Gospel Story Finder

At times the performance of duty, the response to a divine call, or the reaction to a spiritual prompting are not overwhelming. On occasion, however, the duty to respond is downright overpowering. I experienced such a situation prior to the general conference of April 1966. That’s 35 years ago, but I remember it vividly.
I had received my assignment to speak at one of the conference sessions and had prepared and committed to memory a message entitled “Meeting Your Goliath.” This was based on the account of the famous battle waged by David and Goliath of olden times.
Then I received a telephone call from President David O. McKay. The conversation went about like this: “Brother Monson, this is President McKay calling. How are you?”
I took a deep breath and answered, “Oh, I’m fine, President, and looking forward to conference.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Brother Monson. The Saturday morning session will be rebroadcast on Sunday as our Easter message to the world. I will be speaking to an Easter theme and would like you to join me and speak during that important session to that type of theme.”
“Of course, President. I will be happy to do so.”
That’s when the extent of this brief conversation really dawned on me. All of a sudden “Meeting Your Goliath” didn’t quite measure up to an Easter message. I knew I must begin to prepare all over again. There was so little time. Indeed, my “Goliath” stood before me.
That night I cleared the kitchen table and placed my typewriter on the tabletop along with a ream of bond paper, with a trusty wastepaper basket by my side to hold all the false starts that accompany such an assignment of preparation. I began at about 7:00 P.M. and had not written a satisfactory line by 1:00 A.M. The wastebasket was filled, but my mind certainly was not. What was I to do? The clock was running—indeed, it was racing. I paused to pray.
Soon thereafter there came to my mind the sadness of my neighbors Mark and Wilma Shumway in the recent loss of their youngest child. I thought to myself, Perhaps I could speak directly to them and peripherally to all others, for who hasn’t lost a dear one and had occasion to grieve? My fingers raced over the typewriter keyboard but could barely keep up with my thoughts.
As the first dim light of morning peered through our kitchen window, I had finished the message. The task remained to learn it and then deliver it to the world. Rarely have I struggled so hard to fill a prophetic assignment. However, Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. I shall never forget the experience.

In 1967, a friend of the Simonets in Nancy, Francine Babin, and her children, were baptized. Her husband, Jean-Albert, was baptized six months later. “When Francine read the Book of Mormon,” says Brother Babin, “it was as though the sun exploded inside of her. She is normally rather quiet, but after the missionaries taught her the gospel, she could not stop talking about it.”

Like the Simonet children, the five Babin children are examples of the strength that second-generation members bring to the Church. They are bringing up their children and serving as leaders in Paris, Versailles, and Mantes-la-Jolie.

When my wife and I were a young married couple, we tried repeatedly to establish a firm habit of reading the scriptures together every day as a family. When our oldest child was about seven years old, we finally made it a daily habit. Reading first thing in the morning, we continued faithfully from that time forward. Once the habit was established with the other children, the younger children were eager to participate as they became old enough. Often we had to read before 6:00 a.m. because of early-morning seminary.

Young married couples are in a position to start their own righteous family traditions—holding daily family scripture study, having family prayer, and preparing their children for missions and temple marriage.

Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, to Richard and Lena Sonntag, Elder Philip T. Sonntag grew up in Liberty Stake. “Of course, I don’t remember my coming into the world,” Elder Sonntag says, “but as other people have related it to me, the circumstances were quite remarkable. After my mother had had five children, she didn’t know whether it would be wise to have any more, so she petitioned the Lord for an answer. Later at Relief Society one day, the stake patriarch spoke. As he talked, he said that he was impressed that a sister there needed a blessing, adding that if that sister would come to him after the meeting, he would give her a blessing. The patriarch told my mother in the blessing that the Lord was pleased that she desired to have more children and that in doing so she would not feel the pains of childbirth nor suffer any difficulties. She had me and six more children and never suffered the usual pains of childbirth.
I had great parents. They instilled in us a love for the gospel. Mother was usually there to meet us whenever we came home. If part of the family had already had family prayer when some other family members returned, she would say, ‘Come, let’s have evening prayers,’ and we would pray together.
“My father was born in Germany. Later he came to America, met my mother, and joined the Church. Before the Great Depression, he ran several cafes. However, he lost them during the Depression, and there was just no other work available. As I look back on it, I don’t know how he managed as well as he did, but we never missed a meal.”
As each Sonntag child became old enough to get a job, he worked to help maintain the family. Elder Sonntag used to sell hot dogs and popcorn at ball games; he also worked at the growers’ market early in the mornings. “When any of us children brought home a dollar of earnings, Mother would have that child set aside a dime for tithing and a dime to keep or spend. The rest went toward family expenses.”
In Elder Sonntag’s ward a group of twelve boys his age played ball together and were good friends. They were also energetic and drove many Sunday School and Primary teachers away. Elder Sonntag relates that “the teachers all loved us, but they didn’t want to teach us. One, however, Sean Christensen, knew how to get through to us by teaching us a game that used our hands and kept us from hitting each other. Meanwhile, he would bear his testimony that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ.
“This teacher challenged us to go on missions. It meant a great deal to him to have ‘his boys’ be worthy to be missionaries, and Brother Christensen’s challenge greatly helped us to prepare.
“I had been taught to obey the Word of Wisdom, and I earnestly tried to obey it all my life. When I was married and a young bishop and the father of three children, my brother and I were involved in a serious car accident. I walked to get help for the other people in the accident, who were unconscious. By the time I got to the hospital myself, I’d lost a great deal of blood, and the doctors thought that I wouldn’t live. I asked the Lord to let me live to fulfill my responsibilities as husband, father, and bishop, and I heard a voice speaking, just as clearly as I might speak to you, say that because I had lived the Word of Wisdom all my life, I would ‘run and not be weary, and … walk and not faint’ [D&C 89:20] and that I would receive even more blessings. When my wife arrived at the hospital, someone suggested that she not go into my room because I looked so terrible. She asked, ‘Is he breathing?’ and went in anyway. She also received the same witness that I would live.”
Elder Sonntag wants the children of the Church to know that “it is a privilege to be a member of the Church and to live the commandments. The commandments are easy when you decide that you are going to keep them. The Word of Wisdom is not a hard thing—it is a blessing. It is within the power of each of you to determine what you want to be. There is no other you in the whole world. You are the only you; you are an individual. You alone can decide what you want to be and where you’re going to go. Choose the Lord’s way and live the gospel, for that will bring you the greatest happiness.”

My grandmother always used to say, “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
When I was really little, I didn’t know what that meant. When I got a little older, she explained it to me: If you don’t keep busy, you’re likely to get into some kind of trouble. Mischief she sometimes called it.
Last summer, right after I turned ten, I went to stay with her in Missouri for two weeks. She has a neat old farm, but when Grandpa died eight years ago, she sold almost all the animals and stopped farming the land. Now she rents most of the land to someone else, who grows corn on it. She does have a nice, big garden. She also has some chickens, one milking cow named Elizabeth, two dogs, three cats, and a giraffe. The giraffe is really just a plywood cutout painted to look like a giraffe that stands in the front yard. Mom says it was Grandpa’s idea of a joke, and Grandma hasn’t had the heart to take it down.
My dad says Grandma is the workingest woman in the world, and it’s true. She gets up early, goes to bed late, and never stops in between. The problem is, when I’m there, she expects the same of me—except for the going to bed late part, which is the part I would like best.
I don’t really mind work, and last summer I learned a lot about how to feed chickens, gather eggs, and pull weeds. But every time I’d stop to play, Grandma would say, “Come on, Kimberley, you know that idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” And then she’d hand me a rag to clean the windows or a broom to sweep the porch or some gloves to do more weeding. She must have said those words to me at least ten times a day the first week I was there.
You’d think that she’d want to sit out on her big front porch and watch the sun go down. She has a perfect view, and the sunsets in Missouri can be extra beautiful. But when I’d ask her about it, she’d always say, “I haven’t time for that.” Instead, she’d get busy tidying up the place and then maybe do some mending or baking. Sometimes it seemed as though she was just looking for something to do in order to stay busy. I used to wonder if she believed that she would get into mischief if she stopped. Surely Grandma wouldn’t get into mischief.
Then one evening after we’d eaten and washed the dishes, she handed me some white fabric in an embroidery hoop and some bright-colored embroidery thread. I was happy that at least I was going to get to do something that I liked.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, as I settled down to embroidering.
“I have mending,” she said, picking up her sewing basket and heading for her favorite chair.
Suddenly I had an idea. “Grandma, can we go out and do our sewing on the front porch? The sun will be going down soon, and the sky is so beautiful here.”
“Same sky as any place else,” she said, sounding almost crabby. “There’s not enough light out there, anyway.” She headed for her chair.
I almost gave up, but something inside told me not to, at least not yet. “Please, Grandma. We can come in when it gets too dark. And we could move your big lamp so that it shines through the front window, where your porch chair is. Please?”
For a minute I didn’t think she’d give in. Then, with a sad-sounding sigh, she nodded. “All right, but only till it gets too dark to see.”
There was a warm breeze blowing that evening, and the sky looked as if it was getting ready for a really colorful sunset, but Grandma didn’t seem to notice. I liked the way the wind blew my hair against my face and wondered how it felt to Grandma, but she was so busy with her sewing that she probably didn’t even feel the little gray wisps of her own hair tickling her face.
I embroidered for a while, but then the sky started to turn all pink and purple with gold streaks shooting through it, and I set my sewing in my lap and just watched it. At last the sun seemed to perch, like a bright pink ball, right on the edge of the world. When I couldn’t keep my happiness to myself any longer, I said, “Grandma, look!”
She looked up from her mending as if she didn’t really plan to look at all. But then she stopped, and for a second her face seemed frozen in surprise as she stared at the purpling sky.
The whole world seemed frozen just then. I didn’t even breathe. I knew something very important was happening.
At last Grandma whispered, almost to herself, “I’d forgotten it could be so.” Her hands seemed to settle in her lap, and she relaxed back into her chair, never taking her eyes off the sky.
When the ball of sun had finally disappeared, leaving only color, Grandma didn’t say a word about going in, even though it was then too dark to sew. I didn’t want to go in, but since she’d kept her part of the bargain by coming out, I thought I should keep my part.
“Don’t you want to go in now—to finish our work?” I asked.
“The work can wait.” Grandma’s words surprised me. I’d never heard her say such a thing.
“But Grandma, you always say—”
“I know—‘Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.’ But here’s another saying, one my mother used to favor: ‘Take time to smell the flowers.’ I’ve forgotten to do that. Or maybe I’ve just made myself forget. Keeping busy all the time is a wonderful way to forget all kinds of things.”
“Forget what?” I asked. Then I noticed tears glistening on her cheeks. “Grandma, what’s the matter?” I hadn’t meant to make her cry.
She smiled. “Kimberley, believe it or not, there was a time when your grandpa and I used to sit out here every night and watch the sun go down. We took long walks in the mornings. We even used to play checkers. Oh, not that we weren’t busy, but we found time. We made time.”
I was starting to get the idea. “But after Grandpa died, …”
She nodded. “I guess I was afraid to face the sunsets alone. So I stopped looking, stopped taking time to think and remember, because I was afraid it would hurt too much.” She paused a moment, then looked at me. “But thanks to you, my little chick, I found out something tonight.”
“What, Grandma?”
“That it doesn’t hurt nearly as much to look at the sunset as it has hurt trying not to see it all these years. I felt closer to your Grandpa just now than I have since the day he died.”
Then she asked me to come sit on her lap, and even though I’m a little big for that now, I still did it. She put her arms around me, and we sat there for the longest time, just watching it get dark.

Mom brushed my hair gently and tied a ribbon in it before she caught my gaze in the mirror. “You look awfully grumpy this morning,” she said cheerily to my reflection.
“That’s because I am grumpy,” I replied, scrunching up my face so my lower lip stuck out in a frown.
Mom turned me around and knelt in front of me, looking me in the eye. “You will make friends in this ward. Don’t worry!”
“But, Mom, I liked our old ward! I liked my old friends! Why did we have to move, anyway?” I felt tears sting my eyes.
“Because of Daddy’s job!” a voice piped in helpfully.
My younger sister Alison peeked into the bathroom from the hallway. She smiled her biggest smile—a smile so big that it showed the gaps where her two front teeth were missing and made her eyes disappear into little half-moons. I scowled at her.
“That’s right,” Mom said to her. Alison beamed.
“But I don’t have any friends here,” I said to Mom, ignoring my sister.
“You’ve still got me!” Alison grinned at me from the doorway.
“Great.” I rolled my eyes.
Alison frowned for a few seconds and then said, “We’re best friends!” She ran off laughing before I could shout back at her that we were not best friends.
Later that day I looked glumly at all the people in sacrament meeting. I didn’t know one person in this new ward! My family had been here for only a few days. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I silently prayed, “help me make one new friend today.”
I was nervous when sacrament meeting ended and my parents took Alison and me to our Primary classes. During class, I sat alone and didn’t say anything.
When my class walked down the hall to the Primary room for sharing time, I clutched my scriptures tightly. I still felt nervous. I stopped at the drinking fountain to get a drink of water, then went into the Primary room. It was bright and cheery and full of children. As the pianist played a song I had learned in my old ward, I felt a little better.
But as I looked around, I realized that I couldn’t find the other children in my class. I didn’t know where they had gone, and I didn’t have anyone to sit by. I glanced around the room again, biting my lower lip nervously.
Then, from the corner of the room, a little girl started grinning and waving her hands at me. She pointed to a seat next to her. I smiled back at her as I walked to the empty seat. She smiled her biggest smile—a smile so big that it showed the gaps where her two front teeth were missing and made her eyes disappear into little half-moons.
That little girl rescued me. She was the friend Heavenly Father had sent for me.
I decided that sisters were best friends.

We are fortunate to have received the gift of the Messiah in our lives, His example, courage, firmness, and perseverance transform us into the people we should become, however there are women who have found Jesus Christ in an extraordinary way and have felt His love and protection. One of these women is Ramona Rosario, who was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1981 in the municipality of Constanza, Dominican Republic, one of the most beautiful places in the Caribbean.
She tells us that when she was only eighteen years old, she lived through one of the most desperate times where she had a clear sense of the meaning of life. This experience would affirm her testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ and help her to listen with humility to the missionaries when they taught her some months later.
Because of a great drought, the Dominican Republic experienced very difficult times of water shortages, forcing a majority of the population to move to rivers and canals to obtain supplies of this precious liquid. Ramona Rosario was one of those people affected by the shortages.
She tells us that while walking on one of the many days that she was forced to carry cans and gallons on her shoulders on the banks of the Yaqué del Norte River, she had to be careful where she walked because they had extracted sand with heavy equipment creating holes that later disappeared in the murky waters of the river. This made it impossible to detect the dangerous holes that constantly threatened the needy people in the environment, both adults and children.
Even though she never thought she would be one of the victims of these fearsome holes, one Wednesday morning in November 1981, she fell into one of the holes that made whirlpool movements, and she could not get out. She began to feel a terror that threatened to rip out her life. She remembers that in that moment of agony, she prayed and cried out to the Lord Jesus Christ with all the energy she had left, asking him for an opportunity, and begging for His help while the water choked her more and more.
With the little strength she had left, she continued to strive against the muddy walls of the hole; her tears were mixed with the brown water until, in a last attempt, a friend who was desperately looking for her stood next to the hole. She was able to hold onto her friend’s foot, which made her friend slip and fall, causing her to shout for someone to come to help and pull her out of the hole “of the evil one,” as she described it.
It has been more than 30 years since this experience. Ramona expresses and testifies that the hand of the Lord preserved her life. Two of her children served missions in South America, baptizing dozens of people in Chile and Nicaragua who are members and leaders in the Church today. Truly when we cry out with all our hearts to the Lord, He answers our prayers.
Ramona expresses: “We do not have to wait for a desperate moment to pray to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, but every occasion is an opportunity to pray to the Lord for strength and for gratitude for all the blessings we receive.”

Sadly, as my baptism date drew closer, I lost confidence in my answer. I got into the things of the world and became fearful that my choice to be baptized wouldn’t be accepted by loved ones.

Little by little, mistakes and decisions made me deaf to the whisperings of the Spirit. My scriptures ended up in the deepest part of my trunk and I even stopped praying.

My life was not turning out—too many tears and disappointments. It was hard to understand why my family had to undergo so many trials. Right before my last year of high school, my parents had to leave Poland. The prospect of relocating again caused me anguish. Finally, I again knelt in prayer, truly meaning my words: “Heavenly Father, Thy will be done, not mine.”

That prayer marked the beginning of my return to the Church, which I knew would require repentance. That Sunday, for the first time in nearly a year, I attended sacrament meeting. The next day I again decided to be baptized.

The Lord helped me through my difficult process of returning to what I had once known to be true. I now define those difficult circumstances as some of the sweetest blessings from God. He did not forget me. He listened to my prayers and waited for me to recognize His answer. He helped me through all the suffering I endured, strengthening and protecting me. In the process I gained greater clarity on the meaning of Christ’s divine mission and His Atonement.

I was baptized in April 2011. My plane has taken off since—I now reside in France, which means more changes. However, I am now grateful to Him for my life and for the circumstances that He had me live through. Because of my testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I now understand that I am not alone, no matter what destinations life brings next. I don’t know if my plane will take off again. The only thing I do know is that my new destination is that straight path that leads to life eternal with Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.

A few days ago, I went to a local supermarket, quite late at night. I had had a long day. Working with clients and then studying, my day didn’t finish until 10 p.m. I decided to just run in and grab a few items.
The night was cold, and I was glad to finish and load my shopping in my car. As I did so, a woman approached me and asked me for some help. I imagined that she wanted a coin for a trolley or something like that. She looked a little dishevelled. She began a long explanation about not having any money, and that she and her partner had hoped to purchase £5 worth of petrol for their car, because this particular petrol station made a charge on cards 24 hours later and they didn’t have any money until the following day, only to find that the petrol station was closed. Now they would have to travel further to buy what they needed, with no funds available.
I explained that unfortunately, I didn’t have any cash or my cards with me. I only had my phone. I was aware that the night was dark and cold, and I knew I wanted to help, but felt I couldn’t. She then asked me if I would transfer some money into her bank, using my phone. I admit, I did not want to do that! Now I was having to really ask myself what kind of human being I was. I had to balance my wish to just go home, to let myself off the hook, with my desire to be helpful. I could reassure myself that my intention was to be kind, but honestly, transfer money into a stranger’s bank account? What if this was a scam? What if I was being tricked?
Then she asked me if I would call her partner, to allow him to give me his bank details (he was in the supermarket, trying to find a solution.) Everything in me wanted to say no, and yet another part of me said, “it’s cold and dark, you can’t just leave them here.” I wanted my faith to be convenient! In my version of this story, I would give her £5 that I happened to have in my purse (that I had not left at home), and then get on and feel good about myself. I wanted her to accept that I didn’t have any ready cash and go away. I didn’t want to stand about getting cold and feeling anxious and worry about whether I was doing a good thing or being taken advantage of.
Yet through it all, I kept thinking, “it’s cold and dark.” I had to let myself know about the times when I have been cold, in the dark, with no one to help. None of this was easy, or quick, or convenient.
So, I transferred the money and wished them well.

Lyle started building robots. At first, nothing seemed to work right because, as he later found out, he didn’t know enough. Then he needed to learn how to build things carefully. Finally, he built a robot that worked. His goal was now to make it to the international science fair. But he lost. He took third in the state competition.

“I was extremely disappointed. I stood back and said, ‘Why, what happened? There’s a reason I only took third. There is a reason that this other project beat mine.’ I looked at it for a while. I decided I could keep better records. I could have a better paper. There should be no doubt in the judges’ minds that I built this. I needed to know everything about it. I’ve got to have a better presentation.” By the time Lyle finished analyzing why he lost, he was ready to go to work again.

I really enjoyed the article “Michaela and the Marshmallows” (May 2009). I had a big argument with one of my closest friends, and I felt alone for weeks. When I sat down and read the article and this sentence: “Remember that no matter what you are going through, there will always be someone there for you,” my whole mind cleared up. Maybe nothing would change, but I knew things would get better.
Katherine S., Utah

The next Sunday, i was contacted by some missionaries who asked me if they could visit me at home during the week. I agreed and set an appointment with them. I requested that they bring a copy of the Book of Mormon to me when they came to my house. The missionaries arrived and told me amongst other things “Brother Nimako, do you know that God loves you? The gospel we teach can bless you and your family.” I enjoyed their visit and scheduled another appointment.

I read my copy of the Book of Mormon and prayed. I pondered on the message the missionaries shared and what I was reading in the book of Mormon. I had a good feeling as I did this. I couldn’t wait to be baptised!

My heart sank to the very bottom of my shoes. The words didn’t register at first, with my head pounding so hard. “What was that?” I stammered, all the while looking for an explanation.
“I said, did you cheat, Robbie?” The question came from one of my best friends, Darla. We’d grown up together and were now in our junior year of high school. Over the years we’d always talked about everything, but at this moment she was the last person in the world I wanted to talk to.
The day had started harmlessly enough. I got up, got dressed, went to school—all the usual things. Eventually it was time for French class to start. I’d forgotten it was a test day. I groaned inwardly as our teacher passed around the exams.
“Now class,” she said, “I have some things to do, but I expect you all to be finished when I get back.” With that, she left the classroom. Everyone in the class was silent as we struggled to pull knowledge from the dark recesses of our brains. It wasn’t working for me.
After some time, two friends sitting next to me glanced up from their papers and looked around. Josh and Justin, two guys I had always admired and wanted approval from, started comparing answers. They whispered back and forth, silently chuckling as they went through the questions.
Then it happened. Justin turned to me and asked, “What did you get for number six?” Almost without thinking, I started sharing my answers with them. An empty, guilty feeling lined my stomach, but I ignored it. I laughed along with them, pretending to be happy I had outsmarted the teacher and was going to get a good grade without studying.
After some time the teacher came back and collected the tests. She gave us some busy work and left the classroom again. Everyone started talking about the test they had just endured. Most of the class members weren’t very happy with how they had done, but Justin and Josh wore big smiles.
“I think we did just fine, didn’t we guys?” Josh said smugly. Justin laughed and nodded in agreement.
“What do you mean?” one of the other students asked.
“Oh, just that Justin, Rob, and I here pooled our resources. That test was a breeze with three doing it together!” The others didn’t say much but gave us dark looks and went back to their work. That is, all but one went back to it.
There I was, Darla in front of me, her question aimed right at my heart. What could I tell her? I had cheated on a lousy French exam just to please my friends. I could see the look on her face, as if she didn’t want to believe the possible answer. I respected Darla more than almost anyone. She wasn’t a member of the Church but was active in her church and had strong values. She knew I was a member of the Church and respected that. We agreed on a lot of issues and found strength in each other’s desire to do good. Usually.
“Yeah,” was all I could say, lamely.
“Oh, Robbie,” was all she said as she turned back to her work. I can’t describe how much the disappointment in her voice and on her face hurt me. I had compromised my standards just to fit in with a couple of guys and ended up disappointing someone I really admired. Guilt washed over me. I kept thinking I had hurt the image of the Church in her eyes. I apologized to her for what I’d done and talked to the teacher afterwards. She wasn’t pleased either, but we worked things out.
I’ll never forget that day. I now know it isn’t worth compromising your values just to please other people. Since then I’ve tried to be honest and am much happier with myself. Thankfully, I can say I haven’t repeated that mistake again. I’ve felt the difference in doing what’s popular and in doing what’s right, and I know what makes me happy.

Montreal—On the Montreal Star daily newspaper works a young Latter-day Saint, Margaret J. Ellis. Here is her report about what it was like to be in the middle of the recent Canadian crisis:
“As I stood conducting the music for sacrament service, I couldn’t help but notice the somber faces before me. Only a few hours before had come the news that Quebec Labor and Immigration Minister Pierre Laporte had been killed by terrorists. All of Canada was shocked.
After the meeting, everyone stood around and talked. Even now we keep talking about it. Said one youth: ‘I’m surprised this happened in Quebec. I didn’t think the FLQ (Front de Liberation du Quebec) was serious about things.’ It typified the thoughts of many others.
“‘The Quebec situation reminds me of the tower of Babel—it seems that the French and English can no longer communicate in love and brotherhood. So many think they must use violence,’ said one.
“Said another young adult: ‘I didn’t relate to it because it seemed remote. But then I realized that sick people were behind it, and I tried to imagine how I’d feel if I didn’t have the gospel. We Latter-day Saints stick together because of the gospel, but many others here seemed really tossed to and fro.’ Said another: ‘My two brothers were out until 2:00 A.M. the night of Mr. Laporte’s murder. I’ve never been so concerned for their safety or loved them so much.’
“Many of the Saints turned to speaking about the last days and about the sorrow and trouble and fear that will precede Christ’s second coming. We talked about how it seems to be Satan’s plan to frighten mankind. We talked of the importance of listening to the prophet’s voice and communicating with our Heavenly Father through fasting and prayer so we will know what is best for each of us when troubled times come. As we talked of prophecies, we agreed that, in general, conditions on earth apparently will worsen, but that each of us can be prepared.
“Later I joined the thousands of people who thronged to the stone courthouse in Old Montreal to pay their last respects to Pierre Laporte. I never put enough warm clothes on, I thought for an instant while waiting in the endless line. One hour, two, three. My feet were numb. I could hardly walk. There was still no visible sign of anyone going in.
“I now had time to ponder the events, which had not hit me with complete impact until I stepped out onto a dreary, barren street, lined with dingy warehouses, to hear the tolling bell. There were people from all walks of life—businessmen in suits and mustaches, hippies in long hair and jeans, fashion-conscious models, old ladies moving slower than the rest.
“‘I would have brought a friend along, but everyone I asked was afraid to come,’ one woman said.
“Soldiers paced the pavement, their heels clicking into the awesome silence. French and English mingled together. ‘Pardon, Madame. Avez-vous l’heure?’ ‘Yes, it’s almost 10:30.’
“There’s something humbling about a vast crowd, something that reaffirms the fact that you are one of many and must take your turn.
“As we shuffled on, I noticed that as the multitude thinned and dispersed, a chill went up my back. A cold, biting breeze hit me. Standing alone it seemed a cold world—people were warmed only by getting together. I thought, What can I do to help? How can I best serve a nation?
“To me, service is the act of supporting that in which you believe. I used to feel that because I was not a born leader with a responsible position, I could not serve mankind. But I realized that night on the street in Montreal that most of us must follow, but we can be responsible for choosing what we will support. Montreal still stands. But all Canadians have learned something about supporting one another—and choosing carefully the causes they support.”

First, let’s focus on the comforting power of the Holy Ghost. When I was just a young girl, I became seriously ill. Each day the illness became increasingly severe. Nothing the doctor recommended helped. At that time the dreaded disease of polio was raging in almost epidemic proportions in the land. It was taking the lives of many, and those who didn’t die were often left crippled. Polio was everyone’s worst fear in those days.

One night my illness became critical, and my father and grandfather administered to me using consecrated oil, and through the power of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, which they held worthily, they called upon God for healing, help, guidance, and comfort. And then my parents took me to a doctor in another town who immediately sent us to Salt Lake City—two and one-half hours away—with the admonition to hurry. I overheard the doctor whisper that he was certain it was polio.

When we finally arrived at the hospital in Salt Lake, there were medical personnel waiting for us. They grabbed me from my parents’ arms and whisked me away. Without a word of good-bye or explanation, we were separated. I was all alone, and I thought I was going to die.

Following the painful diagnostic procedures, including a spinal tap, they took me to a hospital isolation room, where I would stay all by myself with the hope that I would not infect anyone else, for indeed I did have polio.

I remember how very frightened I was. It was dark and I was so sick and so alone. But my parents had taught me to pray. I got on my knees, and I knelt beside the railing in the criblike bed and asked Heavenly Father to bless me. I was crying, I remember. Heavenly Father heard my prayer even though I was only a child. He did. Heavenly Father sent His comforting power, which enveloped me in quiet love. I felt the power of the Holy Ghost, and I was not alone.

There are some family crises that can become laughable lessons. My aunt and uncle, both fond of practical jokes played on themselves and others, lived on a ranch without running water. One cold, rainy evening, my uncle came in drenched to see his wife sitting comfortably by the fireplace. She said, “Dear, since you’re already wet and cold, will you bring in a bucket of water?” He went out and returned with the water, dumped it on her, and said “Now you’re wet and cold. Could you go get the water?” They laughed as they retold the story, and the incident became a family joke. So now when we really shouldn’t ask a favor, or when we realize we are imposing, we start the request with, “Since you’re already wet and cold … ,” and the job usually gets done with a smile.

Sunday mornings are the best because they mean cinnamon French toast! My mom lets me stir the batter and put the French toast on the skillet. It is the one breakfast that makes me really happy.
One Sunday, I realized how quiet the kitchen sounded. I couldn’t smell the cinnamon in the air that fills the house on other Sundays. That’s when I saw it: the horrible pink note on the fridge. It said, “Fast Sunday.”
My mom came out to remind us that it was fast Sunday. I was really sad. I still wanted French toast!
My mom sat me down on the couch and hugged me. She told me that fasting helps our relationship with God and brings us closer to Jesus Christ. I also learned that fasting is a way to strengthen our prayers. It’s like giving our prayers a power-up.
I had no idea that fasting was so special. I suddenly felt excited again. But this time it wasn’t about French toast. It was about fasting! I thanked my mom and ran straight back to my room. I sat and thought about who I wanted to fast for that day. I had to make it count because this was not just any prayer. It was a power-up prayer, a prayer with a boost because I was fasting.
I knelt and started my fast. After I was done with my prayer, I felt so good, and I wasn’t hungry anymore. I hugged my mom, then said thank you for teaching me about fasting. The rest of the day I felt peace. When the day was over, I ended my fast with a prayer. Food never tasted so good!

Christmas was just two weeks away. We had just moved to Moab, Utah, and our family of 11 was living in a three-bedroom trailer without utilities. My parents’ company had gone bankrupt, and there was no back pay. The situation was dismal, to say the least.
My singles ward was planning a service project called “The 12 Days of Christmas.” The bishops in the stake had prayed and selected a family for us to help for 12 days. Considering my family’s situation, I was disappointed that no one had offered to help us. I agreed to buy a gift for a boy in the family, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my own brothers would get for Christmas.
The day came for me to purchase a gift for this boy, and I wanted to get him something special. I decided to go to the local department store to see what toys were popular. After 30 minutes I was getting discouraged because no toys seemed just right for the child.
Then a young boy came into the store. He was about the right age, and his appearance suggested that his family was probably struggling financially. I noticed the thrill on his face as he came across a train set. I knew I had found my gift.
As this little boy’s brother came into the store to get him, I realized that this was the boy I was buying the gift for. I knew this was Heavenly Father’s way of telling me that the stake had picked the right family to serve. I was glad that I had agreed to help them rather than put my own needs first. But I had no idea that more blessings awaited my family.
My father found another job a couple of days before Christmas, and my parents managed to get a small gift for each child. And things were about to get even better.
The day before Christmas, a brother in the ward called the bishop and offered to rent a house to a needy family. It was a large, five-bedroom home with the utilities already working, and best of all, he didn’t expect rent until the next month. The bishop told us about the house, and we moved in that very morning.
Around the corner from the house was a little bar. Someone there noticed us moving in and was touched by our situation. He started collecting donations and brought over a mug filled with cash from perfect strangers.
Another miracle occurred when my father left work for the night. The bosses were passing out Christmas bonuses, but my dad had only been there for two days, so he assumed he wouldn’t get anything. He started to leave, and they said they had something for him. He was surprised to see that each of the men had given up part of their bonuses to share with our family. His company matched the donations. My dad was humbled by their generosity.
That evening, I helped drop off the gifts for our service project. When I got home, my mother told me about the mug of cash and the bonus from work. She had just finished when we heard horns honking. We ran outside and, to our further amazement, dozens of gifts decorated our lawn. We were touched and humbled by the love of strangers for our family. What began as a very meager Christmas had become, instead, a Christmas that we would never forget.
Later, as I thought about the events of the previous month, I realized that Heavenly Father knows each of us. He knows our needs, and He often uses others to meet those needs. But He blesses us the most when we put others first. When I sacrificed my family’s needs to help another family, my family was blessed more than I could have imagined.

On a trip to a nearby city in Estonia, I saw a man begging for money. Amazingly, I recognized him from when I served as a missionary in that city 10 years earlier. He was carrying a big bag of plastic bottles, just as before, to collect for recycling money. I remembered he always asked for spare change, and if you gave him some he would ask if you had any more.
I was shocked to see him. And after 10 years he was still the same––a little more gray, but it looked like he had been living the same life begging for money day after day. I thought about the wonderful 10 years I had lived in the meantime, which included marrying in the temple, gaining an education, finding a good job, and enjoying good health.
I figured this might be the last time I saw him, and I felt like I should give him something. The problem was I only had a bill that was worth more than I was willing to give. I cringed at the choice I had––give him nothing or give him more than I wanted. I decided it wouldn’t really make a big difference for me and it would make his day, so I gave him the money.
Less than two days later I found myself in a similar situation, but this time I was the one begging for mercy. I had mixed up the date for an important scholarship application. I thought I had turned it in two weeks early, but I was horrified when I double-checked the date and saw that I had sent it in one day late.
The sum of the scholarship was exactly 100 times the amount I had given to the beggar, and the irony was not lost on me. I found myself begging for mercy, both in prayer to my Heavenly Father and via email to the university officials. They said they would include the application but note it was late.
My prayer was answered and I was blessed to receive the scholarship, which financially helped my wife and me a lot. But more importantly this experience taught me a valuable lesson: are we not all beggars before God? (see Mosiah 4:19).

The story is similar with Shannon M., 16, who has earned her Young Womanhood Recognition, and Lucy W., 14. Lucy was halfway through her Personal Progress as a Beehive. She stumbled across the third value experience for Faith and hit a wall.
“I was supposed to look in the Bible Dictionary or True to the Faith,” says Lucy. “I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know exactly what to look for or how I could use it toward my experience.”
Shannon mentored Lucy, and the two went through the reading materials and set goals. Lucy was able to complete the value experience and carry out a family home evening, completing her goal. This experience strengthened Lucy’s testimony and helped her stick with Personal Progress.
“When you finish something and you have to pray about it and write about it in your journal, it strengthens your relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
Shannon says that working on Personal Progress helped confirm the testimony she knew she had. “I was born into the Church, and I never really had that experience where I thought, ‘I know this Church is true’—until Personal Progress,” says Shannon. “It has backed my testimony up. That was the turning point.”