Gospel Story Finder

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) dedicated the Manila Philippines Temple in September 1984. The beautiful six-spire building has an exterior of brilliant white ceramic tiles and is surrounded by majestic palm trees and colorful vegetation.
The temple’s open house was held shortly after two hurricanes ravaged the Philippines. Despite the storms, the events went on as planned. On September 3, 1984, a tour for dignitaries was held. On the following day, when the temple opened for public tours, “a beautiful heavenly spectacle was unfurled over the temple,” said Jovencio Ilagan, executive secretary of the temple committee during its construction. “The sun, in all its brilliance, was seen through a corona of varying colors. … At one point, the center spire with the statue of the Angel Moroni was seen at the center of the corona. Almost a hundred people at the temple grounds attest to it. Many were in tears.”1

Thirty years ago, while my wife and I were preparing for our civil marriage and our temple marriage, we received a call informing us that civil marriages were canceled due to a strike. We received the call three days before the scheduled ceremony. After several attempts at other offices and not finding available appointments, we began to feel distressed and doubtful that we really could get married as planned.

My fiancée and I “called,” pouring out our souls to God in prayer. Finally, someone told us about an office in a small town on the outskirts of the city where an acquaintance was the mayor. Without hesitation, we went to visit him and asked him if it would be possible to marry us. To our joy, he agreed. His secretary emphasized to us that we had to obtain a certificate in that city and deliver all the documents before noon the next day.

The next day, we moved to the small town and went to the police station to request the required document. To our surprise, the officer said that he would not give it to us because many young couples had been running away from their families to get married secretly in that town, which of course was not our case. Again, fear and sadness overtook us.

I remember how I silently called out to my Heavenly Father so as not to fall. I received a clear impression in my mind, repeatedly saying, “Temple recommend, temple recommend.” I immediately took out my temple recommend and handed it to the officer, to my fiancée’s bewilderment.

What a surprise we had when we heard the officer say, “Why didn’t you tell me that you are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? I know your church well.” He immediately began to prepare the document. We were even more surprised when the officer left the station without saying anything.

Fifty minutes passed, and he did not return. It was already 11:55 in the morning, and we had only until noon to deliver the papers. Suddenly he appeared with a beautiful puppy and told us it was a wedding gift and gave it to us along with the document.

We ran toward the mayor’s office with our document and our new dog. Then we saw an official vehicle coming toward us. I stopped in front of it. The vehicle stopped, and we saw the secretary inside. Seeing us, she said, “I’m sorry; I told you noon. I must go on another errand.”

I humbled myself in silence, calling with all my heart to my Heavenly Father, asking for help once again to “not fall.” Suddenly, the miracle happened. The secretary said to us, “What a beautiful dog you have. Where could I find one like that for my son?”

“It is for you,” we immediately replied.

The secretary looked at us with surprise and said, “OK, let’s go to the office and make the arrangements.”

Two days later, Carol and I were married civilly, as planned, and then we were sealed in the Lima Peru Temple.

Several years ago I wrote a story about my sister and submitted it to you. It was published in the April 1984 issue under the title “Lifeline.” It told of my little sister’s trials during the time she lived with my father (a Baptist minister) in southern Georgia. The story described the heartache she felt at being cut off from the Church she loves and the help she received when her home teachers listened to the promptings of the Spirit and came to visit her.
My sister (Jean Swilley) remained true to the gospel and passed through the refiner’s fire. She moved to Chicago in July of 1984 to live with my mother. Jean became active in her ward, and before long her bubbly spirit was charming the members in Illinois just as it once had in Mississippi. My Mom could not help but be influenced by the strength of Jean’s testimony, and she began her journey back into the fold of the Church. Both she and her new husband are now strong, active members of their ward. They are very happy even though they miss my sister very much.
Jean left Chicago last week to enter the MTC. Though she always insisted she had no desire to go on a mission, she obeyed her Father’s call and is now a very excited sister earnestly studying her discussions in Swedish. Though I am sure Jean will face many a refiner’s fire in Sweden, I know that she will come through them clinging to the lifeline her Father tossed to her many years ago. We thought you might like to know. Thanks again for printing Jean’s story.
Elizabeth (Swilley) SheridanIrmo, South Carolina

“I was only 12 years old when you and your companion taught me the gospel in Taranto, Italy. The year was 1975.” My mind raced as I tried to recall the writer. “You are probably asking yourself if you baptized me. No, you didn’t, because my mother and father refused permission.” The writer went on to explain how painful and embarrassing it was for him and his brother to stop the missionaries on the steps of their apartment building as we were going to ask his parents for permission to baptize him. He recounted how he kept coming to church for a while but eventually stopped because he could not be baptized. “But I kept the teachings in my heart and never betrayed the principles I was taught,” he wrote.
I served in the Italy Rome Mission from 1975 to 1977, and Taranto was my first city. But I could not recall the story that was unfolding in this e-mail. The writer explained that when he was 22 years old he was called into compulsory military service in northern Italy. There he suffered a spiritual crisis that caused him to pray for the first time as an adult. He received an answer to his prayers, and because of this, he sought out the missionaries in that area. He found them at a fast-food restaurant and told them he wanted to be baptized. “Nothing like that ever happened to me on my mission,” I thought. Those elders must have been shocked.
He was baptized and later married in the temple at Friedrichsdorf, Germany. He now had three children, had moved to Canada several years ago, and was an active member of the Church.

My family moved near Manti, Utah, in my sophomore year of high school. We lived at a place called Crystal Springs. By then, it was only a skeleton of more prosperous earlier years, when it had been a popular resort and, thereafter, a large dairy farm operated by my grandfather Giles and his family, including my folks.
We moved to Crystal Springs after my father had a heart attack and lost his job. We didn’t have much in those days, so it was necessary for my father to work as much as he could and for me to take employment as a plasterer’s helper to supplement the family income.
Although my parents were less active in the Church, my mother’s family, also living at Crystal Springs, fortunately were very active. They provided the critical support I needed to stay active in the Church at that time.
Of those high school days, I can remember many nights sitting on the edge of my bed, looking out at the Manti Utah Temple through my second-story bedroom window. I realized that, regardless of whether my folks had ever been there, the temple was a place I wanted to be able to go someday. The temple became a standard for me to measure everything else against.
It was during this time in my life that I began to feel the need to serve a mission. The promises made in D&C 31:5 began to play upon me: “Therefore, thrust in your sickle with all your soul, and your sins are forgiven you, and you shall be laden with sheaves upon your back. … Wherefore, your family shall live” (emphasis added). The two key promises in that verse became increasingly meaningful to me.
I made up my mind that I was going to serve a mission. I needed some method of showing the Lord that I truly did love Him in spite of my sometimes foolish youthful actions.
So, with the temple as a standard and a desire to serve a mission, I started to plan for a mission. Not long after that, my father had another heart attack and died. I was still in my first years at the university. With the death of my father, I suddenly realized that if I were to go on a mission, there would be no one to take care of my mother, grandmother, and two sisters.
I was torn between my sense of obligation toward my family and my obligation to Heavenly Father. I wasn’t even sure I could save enough money to get started on a mission, but I was determined that, if it were possible, I would go. I made a decision based totally on my faith in the Lord’s promise: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matt. 6:33).
Not long after, I received an offer to work at a very good job as an engineering aide in Oregon, in the western United States, which permitted me to save for a mission and send some money home. Still, it wasn’t easy. But as I pondered D&C 31:5 and Matthew 6:33, the Spirit said to me, “If you will seek first my kingdom (a mission), I will take care of your family.” I didn’t know how that would be possible, but I believed the Lord’s promises with all my heart.
When the time neared for me to leave, I still didn’t have all the money I would need to support myself, so I went to my bishop and explained my predicament. He said, “All the help you need you’ve got right at your fingertips.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
He told me to talk to my relatives, even to nonmembers and less-active members, to see if they would help me. “Go bear your testimony to them,” he said. “Tell them you want to serve the Lord, and ask for their help.”
I didn’t know how I was going to do that, but I did, and all those I asked said they would help a little. The high priests group in my ward helped me with the rest.
I was soon on my way to the Spanish-American Mission, based in San Antonio, Texas. After I got into the mission field, the things that took place, both there and at home, clearly confirmed that I had made the right decision. My family was being taken care of as well or better than if I had stayed home, and the joy of missionary service had changed my heart and the direction of my life.
My mission became the great turning point in my life. I could tell myself and my family at home that I knew I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do and that, although I didn’t know how everything was going to work out, I knew it would work out the best for all of us.
During the time I was in the mission field, my mother began to come back to church. And when my sweetheart and I married after my mission, my mother was able to be in the temple with us. Many of those who assisted in financing my mission also drew closer to the Church.

As my wife, Nuria, and I were taught the restored gospel of Jesus Christ in 1982 by missionaries, they asked me the following question: “Do you believe there are true prophets on Earth today?” I had never been asked that question before. As I started thinking of what I knew of true prophets, a scripture came to my mind. “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves” (Matthew 7:15).
I thought, if God warns me of false prophets, then that means that there must be true prophets. My response to the missionaries was, “Yes, there are true prophets on earth.” A warm feeling came to my heart when I said that, and I felt that it was true. The Holy Ghost was testifying in my heart that it was true. I just did not know it at the time. The smiling and loving faces of the missionaries also confirmed to me that it was the right answer. Then they asked an inspired question, “If there are true prophets on earth now, where are they?” I could not think of an answer, for I had never heard any living person call himself a prophet.
It was at that point that they taught us about Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel. In Matthew 7:16 we read, “Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?” Along with the Restoration, the elders spoke of the Book of Mormon, as a true fruit of the Restoration.
I’ve since come to know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God and a second witness, with the Holy Bible, of Jesus Christ. Nuria and I were subsequently baptized. We had fasted and prayed to confirm in our hearts that Joseph Smith indeed was a true prophet, that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s true Church on earth, and that His desire for Nuria and me was that we be baptized.
We continued attending Church and learning the gospel from study and by faith. We gradually grew in our conversion and in a stronger faith in Jesus Christ. I knew then, and I know now, of the truths of the divine role of our Savior Jesus Christ and of His true Church on earth.
Once we heard the words of our Savior Jesus Christ through His living prophets, we acted quickly and obeyed. The Holy Ghost then confirmed to us the truthfulness of those words and of our obedience. Our good choices have led to blessings and direction in life from Jesus Christ.

The limousine pulled to the curb in front of NBC in New York City, and a pretty brunette woman smiled at the driver and got out. It was 5:00 in the morning. It would be an hour yet before the sun finally edged around the skyscrapers to lighten the scene. But you have to be early if you’re starting a new job as a regular on the early-morning talk show, Today. And Dian Thomas was starting what she hoped would be a long stay on the show.
Dian was left on the curb surrounded by suitcases and bags of props that she would need for her demonstration on backyard cooking. She had a new pitchfork for roasting hot dogs and a foil-covered shovel for cooking hamburgers. She had a child’s wagon that would be adapted as a barbecue. She had cans and food and fuel that she would use to simulate a backyard party in the studio.
Dian’s claim to fame was authoring several best-selling books on outdoor cooking, but she hoped to expand her demonstrations to include interesting ideas for home entertaining and unusual foods. She presented a proposal for a series of segments to the producers of the NBC Today Show, and they wanted to see how she would do on the air before inviting her to join the show as a regular.
It took several trips, but she struggled with her load to the main elevator. She finally managed to carry her props to the dressing room assigned to her. As she carried the last of her things in, a flustered man rushed up to her. “You’re not supposed to carry all those things in by yourself. There’s a prop man for that.” Later, the prop man put a star on her dressing room door and told her, “See that. You’re the star. You don’t have to carry your things up by yourself.”
Dian arranged her first show, and it was time to tape her segment. She demonstrated to Tom Brokaw, the host of the show, how to fill the wagon with dirt and charcoal to serve as a barbecue. She showed him how to use an ironing board as an impromptu buffet table. She showed him how to keep drinks cold in a wheelbarrow filled with ice. As she finished, Tom asked her, “What if one of my guests stumbles and sits in the barbecue by mistake.” Thinking quickly, Dian quipped, “Then you would have rump roast!”
The studio personnel burst into laughter at her answer. The host smiled at her quick response. “It was that show that gave me the courage to talk to the host and producer about doing a regular segment,” said Dian in retrospect. Since then Dian has been seen by millions of television viewers several times a month for more than three years. She also represents major companies in product promotion at conventions and in the media. She is a popular speaker and lecturer. She is articulate, witty, attractive, well liked, and successful.

Later in my youth, my brother and I slept in an unheated bedroom in the winter. People thought that was good for you. Before falling into a warm bed, we knelt to say our prayers. There were expressions of simple gratitude. They concluded in the name of Jesus. The distinctive title of Christ was not used very much when we prayed in those days.

I recall jumping into my bed after I had said amen, pulling the covers up around my neck, and thinking of what I had just done in speaking to my Father in Heaven in the name of His Son. I did not have great knowledge of the gospel. But there was some kind of lingering peace and security in communing with the heavens in and through the Lord Jesus.

A hot, dry wind blew through Maggie’s open window, bringing in dust and the smell of sagebrush. Summer weekends were lonely—Maggie’s father was seeing to business outside Rush Valley, and her older brothers were away rounding up the cattle and hauling ore for the mines nearby. Only Mother and Aunt Laura were there to keep her company in the big adobe house. And since it was the Sabbath, Maggie couldn’t play outside with her colt or her new kittens or run around the yard looking for tiny wildflowers.
Even worse, Mother was sick. She had hardly eaten for days, and worry hung over the house. Maggie wanted more than anything to see Mother well and happy. “Maybe I’ll go see if she’s well enough to eat today,” Maggie thought. She tiptoed across the hall to Mother’s room and peeked inside.
“Mother, you’re awake!” Maggie said, relieved, as she approached Mother’s big bed. “What would you like to eat?”
“Well, dear,” Mother answered, “I don’t have much choice. I’ll have to settle for what we have on hand.”
The nearest store was 10 miles away. With the boys away and Mother sick, no one had gone for groceries in weeks, and there was nothing in the cellar but canned tomatoes. Maggie hesitated to remind her mother of this—she knew Mother found the idea of eating more tomatoes even less appetizing than she did herself.
“Don’t worry, Maggie. I know there’s nothing but tomatoes.” Mother smiled. “If I could have what I really want most, it would be some good, cold peaches fresh from the cellar. But I guess I’ll just imagine the tomatoes are peaches instead!” She laughed, which made Maggie feel better.
Maggie started heading for the cellar, but stopped to kneel and say a quick prayer before going downstairs.
“Heavenly Father,” she said. “I can’t stand to see Mother so sick and sad. I want to bring her peaches for dinner. Please help me find some. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Maggie stood up, her heart felt lighter. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer. She walked into the cool, dark cellar and lit a candle so she could see. Two identical cases of tomatoes were stacked one on top of the other. The top case was open. Maggie walked around the cellar with her candle, peering in the corners, but there were no peaches to be seen. Other than the tomatoes, the cellar was completely empty.
Maggie lifted up the heavy box of tomatoes and set it on the floor. She took a hammer from the table beside her and pried one board loose from the second case of tomatoes. Out came one can, which Maggie set down on the table. Then she lifted another can out from the bottom layer. That was the one! The picture label was of bright red tomatoes, but Maggie knew there was something else inside.
She ran as fast as she could back up to her mother’s room. “Mother!” she cried, “I’ve got your peaches!”
“Looks very much like tomatoes to me, Maggie,” Aunt Laura said.
“I don’t care what the label says,” Maggie insisted. “These are peaches.”
“Bless your heart,” Mother said kindly. “We’ll imagine they are peaches and eat them anyway.”
Maggie rushed to get the can opener from the kitchen, and ran back to the bedroom at top speed. As her mother jabbed the opener into the can, golden peach juice oozed out. Maggie dipped her finger in and tasted the sweet juice.
“Oh, Mother, the Lord heard my prayer!” Maggie exclaimed. “They are peaches!”
A few minutes later, Mother sat holding a big dish of beautiful orange peaches on a tray. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, my Maggie,” she whispered, “how did you do it?” Maggie told her about her prayer and how she knew exactly where to look.
“Well,” Aunt Laura said, “They just made a mistake when they labeled the cans. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”
Mother looked at Aunt Laura. “All my life I’ve never found peaches in tomato cans, and yet there they were for Maggie when she prayed. I know the Lord answered her prayers and guided her hand to that one can, so don’t try to tell me it was just a coincidence.”
She kissed Maggie on the cheek. “Go along now, dear. I think I’ll get some good rest today.”
Maggie walked back to her room and knelt beside the bed to thank Heavenly Father for His guidance. She knew that answers to prayer were real, and she would never forget it.

Five years later, looking back on the incomplete construction of the Nauvoo Temple, Joseph knew his journey’s end was near and that he was going “like a lamb to the slaughter,” yet he was “calm as a summer’s morning.” With assurances for his protection, he submitted to one more arrest. However, his trust was dishonored. On June 27, 1844, he and his brother Hyrum were savagely murdered in Carthage Jail.

The next morning, April 6, 1893, dawned bright but chilly. Over two thousand Saints with recommends for the first dedicatory session began lining up outside the temple gates hours before the meeting was scheduled to begin. … The weather grew colder and a stiff breeze began to blow. Soon, frigid rain fell and the breeze became a howling wind, blasting the Saints who huddled patiently in line. …
Yet those who stood outside the building saw a sign. … Lifting their eyes to heaven, they glimpsed a large flock of seagulls pirouetting in the sky, circling the temple spires in the midst of the storm.

When I was eight, I chose to be baptized. As I was immersed in the water, I felt a special happiness that came from the Spirit. Shortly after my baptism, my mother passed away. I felt sad, depressed, and frustrated. No child should have to know how it feels to lose their mother.
However, three years later we went to the temple and were sealed as a family. The special feeling of the Spirit came back that day, and I felt that my mother was there by my side in the temple. I have faith that I will see her again someday.

Let me conclude with an old Indian legend. Many years ago, Indian youths would go away in solitude to prepare for manhood. One such youth hiked into a beautiful valley. There he fasted, and on the third day he decided to test himself against the mountain. He put on his buffalo-hide shirt, threw his blanket over his shoulders, and set off to climb the peak.
When he reached the top, he could see forever, and his heart swelled with joy. Then he heard a rustle at his feet. Looking down, he saw a snake. Before he could move, the snake spoke: “I am about to die. It is too cold for me up here, and I am freezing. There is no food, and I am starving. Put me under your shirt and take me down to the valley.”
“Oh, no,” said the youth. “I know your kind. You are a rattlesnake. If I pick you up, you will bite me, and I will die.”
“Not so,” said the snake. “I will treat you differently. If you do this for me, you will be special. I will not harm you.”
The youth withstood for a while, but this was a very persuasive snake with beautiful markings. At last the youth tucked it under his shirt and carried it down to the valley. There he laid it gently on the grass. Suddenly, the snake coiled, rattled, and struck, biting him on the leg.
“But you promised—” cried the youth.
“You knew what I was when you picked me up,” said the snake as it slithered away. (From Iron Eyes Cody, “But You Promised,” Reader’s Digest, June 1989, p. 131.)

Each of us must pass through our own gethsemanes or ultimate trials. There is probably no greater gethsemane for saint or sinner that the death of one of our children. Just minutes after he learned of his ten-year-old daughter’s accidental death, a father I know wrote a letter to her. Note how this good man’s gethsemane became a sanctifying experience because of his knowledge of the gospel and the gift he had received of the Comforter. Contrast his reaction with what it might have been without the light of the gospel (I quote it with his permission):
“If you may be permitted to listen, these are some thoughts your dad would like to express in his and your mom’s hour of joy and sorrow.
“You have been an angel of light in our home. Even in your passing you have sanctified the experience by the sweet sorrow of this temporary parting. As I sit in this hotel room many miles from home and only moments after hearing of your passing, I have confidence that you are really home. It’s pleasing to know that you are not held back by the troublesome physical limitations you accepted and lived with in such an adorable, non-complaining way.
“Mom and I and your seven brothers and sisters are better because you came to our home. Soon after your birth, because you needed special medical care and attention, you helped us to accept fear and the unknown; to better love others with physical, emotional, or mental challenges; and to ask and plead with our Father, who today you know better than we do. As you grew older, we learned determination from you. You had every right to spill your milk but never did. You averaged 97 percent in spelling for an entire year and by strong determination struggled with mathematics. You sat with your mom and read every night without a complaint. Yes, we did our best to help you learn, but what we learned from you cannot be printed in books—cannot be written because it is almost too sacred to describe.
“We pray for all of us whom the Lord expects to stay here on the earth for yet a while. Our prayers are that we will be worthy to be reunited with you and to see you whole and perfect. Oh, how we would have love to have you stay! How we would love to hear you say, as you did, ‘I love you’! How we’d thrill to feel that clinging embrace! Oh, yes, especially today.”

History is filled with numerous examples of men and women who wore out their lives in service to others. One such person was Florence Nightingale, the founder of the modern nursing profession. Born in 1820 in Florence, Italy, where her well-to-do parents were temporarily residing, she grew to womanhood in England. A child of privilege, she could easily have spent her life in the mindless pursuit of pleasure. But she felt deeply that God had a mission for her to accomplish. She trained in Germany as a practical nurse and became the superintendent of nurses at a hospital in London. It was not an easy task. Nursing at that time was a profession with little prestige.
In 1854, when war broke out in the Crimea, Florence took a party of nurses to work in the military hospitals in Turkey. When she arrived she found that wounded men were being kept under appalling conditions of filth, degradation, and gross overcrowding.
Blessed with an iron will and unflinching courage, Florence fought the hostility of the medical establishment and the army bureaucracy to obtain supplies needed for proper nursing of desperately wounded soldiers. Prodigious efforts were made to clean the wards and bring to the injured some of the amenities of civilized life. The wounded began to receive nourishing, well-cooked food and the comfort of clean linen. Wounds were dressed regularly, and the men were bathed and given clean clothing.
Florence drove herself hard. She worked 18-hour days, making her rounds through the wards late at night, a lamp in her hand, giving comfort and solace to thousands. She became idolized by the soldiers, who called her “the Lady with the Lamp.” Her unstinting service paid off. In a few months the mortality rate among the wounded fell from more than 40 percent to just over 2 percent.
The justly honored position held by the nursing profession today throughout the world has resulted in no small measure from the example of Florence Nightingale’s extraordinary life of unstinting service. I believe she would have agreed with King Benjamin, who knew that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

Grandpa had a great desire to serve, and no matter what the job, he was dedicated to it. He served as stake clerk for many years. When the shaking of his hand became so severe that it became difficult to write, the stake president asked him if he would like to be released. Without hesitation and with a twinkle in his eye, Grandpa replied, “You know, President, it’s not writing I have a problem with. It’s fishing. Whenever I go fishing my hand gets to shaking so that I can’t tell if I’ve got a fish on the line or if it’s just me.” With that, Grandpa continued to serve in his position almost until his death.

For the family history experience, the two organizers, Liz Seymer and Asti Liang, borrowed some real-life family histories from stake members. They wrote the stories, leaving out some important details but leaving in clues to help uncover these facts. From the clues given them, the girls had to figure out where they needed to go for more information. Around the cultural hall were tables and resource people. One had census records. Another represented cemetery headstones. Others represented the Church’s Family History Library and computerized records. If the girls asked the right question of the person in charge of the table, they were rewarded with the correct answer. But if they didn’t know the correct question to ask, they didn’t get an answer, just as in real life. They had to retreat and do a little more figuring.
Mounted on easels to one side were the photographs of the families the girls were researching, as if they were just waiting to be found. Hilary Ekstron of the sixth ward said, “Our group had to go to five different places just to find out one thing. But it was really interesting.” It was surprising how quickly the girls became involved in their “mystery” family as they were introduced to certain types of records and how information is recorded.

After my wife, Anne, and I received a call to serve as full-time mission leaders, our family determined to learn each missionary’s name before arriving in the field. We obtained photos, created flash cards, and began studying faces and memorizing names.

Once we arrived, we held introductory conferences with the missionaries. As we mingled, I overheard our nine-year-old son:

“Nice to meet you, Sam!”

“Rachel, where are you from?”

“Wow, David, you’re tall!”

Alarmed, I went to our son and whispered, “Hey, let’s remember to refer to the missionaries as Elder or Sister.”

He gave me a puzzled look and said, “Dad, I thought we were supposed to memorize their names.” Our son did what he thought was right based on his understanding.

I didn’t feel like I was a good learner growing up. All my siblings were really smart. They got good grades. They took the hardest classes. I kept trying out for the hardest classes, but I was never accepted. Math was very hard. So I thought, “Well, I guess I’m not smart.” I didn’t think that could change.
Then one year I had a teacher who gave me the confidence I needed. My teacher saw more talent in me than I did. She said, “Clark, you can be a good student. You just need to believe in yourself.”
So I kept trying. I studied harder. I also worked to be more organized. I learned how to keep track of my homework. Turning off the TV helped me to focus on my schoolwork. Soon, I became a better student. And my confidence grew.
When I went on my mission, I saw that I didn’t have to learn on my own. I asked Heavenly Father for help. And I listened to the Holy Ghost. As I worked hard, I was able to teach and help people. When I came home from my mission, I went to college. I prayed for God’s help in every class. I became a better student and even started to love math!
I thought that being smart meant that you knew a lot and school was easy. That isn’t true. If you are willing to involve the Lord in your learning and work hard to improve, you are smart!
If things are hard right now, remember that you are a child of God. You have incredible potential. You can do hard things. Just keep practicing. Ask Heavenly Father for help. He wants you to succeed. You can do this!

Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”