Gospel Story Finder

“Today is the happiest morning in this year. Today is the first [day of] morning seminary,” wrote a Church member in Russia. “How and when [did this thought] originate about daily morning seminary? I remember there was a lesson for our CES teachers that mentioned about the daily seminary program in the United States and Europe and that got stuck in my mind. At that lesson I felt the power of the Holy Ghost which brought a thought unto me that we should have seminary here. Then I felt that the Lord endows everything for this job: possibility, strength and help. We have to have just willingness to accept such a gift.
“After that meeting I felt great inspiration. Some mothers got frightened a little with the idea because children will have to get up early in the morning and in school, they are overloaded, and some finish the school this year and will be entering higher educational institutions. But fathers, who have the priesthood, completely supported me, having said that daily studying of the scriptures is so needed for youth, will teach them discipline, and also will help them gain the Holy Ghost which during the day time and school lessons will help to withstand the temptations of Satan” (comments from Maria Rupysheva, Vyborg, Russia, fall 1996).

Years ago I was a supervising physician in a Lumbumbashi hospital. One day during consultation, I met a young couple. The husband escorted his pregnant wife in to see me. After consulting with her and reviewing laboratory tests, I diagnosed her with severe anemia. The normal course of treatment would be to perform a blood transfusion, but she refused as her faith—Jehovah’s Witness—forbade such a procedure. Instead, I recommended a treatment with medicine. They confessed that they had no money to pay for the consultation or treatment.

Knowing their financial situation, I went to the pharmacy and purchased all the needed medications. Then, I went to the cashier and paid for the laboratory tests and other related costs. When I came back to the office and told her what I had done, there were tears in her eyes. I told her I knew intimately that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ would sustain her and give her this child—and that I would pray that it be so. One year later, in downtown Lubumbashi, I saw a couple carrying a child coming toward me. They stopped, and the woman said, “Doctor, here is the child you helped us have, and we will never forget what you did. Thank you so much”. With tears in my eyes, I took the child into my arms and silently thanked the Lord.

Then there is so much fun in Church service. I remember one hot summer evening when we were engaged in a ward building-fund project. We had contracted to supply the food service at a state fair. I was assigned to the dishwashing detail along with Bay Hutchings, another member of our ward. We were working across the counter from the customers who were enjoying our delicious food. There was a call from the cashier’s cage: “Dr. Hutchings, the hospital is calling you.” Suddenly all the forks were suspended in midair. The customers turned one to another and exclaimed, “A doctor washing dishes?” We had to immediately explain that this was a Church building-fund project. No one was being paid for his services. The waiters, cooks, dishwashers, and busboys were doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs—all having one great time working together for our project. We must never forget that the wealth, the strength, the security of the Church is our ability to labor together. Let us be a righteous example of this fundamental principle in our homes, our places of employment, our neighborhoods, our communities, our states, and our nations.

My own testimony is a good example of this. Just over 38 years in an apartment on Kentucky Ave. in Evansville, Indiana, I learned something that I already knew.

I grew up in a home with good, honest, loving, and hard working parents. I never doubted how much they loved me and my three sisters. However the church was not an important component of our lives. I attended on my own almost every Sunday, but through a lot of hard work and practice, I got pretty good at finding ways on occasion to not attend. But I always wanted to serve a mission. I had cousins who served in Iowa, Brazil, and France, but still I wasn't as ready to serve a mission as I should have been and my testimony wasn't as strong as I wanted it to be, or so I thought. And so feeling a need to know the truth, and after praying and fasting in an attempt to get an answer, I finished my prayers at my bedside that night in Evansville, and the answer came in a very clear and concise way. The words were simply, "You have always known the church is true." And then my own realization that maybe I had wasted time questioning, and that it was time to go and do the work.

I knew what I knew, but I didn't know how to know it. Thankfully I turned to God who reminded me of what I already knew.

I was once with Elder LeGrand Richards. He had called me to be a counselor in a stake presidency. I was very young and he was old. I was at his side all day helping him with the details of a reorganization. It was late, and I was afraid that he had overtaxed his physical limitations. I knew that I was spent. I said to him, “Elder Richards, you have worked hard all day. You must be exhausted. How do you do it?”
A huge smile crept over his face, and he responded, “Work, my boy? This isn’t work. This is play, and I am enjoying every minute of it!” I learned a great lesson that day about the difference between work and play, and I think I have finally come to understand what Elder Richards was trying to teach me about seeing the vision.

One day when Tuhk was modeling shorts, his mother noticed some terrible bruises on his legs, and they wouldn’t heal. A doctor’s checkup revealed the worst—he had leukemia. It would take a bone marrow transplant and over $100,000 to save his life.
Now the Potters were performing, without Tuhk, to earn money to help their little brother live. What they made didn’t go far, but the publicity they received did. Their ward, stake, and community rallied around them. Soon an offer came from the City of Hope, a medical facility in California, to donate Tuhk’s transplant and treatment.
The family sped south. All the Potter kids tested positive to be bone marrow donors, but Tarrish was selected. They went through weeks of fasting and prayer while their brother went through surgery and chemotherapy, part of it in strict isolation. That was especially hard on Tuhk.
The Potter family was elated when they found that Tuhk’s leukemia had finally gone into remission. When you meet him now, telling funny riddles or playing with Ninja Turtles, you’d never guess he’d once come so close to death.

While reading through the May 2007 issue of the Liahona, I was deeply moved by Elder Jay E. Jensen’s talk, “The Nourishing Power of Hymns.” I too have a strong testimony of the power of hymns. In February 2000, while listening to a local radio show, I heard a song I had never heard before. I not only enjoyed the flow of the music, but I also enjoyed the manner in which the group sang and the message the song carried. I later learned that this song was by a group called Latter-day Saints. I wanted to get the full text of this song. I decided I must visit this church. The first Sunday I attended, my first task was to get a hymnbook. There it was—hymn number 30, “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” I was baptized a few months later.
Richard S. Scotland, Liberia

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion, progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend, Gill Warner. He was a newly called bishop when Douglas, a member of his ward serving in the mission field, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975 I attended the stake conference of Brother Warner’s stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gill Warner raised his hand and outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded by posing a question to me: “Do I have any responsibility to work with Douglas to help bring him back to Church membership?”
Gill reminded me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation. I said, “As his former bishop and one who knew and loved him, I would think you would wish to do all you could to bring him back.”
Unbeknownst to Gill Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gill discovered this when, following the meeting, he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gill began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but step-by-step Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gill Warner flew to the city where Douglas lived and performed the ordinance.
Bishop Warner, through the love of his heart and with a sense of responsibility to a former priest in the Aaronic Priesthood—even the quorum over which he presided—went to the rescue, that not one would be lost.

“And they lived happily ever after” is the closing line of many favorite fairy tales. Sister Nedra Redd, of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, wisely reminds us that those are just make-believe stories. “There are many happily-ever-after times in our lives,” she explained, “but if we expect all of life to be free from difficulties, we may be very disappointed.
“You see,” she said, “you’ve got to expect that there will be some lumps and bumps along the way. Sometimes life bites and scratches; there are just no two ways about it.”
To illustrate her point, she spoke of the kittens that she loved so much as a child growing up in Canada. “I named two of them Nicodemus and Rufus,” she said with a chuckle. “Cats bite and scratch, you know. But they are also soft and loving. I think if we look to life and make our plans expecting some good times but also some bites and scratches—real hurting experiences—and learn to think of the bad times as something that will pass, then life can be sweet and we won’t be disappointed or become bitter.”
Sister Redd, who has had firsthand experience with some severe tests in life, confessed, “I can remember thinking when things were really hard that that just wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. But it is the way it is supposed to be. There are times when we are to be tried and tested, you know. And along the way at proper intervals, our Father in Heaven provides the break times, the relief times, the special times. I call them the ‘jewel’ times.
“Just as he has set up the week with seven days and then has made one of those days very special, so we have harder days and days when we know that we just couldn’t be happier.”
One of Sister Redd’s “jewel” times was at the birth of her first child, a son. But within three months the trials and tests of this life closed in. Both mother and child were afflicted with polio. Anxieties were high and prayers were intense. Brother Philip Redd, her husband and now area director of seminaries and institutes in Southeast Asia, was preparing within the month to begin his career as a full-time seminary teacher. “We felt we had really tried to do what was right and that we were doing what the Lord wanted us to be doing. We had faith that the Lord would bless us even in our afflictions.”
Our Father in Heaven has told us that his people must be tried and tested, even as Abraham who was commanded to offer up his only son (see Gen. 22:1–4; D&C 101:4). And so it was that this faithful couple was tested. Their prayers were answered, but only partially. Sister Redd was healed and left without any ill effects from the dread disease, but her precious child, her only son, was stricken with crippling paralysis in his leg, his arms, and his back. The brightness of a happy time had quickly faded. The scratches and bites of life became a painful reality. Brother and Sister Redd were forced to give up their child to the professional care of the children’s hospital over a hundred miles away where he could receive special attention. Even after a year he was still very weak and progress remained slow.
Three long, anxious years, and the concern for her child only increased. The divine nature of a true and righteous mother, with all of the pure emotions inherent in the sacred role of motherhood, swelled within her aching heart. “I wanted desperately for him to be well,” she whispered. “It was so hard not to be able to tuck my little boy in at night. His life was vital to us.”
One night at the very peak of her anxiety, this young mother rose from her bed, went into the other room, and talked to her Father in Heaven. She had remembered an incident in her own childhood. A great and noble woman had prayed in behalf of her afflicted husband and requested that, if the Lord were willing, she be allowed to carry her husband’s infirmities so that his service to the Lord would not be restricted. This sister, almost immediately, became stone deaf and remained so throughout her life, while her husband, miraculously healed, became a spiritual giant, a man of God, and a powerful leader in building the kingdom of God in that area. With the memory of this incident in her heart, this faithful mother supplicated the Father in her son’s behalf, asking if she might take her son’s infirmities upon herself. Of this incident she concluded, “I returned to my bed and went to sleep.”
Even though her baby remained in the hospital, there were still some happy, “jewel” times. Another little boy was born and then a little girl. In time the afflicted child became stronger and stronger, and he learned to walk with braces. Eventually he was able to leave the hospital for a time, allowing this little family to be together at home for Christmas.
While there were ample reasons for quiet rejoicing, the scratching, biting times were painfully evident. Gradually over the following months Sister Redd became aware that she was losing the feeling in her hands and her feet. While diapering her baby, she would often stick the safety pin into her thumb unknowingly. When she noticed the blood, her growing concern increased. She sensed a frightening paralysis creeping over her entire body. It was very difficult for her to handle her new baby and the responsibilities of her young family. As the months and years passed, there were both struggles and blessings. Braces were laid aside and her little son managed to make his way to school. The blessings were acknowledged with humble gratitude, deeply expressed. But suffering severe headaches and with no feeling in her hands or feet, the young mother of three cried out for help. The support of family and friends seemed not enough. “People were good, so very, very good,” she gratefully recalled. “But being restricted physically, not being able to take care of those you love, is difficult.”
At this time a team of specialists determined that it was probably multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her body, leaving her so painfully handicapped. The thoughts of her future gave cause for great anxiety. “That was years ago,” she said. Sister Redd, now a beautiful, healthy, and active woman, vibrant in countenance and testimony, radiates a spirit that has been purified through struggle.
She spoke of the day she and her devoted husband, seeking first the will of the Lord in all things, asked counsel from a friend who had been the supervisor of seminaries and was now a General Authority. “He told us that he didn’t think the Lord meant for me to give my life. He gave me a blessing, explaining that the Lord had accepted my offering in behalf of my child. He promised me that I would live. But it is not we who regulate the magnitude of our tests or determine the time of relief,” she explained. “We do not receive a witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6), and our Father in Heaven will make that determination.”
The very hour one might expect relief may be the moment in which the Lord will take count of our endurance and our faithfulness. Following the blessing, Sister Redd’s condition worsened, and on the 25th of October she was confined to bed. She had to be fed, and “I couldn’t even brush my teeth,” she explained. “My good husband and I talked about the purpose of life and death, and we prayed that we could accept whatever the Lord had for us. At that time we felt that everything would be all right.” Drawing strength from each other, these young parents were tested and were found “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19).
On the 20th of December Nedra Redd was flown to the hospital in Edmonton. There she received further tests. After two long, anxious days, the doctors confirmed the probability that it was not multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her entire body, but rather a very deep and serious brain tumor at the base of her skull. It appeared to be inoperable. In her weakened condition, the possibility of surgery was considered a high and frightening risk. But the doctors explained that she would have only two weeks to live if they didn’t remove the growth. It was seriously impairing her breathing and would soon cut off her rapidly diminishing flow of air. The situation seemed desperate. One doctor offered counsel, suggesting that if they wanted to risk surgery, they would surely want to wait until after Christmas. But Sister Redd reached into her reservoir of strength, filled in large measure by the blessing she had received from their friend the General Authority. Courageously this young couple made their decision. “Surgery was scheduled for Christmas Eve,” she said. “We felt our Father in Heaven was beginning to answer our prayers. On Sunday night my cousin, who was the stake president, came to give me a blessing. He told me later that when he gave me that blessing, he literally felt the strength flow from him.” The power of the priesthood was again activated in her behalf.
Anxious family and friends waited through the nightlong vigil following the surgery. Dawn broke forth; it was Christmas morning. The tumor had been removed. All was quiet as the moments ticked on in that hospital room. Her future hung in the balance. “I had a very special thinking time as I regained consciousness,” Sister Redd explained. It was in the twilight time between life and death that the gifts of life came back to this faithful woman on that Christmas morning. They returned one by one with enough space between each to allow time for cherishing and savoring. Such gifts, such jewels, such priceless jewels!
“I’m all right! I didn’t die in surgery! I’m alive!” was her first realization. “But everything was black, and I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to speak, and I couldn’t speak. I thought, ‘I’m blind. I can’t hear. I can’t speak. But I am alive.’ I can remember such a surge of gratitude that I was alive, and then I sank into unconsciousness again. When I realized later that I was conscious again and that there was a sort of grayness around me, I thought, ‘I am not totally blind. I can see some light.’ I can remember praying and telling my Father, ‘Thank you. I’m alive and I’m not totally blind.’ I couldn’t have lived in darkness. So I gave thanks again. Then I realized I could see Phil’s face. My husband was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear him. But,” she said with intensity, “I could see him. I was grateful that I could see his face.
“Soon I realized I could hear him speaking to me, so I prayed again and gave thanks that I could see and hear. I thought, ‘I can’t speak, but it’s enough. I can see and I can hear.’”
Sister Redd, reflecting on her deep gratitude for those precious gifts on that Christmas morning, shared the ecstasy of her final treasure. “The doctor was there. I had been trying to speak. I heard him ask my husband, ‘Can she speak?’ He shook his head just slightly. ‘I was afraid of that,’ the doctor said. ‘We had to destroy quite a bit of her vocal chords to get the tumor.’ I was afraid she would not be able to speak.”
With a happy tone in her clear, full voice, Sister Redd recalled her thoughts at that moment: “‘Oh, so that’s it,’ I thought. ‘I can’t talk. But I can hear and I can see.’ I had such a deep feeling of joy and gratitude. Then the doctor put his finger on the hole in my throat where the tracheotomy was and said, ‘Now try.’ I could make sounds! I knew I was not mute. It was such a good feeling. We knew the Lord had blessed us.
“It was Christmas morning. Phil had spent the night with me when I needed him so much. With my whole soul filled with gratitude and thanksgiving, I asked him to go home and be with the children. It was a wonderful Christmas.”
From the deep reservoir of faith and courage, carved out by times of trial and suffering, Brother and Sister Redd rejoice. “It is such a comforting feeling to know that there is nothing the Lord can’t do or won’t do for you if it is for your good.” They have made this discovery: “The Lord is in the everyday things, not just the eternal, glorious things. It’s like the comparison between the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ and quiet background music. He is in both, and knowing that provides a continuous awareness of happily-ever-after times in all of life.”

Dora Valencia, who had lain four years in the Ajax Ontario Hospital, mustered her courage and fulfilled the desire to attend. From her hospital bed, which was wheeled into the celestial room, she not only basked in the spirit found there, but she also helped to provide that spirit. As I walked past her, upon leaving the room, and gazed at her expression of profound gratitude to the Lord, I bent low and took her hand in mine. Heaven was very near.

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

On a very cold but sunny day last October, youth and leaders from the Kettering Ward, Northampton England Stake gave 30 hours of service in their community at Headway, a local charity that works to improve life for patients after brain injury. Armed with paintbrushes and paint, ward members went to work cleaning and painting the inside and outside of the Headway day centre.
“The activity was really fun because although it was cold I could really feel the spirit of the youth working together,” said Sarah Dean, a Laurel. “We had cold hands, but we also had warm hearts.”
Michael Winebrunner, a priest, agreed that it was cold, but says, “We were working really hard, so I hardly noticed. I enjoyed being with my friends and knowing that I was making a difference to the lives of the people in the day centre.”

I know of a man named Tom who agreed to drive his son Michael and some of Michael’s soccer teammates to their Saturday game. The boys were noisy, and Tom was getting frustrated trying to find a playing field he had never been to before. Unable to concentrate on his driving, Tom ran into another car. The accident was minor, but Tom let his frustration out in profanity.
Later that afternoon, young Michael asked his mother if his dad was a member of the Church. Michael had been taught that good Mormons don’t swear. His mother was surprised and said, “Of course your father is a Church member.”
“Well, Dad may be a Mormon, but I know he is not a Cub Scout!” Michael replied.

“And so,” Sister Adams said, “as Jesus tells us in Matthew 7:7 [Matt. 7:7], ‘Ask, and it shall be given you.’ When we ask in faith, and do our part, Heavenly Father will always answer us. He wants us to be happy.”
So, Brandon thought, if Heavenly Father wants me to be happy, then He must want me to get away from what makes me unhappy. Yeah! And what makes me unhappy is Bobby!
Brandon rolled his eyes, remembering Bobby’s “Please, let me come with you, Brandon.” … “I didn’t mean to break it, Brandon.” … “Can I ride your bike?” … “Can I sit by you?”
That night Brandon prayed eagerly, “Heavenly Father, please make Bobby leave me alone. He’s always pestering me and making me really unhappy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Brandon hopped into bed with a smile on his face.
On Monday, Bobby insisted on walking to school with Brandon. He kept interrupting Brandon and Peter while they were talking about important stuff. He squeezed in beside Brandon at lunch and dripped milk on Brandon’s new pants. After school, he cried so hard that Mom made Brandon take him along to nail down the floor of the tree fort. On the way there, he spilled all the nails.
This isn’t working! Brandon’s thoughts raged. He grabbed Bobby’s hand and stomped back home.
Brandon flopped into bed after a complaining prayer that night. Then he thought, What did Sister Adams say exactly? Oh, yes—we have to do ourpart too. Of course! That’s what’s wrong. I’ve been expecting Heavenly Father to do it all for me.
“Run, Peter,” whispered Brandon the next morning. “Go to school by yourself, Bobby,” he yelled over his shoulder as the two older boys raced away.
At lunchtime, when Bobby approached their table, the two friends locked elbows and spread out their legs. “He’s turning around, Brandon,” Peter said, holding up his hand for a high-five. Brandon looked. All he could see of Bobby was hunched shoulders as he trudged away.
“No, you can’t carry the hammer, and no, you can’t come!” Brandon hissed at Bobby after school. “You’re nothing but a pest, and nobody wants you along anywhere—especially at the tree fort.”
Bobby’s face began to crumple. Brandon grabbed Bobby’s shirt front. “And if you start to bawl, I’ll never let you do anything with me again.”
Tears coursed down Bobby’s cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound.
Brandon marched off, clutching his hammer so tightly that his fingers ached. Nailing down the floorboards was hard work, but it went fast without his brother’s pestering. He stopped only when the sun was almost down.
Walking home, he was glad that he’d finished so much and glad that his prayers were being answered. But when he went inside, there was Bobby, sitting as still as a statue outside Brandon’s room. Brandon scowled and slammed his door shut, all his good feelings vanishing. His mind saw only Bobby’s sad face.
He’s just making it worse and worse, Brandon ranted to himself. He breaks my stuff. He ruins my games. And now he’s ruined my enjoying the tree fort too. Well, he’d better leave me alone—or else!
On Saturday afternoon, he came home from soccer practice to find Bobby wobbling down the street on his new bike. Brandon grabbed the handlebars and yanked the bike around hard. Bobby flew off. The next instant he was screaming. His hands were skinned, and a bump was growing on his forehead.
Brandon pushed his fear away with more anger. “Don’t you ever touch my bike again! Don’t ever touch anything of mine, for as long as you live!”
Brandon felt himself marched into the house. Up the stairs he went and into his room. “Hurting someone else is not the way to take care of disagreements, Brandon,” Dad said. “You know that. You will stay in your room until you can make things right with Bobby.”
Glaring at Dad as he closed the door behind him, Brandon stomped to the window. Mom was helping Bobby into the house and holding a cloth to his forehead.
Brandon refused to come down for dinner. He wasn’t about to “make things right.” It wasn’t fair to be punished when Bobby had taken his bike without permission.
On Sunday, Brandon came out only to go to church. Sister Adams taught the class how to use the Topical Guide in their Bibles to find scriptures to answer their questions and help them learn how to solve problems. She explained that the Holy Ghost could help them know which scriptures to read.
Back home, Brandon ate his meals in his room, still fuming. I’ll never make up with that little pest!
Monday was Bobby’s birthday. After school, Brandon stood at his bedroom window, watching Bobby and his friends yelling and jumping around in the backyard.
“Oh, wow! My favorite!” Bobby yelled as he tore open a package. “A praying mantis transformer robot!”
Brandon clenched his fists. He’d been wanting one of those for months.
“Oh, wow! A dragonfly robot!” Bobby waved a robot in each hand.
Brandon slumped on his bed.
After the guests had gone home, Bobby pounded up the stairs and into Brandon’s room. “Brandon!” He stopped at his brother’s scowl. “I—I just wanted to show you my transformers. …”
“Well, I don’t want to see them. So just get out of here.”
Bobby turned and shut the door softly behind him. Tears squeezed out onto Brandon’s cheeks. Since he’d decided to pray for what he wanted, everything had gone wrong! He didn’t understand it at all.
He must have dropped off to sleep, because it was dark when he woke up, way past dinnertime. His stomach growled as he opened his door to listen. They’re having family home evening without me, he thought. They don’t care about me at all.
Then he saw it—the praying mantis transformer robot. It had been placed on the tray of food by the door.
He sat in his doorway and picked it up. Did Bobby really give this to me? Shame flooded through him. Why would he do that, after how mean I’ve been to him? And what do I do now?
Sister Adams had said to look in the Topical Guide. She’d said that the answers to our problems are all in the scriptures.
He knelt by his bed, wanting help more than he’d ever wanted it before. “Heavenly Father, I feel awful! Please help me to feel the Holy Ghost prompting me, so I can know what scriptures to read that will help me. I really want to understand what to do about Bobby. Everything I’ve done so far has turned out wrong.”
Opening his Bible to the back pages, Brandon searched in the Topical Guide until he found the word Ask. That was what he needed to know: how to ask Heavenly Father for blessings so he could really get them. He began reading the phrases listed there. When he came to “Mosiah … 4:21 whatsoever ye a. [ask] that is right,” he was sure that this was his answer. He almost tore a page in his Book of Mormon in his haste to find the scripture:
And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another.
Understanding flooded Brandon. It was right to ask Heavenly Father to help him be happy. What was wrong was trying to have happiness by making Bobby unhappy. Bobby couldn’t just disappear. He was part of Brandon’s family! So what was right was for them to be happy together. And that meant doing what the scripture in Mosiah said: imparting—sharing. Sharing things. Sharing time. Sharing fun.
And Bobby showed me how. Brandon picked up the transformer, which was even more precious now. Then his eyes scanned his room. When they came to his shell collection, he picked it up and went downstairs. “May I talk to Bobby?”
Brandon beckoned Bobby into the kitchen. “I found the transformer, Bobby. Thanks! That’s the best present I ever got.”
Bobby’s grin could have lit a rocket.
“And this is for you,” Brandon told him, handing him the box.
“Your shell collection? But, Brandon, it’s your most special thing!”
“No, it isn’t—my brother is.”
The warm feelings flooding Brandon were unmistakable. This time, he had asked for what was right and had done his part right. He could feel himself receiving happiness through his body. Bobby wasn’t a pest—he was a pretty neat kid. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently.
With their arms around each other, the brothers trooped into the living room.

In 1996 the Nigerian men’s football team won gold at the Olympic Games held in Atlanta in the United States. As the final ended, jubilant crowds poured onto the streets of every city and town in Nigeria; this country of 200 million people was instantly transformed into a massive celebration at two o’clock in the morning! There was infectious joy, happiness, and excitement as people ate, sang, and danced. In that moment, Nigeria was united and every Nigerian was content being Nigerian.
Before the Olympics, this team faced numerous challenges. As the tournament began, their financial support ended. The team competed without proper kits, training venues, food, or laundry services.
Jerome Prevost/Getty Images
At one point, they were minutes away from being eliminated from competition, but the Nigerian team triumphed against all odds. This pivotal moment changed how they saw themselves. With newfound confidence, and with individual and team hard work and dogged determination, they unitedly ignored distractions and focused on winning. This focus earned them gold medals, and Nigerians christened them the “Dream Team.” The Dream Team at the 1996 Olympics continues to be referenced in Nigerian sports.
David Cannon/Allsport/Getty Images
Once the football team learned to ignore the many distractions facing them and focused on their goal, they succeeded beyond what they thought possible and experienced great joy. (As did the rest of us in Nigeria!)

At 4:30 A.M. my alarm went off as usual. I reached over and shut it off as I do every morning. I sat up in the dark and asked myself why I do this to myself every morning. After I was done complaining about how stupid early-morning seminary was, I got up and got ready to go.
Just like every day, I arrived five minutes late and sat in a seat in the back row farthest from the teacher. It seemed that lately my testimony had been going down the tubes. Things had not been going right. My grades had been suffering. I thought that if I were living right then everything else in my life should be good too.
As I sat in the back, not listening to the lesson, I began to wonder if the Church was really true. The thought scared me. I was worried that the things I had been taught all my life were wrong. It made me afraid. Right there in class, I started praying mentally to my Father in Heaven for help. I was asking him for help in finding out if the Church was true or not.
By this time, I had totally tuned out of the lesson being taught. Finally seminary was over. My brother and I were getting in my car when I noticed a piece of paper on the windshield. I took it and saw that it was from another church down the street. At first I thought it was an advertisement. I opened the paper and in big bold letters at the top it said, “In Which Shall We Believe?” I began reading it. It was a list of scriptures and quotations from the Book of Mormon and other Church books and leaders that seemed to contradict each other.
We took the paper home to my parents. We went straight to them and told them we got this anti-Mormon flier on our windshield. They read through it. We talked for a few minutes about one of the statements, which Mom helped answer for me. Then my parents put the paper on the desk. We had to leave for school.
A couple of days later, I took the other church’s flier and started reading through it. I started looking up each quotation in the scriptures and in other books. The paper was wrong. I found that the statements did not contradict each other. The people who had prepared the flier had only taken part of the scripture or part of a quotation. This made me remember what one of my Primary teachers had told me. She said, “Read the scriptures as a whole and not a part.”
I knelt down beside my bed and prayed. I asked Heavenly Father if the Church was true and if what I was reading in the Book of Mormon was correct. I said amen and stayed on my knees for a few minutes and listened. When I got up, I was totally energetic. I felt so good and so happy. I knew by how I felt that it was true. That was my answer.
Since that time I have studied the scriptures more. In a funny way I was grateful to those people who had been trying to tear down the Church. I even wrote a letter to the other church thanking them for the flier. I told them they had really helped me a lot with my testimony. Because of them, I was motivated to find out for myself. I found out it was true.

My missionary companion and I were having difficulty getting along well together. I still do not know all that lay at the root of our difficulties, but after we had been together only a few weeks, walking the streets of a small Brazilian town, resentment, pride, and petty differences began to darken our relationship. Our prayers together became more and more perfunctory, and resentment more and more frequently broke out in sharp words. Almost unnoticed, the Spirit began to slip away from us.
One afternoon, after one of many unfruitful days of tracting and visiting members, and with what promised to be a barren afternoon stretching before us, we decided that we could fill some of the empty spaces on our daily activity records by visiting Antonio. Antonio was a non-member whose wife had joined the Church several years before but had been only marginalIv active. He respected the missionaries and several times had shown sufficient faith to ask them to administer to him when he was ill. My present companion and I had administered to him twice, and I knew that earlier elders had done so. All of that took place before we learned that Antonio was dying of an abdominal cancer and had only a few months, perhaps weeks, to live.
When his wife answered the door that day, she looked drawn and worried. She took us into her kitchen, from which an open door led to Antonio’s room. Through the door we saw Antonio threshing in agony on a narrow bed, unconscious that we were even there.
We were suddenly at a complete loss for what to do or say. Antonio’s wife looked at us silently. We looked at each other, at Antonio, at the floor. We had no idea what to do, and worse, without a word being spoken between us, we knew that we were both thinking that we were in no spiritual condition to do anything. Finally, one of us asked if there was a room where we could be alone for a while. Antonio’s wife showed us to a bedroom, and we closed the door behind us.
We knelt and took turns praying, at first asking the Lord to make known to us his will concerning Antonio. In the silence that answered our first prayers, the knowledge of our unworthiness to receive an answer fairly shouted at us. Then, at first awkwardly and cautiously, and finally pleadingly, we began to confess to the Lord and to each other our sin in allowing vanity and pride to rob us of the power to use our priesthood. We pleaded that Antonio not be denied release from his suffering because of our unworthiness, that the Lord would forgive our sin and bless us with faith and power to bless Antonio, or that he would bless Antonio without us.
We must have prayed for half an hour, taking turns, before a peace came to us. We agreed that we should go out, lay our hands on Antonio, and let the Spirit guide us.
When we went out, his wife asked, “Did you pray?” We said yes, and she said, “He has gone to sleep.”
We left the house subdued and chastened. Permanently and profoundly recorded in our hearts was a hard-learned lesson in the foolishness of allowing personal differences to cut us off from the source of the power to bless.

I have seen some of that in practice lately. A woman whom I had not met before came to my home and recounted her heartbreak at a marriage ruined by deceit and cruelty. She grieved for her young adult children, who were confused and wounded. She had served as a ward Relief Society president three times and as a stake Relief Society president. That service had shown her both irrefutable evidence of God’s goodness and mercy, and some of the difficult and painful realities that many suffer; even so, she was surprised at how unprepared she felt to face her own tragedy. At last she said, “All I can do now is cling to my faith in God and pray that my love of Christ and for my children will help me survive.” For the present, her pain had clouded her ability to see her own courage and resolve. In the midst of such trouble, she was steadfast in Christ, and her intent was charity. I knew she and her children still had much to endure and to work through, but the words from Moroni echoed for us both that “whoso is found possessed of [charity] at the last day, it shall be well with [her” (Moro. 7:47). Through her excruciating experience of sifting for the true nature of love, she was literally offering what God requires of each of us, a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Her offering was also building in her strength and peace.

Keeping the commandments. Our family’s income dropped considerably during the divorce process, and we struggled financially. I faced the dilemma of whether to pay tithing when there clearly was not enough money to feed and care for my large family and to make the essential house repairs. I sought counsel from my priesthood leaders and knew my answer. I decided I would pay a full tithing. I believe this single act of faith opened the windows of heaven, for many blessings were showered on our family. While I was deeply grateful for help from others, I also found myself struggling to develop humility and graciousness, as my family had never before required help. My first trip to the bishops’ storehouse resulted in tears, but I sought from the Lord what He would have me learn from the experience. Besides struggling with pride, I learned much about love and the purpose for the welfare program. Although we no longer need welfare assistance, I am grateful for that experience.

I breathed hard as my math teacher talked about our upcoming activity.
“I know most of you young people listen to rap,” he said. “It’s not very good music, and it’s often hard to leave it alone.”
He wanted to show us how bad it was by having the class count the seconds to the first swear word of each song. He explained that after we collected the data we were going to put it into graphs.
“Now, I expect you all to be mature about this,” he lectured. “But if anyone’s uncomfortable or you know your parents wouldn’t approve, you can take your book and go into the hall.”
I gripped my chair. I knew I couldn’t stay here—but I was afraid to move. No one else seemed to be thinking the same thing I was. “I’ll be the only one if I leave,” I told myself.
I rationalized that maybe it would be okay if my teacher stopped the song after the first swear word. I was so petrified to stand up that I lost my chance to leave. The first song came on, and I felt my heart sink as the Spirit disappeared from the room.
The song ended, and its data was written on the board. Before I could think, another song blared curse words through the speakers. I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew that this kind of music drove away the Spirit, and that Heavenly Father didn’t want me listening to it. I picked up my book and asked the teacher if I could leave. As I walked out of the room, the Spirit returned, and I knew I had done the right thing.