Gospel Story Finder

Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”26

Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.

A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.

Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”

“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”

Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.27

It was a normal Friday. I was at work, driving a forklift as usual, when I suddenly lost control. There was hardly any noise when I crashed into the wall, but I felt a sudden, intense pain in my foot.
I looked down and realized my foot had been crushed between the wall and the forklift.
I started screaming for help, and I don’t remember much after that besides the sound of the ambulance siren and the anxiety of what was ahead.
At the hospital, I remember thinking there were too many nurses in the room. I was also terrified because I’m from Colombia and speak Spanish, and the nurses in the Utah hospital were speaking very quickly in English. I was having a hard time understanding them. Every second felt like an eternity. Yet I knew deep down that I was going to lose my foot, even before it was evaluated.
While waiting for a trauma surgeon, I thought about my nephew. He loved soccer, and I wanted to keep my foot to be able to play with him. And that was only one of many things I needed my foot for! After two surgeons evaluated my injury, they determined that the best way to reduce further complications was to amputate my foot. I knew it was the right decision, but I was devastated.
The next morning after surgery, life didn’t feel real. I had too many questions and too few answers. Yes, I was lucky to be alive, and the accident could have been much worse, but I also felt lost. My foot was gone, and I didn’t know what my life was going to be like from then on.
I spent 20 days in the hospital. My family and friends comforted and supported me through it, and I also started physical therapy and began the path to recovery and healing. I surprisingly had enough courage to accomplish a lot on that road to recovery in those 20 days, including starting to learn to walk with a prosthetic.
What I didn’t have the courage to do, though, was to pray. I felt like I couldn’t face God. I thought I was angry at Him, but in reality I was just ashamed of myself. In my mind, this whole “accident” seemed to be a punishment, partly because I had stopped going to church and I hadn’t been following His commandments, but mostly because I’ve experienced same-sex attraction for as long as I can remember. I mistakenly thought He was disappointed in and ashamed of me.
I was wounded both physically and spiritually.
When I was released from the hospital, my mental health suffered. Even though I had my family and friends around me, I still felt alone. I knew I needed Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in order to heal, but I struggled to make myself pray.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached my breaking point and was willing to kneel down and pray for the first time in so long. I sobbed as I poured my heart out to Heavenly Father. I asked Him questions and told Him my concerns until I was out of breath.
Gradually, a feeling of peace filled me. And these words came to my heart and mind: “All these things will be for your good to refine your character. It was just an accident.”
Seriously?
Was this really just an accident? Not a punishment? That answer made no sense to me. But after a few days of pondering, I knew it was true. I also knew that Heavenly Father loved me. He had been calling me back to His flock for so long, and I was finally ready to return. I decided to go back to church and began an incredible, spiritually healing process with my loving bishop, who helped me fully invite the peace the Savior offers into my life.
Coming back to the Church was not easy. For so long, I had so much shame about myself. But the more I came to understand my divine identity, the less ashamed I felt. I know now that my feelings toward women don’t make me a sinner, and my amputation doesn’t limit my worth. These qualities do give me a different perspective and play a role in my spiritual growth. I also know that my perspective can bless others in the gospel. Through the Savior’s grace, I have been able to confidently accept that I am a child of God. I am loved completely. And Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were, are, and will always be ready to bless me as I turn to Them. Always.
Losing my foot and being gay have both brought some unexpected difficulties to my life. Sometimes I don’t even want to get out of bed knowing that I have to use my prosthetic foot. Striving to keep all of Heavenly Father’s commandments can be difficult at times too. Although it’s not the choice of everyone who experiences same-sex attraction, my personal choice is to aim for an eternal companion. I sometimes have discouraging thoughts that no man will ever be interested in marrying me because of my circumstances, but I trust Heavenly Father to work out those details and bless me if I keep my covenants with Him.
The uncertainty of my future can be discouraging at times. I know that these thoughts of inadequacy and doubt come from Satan. By turning to Christ, I find so much peace and joy, and the strength I need to overcome these thoughts.
I now rely on God to direct my life. In this process, I’m also learning how to connect with both women and men in deeper, more meaningful ways within the bounds the Lord has set. He has helped me increase my trust that someday He will make it possible for me to find a man whom I can love and be sealed to. But whatever happens, I have learned to value who I am and to accept my life and trust in the blessings He has in store for me.
Throughout my life, I’ve learned that everyone faces difficult, unfair, and sometimes painful experiences that they don’t fully understand. We will all be wounded in some way. But now I also know that our individual experiences can bring us closer to the Savior and help us understand His limitless power in our lives.
Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “At a time of enormous suffering, the Lord told the Prophet Joseph, ‘All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.’ How can painful wounds be for our good? In the crucible of earthly trials, patiently move forward, and the Savior’s healing power will bring you light, understanding, peace, and hope.”1
For me, being an amputee and being attracted to women started out as painful experiences. But they have helped me come unto Christ, and He has brought me peace. I now understand that neither of these experiences makes me less of a person. Neither keeps me from obtaining all the blessings of the plan of salvation. And neither will prevent me from finding the true happiness that comes from following Jesus Christ and keeping His commandments the best that I can.
I really don’t know what will happen in my future or what other challenges I will have to face until I return to the presence of my Heavenly Father. But I do know this: Any challenge we face or wound we have—whether mental, emotional, physical, or spiritual—can be healed as we turn to the Savior. He can help us find hope and strength in our struggles on earth. And He has promised that on the day of Resurrection, our bodies, minds, and hearts will be healed completely (see Alma 42; 11:42–44).
I needed to heal from my feelings of shame and inadequacy regarding my same-sex attraction and also from the physical and mental repercussions of my amputation. And I have experienced Christ’s healing power and continue to daily as I choose Him. He has helped me love myself and find fulfillment in living His gospel. If you choose to follow Him and put your life in God’s hands, you will recognize refinement in yourself, guidance in all things, love, and true peace (see Alma 42:13).

“During the administration of the sacrament, you should always be thinking of Jesus Christ and what he did for you. It is a time to renew your covenants with him and remember him.” I had been told this so many times before, and yet as simple as it sounded, I had terrible difficulties with it. In all my Sunday School and Primary classes, in Young Women classes and in sacrament meetings, I had been told this over and over again, but still it remained a problem.
When I was younger, I would find myself thinking about the book I was going to color in after the sacrament, the cartoon I had seen yesterday, and what would be on TV when I got home. As I got older, I thought of the new dress I wanted, the boy sitting two seats in front of me, the test I had in school the next day, and a million other things. Once, when I was about eight and trying to be my best after my recent baptism, I tried simply thinking about Jesus and how he had died on the cross for us. It lasted about 30 seconds before I ran out of things to think about. And the water hadn’t even been passed yet! After that I gave up for a while and thought this task impossible.
This continued until one day, while I was singing the sacrament song, I began thinking about the words that I was singing. They really had deep meaning! I decided that I couldn’t fully appreciate the words and their meanings by just singing them, so while I sat waiting for the sacrament to come, I opened the book to the sacrament song we had just sung and began reading. I took each verse one phrase at a time, thought about it, tried to picture it in my mind, and then interpreted it. I went through half the verses during the passing of the bread and saved the rest for the water. If I finished early, I went over it again and tried to get even more meaning out of it.
I liked this new method of keeping my mind on Jesus during the passing of the sacrament, so I continued to do this each week. As this developed into a habit, I no longer had trouble thinking about those things that were appropriate during the sacrament. And it was exciting and easy!
I discovered that many beautiful poetic descriptions were hidden in each song that I had never noticed before. Many times, I found, the author used words and phrases I hadn’t understood by just singing them. But once I went over them a few times, thinking about them deeply, and sometimes even praying, I understood and appreciated the songs that I had so often sung and yet had never bothered to think about.
I have been doing this for several years now, and my love for the Savior has grown each week as I ponder who he was and the sacrifice he made for me. My thoughts turn to him each week automatically as I prepare to renew my covenants with him. I have grown closer to him because of many authors who wrote beautiful hymns in his honor. The time during the administration of the sacrament is no longer wasted on worldly things but is spent thinking of Jesus. It is one of the few times during the week when I sincerely and exclusively think about His sacrifice for me, and I look forward to it each week.

As we recognize we are off the path and are headed in the wrong direction, we must recalibrate and head back in the right direction. On a recent trip to the Dallas-Fort Worth area, before I left the airport in a rental car, I plugged in my GPS and proceeded to type in my destination. I left the rental-car lot and listened carefully for directions.
“Turn left and proceed 500 feet.” I carefully followed those directions. About four turns into the trip, the GPS told me to turn left. But on my left was a barrier blockading a closed road. Luckily it was around 11:00 p.m. and no other traffic was on the road. As I started to panic, the GPS clearly stated, “Merge onto I-15 and head north, traveling toward Salt Lake City.” Now I was totally flustered. For some reason my GPS thought I was in Utah! I pulled off the road, turned off the GPS, waited a few seconds, restarted the GPS, and retyped the Texas address. Within a few seconds the correct set of directions was displayed, and I was guided to the intended destination—my targeted goal.
From a spiritual sense, when we realize we are going in the wrong direction, we must stop and get back on the right track—and the sooner the better.

After I quit drugs, I turned to alcohol. I can honestly say I was a high school alcoholic. When I decided I wanted to quit, I couldn’t—at least not by myself. I didn’t care enough about myself to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then I became close friends with a good, active Latter-day Saint girl. She couldn’t understand what I was experiencing, but she did know I was honestly trying to get out of the mess I was in. It hurt her when I slipped back into my bad habits. I finally quit drinking because I knew it hurt her, and I knew I couldn’t lie to her.
Keeping my morals straight was so hard under my weakened condition that I avoided any social contacts with girls except with ones as good as my Latter-day Saint friend.

The young man walked through the door, then stopped, not quite sure what to do next. He had an important question to ask, but he didn’t know who to talk to.
Marion Peterson, the education vice-president of the Utah office of the American Cancer Society, went into the hall to help him.
“He asked me,” said Marion, “if I would look in his mouth and see if he needed to be worried. He had been using chewing tobacco for a while. He pulled down his lip, and it looked horrible, suspiciously like cancer. I told him he had to get help immediately. But he said his mother didn’t know about his habit, and she would find out if he went to the doctor because of their insurance. I begged him to go to a clinic. But he left, and I never knew his name.” Marion still worries about this boy and wonders if he got help in time.

On a windy Sunday morning the doors of our chicken shed blew open while we were at church. All nine of our chickens escaped. When we got home, we found three chickens in the garden and five in our yard. But we couldn’t find Ginger though we looked and looked. That night there was a terrible storm with wind, rain, and lightning. We were all worried that Ginger would not survive. All of us prayed that she would be safe.
The next morning a delivery man came to the front door with a package. When Mom opened the door, Ginger walked right into the house. I learned that if you need help, you can pray. Heavenly Father will answer your prayer, even if it is a small prayer for a pet chicken.Dallin P., age 9, Utah

Even Elder Maxwell’s young grandchildren knew him for his emphasis on the scriptures. Many of you will probably remember that in his final general conference message he told about a time he visited his grandchildren late one evening. His grandson Robbie had already gone to bed. When Elder Maxwell arrived, his mother said, “Robbie, Grandpa Neal is here!” He heard a tired little voice from the bedroom saying, “Shall I bring my scriptures?” (CR, April 2004, 48; or “Remember How Merciful the Lord Hath Been,” Ensign, May 2004, 46). Like Josiah the boy-king and little grandson Robbie, we should learn early in our lives to love the scriptures, to feast upon them, and to learn from them.

One of the most important life lessons I have learned is to be steadfast in waiting for the Lord. As the psalmist wrote, "I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry" (Psalms 40:1). The summer of my high school graduation I received a very personal witness of Heavenly Father's awareness of and love for each of His children. When I arrived in Provo for my freshman year, I sought out my patriarchal blessing, desirous of better knowing the will of my Father for me, His daughter. I received very specific counsel and direction but was left with lingering questions and uncertainty. Should I change my major? Should I change the course I had prayerfully determined prior to coming to school? Through fasting and prayer the Spirit taught me to be patient, to continue forward, and to know that Heavenly Father was aware of me and my needs.

I finished my degree and graduated as I had originally planned. I was privileged to be a stay-at-home mother of six children. I served faithfully in my Church callings and responsibilities and engaged in voluntary community service. And during this time I waited steadfastly and patiently for further direction from the Lord. And it came. Not in my time, but in His. Opportunities seemed to appear from nowhere. Ways and means were provided for me to pursue my graduate work. Time after time I was in the right place at the right time. I was led and prepared to acquire the knowledge and experience necessary for me to fulfill the Lord's purposes. I have felt the guidance and tender mercies of the Lord throughout my life. It is His hand that led me to where I am today. I testify to you that if we remain steadfast and faithful, trusting in the Lord, He will direct our paths.

I recently experienced this firsthand. As I mentioned, as an undergraduate I studied abroad in Israel. Last month I had the opportunity to return to Israel with a group of legal scholars to study the Israeli legal system and legal challenges facing Israel. I didn’t have much in the way of business casual clothing to wear in the hot climate, so one evening before departing, I hurried to purchase some short-sleeve shirts. Two were plaid and fairly brightly colored. When I showed them to my wife, she was, shall we say, skeptical. Like a good lawyer, I tried to persuade, offering the observation that this was the sort of shirt I wore when I went to Israel the first time—twenty-five years ago, in the early nineties. She burst out laughing. Those who refuse to learn the lessons of history are condemned to repeat it.

Little Sarah Palmer ran to meet Joseph when she saw him walking across the clearing toward their home. Propped against his shoulder was a basket made of white oak splints. “Hello, Sarah,” he greeted. “Is your father home?”
“He’s over in the field with the boys. They went out after supper to work till the light is gone. Are you coming to help?” she asked eagerly.
“Not tonight. I’m just delivering this basket. But tell your father we’d be happy to come and help whenever he needs an extra hand. Outside work has been a bit scarce lately.”
“I know why. Pa says it’s because of your vision in the woods,” she stated frankly.
“I’m not surprised. Lately folks have been piling hate on my shoulders. They refuse to believe in visions or revelations in these days.”
Young as she was, Sarah caught the note of concern in Joseph’s voice. “I believe you, Joseph.”
“Not many folks will go along with you, I’m afraid.”
Sarah sighed and said, “You’re right, I reckon. Our preacher came to see Pa the other night. They talked about you and your vision. He was angry with Pa for having you over so much. He said, ‘I don’t like your family’s close friendship with that Smith boy.’”
Distress clouded Joseph’s blue eyes. He sat down on a stump by the Palmers’ log house.
“But Pa likes you anyway,” Sarah hurried to add. “He told the preacher you were the best help he’s ever found, that when you work with my brothers the work goes faster, and he gets full worth for the wages he pays.” She stopped to catch her breath.
“Most folks have turned against me.”
“Well, our family likes you, but …” There was a trace of sadness in her voice. “I’m afraid even Pa thinks you only had a dream. He told the preacher he couldn’t understand why there was such a fuss over the sweet dream of a pure-minded boy.”
With the heel of his boot, Joseph hammered at the gnarled root of the stump. Sarah sat down in front of him, using a clump of wild mustard as a cushion. “I know you saw God, Joseph.”
“Yes, I did, Sarah, as plain as I see you. But folks hate me for saying it, especially the ministers.” His voice was puzzled. “I can’t quite figure it. They used to seek me out and try to help me find the truth. Why, they were ready to take me right up the path to heaven. Then, when the heavens opened and I saw Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus—and even talked with Them—the ministers wanted no part of me. In fact, now they’ve turned against me.”
“I’d never do that, Joseph.”
His face softened. He took her by the hand in an effort to still her worry. “Don’t fret, Sarah. Things will work out. Come on.” Joseph pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take this basket to your mother. It’s getting dark. You need to be inside and I need to get back.”
As Joseph crossed the dooryard to his home a short time later, he was still thinking about his talk with little Sarah. How my life has changed, he pondered.
Suddenly a shot split the stillness, whistling right past him! Then another shot cut the air in front of his face, and he dashed for the house. Cold terror chilled Joseph through, for he knew the shots were meant for him.
Yanking on the latchstring, he pushed the door open with a bang. “Someone just tried to kill me!” he shouted. “The shots came so close I could feel them!”
His father dropped the metal lantern he was making and pulled Joseph away from the door. He was a man not given to showing his emotions, but now his eyes blazed with anger and his jaw was set. He ran out into the dooryard. There was no movement, no sound except for one of the cows bellowing over by the barn. He called to his boys. “Hyrum, search the barn and sheds. Alvin, you go around back. I’ll take the road.”
When Joseph made a move to follow, his father said, “No, son. You stay inside with the family.”
As the men of the family disappeared through the door, Catherine’s seven-year-old face puckered. “Why did they go out there? They might be killed!”
She began to cry hysterically. At the sight of her tears little Don Carlos also began to weep although he didn’t know why. Sophronia, now as tall as her mother, settled herself on a bench and gathered the little ones into her arms. Joseph locked the shutter while his mother bolted the door and pulled the latchstring inside.
Eight-year-old William drew close to his mother.
Outside, Hyrum crept toward the barn, as wary as a painter (cougar). Easing himself inside the door, he listened in the near darkness. The sheep were huddled in a corner with their noses up tilted toward him, bleating softly. Off in the hay, a setting hen lifted her head in nervous jerks. As Hyrum cautiously searched the barn and loft, the hen clucked her complaint. If a stranger had run in here to hide, he reasoned, the animals would have made a ruckus.
Alvin, whose search took him over to the well and down along the rock wall to the apple tree, had also failed to find the fugitive. Once he heard a sound like a pinecone dropping to the ground. When it came again and again, he remembered that a man could make the same sound if he put his foot down flat all at once. It was an Indian trick. But when Alvin followed the sounds, no one was there.
Joseph’s father was a gentle man, but his great, kindly heart was hammering against his chest in a strong, determined beat. His weathered hands were clenched into fists. If I could lay my hands on that scoundrel, I’d give proof to what folks say about me being one of the strongest men hereabouts, he thought.
By the time he had searched the woods and road in front of their cabin, the shadows had thickened into night. He found no one.
Looking further would be as useless as hunting thunder in a storm, he decided. If it were day, I’d search every tree and bush, every hill and hollow, until I found the would-be killer.
Joseph’s father turned and walked back to the house, his shoulders drooping with the weight of a new worry. He called to the boys, “Alvin, Hyrum, you’d best come in now. We’ll look again first thing in the morning. We just might find a clue.”
Next morning, about an hour before sunup, Joseph’s father and the boys were examining the area surrounding the dooryard for clues. As yet there had been nothing to help them discover who it was that had tried to shoot Joseph the night before.
Hyrum was the first to call out. “Hey, over here … under the wagon. The brush has been trampled.”
Joseph’s father hunched down to examine the underbrush, still flattened against the ground.
“He must have been lying here for some time just waiting for Joseph,” their father surmised.
Alvin was perplexed. “But why would anyone want to shoot him?”
Inside, Joseph’s mother heard their discussion as she raked the hot coals from under the ashes in the fireplace. Laying aside the poker, she hustled outside and over to the wagon. Her words echoed the question. “Yes, Alvin, that’s what I’ve been wondering. Joseph is a well-disposed boy who wouldn’t harm anyone.”
They turned to look at Joseph, almost as if they expected an answer.
Joseph shrugged and shook his head, bewildered.
It was the next morning before any further discoveries were made. Joseph had gone to the barn to do the milking. Suddenly he appeared at the barn door. “Father, come quick!” he called. “Come see what I’ve found!”
His excited call brought immediate response from the family. His mother arrived first, carrying Don Carlos. The others came panting in from the field where they had been harvesting potatoes.
Joseph pointed to one of the cows. “Look … here on her neck … and there on her head.”
Carefully, his father examined the cow. “She’s been wounded somehow. There’s been some bleeding, but it’s not very recent.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Joseph explained. “While I was milking her, she kept shaking her head as if to toss off a bothersome fly. She kept doing it—crazy like—so I looked her over. That’s when I found the wounds.”
After further examination his father took out a knife. “There’s something lodged in there,” he said. “Fetch some new ashes, Samuel. Alvin, put a rope over her back and draw it tightly under her flanks so she’ll lie down easily.”
Joseph’s father talked to the cow with gentle words as the boys tied her legs together. The he skillfully cut into the crusted wounds. Fresh red blood brightened each incision. Catherine gasped and sunk her head into the folds of her mother’s skirt. When Father Smith had finished, he showed the family two lead rifle balls.
“How in thunder? …” Alvin began, but Joseph interrupted. “I’ll wager they’re from the gun that was shot at me. I heard a cow by the barn when I was crossing the dooryard that night. If this was the cow, she’d have been opposite the wagon.”
His father nodded. “Must be. There’s no other way to explain it.”
As soon as Samuel returned with the ashes for a poultice, his father dressed the wounds so they wouldn’t fester. Then he untied the rope and the cow struggled to her feet.
When Father Smith turned from the cow he looked at Joseph, an expression of concern on his face. “I wonder, Joseph,” he said, “if we’ll ever find the coward who tried to kill you.”
“No, I don’t think you ever will,” Joseph answered. “It was the devil.”
His father gave him a troubled look. “The devil? What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean it was the devil in the hearts of the people that did it. That’s the only way to account for such wickedness.”
His father stood silent a moment. Then he said, “I guess you’re right, Joseph.”
And Joseph, though young, had learned something else: that God would protect him and that the truth of the vision would stand, even if people turned against him.

A good man shed some light on a bright path for me in earlier years, and I would like to share his story with you.
I was 12 years old and a Tenderfoot Scout when I experienced my first overnight excursion away from home. I was excited, and I was frightened; we all were.
The group of boys who lined up with their gear on the lawn of the old 19th Ward building in Salt Lake City were variously equipped for the planned adventure to Lake Blanche in the high mountains to the east of us. Some had elaborate and expensive sleeping bags and pack frames, and some had bedrolls attached to old army knapsacks. I was in between, having the use of a homemade bag fashioned by my brother-in-law, together with the pack frame he had built, on which the bag and contents would be lashed.
All of us had been told to lay out our equipment for inspection by the man in charge, and we each fearfully waited by our stuff as the examiner approached. No marine trainee facing his sergeant could have been more apprehensive.
The man passed down the line rather quickly, commenting on this item or that boy’s pack, directing the abandonment of this extra baggage, sending one boy home to his mother with the three clean sheets she had sent along for his big trip.
I was last in line and thus nearest home, since our little house lay just alongside the old Relief Society building that separated us from the chapel. There was a narrow alley between the chapel and that building, and at the end of it a wall which formed the east border of our yard.
Being closest to home might have been an indicator of my frame of mind, because I was not altogether sold on this adventure and I was a bit apprehensive about the equipment I had borrowed, having been admonished carefully to keep it very clean and in absolute good repair.
When the inspector reached me, many foolish questions had been asked and answered, with increasing impatience, I suspect, so that the man as he faced me had become a bit short on good will. He was, in fact, quite a dynamic person of whom I was somewhat afraid, though he had always been appropriately dignified in his calling and never had been anything but kind to me.
This day under the circumstances and with the provocation of so much juvenile incompetency, he reached the end of his rope. Observing the number of items I was carrying which seemed to him superfluous for the high mountains and which he felt should not be carried in my pack, he sternly directed me to remove them and take them home to my mother. He seemed to dwell a bit sarcastically upon the pronunciation of my first name, about which my life on the west side of town by the railroad tracks had made me a bit touchy, if not defensive.
When he seemed to be making fun of me, the other boys up the line, having had their turn, snickered or broke into open laughter. Everybody but I thought it was funny. When he had left me and returned up the line to begin to herd the crowd onto the trucks which were to transport us, I made my gesture of protest. Not having anything else to do that I could think of, I just bent over, picked up the pack frame in one hand, and the two ends of the sleeping bag on which my gear was resting in the other, and walked up the alley, dragging it all behind me. When I reached the wall I dropped over, retrieved the equipment, and dragged it all behind the coal shed which was separated by a few feet from our house. Then I sat down on the ground under the basketball hoop on the back of the coal shed and suffered the pains and anguish of the damned—that is, those who have through willfulness and stubbornness painted themselves into an impossible position. I was 12 years old and in trouble.
I could not retreat and keep my self-respect; this man of authority had made a fool of me in front of others and had, to me quite unjustifiably, subjected me to ridicule. I was resentful and hopelessly frustrated. I could not see a way out of my dilemma, and I was deeply distressed.
After a long time—no doubt it seemed much longer than it actually was, but it was a long time—I heard footsteps coming up our pathway from the front street, heard the pause and a murmured conversation at our back door, and then felt and heard him resume his pace toward me. Mother had told him where I was.
He came down the little passageway between our house and the coal shed, around the corner, and sat down beside me on the dirt. He said nothing for a time but joined me as I nervously flipped little rocks and clods of dirt with a stick between my feet. I didn’t look at him. After a time he spoke.
“Do you ever get up on Kotter’s garage?” “Does Brother Kotter care?” “Do walnuts from the Perkinses’ tree fall in your backyard?” “If you take ten shots at this hoop from the line over there, how many can you make?”
I gave brief answers to all questions, and again there was silence.
Then a large, strong hand reached over to my knee and grasped it warmly.
“Son,” he said, “I made a mistake and I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, bishop,” I said.
“Are you ready to go now,” he said. “The others are waiting.”
“Okay,” I said.
“We better get your pack ready.”
He helped me roll the gear into the sleeping bag, secure it to the pack frame, and lift it to my back. We then walked out past our back door to the street and onto the truck where the others were waiting. I later learned that after I had left he had called all of them together and explained that he had made a mistake and had been unkind to me and that my reaction had been understandable. He apologized to them in my behalf, prepared them to receive me without clamor when I arrived, got them all ready in the truck, and then made the long walk back to find me.
I do not dramatize what might have happened had a good man who was also a great man and a generous man not made that long walk, if he had not been mature enough and humble enough and capable of acknowledging and correcting a mistake. I know I was wounded and frustrated by the impossibility of my circumstance. I know that he was the bishop we prayed for by name at our house every day. And I know that my wonderful mother who did not intrude on my dilemma must have helped pray him up the path.
I also know that boys and girls, even stubborn and rebellious ones, or hurt ones or bewildered ones, are worth something to our Heavenly Father and should be worth something to all the rest of his children. I do know that I myself have taken a few long walks when my own sense of pride or impatience might have prevailed, whispering to me, “Ah, let him go. Let him sit there and see how he likes it. Why should I be bothered?”
To this hour I remain grateful that my wonderful bishop overcame any such thoughts, if he had them, and made that long walk.
His light in my life has made a difference.

Many years ago in Adelaide, Australia, a young mother, Sister Pat Hedger, was widowed at the age of 28--left to raise 3 young children. Pat was employed as an office assistant for the South Australia Police Department and was struggling with the death of her husband. A lady in the office knew of Pat's situation. She asked Pat if she had ever prayed for help. Pat had grown up in a home that was not necessarily active in their religion and had never learned to pray. Pat's friend taught her how to offer a simple prayer and to ask for comfort. Pat found comfort in prayer. A simple prayer softened her heart and prepared her to accept the gospel.

About eight years after Pat had learned to pray, my companion and I knocked on her door. She was busy, so we left her a copy of the Book of Mormon and set up a return appointment. When we returned to teach Pat she related her story to us. As we taught her the first discussion, we shared the Joseph Smith story with her and she related her personal experience with prayer. We asked Pat if she would offer a prayer before we left her home that night. She accepted and offered a very simple but sincere prayer. We set another appointment for the following evening to share the plan of salvation. Because of that simple prayer she offered years before she was prepared to recognize the truth of the Book of Mormon, she was baptized a week later. Pat's two sons were baptized the following month and her daughter was baptized several months later.

Because of a simple prayer, a family was prepared to accept the gospel. Since that time Pat served in many callings, her sons Brenton and Darrell served missions, and her daughter Julie has served in the Young Women and many other callings faithfully. About seven years ago I received an email from Pat's son, Brenton. He had just been called to serve as a bishop and now serves on the Adelaide North Stake High Council. Through a simple prayer a young family was prepared to hear and accept the gospel and now has the opportunity for eternal life. The Hedger family continues to serve and loves the Lord because of a mother's simple prayer in a time of need.

Please listen as I tell a story about a young woman who decided to act to create the life she wanted.
A few years ago, my wife made friends with a woman who had finished her bachelor’s degree and had not gone on any dates in college. Before college, she was passed over each time there was a school dance or other social event. During college, she did well in her studies but, based on her previous experiences, decided to not put much effort into her social life. In fact, during the summers she would find a job in a remote location so she wouldn’t have to worry about the social events she was missing.
After graduating college, she decided to make a change. She had a home and started inviting people over from her young single adult ward for various activities. After one activity that she felt hadn’t gone very well, she confided in my wife about her lack of prospects for marriage.
She confided that she didn’t feel confident about her appearance and was concerned she would never get married.
Christine told her that she was familiar with those feelings, but she tried to be a fun person and made sure to be at activities with other young adults.
Her friend took this pep talk to heart and started to do things differently. She started to find ways to be in more social gatherings. While this was a little outside her comfort zone, her hope was that it would lead to much more happiness.
Eventually, she met a young man who was interested in her. They’re married now and living a very fulfilling life together.
While I cannot promise you the exact results my wife’s friend achieved through her choices, I can tell you the likelihood of getting those results will increase greatly when you choose to act and work to create the life you desire.

Elder Clate Wheeler Mask Jr. knows that nothing happens by chance.
As a young boy in El Paso, Texas, Elder Mask was affected by the service of his father, Clate Wheeler Mask Sr., in World War II. It was a trying time.
That’s when his mother, Marva Gonzalez Mask, taught him to really pray. His father was not a member of the Church. “Our family prayed my dad would join the Church and come home safely,” he says. “As a little boy praying at my mother’s side, I just knew God was there.”
With his father away, Elder Mask spent many hours with his maternal grandparents. “I would sit at my grandmother’s knee as she told Book of Mormon stories. My grandfather would tell about his mission to Mexico,” Elder Mask recalls. “That set the course of my life.”
His father did join the Church and return safely. From that time, Elder Mask’s testimony was firm.
He eventually served a mission to Central America, and just before coming home he was assigned to write a report on some missionaries he had worked with. “One sister was just tremendous in every way, and I realized she was the kind of person I wanted to marry someday,” Elder Mask says.
Following military service, Elder Mask attended Brigham Young University, and there he became reacquainted with that same sister missionary, Paula Carol Garns. They married in 1965 in the Los Angeles California Temple and reared six children.
Elder Mask graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Spanish and has had a 30-year career with the Church Educational System. He has served as a mission president, bishop, bishop’s counselor, stake Sunday School president, high councilor, and branch president.
Elder Mask, age 60, was born on 20 August 1942. He knows his new calling as a member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy will be as life changing as the other not-by-chance events of his life. “Everything that has happened to him has prepared him for this calling,” says Sister Mask.

A woman I know was struggling with anger toward someone who had hurt her and her family. Though she told her children not to become embittered and resentful, she fought those feelings herself. After weeks of entreating her Father in Heaven, she finally felt a change. She related: “One day, in the midst of my nearly constant prayers, the healing came. I felt a physical sensation spread through my body. After, I felt a sense of security and peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, my family and I would be all right. The anger left me and so did my desire for retaliation.”

The living water is the gospel of Jesus Christ; its communicator is the Holy Ghost. My friend knew what was right. She had said the appropriate words to her family. But only when she humbled herself enough to drink of the water—to feel the Holy Spirit—could she begin to heal.

Sister Yanet Gómez is the living testimony of how great the love of our Heavenly Father is for each of His children, and she manifests the strongest faith and gratitude of a faithful servant.
Despite living with very particular health conditions, Sister Gómez maintains her active service as Young Women president of the La Vega District, in the Dominican Republic. She affirms that although she has lived through so many experiences that have led her to critical states of health, she could never deny the Lord or get angry with Him, rather she feels fortunate to go through all these situations and considers that the Lord allows her to have them so that she can help others.
Having been diagnosed in 2018 with antiphospholipid syndrome (APS), with congenital thrombophilia and dual pathways, conditions that currently have no cure, being alive has been considered a miracle by medical specialists, who affirm that Yanet is the only person who has survived so long after being diagnosed with this condition.
Science says that the congenital thrombophilia that affects Yanet is an inherited coagulation disorder, due to a reduction in the level of synthesis and/or activity of protein S and characterized by the development of symptoms of recurrent venous thrombosis, with the condition two-way, it causes your body to bleed and clot at the same time.
On the other hand, the antiphospholipid syndrome that she also suffers, occurs when the immune system mistakenly creates antibodies that make the blood more prone to clotting, causing dangerous clots in the legs, kidneys, lungs and brain and, in pregnant women, can lead to miscarriage and fetal death.
Doctors say that they do not know how to explain how she has been able to survive so long, while she, for her part, assures that “the Lord is the one who knows, He is the one who has the purpose in His hands.” Everything has been an experience to help her to understand life more clearly, to value people well, not to hurt anyone and to try to do what she can to help others. She considers that she truly has benefited greatly despite all this.
With great conviction, she says that she has never asked why, and that she does not feel unfortunate or sad about her health condition. In her own words: “God gives the wound and gives the cure. I do not know if the same gospel prepared me since I was a child to understand life in a different way from other people, because that is something that I am trying to understand a little bit, whether what happens to me is for myself or for others. I have seen that it has been reflected much more in other people than in myself.”
Yanet Gómez explains that her family joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was 6 years old and two years later, she was baptized. Since then, she has served in various callings, including as the director couple of the For the Strength of Youth conference (FSY 2016 and 2017), among many others.
Less than three months after she was married, she was hospitalized for a thrombosis in her right leg, and, after several months in the hospital, her leg was in such a bad condition that the doctor determined that the only option to avoid further complications was to amputate it. At that moment, she felt desperate: “I was anguished, not because of myself, but because I felt it was unfair for my husband that when he was newly married, he had to go through having his wife in that situation.”
Asking the doctor for a day to think before the surgery, she wondered what they could do to find out if that was really the Lord’s will. She claims that something told her that she “had forgotten some things,” and she was inspired to ask her husband and her father to call some members of the Church to do a collective fast.
She was greatly surprised to see that many members joined this fast, and what surprised her even more was that she could see that the Lord performed a miracle. The next day, the doctor could not believe the great change in her condition, reversing his decision to do the surgery and allowing her to have her leg today, with no sign of the state it was in at that time.
It has not been the only moment of adversity in her life. She always dreamed of having a large family, but due to her health condition, she had already lost two pregnancies and her prognosis was that she might not be able to have children. However, during the dedication of the Santo Domingo Temple, she and her husband were able to greet Elder Richard G. Scott (1928-2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Upon learning of their nearly four years of marriage and their difficulty having children, he assured them with a very penetrating and serious look that they would have a child very soon.
Sister Gómez not only had that child, but she also had a second, and although in both cases they were born at six months of gestation, they were born healthy.
For her second pregnancy, the doctor recommended performing an abortion before she was four months along; she flatly refused. After prolonged hospitalizations, the child was born without signs of life and without responding to neonatal resuscitation. But her husband, who is a doctor, “began to breathe on him with his mouth and to give him heart massages and I heard him say, ‘let’s go champion, champion up,’ and after a long time the baby screamed. It was a miracle, it really was a miracle,” said Yanet.
In search of other professional opinions, in November 1999 she traveled to Utah at the invitation of her sister who lives there, to be evaluated by specialists from that state. Surprised, the doctors could not believe that she, with her health conditions, was alive. At the time, the doctors told her that she might not survive three months.
“I kind of made a deal with the Lord at that time, and He granted it to me. I told him, let’s do something Lord, take me when my children no longer need me, when they can fend for themselves, and when they can understand many things in life. It has really been like that, they were young then, and now the oldest is 24 years old and the other is 23, and I’m here,” she says.
“Looking and going back, I feel like it perhaps is one of the purposes for which I came to earth, to help other people to endure certain situations in their life, to carry it in a lighter way, with more love, as perhaps the Lord wants. This year I have really had a lot of time to think about why the Lord allows certain things in our lives.”
With joy, Sister Gómez says that the gospel has helped her in everything in her life and has been the greatest blessing she has ever had. She understands that it is through Him that she has been preparing herself, continuing to learn, practicing, perfecting herself, and edifying herself, affirming that everything she is and the knowledge she has obtained is due to the gospel.
She says that through the movie that the missionaries played in their early days in the Dominican Republic, Man’s Search for Happiness, she understood that one of the purposes in our life is to be happy. She then continued learning in seminary, and she has made happiness a priority in her life. Nothing that comes to her makes her depressed. “I try to be happy as much as I can, if I can, I try to help someone else to be happy too.”

My trip to Mississippi bore great fruit. There, in a courthouse, a woman gave my aunt and me a copy of some family records. Later, when I read through it, I was amazed. Before, I had had only three names on that particular family. Now I had more than sixty pages of information! There, at the beginning of the line, was the name of Ikenaby, an Indian chief who had lived during the early 1800s and who had married a white woman by the name of Kearney.

I continued to help with the work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll. Lorraine Nievar of Ardmore, Oklahoma, whose ancestors are Choctaw and French, also helped with name extraction work on the record. When the work was complete, 1,500 names from the record were sent to the temple in Dallas, Texas, so that Sister Nievar and her family could help perform their ancestors’ temple work. Another 1,500 names were sent to the Logan Utah Temple, where many of my friends and neighbors have helped with the work.

I believe that many members of the Choctaw Nation who lived during the early 1800s have accepted the temple work completed in their behalf. As I participated in baptisms for the dead one Saturday morning, I felt their gratitude. During one particular temple session, I was asked to speak to the members of a Logan ward. While we sat together in the temple’s chapel, I told them the story behind the names they carried that night. I remember that temple session as one of the most sacred I ever attended.

I recall feeling a vivid sense of light and joy at one particular point in the session. I thought of my son’s dream. My friends and neighbors were now giving the “bread of life” to those who had asked for it. I again felt that those whose work we were performing, though unseen, were grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel. Though they had once walked the “Trail of Tears,” now they could walk the straight and narrow path of joy that leads to eternal life.

Many native American records have been compiled by various organizations. It is now possible to do more temple work for native American ancestors than ever before; many of them are eager to receive the saving ordinances of the gospel.

I learned just how eager they were one spring day while driving to Salt Lake City to talk with a woman there. Suddenly, I felt that I could hear the sound of drums beating. I seemed to see an Indian woman, dressed in an oversize plaid shirt, a Navajo skirt, and a silver medallion belt. The seat beside me was empty, but I could sense her presence.

When I arrived in Salt Lake City, I felt prompted to ask the woman with whom I had the appointment whether she had any Indian ancestors. But Carolyn doesn’t look Indian; she’s blonde and blue-eyed, I thought to myself. She’ll think I’m crazy.

When I met Carolyn in her office, the prompting for me to ask was just as strong as it had been in the car. So I asked if she had Indian ancestors.

“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother was Cherokee and was adopted by the Navajo.” She told me about how her “Granny” had worked as a nurse for many years with the Navajo in Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Texas. Later, I asked Carolyn about the clothing her grandmother had worn, and she described to me the clothing I had seen the woman wearing.

I told Carolyn about the temple work we had done for the Choctaw. She was thrilled about the possibility of doing the same work for the Cherokee. The Cherokee were the second nation to walk the “Trail of Tears”; there is a record of the tribe in its entirety from 1835—before they had settled in Oklahoma. Carolyn is now doing extraction work on that record, preparing names for the temple.

I know that my Choctaw ancestors desired the blessings of the gospel. My love for my ancestors has grown as I have learned about them. Though they suffered great hardship in mortality, they are now receiving the great blessings of the temple.

In secular history there is another great military leader who was known for her righteousness. She was Joan of Arc from France. Joan was born 600 years ago in 1412. She is famous because, as a teenager, she led the French army to victory during the Hundred Years War. Every description that I have ever read of her tells about how virtuous, honest, loving, kind, loyal, and courageous she was. Joan was also a devout Christian during a time described by one author as brutal, wicked and rotten. She also claimed to have visions which told her that she would lead France to victory. At the end of her short but illustrious military career Joan was betrayed and turned over to her enemies. In a corrupt trial she was tried for witchcraft and convicted. She was sentenced to be burned at the stake. As they prepared to execute her, those in charge gave Joan one last chance to save her life if she would simply deny that she had seen visions. Of course, Joan would not deny her spiritual experiences, even if it meant losing her life. According to one account, this was the last statement she made before she was burned to death.
“The world can use these words. I know this now. Every man gives his life for what he believes; every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing, and yet they give their lives for that little or nothing. One life is all we have, and we live it as we believe it, and then it’s gone. But to surrender what you are and live without belief is more terrible than dying, even more terrible than dying young.”
Thus, ended the life of one of the most inspirational military leaders in the history of the world. We might ask, why was she successful in battle? Why were soldiers willing to risk their lives to follow her in war? It’s because she lived according to what she believed. It’s because she was righteous. It’s because she kept the commandments.

Sometimes when I say my bedtime prayer, I usually feel pretty good about what I did for the day. I didn't break any commandments. I accomplished my goals for that day but I sometimes regret that I didn't show love as I should. I recalled that I said to my friend who was going through some hardship, "Call me if you need anything." That was not showing love to my friend. I should have said, "Come over to my house at noon today and I will make lunch for us and we can talk" or "Come over for dinner tonight" or "Would you like to go for a walk this evening?" Love manifests itself in actions. And in my case, I paid only lip service to my friend. With age I became a little wiser and now I just called up my friends and said, "I am bringing you dinner tonight." Then the rest of the day I just work around that commitment and when I delivered that dinner and spent time with my friend I began to understand how important it is to feed his sheep.