solos. I played the clarinet and piano more and began playing better. I read more books. I started to listen to more uplifting music. I surrounded myself with advice from Church leaders and other valuable sources. I became closer to God and my Savior through personal prayer, fasting, and scripture study.
Still I felt like my peace was fleeting. It was hard when I wanted to be at peace on some days, and instead I would feel the sadness. The mood swings became even more difficult. It seemed my journey for peace had only begun.
Then I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with my Young Women class. I thought about my problems while in the temple and while flipping through the pages of my scriptures. I found myself reading about the Savior in Isaiah 53:4, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.”
A few minutes later, the confusion that had blinded me and caused me so much pain completely vanished. The Lord broke through the darkness and the despair of my heart and left the peace of the Spirit instead. I had a sense of clarity and happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I saw how many blessings I had received and how much everyone had done for me and my family. I saw how close my family, friends, and I had become. I saw myself as a truly beautiful daughter of God.
There in the temple I found my recovery room.
Looking back on this experience, I realize that I now have more empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than I am. I know where to recover. The hardest year of my life became the best year of my life.

A young woman named Amy recently taught me this lesson when she wrote: “It is hard being a teenager these days. The path is getting narrower. Satan is really trying. It is either right or wrong; there is no in-between.”

She continued: “Good friends are sometimes hard to find. Even when you think you have best friends who will never leave, that could change for any reason. That is why I am so glad that I have family, Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, who can be my companions whenever things with friends go wrong.”

Amy went on to say: “One night I was troubled. I told my sister I didn’t know what to do.”

Later that night her sister sent her a text and quoted Elder Jeffrey R. Holland when he said: “Don’t give up. … Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. … It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Amy explained: “I remembered reading that and just praying that I would feel love from God if He really was there for me.”

She said: “As soon as I asked and believed that He was there, I felt the most amazing, happy, warm feeling. Words can’t describe it. I knew He was there and that He loved me.”

I remember an experience that Elder K. Brett Nattress shared with us in a general conference address. His mother read the scriptures to him and his brother every day during breakfast, and he acted irreverently along with his brother. One day he questioned his mother asking her why she did that every morning and she told him something that just remembering it embarrassed him. Let me share his own words:
“I told her, ‘Mom, I am not listening!’
“Her loving response was a defining moment in my life. She said, ‘Son, I was at a meeting where President Marion G. Romney [1897–1988] taught about the blessings of scripture reading. During this meeting, I received a promise that if I would read the Book of Mormon to my children every day, I would not lose them.’ She then looked at me straight in the eyes and, with absolute determination, said, ‘And I will not lose you!’”2

Have you ever felt like you failed at something even though you had hoped with all your heart you would succeed? That’s how I felt as I came home from my mission. Two years in France, and what good had I done? Sure, I had made friends, learned a language, and grown to love faithful Saints who strive to live the gospel.
But I hadn’t baptized anyone.
Then I remembered advice my mission president gave me during my final interview: “If you can honestly say that the Lord is pleased with the effort you have made, if you can honestly say that you did the best you could for Him, then that is the measure of your success. Nothing else matters.”
As I thought about that, I felt compelled to pray. Slowly, peace came to my heart. The Spirit whispered, “The Lord knows you did the best you could. Your sacrifice is acceptable.” It was time to get on with the next steps of my life.
Fast-forward many years. I was writing a letter to my daughter, who was serving a mission in Canada, when I heard a ping on my phone. Someone had sent me a photo of the inside front cover of a copy of the Book of Mormon with a testimony written in French—in my own handwriting! I had given the book to a sister who had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while I was a missionary (though I hadn’t baptized her), but she had fallen away a couple of years later. Why would someone be sending me a photo of the testimony I had written so many years before?
The picture came with a message: “I thought you would be interested in seeing your testimony again. My aunt was so excited when I joined the Church that she gave me the Book of Mormon you once gave to her. I thought you would appreciate knowing what a treasure it is to me.
“My aunt didn’t remain active in the Church, but she always spoke highly of it, so much so that her younger sister (my mother) asked the missionaries to teach her. My mother joined the Church. She was married in the temple. She and my father raised four children as members of the Church. My three siblings and I have all served missions and been married in the temple. We are all active and faithful.”
Emotion overwhelmed me. All those years ago, I thought I had failed. But now I could see how the Lord had accomplished His work, in His way, over time.
If you had asked me at the end of my mission, I would have said I was a failure. But as I thought about the testimony I had written in that Book of Mormon all those years ago, I realized that you haven’t failed as long as you do your best for the Lord. “Maybe the only thing I failed at was being a failure,” I thought.
“I realized that you haven’t failed as long as you do your best for the Lord.”

When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, the member of the bishopric who advised the deacons quorum came into our quorum meeting the Sunday before Thanksgiving and said, “I hope we won’t have one family of this quorum who won’t kneel down in family prayer and have a blessing on the food this Thanksgiving.” It was 1943, and our country was engaged in World War II. We discussed our need for a divine blessing for those who were in military service and for all the other difficulties we as a nation were facing. We also talked about the blessings we each enjoyed. Then we were again encouraged to have family prayer.
A heavy cloud settled on my heart. I didn’t know how my family could have family prayer. My father had a drinking problem, and my mother was not a member of the Church at that time. We had never had a prayer in our home, not even a blessing on the food. After quorum meeting I continued to consider the challenge, and finally concluded we would not be able to have prayer.
That evening at sacrament meeting the bishop stood up at the close of the meeting and said, “Brothers and sisters, Thursday is Thanksgiving. I hope we will not have one family in the ward that will not kneel in family prayer. We ought to express our gratitude for the great goodness of our Heavenly Father to us.” And then he enumerated some of our many blessings.
Again it seemed as if my soul were filled with an enormous gloom. I tried to figure out a way our family could have prayer. I thought about it Monday, and again on Tuesday, and on Wednesday. On Wednesday evening my father did not return home from work at the normal hour, and I knew from experience that, because it was payday, he was satisfying his thirst for alcohol. When he finally came at two in the morning quite an argument ensued. I lay in bed wondering how we could ever have prayer with that kind of contention in our home.
On Thanksgiving morning, we did not eat breakfast so we could eat more dinner. My four brothers and I went out to play with some neighbor boys. We decided to dig a hole and make a trench to it and cover it over as a clubhouse. We dug a deep hole, and with every shovelful of dirt I threw out of the hole I thought about family prayer for Thanksgiving. I wondered if I would have enough courage to suggest to my parents that we have a prayer, but I was afraid I would not. I wondered if my older brother, who has always been an ideal in my life, would suggest it, since he had been in the same sacrament meeting and had heard the bishop’s suggestion.
Finally, at about two-thirty in the afternoon, Mother told us to come get cleaned up for dinner. Then we sat down at the big round oak table. Dad sat down with us silently—he and Mother were not speaking to each other. As she brought in the platter with the beautiful golden brown turkey, my young heart was about to burst. I thought, Now please, won’t someone suggest we have a family prayer? I thought the words over and over, but they wouldn’t come out. I turned and looked at my older brother, praying desperately that he would suggest prayer. The bowls of delicious food were being passed around the table; plates were being filled; and time and opportunity were passing. I knew that if someone did not act immediately, it would be too late. Then suddenly, as always, everyone just started eating.
My heart sank, and despair filled my soul. Although I had worked up a great appetite, and Mother was a marvelous cook, I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted to pray.
I resolved that day that no son or daughter of mine would ever want to pray and not be able to do it because of shyness or lack of courage. In our family we have family prayers, personal prayers, and blessings on every meal. As one who has known the contrast between families that do not pray and those that do, I know the value of prayer in the home and in the life of every child and youth in the Church. What a blessing it is for us to know that our private, individual prayers are heard and answered by a kind, wise, loving Heavenly Father, and that we can take our problems—no matter how simplistic they may be—to him in prayer!

I’m reminded of the little child who came to her daddy and said, “Give me something hard to do.” So he thought of things she could do, but she would say, “No, daddy, that isn’t hard enough. I want something hard to do.” He was carrying his briefcase into the house, and he said, “Well, carry this; this will be very hard to carry.” She grabbed hold. Oh, boy, it was heavy! She said, “I think I can.” She struggled and staggered until she finally got it to the house. We all like to feel that we have met the challenge of something hard to do.

Recently at a stake conference, Elder Charles “Tiny” Grant, one of our fine regional representatives, shared an experience with us. He said that some years ago while he was the football coach at Ricks College, he met a man named Hal Barton, who was famous for his love of fishing. He was warned, however, that “although Hal knows where to find the big fish, he often goes into strong waters to find them.”

Their first opportunity to go fishing together was in February as the ice was breaking up. As they walked together up the river, Hal pointed to an island about 50 yards away and said, “Coach, that is where we will find the big ones.” The day was cold, and now they had to cross a dangerous part of the river. The coach soon discovered that the rocks were round and slick, and the water was only inches from the top of his waders. Since he is six feet five inches tall, that meant it was deep. He was about to tell Hal that he was afraid he couldn’t cross the water, but realized that the football coach could not admit that he was afraid.

Just then Hal said, “Coach, this is how we are going to cross the water. You take a step and get a firm footing while I hold your hand and arm steady. Then I will take a step while you stand firmly and furnish the support. We will work our way through this roiling, swift water over these slippery rocks.” With this mutual support, they crossed the river safely and caught the big ones.

Once home, we found that Abby seemed to respond more than the neurosurgeon had predicted. However, it wasn’t long before her head began to enlarge rapidly, and the neurosurgeon had to install a small tube device to drain excess fluid. He felt it was unnecessary surgery, but for us to stand by and do nothing would have meant watching her suffer a slow, agonizing death. We couldn’t have borne that. She had a heart murmur, and we despaired that she might not make it through the surgery, but we felt we had no alternative.
Abby withstood the operation valiantly, and we marveled. What kept her alive? Eventually her appetite improved and she began to gain weight.
I noticed almost immediately when she came home again that she could hear, and we were very encouraged. But it soon proved more of a problem than a blessing. She reacted violently to the slightest sound. More than once I walked into her room and spoke softly to her, only to have her turn purple with her screaming. She had no way of relating to the different noises around her, and they terrified her.
That was the beginning of the hardest summer of our lives. Abby Ruth was up all night long, night after night, crying until Randy and I thought we would lose our minds. Many times she screamed all night until 5:00 or 6:00 A.M., then finally went to sleep. By 10:30 or 11:00 A.M., I had to force myself to go check her. What if she was dead? What would I do? I knew that how I reacted to such a situation would deeply affect my other two daughters, and the pressure became more than I could handle.
Finally, I had reached the point where a complete breakdown for me was not far off. Near the end of September we made an appointment with the chief of staff at the state training school for the handicapped, hoping to get some kind of help.
The staff at the state school were very receptive. At last we found people who really understood what we had been going through. They offered to take her, to give us one week’s rest.
At the end of that week, the same pattern began again. She cried constantly, day and night, and many were the times that we stood next to her crib or held her and cried right along with her. I felt so helpless, and I could see no end in sight. “What kind of life is this?” I asked myself. My two older children were beginning to suffer from neglect, and so was my marriage.
Another major decision had to be made, but Randy and I disagreed. He felt that placing Abby at the state school would be the same as deserting her. I looked on it as our only chance to return to a normal life and continue with our family; it would be impossible for me to go on giving her the twenty-four-hour care that she needed.
I couldn’t help but feel that I had failed her, though, and in my grief I turned to Heavenly Father. He knew the whole story, but I repeated it all to him on my knees late one night. I prayed longer and more earnestly that night than ever before. When I was finally finished, I crawled into bed and, feeling completely drained, leaned back against my pillow, staring into the darkness that surrounded me.
It was then that I received my answer. It came clearly and distinctly, a soothing response to my prayers and heartache. Not only should we place Abby Ruth in the state training school, we need not worry about her. She would understand why we made the decision to place her in the school.
Perhaps other parents in a similar situation would have received different direction. I only know that our answer came from Heavenly Father, and we trusted that He knew our situation and had inspired us to act appropriately.
On 1 November 1980, Abby became a permanent resident at the state training school. We’ve never regretted having her home with us as long as we did. Because of that, she became an integral part of our family.