Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago a faithful family exemplified for members of our ward that same trust in the Lord. Arn and Venita Gatrell were living a happy life when Arn was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. The prognosis was devastating—he had just a few weeks to live. The family wanted to be together one last time. So all the children gathered, some from distant locations. They had only 48 precious hours to spend together. The Gatrells carefully chose what mattered most to them—a family picture, a family dinner, and a session in the Salt Lake Temple. Venita said, “When we walked out of the temple doors, it was the last time we would ever be together in this life.”
But they left with the assurance that there is so much more for them than just this life. Because of sacred temple covenants, they have hope in God’s promises. They can be together forever.
The next two months were filled with blessings too numerous to recount. Arn and Venita’s faith and trust in the Lord were growing, as evidenced in Venita’s words: “I was carried. I learned that you can feel peace in the midst of turmoil. I knew the Lord was watching over us. If you trust in the Lord, truly you can overcome any of life’s challenges.”
One of their daughters added: “We watched our parents and saw their example. We saw their faith and how they handled it. I would never have asked for this trial, but I would never give it away. We were surrounded with God’s love.”
Of course, Arn’s passing was not the outcome the Gatrells had hoped for. But their crisis was not a crisis of faith. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not a checklist of things to do; rather, it lives in our hearts. The gospel “is not weight; it is wings.” It carries us. It carried the Gatrells. They felt peace in the midst of the storm. They held fast to each other and to temple covenants they had made and kept. They grew in their ability to trust in the Lord and were strengthened by their faith in Jesus Christ and in His atoning power.

We will make many choices throughout our lives. Today I'd like to talk about three choices that can help us find the joy Heavenly Father wants for each of us.

The first choice is, choose to share the gospel.

Sharing the gospel will bring a sweet spirit into our lives. When we testify of the truth, our testimonies are strengthened. Sometimes we get discouraged because every experience doesn't end with what we see as success. Every missionary experience may not be successful as we see it, but each one will be worthwhile. All the Lord expects is that we do our part.

We should remember that those we work with are precious sons and daughters of our Eternal Father and deserve respect and understanding. People should never be considered a project. We should never abandon someone because they don't respond or accept our invitation.

When we try to encourage someone to come back or learn about the gospel and they respond, "No, thanks," often they are really saying, "Just give me a little more time. Don't stop loving me. I'm not ready yet. Don't give up on me."

I visited a 16- and 17-year-old Sunday School class one Sunday morning. When the teacher came into the classroom, he wrote on the chalkboard, "The Plane Truth." P-L-A-N-E. I thought to myself, "I wonder where he went to school? I hope it wasn't BYU-Idaho." I soon learned what this meant. Two young people came to the front of the class and sat in two chairs and then began to role-play sharing the gospel to someone sitting next to them on an airplane. They did a great job.

It made me think of a story I'd recently heard of a lady who was sharing the gospel with the person sitting next to her on a flight. The person she was talking to became very interested in knowing more, and the member of the Church said, "Oh, I wish I had a Book of Mormon to give you. I usually have one with me when I travel, but I forgot this time." Just then, someone in the seat behind her reached over and handed her a Book of Mormon. I'm not sure if it was a good member who had overheard the conversation trying to do their part or someone trying to get rid of a book they had just received.

These experiences inspired me to want to share the gospel the next time I was on an airplane.

A few weeks later, I flew to area council meetings, and I got my chance. On the way home I committed myself to share the gospel with the person sitting next to me on the plane. If those kids could do it, so could I. On the first flight, I sat next to a young man who had no interest in hearing about the Church. All he wanted to talk about was all of his girlfriends, his pickup truck, and how much beer he could drink. I was so discouraged I wanted to jump out of the plane.

On the second flight, I waited anxiously to meet my next flight companion. He was from Germany. He spoke English pretty well, and I talked to him about the Church. He said that he had never heard of the Church and changed the subject but was still friendly and wanted to talk. I asked where he was staying and offered him a ride to his hotel when we arrived in Idaho Falls. I asked him why he was going to Idaho. He explained that he was going to ride horses and herd cattle at a nearby ranch. He said he had received information telling him that he needed a hat. I said, "That's a good idea. It's hot there. You'll get a sunburn without one". "How about cowboy boots?" he asked. I thought to myself, "Please don't do this to me. It's Saturday night, and I'm sure you're going to want me to help you buy boots on Sunday." So I told him, "If you buy new boots and wear them for five days straight, you'll probably never walk again the rest of your life. But I have a pair of boots in my closet at home that are a little too small for me. They are in good shape, and you can have them if you want." I asked, "What size do you wear?" He told me some European size, and I said, "Oh, I'm sure they'll fit."

When we arrived at the hotel, he said "Oh, what about the boots? When can I get the boots?" I said, "I have church tomorrow, so after church I'll..." Then I thought to myself, "You big chicken! If those kids can do it, why can't you?" So I said, "Or, if you'd like, you can go to church with me, and I can give you the boots then." He said, "Okay." I was a little shocked and pleased, but having been a missionary, I knew he might not be there when I went to pick him up.

The next morning, when I went into the hotel lobby to meet him, he wasn't there. As I went outside to leave, he came running around the building and said, "I was looking for you." I could hardly believe it! He got in the car, and we headed for church. When we arrived, I introduced him to a few members of my ward. Everyone that spoke one word of German, had ever seen a German movie, or even eaten sauerkraut surrounded him. He felt so welcome. I had copied off some Church materials and talks in German for him the night before, mostly stuff by President Uchtdorf. He really seemed to enjoy his time there. When we got in the car to go back to the hotel, he thanked me for inviting him to church and said, "I go to church almost every Sunday in Germany, but I have never felt what I felt today." I had come so close to not letting one of Heavenly Father's children feel His Spirit. And to think that I almost missed this wonderful opportunity to share the gospel.

Siabebe, a young Kuna Indian girl, sits beside her mother on the earthen floor of their palm-leaf hut. Like her mother, she takes a needle, thimble, and scissors and sets to work with brightly colored cloth. For many weeks now, Siabebe has clipped and tucked and stitched. She’s eager to finish her work, yet careful to make perfect stitches she and her mother can be proud of.
In one more week, Siabebe will attend an important celebration with her family and all the people of her village. She and her mother will wear the lovely mola blouses they are making. Siabebe’s is a tutu (flower) mola; her mother’s a yauk (sea turtle) mola.
Two special ceremonies are held for every girl who grows up in a Kuna village: when she officially leaves childhood behind and is declared an adult (usually around the age of twelve) and another time a couple of years later when she is presented as being ready for marriage. Then the village members celebrate with music, dancing, and storytelling. It is during these ceremonies that the finest molas are worn. And it is for Siabebe’s own coming-of-age party that she and her mother have worked so hard to make theirs the loveliest of molas.

Recently I went to an Alzheimer’s care facility in Salt Lake City to visit a long-time friend, Mayre Nielsen, who is 97 years of age. I was escorted by a young woman attendant to Mayre’s bedside. As I greeted her, she looked at me with glistening eyes but did not speak a word. I said to her, “Mayre, do you remember when we first met?” Still there was no answer. I continued, “It was long years ago, when you were a member of the Primary General Board and accompanied Sister Monson and me to an assignment in Sydney, Australia.”
Without uttering a sound, Mayre watched me carefully as I continued. “You will recall, Mayre, that you were to stay at the home of the stake Primary president, Sister Beryl Lord. You had learned, however, that Sister Lord was married to a nonmember who was indifferent toward the Church. For this reason, you were concerned about staying in Sister Lord’s home and asked if you could stay at a local hotel instead. I told you I felt we should wait until we met Sister Lord and her husband and then decide where you should stay. You asked how you should act, were you to stay in their home. I told you to act as a Latter-day Saint, to be yourself, to offer the blessing on the food and to offer your evening and morning prayers.
“Do you remember, Mayre, that when we arrived at the airport in Sydney, Australia, the stake Primary president, Sister Lord, welcomed you and said, ‘I hope you are going to stay at our home’?
“You looked at me pleadingly, Mayre, obviously hoping I would suggest you stay in a hotel. However, I was impressed to suggest otherwise and told you I thought you should stay at Sister Lord’s home and meet her husband and family. I asked Sister Lord where her husband was, and she pointed to the lobby of the airport and indicated that he was standing behind a pillar, out of view. We met Frank Lord, and then you departed with them to an unknown fate.”
I paused in my narrative. Mayre Nielsen still had not spoken to me, and yet her eyes remained fixed on me. I continued speaking. “Mayre, just over a year later,” I said, “I returned to the Sydney stake to divide it and create the Sydney South stake. Following the conference, a man I recognized approached me with tears in his eyes. He told me he was Frank Lord, husband of the stake Primary president, and that just a few months earlier he had entered the waters of baptism and had become a member of the Church. I asked him how he had gone from being one who was indifferent toward the Church to one who had become a member. Mayre, he told me that it was your example and your sweet spirit when you stayed in their home that had prompted him to commence his study of the gospel and to become a member of the Church. He asked if I would be sure to thank you for the profound influence for good you had on him.
“When I returned home from attending that conference, Mayre, I telephoned you and expressed to you Brother Frank Lord’s great gratitude that you had stayed in his home and had had such a powerful effect on his life. I recall that you, too, were most grateful for the inspiration which directed that you stay with the Lord family.”
I continued speaking: “Shortly after that, Brother Lord served as a counselor in his ward bishopric and then was called to the stake high council. Since there was no temple in Australia at that time, Brother and Sister Lord journeyed to the New Zealand Temple for their endowments and sealing. Over the years Brother Lord’s testimony has remained strong. He has filled many Church positions and continues active to this day.
“Mayre Nielsen, thank you for having the truth, living the truth, and sharing the truth.”

Let me mention an experience that fits directly into this subject. I had the opportunity of serving a full-time mission in Tonga almost 30 years ago. I had two wonderful mission presidents. When I arrived, the first one said, “I’ve got just the place for you. It’s a small island several hundred miles from here. It is nearly seven miles around with about 700 people on it. There are no white people there, and no one speaks English. I want you to go up there and not come back until you know the discussions and know how to speak Tongan.”

Well, I went; and to put it mildly, there were lots of problems. I had a wonderful native companion. Despite the problems—or more correctly, because of the problems—there was a lot of growth. At one time we came close to literally starving to death because of a hurricane and a wrecked boat. On another occasion we were subject to some serious physical threats and actual abuse. At one time we went a little over four months without mail. Things have changed now. But we learned to live with the challenges at hand. We kept moving. Even though there were only 700 people in a very limited area, even though I didn’t know the language, we kept moving, we kept doing something. Sometimes we made mistakes. (Although, whenever there was the possibility of our doing something seriously wrong, the Lord let us know in no uncertain terms that it was wrong and we did not do it. I assure you that if you are striving to do the right, the Lord will let you know if you are starting to do something wrong. So listen!) I am sure there was even more good we could have done, but at least we never stopped. We kept going. We did something; and that’s important.

The facts are that when I left that little island after 13 months I was alive and well. I knew the discussions. I knew the language. Many souls had been baptized. I had been present when many infants had been born and when several people had died. I held some in my arms as they passed away. I learned quite a lot about life; but most important, I came away knowing at least three things (and we can all come away from our life’s experiences knowing these things):

1. I knew that God lived and that he had all knowledge and all power and that he was literally the Father of our spirits. I knew that he loved each of us personally and individually and that he especially watches over his missionaries.

2. I knew that Jesus Christ was his Son, our Savior and Redeemer, a real person, a true friend, one who gave his life for us, one who loves us and one whom we can love in a way that defies human comprehension, one through whom we can look forward to a glorious resurrection of our bodies and a forgiveness of our sins and an eventual opportunity to stand in the presence of our Father in Heaven cleansed and pure. I plead with you to love him with all your hearts. You will be a better person and you will be on the path of knowing your mission and calling in life. And that’s the third point.

3. I knew that God had a mission for me and for all men and all women. I didn’t know exactly what it was in every detail, and that didn’t matter. I knew where to start. I knew I had to live more closely in tune with him. I knew I had to do better. I knew the path, and that was the important thing. I knew I could trust him. I knew our purpose here was to fulfill our mission. I knew that he would, in his own way and according to his timing, let me know what other things he would have me do to fulfill this mission so I could receive the joy that comes therefrom. I have not been disappointed and neither will you.

WESLEY: In 2012, I was skiing with a group of friends, and I went off a jump, and I came down 15 feet onto my neck. That completely changed my life. I broke my neck, rendering me a quadriplegic for the rest of my life. My father was there, and so I actually called out to him and told him I needed help, and he came and was able to give me a blessing right there on the mountain. And it comforted me. It comforted me for the rest of that day and even the rest of the time in this injury. I was told that I would be able to shrug my shoulders and only turn my head for the rest of my life, but I had a great surgeon, and he was able to fix my neck and then a few days later realize that I would be able to actually gain more back. And I was actually able to start moving my arms and get into a manual wheelchair. Another blessing I saw in this was that I was able to graduate a year early. About a year before, I had decided to graduate a year early and do all the work to do that. And from then on, I was able to focus more on my injury.

Each of us is headed down a ski slope called life. And at times, we’ll fall--either spiritually or physically--and we’ll have to turn to our Heavenly Father to get back up and turn to those people around us, and they’ll help us get back up. And just like I got back up on skis within a year, we can get back up and continue on with our life.

I’ve learned so much from this injury. I’ve learned how to see people better. I’ve learned how to come closer to our Heavenly Father and that He’s always there for us. No matter what happens in our life, He is there for us.

Faith in God is also a way to strengthen your family. Lindsey had just turned eight and received her copy of the Faith in God guidebook. Her parents reviewed the guidebook with her. Lindsey volunteered to give the lesson for family home evening. She chose one of the topics in her Faith in God guidebook. With the help of her family, Lindsey presented family home evening and also completed an activity.

Other families have also used Faith in God to help them with family home evening. One family chose a different article of faith to study and memorize each week. Another family let their children choose an activity from the guidebook when it was the child’s turn to give the lesson.

For a parent-child service project (see guidebook, p. 9), Michael’s family decided to make apple pies that each family member could take to someone. Michael asked if he could take his pie to a family who had been unfriendly. Although his mother was concerned, Michael persisted. Michael’s family delivered the pie. They discovered that the family was having hard times and that the unfriendliness was not directed at them. The two families became great friends because Michael wanted to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When you complete the requirements, you will receive the certificate at the back of the guidebook. Your Primary president and the bishop or branch president will sign it. But the greatest blessing is that you will have practiced doing the things that can help you live the gospel and be strong and courageous.

When you complete the requirements for Faith in God, you will also be better prepared to receive the Aaronic Priesthood or to become a righteous young woman. You will have established patterns for righteous living and will have had opportunities to live the gospel, serve others, and develop your talents. Best of all, you will have strengthened your testimony of Jesus Christ.

After many days and nights of uncertainty and worry, I was slowly falling into a bout of depression. Once again my life was in a huge upheaval. Much of the problem was the typical teenage syndrome: struggles with dear friends, worries about the future, and the stresses of daily activities. Folded into the mix was the fact of a family moving across the country.
Nothing seemed good in my life, and I felt like I had nobody to turn to, until one friend asked me if I had prayed about my adversity and asked the Lord for help. The thought immediately came to my mind: “Why haven’t I thought of that?” So I began praying to Heavenly Father about my challenges. Little did I know that the Lord was about to change my life and the lives of others in a most unexpected way.
One evening after a long practice for a school play, I was dropping off a couple of my peers in the neighborhood when I felt the prompting to ask one friend if he would like to come to a service project my stake was doing that night for Mutual. He had received the missionary lessons a few years before but had not chosen to join the Church. Immediately, I felt a slight embarrassment for asking him to a Church activity starting in only a few moments. To my complete surprise, he politely accepted the invitation, and after arranging for him to borrow some Church clothes, we were at the meeting with the other youth.
Known in my stake as the “Seminary Basket Project,” this popular activity consists of the youth’s visiting the lonely and elderly of the community during the holiday season. After visiting several homes, bringing them bags of fruit accompanied by a short message and hymn, my friend remarked on what a good time he had been having. Once again I felt awkward as I followed the prompting to invite him to the testimony meeting following the activity. He joked a little about people who cry when bearing testimony but agreed to go to the meeting to “check it out.”
At the meeting I again had a prompting, this time to bear my testimony. Unable to sit still, I walked up to the podium and expressed how grateful I was for the help of the gospel in my challenges. Sure enough, I became one of the “criers” my nonmember friend and I had been joking about just a few minutes before! The meeting continued, with a tremendous feeling of the Spirit obviously present. Many uplifting testimonies were borne, and there was something miraculous still to come.
A complete shock hit me as I watched my friend stand up, slip out of the pews and approach the stand! The feeling I had as I watched my friend bear his testimony and say, “I’m gonna be a Mormon,” is indescribable. The thought of the enormity and importance of what had just transpired stuck with me throughout the rest of the evening.
Because of the support and example of good friends and the prompting of the Lord, my friend had ended his long internal struggle with the idea of becoming a Latter-day Saint. It was a relief for those who had pretty much given up hope. What a joyous day it was when only a few short weeks later my friend informed me of his baptism date! There was hardly enough room for the supportive friends who attended his baptism, and almost no one was without a tear in his eye. The same Spirit was present for his confirmation during the next day’s fast and testimony meeting.
Many bore testimony about how my friend’s decision to change his own life had changed their lives. It was evident that not only had many pleading prayers for my friend been answered, but many others’ testimonies had been strengthened. God had brought about His great and eternal purposes by bringing one precious soul into His Church while also strengthening those involved. If we rely on the Lord, pray, and strive to be a righteous example, He will make us an instrument in His eternal plans, better our lives, and bring about great things.

When their fathers said the pond was frozen solid enough to skate on, the boys began clearing the snow to make a skating rink. On Saturday, they’d be able to play hockey.
By the time Jeremy arrived after his paper route, he expected to see the boys racing up the ice, maneuvering the puck, aiming at the net. But they were just standing around.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jeremy said, skating up to them.
“There’s a problem,” Bill said, “and your brother is part of it! I told those squirts to beat it, but they’re still here!’
Jeremy looked at his little brother, Ryan, and his friends. They were standing on the ice, looking scared. “What’s the problem?” Jeremy asked.
“They think they’re going to skate on the part we cleaned off!” Bill declared angrily.
Jeremy knew that getting mad wouldn’t solve anything. He tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “The pond’s big enough for all of us. We’re only practicing. We don’t have a a real arena. They can stay out of our way.”
“No way!” Bill snapped. “We cleaned it off, we use it!” He yelled at the younger boys again, ordering them to leave.
Jeremy could see a confrontation coming. He had seen Bill in action in the schoolyard too often. Most of the time even the older boys backed off, but pushing smaller boys around was too much.
The younger children shuffled around uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. “Skate up and down the edge, boys, and stay away from us, OK?” Jeremy suggested.
“No, they won’t!” Bill took a menacing step toward them, but Jeremy hurried between.
He tried to speak quietly. “I came here to skate, not fight. But if my brother and his friends have to go, then I’m going too.”
He whirled away to the bank, and his friends followed. “Way to go, Jeremy. Let Bill skate by himself,” they all agreed.
Ryan looked upset. “No, we’ll go. We’re just playing. You guys are practicing.”
“That’s not the point,” Jeremy said. “Bill can’t always push people around. Let’s leave him to cool off by himself.”
As they left, Jeremy had an idea. “Say, why don’t we clean off that corner of the pond? The younger boys can have a small rink of their own.” The others agreed and raced home for brooms and shovels. Soon the snow was cleared off the ice.
“How about a hockey school?” Jeremy asked. “We’ll teach you to shoot.”
“That would be great, but we don’t have sticks and pads,” Ryan said.
“That’s OK,” an older boy said. “There are some old sticks in our basement. We could shorten them.”
“My dad says they used to wrap magazines around their legs with rubber bands to make pads,” another said.
“Right! Let’s go, guys!”
After lunch they met at the pond. They fitted the young boys with makeshift pads, hand-me-down gloves, and cut-off sticks. Everybody laughed at the getups.
The younger boys soon learned how to change direction quickly on their skates and use their sticks to keep possession of the puck. Every once in a while, Jeremy glanced back at Bill skating aimlessly on the ice, watching the fun. Then, as Jeremy watched the boys skate, he heard a voice from behind.
“I was a jerk this morning.” Bill stood there, looking embarrassed. “I mean—I’m trying to say I’m sorry, guys. OK with you if I help too?”
The group gave each other questioning looks, then one by one they nodded their approval.
“You have to mean you’re sorry,” Jeremy said. “End of bullying. Period.”
“You’ve got it!” Bill declared. He skated back across the ice, then returned carrying a load of assorted hockey equipment. “I dug around in our attic while you guys were away, and found this stuff. You’re welcome to it.”
Pulling on proper pads and gloves, the small boys lost their fear of Bill and followed his coaching tips until the sun began to sink and the air grew chilly. But the unexpected friendship between the different age groups was warm enough to melt the ice under their skates.
As they parted, Jeremy called out, “Look out, National Hockey League—here’s your future competition!”
“I wish winter would last forever!” Ryan remarked as they said good-bye, and a chorus of voices chimed in, “Right on!”

Kim wanted to write that she and her father went to the library and discussed the books that they chose. She wanted to write that no matter how busy he was, her father always stopped to answer her questions, that he always kissed her good night and gave her a big hug.

Instead, Kim wrote the truth. She put down sentence after sentence about how lovingly her father cared for his crops, how his tenderness brought calves into the world, how often he had saved kittens from starvation. She told how he had grieved when disease took half the chickens and a hailstorm destroyed most of the oats. She didn’t write about how she hoped that someday she would know that he loved her too.

Kim and her father made a lovely couple the night of the Daddy-Daughter dinner. Kim wore her favorite orange dress with the lace trim, and her father looked ruggedly handsome in his brown suit.

During the dinner Kim’s father leaned toward her. “Pretty good supper. Not nearly as good as Mother makes, but pretty good.”

As they finished their orange sherbet, the Primary president stood to announce that Kim would now give a talk about her father. Kim’s heart fluttered as she spoke into the microphone.

When she had finished, the Primary president introduced Kim’s father and invited him to speak.

“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.

“Kim was born in the dead of winter, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to pull through. So you see, my little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”

Kim’s eyes were full of tears. She wondered why she had never heard about that night before. Running to her father, she hugged him long and hard. When he put his arms around her and hugged her back, Kim felt that her heart was about to burst with joy.

ELDER BENNETT: Because our goals shape our priorities, and our priorities determine our actions, and what we become, we must change our goals if they are not leading us to eternal life and to what we want to become. When I was 12, I had a goal to be a dentist in Hollywood. Twenty years later, Shelley and I were living in Hollywood, with an orthodontic office in Beverly Hills, California. Goal accomplished, right?
Well, we realized that our greatest desires, eternal life and exaltation, and our highest priorities—obeying our Heavenly Father and following Jesus Christ and His prophets—were at risk because of worldly values and all the material distractions that the world claimed would make us happy and fulfilled.
We realized that our greatest desires and highest priorities in eternity must also be our greatest desires and highest priorities now.Thus, Heavenly Father's plan for our family required us to move. We prayed for and were eventually blessed with another opportunity that was more ideal for our family.

Pink has always been my favorite color, so when I first saw the gift under the Christmas tree, I naturally assumed it was mine. The coat-size box was beautiful; silver glitter formed stars against the pink background and twinkled, reflecting the colored lights.
I rushed to the package, but my heart sank as I read the tag: “Merry Christmas, Jill.” My older sister always got everything I wanted—now the pink package, too.
In fact, Jill seemed to have every gift I wanted—from her innate ability to play the piano to her generous spirit. Jill’s talents gave me goosebumps, just like the pink package.
Many years before, after seeing my self-confidence deflate with every attempt at music, my mother had encouraged me to seek something in which I could excel. But even if I became the best rope-jumper in town, I still would not be able to give people goosebumps the way Jill could with her music. I couldn’t understand why Heavenly Father hadn’t given me any talents.
My discouragement worsened through high school as I unsuccessfully tried out for cheerleader, for tennis, for the school play, for dance club, and for class officer. Halfway through my sophomore year, I became so depressed I found it hard to concentrate in class or seminary.
Early one morning, as I stared aimlessly out the window at the ski team boarding a bus, my seminary teacher called on me. “Sister Mecham,” she said, “would you please read that scripture for us?”
“Where was it again?” I asked, trying to act as if I had been paying attention.
“Moroni 10:8–17.” [Moro. 10:8–17]
As the words fell from my mouth I envisioned Moroni sitting next to me telling me himself: “Deny not the gifts of God, for they are many; and they come from the same God. And there are different ways that these gifts are administered; but it is the same God who worketh all in all; and they are given by the manifestations of the Spirit of God unto men, to profit them. …
“And all these gifts come by the Spirit of Christ; and they come unto every man severally, according as he will.”
Suddenly I realized that Heavenly Father had given me gifts, both spiritual and temporal. I just hadn’t looked hard enough to find them. It seemed apparent that he had bestowed upon me the talents I needed the most and those with which I could ultimately do the most good. And best of all, I knew his gifts were given with love.
I rushed to school with a newfound determination—I would find the gifts Heavenly Father had given me.
That morning I picked up my school newspaper and realized writing for it was one extracurricular activity I had not yet tried. I stopped in at the newspaper office and signed up for my first assignment. I learned I had a knack for research, organization, and writing—traits that helped the next year when the adviser asked me to edit the same school paper.
Though Jill has, in my opinion, more visible talents, I feel just as blessed. Heavenly Father has given me the gifts I need the most. My writing ability has helped me through many situations where music couldn’t. And I should have known my mom wouldn’t let me down. She also seems to know my needs better than my wants.
Christmas morning finally arrived and I watched Jill open the beautiful, pink package. As she held her new coat I knew it was made for her.
Then my mother handed me a smaller gift marked “Merry Christmas, Annette.” Although its outward appearance was not as enticing as the pink package, its contents were chosen just for me. As I slipped the pink sweater over the top of my pajamas, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and felt goosebumps. It was my color and size, but more than that, I had learned the importance of gifts given with love.

We needed these testimonies to remain strong in the Church, for we faced many trials. My mother would not allow us to be baptized, but she did not stop us from going to church. We faithfully attended church and seminary. I also suffered persecution at school from people I thought were my friends. It was difficult, but these experiences strengthened my testimony.
After seven months a missionary challenged us to fast with him for the purpose of being baptized. When we ended the fast, the missionaries came to my house and spoke with my mother. To our great joy, she gave her permission for my brother and me to be baptized.
Trials make us strong.

Many times we have our own fears and anxieties that prevent us from properly relying upon the Spirit when we need it most to receive personal revelation. I was assigned to speak at this devotional well before Christmas, and I eagerly have been taking notes, looking up scriptures and quotations, writing different paragraphs and pages over the past several weeks, and praying earnestly for help. However, as the time drew nearer to complete the talk, all of my good intentions just weren't coming together. I didn't feel like I had the time or could even give myself permission to actually sit down and collect my thoughts: I've had worries about critical points in my children's lives, the health of extended family members, concerns about people near and dear to me who are struggling, and, it has seemed, a mountain of administrative work that I am still learning how to do. I think our administration will attest to that. On top of that, I think I gained five pounds this past month!

With all of this stress, I finally resolved to isolate myself and just read the scriptures to give me a little perspective. As I was trying to pull all of my thoughts together, I kept thinking about my need to hear the promptings of the Spirit. That struck me as a little bit funny because I’ve always thought of it as “heed” or “feel” the promptings of the Spirit. Then, I thought about Samuel, hearing the voice of the Lord as he served Eli, the prophet. So I decided to go totally “old school” on the scriptures. I shut my office door, put my phone on “do not disturb,” closed down my computer, pulled out my old missionary scriptures and started reading in 1 Samuel. After just a few minutes, I felt a calmness come over me as I read about Samuel lying down to sleep and then mistaking the Lord’s voice for Eli’s, three times. Verse 1 tells us that “... the word of the Lord was precious in those days; there was no open vision.” [5] So I wonder if Samuel hadn’t really been taught yet how to identify the Spirit, or, at least, that perhaps he couldn’t fathom that he was actually being addressed by the Lord. But each time, he quietly returned to his bed until he heard the Lord's voice again. It was not until Eli said to Samuel, "Go, lie down: and it shall be, if [the Lord] call thee, that thou shalt say, Speak, LORD; for thy servant heareth" that Samuel realized he had been hearing the voice of the Lord. [6] After listening to and obeying Eli’s words, when the Lord came again, Samuel was ready to hear His words and understand the magnitude of what the Lord had in store for him as the future prophet.

When I arrived home that evening, Jennifer told me that earlier in the day she had talked on the phone with our daughter, Sally, asking her what advice she would give to her dad to help him deal with all of his stress. Her reply, probably spoken near the same time that I was reading in my office, was “Tell dad just to be still.” When I heard that, I felt immediately that my erratic and dissonant previous weeks and days were starting to formulate around an idea, and that the stress I was experiencing was helping me see the relevance of the ideas that I wanted to talk about. In those two moments, being still and carefully listening opened up a space for me to receive answers to my prayers and relief from my anxieties about what to say. It really was as if a still, small, formerly unheard voice unified my discordant soul with a spirit of peace. It didn’t write my talk for me, but it considerably lightened my load as I was able to see the importance of what I had been trying to write about and how many of the ideas I’d struggled with could fall into place when I stood still and opened myself up to receiving inspiration and personal revelation.

Like the children of Israel standing still to see the salvation of the Lord, I had to make myself be still for a while to hear the voice of the Lord and come to an understanding of an idea that was always there. Like Samuel’s willing attentiveness to the Lord, our being still is a gesture towards our Savior and being open to His presence that can help us align ourselves with His plans for us.

You take these pumpkin seeds, Brose. Plant them and take good care of them. Who knows—when pumpkin pie time comes this fall, your pumpkins might be just what we need!”
It seemed to Brose that even her eyes smiled as Granny handed him the little bag of seeds. The seeds were his! Not Jeremy’s, not Willie’s, but his, his very own! He was pleased that Granny had given them to him instead of to his older brother.
Brose took care of the pumpkin patch, all right. In fact, he did it so well that it began to bother Pa. “Every time I need you, Brose,” he complained, “you’re in that pumpkin patch. Why, the weeds in the rest of the garden could grow as high as cornstalks, and you’d be out there lifting up pumpkin vines, trying to find another weed to pull. Well, at least I always know where to find you.”
This second year in the Salt Lake Valley was proving to be about like the rest of his nine years, Brose decided. Being in the middle, a boy could scarcely move either way. No one paid him the attention that they did Willie, who was only two and a half and who had hair the color of the brightest sunset over Great Salt Lake. Why, even strangers would stop Willie and ask his name. All they ever said to Brose was, “Is he your brother?”
When Willie did something wrong, no one made a big fuss because Willie was still so young. But when Brose did something that Pa didn’t like, Pa would say, “Brose, you’re big enough to know better!” And whenever it came to deciding which boy would get the best jobs—like riding the pony and herding the cows on the east bench—Pa would say, “Wait up a spell, Brose. You’d best help Ma with the wash and let Jeremy do the herding this year. You’re still a mite small for that job, and Ma can use a little more help than Trudy can give her.”
Brose didn’t give up, though. He wanted Pa to know that there were lots of the good jobs that didn’t have to be left for his older brother to do.
One day the three of them took Old Brownie and Belle and went up City Creek Canyon for a jag of firewood. As soon as they’d found a good place to stop and load up, Pa had Jeremy unhitch the team so that they could graze while the wagon was loaded.
“There,” said Pa, when the wagon was full. “That’ll do it for this trip. Hitch the horses back to the wagon, Jeremy, while Brose and I fasten the chain around the load to keep any logs from falling off.”
“Let me hook up the horses, Pa!” cried Brose. “I can do it, honest! I watched you and Jere do it every day, coming across the plains! Let me hook ‘em up, Pa!”
Pa hesitated, then said, “All right, Brose. Don’t forget to fasten the crosslines, so you can drive the team together without their trying to go off in all directions.”
“So you can drive them!” That’s what Pa said! Maybe, if I hook ‘em up just right, thought Brose, Pa’ll let me drive all the way home!
Brose didn’t have any trouble leading the horses into place. Brownie stepped right over the wagon tongue into her place while Belle stood quietly waiting on the other side. Then, just as Pa had cautioned, Brose fastened the crosslines, snapping the one from Belle’s harness onto the ring on Brownie’s bit, and the other onto the ring on Belle’s bridle.
Next he took the wide leather strap on the front of Brownie’s harness, slipped it through the big ring on the end of the yoke, and fastened the snap to the ring on the other side of the harness. “There! That was just the way Jeremy would have done it,” Brose murmured, pleased. He fastened the strap on Belle’s harness to the yoke the same way. Then he took the driving line from where Jeremy had hung it on Brownie’s hame and threw it ever so gently over Belle’s back, just the way Pa would have done it—quiet, easy, so as not to frighten the team.
When he walked around to put Belle’s line with the other, Brose heard a bird call. It was a new sound, something like a meadowlark’s, yet different. It was more like that little brown bird he used to hear back in Connecticut before the family had come west. Maybe it was! Maybe that very same little brown bird had followed him, Ambrose Dodd, all the way to the Valley!
Brose didn’t know how long he had listened to the bird before he saw Pa and Jeremy. They had walked a little way down the canyon and had stopped, waiting for him.
Brose was to bring the team and wagon! He was going to drive! He climbed up onto the seat, picked up both of the lines, and slapped them against Brownie’s side, just as Pa would have done.
“Giddap!” he cried, loud enough for Pa and Jeremy and the horses to hear. The horses stepped forward. But the wagon did not move. Only the yoke went with the team, the ring on it sliding off the end of the wagon tongue and the lines slipping through Brose’s hands.
Jeremy ran toward him just as the wagon tongue banged to the ground. “Brose!” he called. “Hey, Brose! You forgot the wagon! It won’t move unless you hitch the tugs!”
Brose couldn’t move. How could he have been so dumb! How could he possibly have forgotten about the tugs?
Jeremy reached out and took the lines and drove the team around in a little circle, putting the team right in place. Brose came out of his daze and scurried around to pick up the end of the tongue and slip it through the ring of the yoke, which was still fastened to the horses.
Jeremy was just hooking the last tug to the doubletree when Pa came. Brose watched Pa climb over the front wheel and take his place on the front of the load. Pa reached for the lines, and Jeremy handed them up to him. Pa took them without a word, and Brose knew that he had lost another chance.
There wasn’t much talking during chores that night. When supper was over, Brose sat on the little stool beside the fire, listening to the crackling and hissing of the pine knot and watching the sparks it sometimes sent up with the smoke.
Jeremy took Pa’s fiddle from its case, and music began to fill the little cabin, then float away on the night air. Brose leaned back against the warm cabin wall near the fireplace and listened. He wished—oh, how he wished!—that he could play like Jere. Pa had been fair about it, though. He had tried to teach both of them. Brose still remembered Pa’s words: “Seems as though you’ve got ten thumbs, Brose, and they all want to go in different directions.”
Pa had quit trying to teach him soon after that, and at the time Brose had been relieved. But now every time he listened to the fiddle singing under Jere’s fingers, Brose wished Pa hadn’t given up quite so quickly.
He’d much rather be standing there by Pa’s chair, playing the fiddle, with Ma and Trudy and Willie giving him all the smiles Jeremy was getting, than do the job he was supposed to be doing. He saw Ma looking at him from time to time, but she didn’t interrupt the music with talking, and after a bit Brose made himself get started.
He knew someone had to straighten out the kinks in the wool so that Ma and Trudy could knit it into socks for winter. Brose hated to card. Mostly women and girls did it, but Ma said that Trudy was as fast at knitting as she was, herself. With both of them knitting, they could have twice as many socks ready when winter came. They could, that is, if Brose would just keep ahead of them with the carding.
Brose had his problems with this job too. Sometimes he got the wool so tangled up that Ma said it was worse for knitting when he got through with it than before he started. But she had more patience than Pa. Or maybe she needed the wool carded more than Pa needed another boy to play the fiddle.
Across the firelight Brose saw both Ma and Trudy knitting, each tapping a foot in time to the music. The only time either of them stopped was if one of them happened to drop a stitch. Then the stitch-dropper would move closer to the fire so that she could see to pick it up. Brose sighed as he pulled the big basket of wool closer to him and reached for the cards.
He laid one card close to the fire so that the wire brush would warm. He picked up a handful of wool and drew it across the other card. Then he took the card he had warmed and pulled it carefully across the wool, trying to get the strands straight.
“Learned that fiddle quicker’n I did,” said Pa, as Jeremy stopped for a moment. “Never did see a boy pick it up as fast as that.”
Pa will never be that proud of me, thought Brose, even if I did the carding perfectly! Ma would be pleased, but Pa and Jere wouldn’t care about it at all. Maybe … just maybe someday I’ll do something that they’ll think is important …
“Brose!” He was startled from his daydream by Ma’s voice. “The wool, Brose! I can smell it! You’ve got it too close to the fire!”
(To be concluded.)

Like him, many of us must learn to retain our faith in God’s justice and live worthy for blessings that do not come immediately. I remember a fine young man in Solingen, Germany, whom my companion and I taught diligently, fasted for, and prayed about. His parents originally denied him permission to be baptized, and he later lost interest in the Church. But thirteen years later, after the break-up of his marriage, he found the Church again; and when a business interview took him to Chicago he came on to Salt Lake City, and I had the immense joy of baptizing him.

As the memory slowly faded from her mind, Kari returned to the reality of the swing and the broad oak tree that spread overhead. For some reason she thought of the first time she had sat there. Her brother Thomas had hung the swing for her before he left on his mission. Thomas called her his “shadow,” and they shared many secrets as they were growing up. He left her one last secret the day they said good-bye.
He was dressed up in his new brown suit, ready to leave for the MTC. He leaned over her as she sat on the swing. The smell of his cologne mixed pleasantly with the aroma of the freshly cut hay that lined the fence across the lane.
“Kari,” Thomas said, looking intently at her, “There is nothing like swinging to put life into perspective.”
He spoke with the new authority his voice seemed to hold since the mission call.
“Tom, there you go again, talking way over my head. My ‘Dear Abby’ is going on his mission and leaving me with only a swing to talk to.”
Thomas held his tears of good-bye back as he stopped the swing and took Kari’s hands in his. Kari was surprised that his hands had grown as large as Father’s. He pulled her off the swing and gave her a hug. Kari could feel the newness of the brown suit.
“Just remember, little Sis—the higher you swing, the farther you see. Things look different when you can get above them.”

One hot summer day, Reesey and Cheyenne invited Zara over to play. Mum made a snack. The girls sat at the table to eat.
Mum sliced mangoes from their mango tree. She put apple slices and grapes on a plate. Reesey looked at the delicious food. She remembered to say a prayer before eating her snack. She asked Zara, “Do you pray at your house?”
“What’s that?” Zara asked.
“Like this,” said Cheyenne. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She asked a blessing on the food. When she was done, she said, “See? Like that. Easy!”
“We don’t do that at our house. We just eat,” said Zara.
Reesey had never thought about not praying. “Mum,” she said, “do we have to say prayers?”
Mum smiled as she carried cups of ice water to the table. “We like thanking Heavenly Father for what He has given us. We’re going to keep saying prayers. But it’s OK if other people don’t.”
Reesey knew Mum was right. She was happy when her family prayed. Maybe praying would make Zara happy too. “You could try it,” she said to Zara.
Zara smiled. “Maybe I will,” she said and ate a slice of mango.
“I like it when we pray,” said Cheyenne.“It makes me feel happy inside.”
Reesey and Cheyenne were happy they could tell their friend about praying. They all finished their snacks and ran back outside to play.

Some time before I was called as a General Authority, I faced a personal economic challenge that persisted for several years. At times this challenge threatened the welfare of my family and me, and I thought we might be facing financial ruin. I prayed for some miraculous intervention to deliver us. Although I offered that prayer many times with great sincerity and earnest desire, the answer in the end was “No.” Finally I learned to pray as the Savior did: “Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). I sought the Lord’s help with each tiny step along the way to a final resolution.

There were times when I had exhausted all my resources, when I had nowhere or no one to turn to at that moment. More than once I fell down before my Heavenly Father, begging in tears for His help. And He did help. Sometimes it was nothing more than a sense of peace, a feeling of assurance that things would work out. I might not see how or what the path would be, but He gave me to know that, directly or indirectly, He would open a way. Circumstances might change, a new and helpful idea might come to mind, some unanticipated income or other resource might appear at just the right time. Somehow there was a resolution.

Though I suffered then, as I look back now, I am grateful that there was not a quick solution to my problem. The fact that I was forced to turn to God for help almost daily over an extended period of years taught me truly how to pray and get answers to prayer and taught me in a very practical way to have faith in God. I came to know my Savior and my Heavenly Father in a way and to a degree that might not have happened otherwise or that might have taken me much longer to achieve. I learned that daily bread is a precious commodity. I learned that manna today can be as real as the physical manna of biblical history. I learned to trust in the Lord with all my heart. I learned to walk with Him day by day.

Over a decade later, my mother’s best friend, Millee, had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My wife and I planned a trip to Colorado to find a location for my dental practice, and Millee encouraged us to visit Temple Square on our trip. My wife loved the idea, so we extended our trip to Salt Lake City.
When we arrived, we visited every building on Temple Square and spoke with the missionaries. We loved everything we learned and felt a peace we later would recognize as the Holy Spirit.
After the trip, we called Millee and told her we would be interested in joining the Church. She squealed with delight and invited us to chat with her and her husband, Bob. They helped us meet other members, which led us to attend an institute class and eventually meet with the missionaries.
We loved the teachings of the restored gospel and felt the Spirit. Bob baptized my wife and me, and he and Millee helped us prepare to enter the temple. One year later, they again showed their support by driving us almost 800 miles (1,290 km) to the Washington D.C. Temple to receive endowment and sealing ordinances.