Gospel Story Finder

The teaching of Mary Bommeli touched more than those women around the loom and the judge. My father, her grandson, talked to me during the nights as he approached death. He spoke of joyous reunions that were coming soon in the spirit world. I could almost see the bright sunlight and the smiles in that place of paradise as he talked about it with such assurance.
At one point I asked him if he had some repenting to do. He smiled. He chuckled softly as he said, “No, Hal, I’ve been repenting as I went along.” The doctrine of paradise that Mary Bommeli taught those women was real to her grandson. And even the doctrine Mary taught the judge had shaped my father’s life for good. That will not be the end of Mary Bommeli’s teaching. The record of her words will send true doctrine to generations of her family yet unborn. Because she believed that even a new convert knew enough doctrine to teach it, the minds and hearts of her descendants will be opened, and they will be strengthened in the battle.

“Want to get yourself a glass of milk, Frankie?” Granny Bebe asked, smiling across the table. Frankie jumped up. He found a glass and pressed it against the stainless steel lever under the milk cooler. Milk poured into his glass.
Granny Bebe owned the restaurant, and she let Frankie help himself to whatever he wanted. Mama and his sister, Mary, had left Frankie with Granny Bebe to spend a few hours while they went shopping. He loved everything about the restaurant, especially the pretty colored lamps and all the people hurrying about. Frankie didn’t want to hurt Mama’s feelings, but as soon as he was big enough, he planned to come and live with Granny Bebe. This is where the action is, he thought as Granny Bebe introduced him to some customers.
Too soon Mama and Mary were back at the restaurant. Granny Bebe gave Frankie a big hug and told him to visit her again soon.
As they drove down the highway toward home, Frankie was already missing the restaurant. The only excitement in the part of the country where he lived was an airplane flying over now and then, headed for the airport ten miles away. Frankie loved airplanes almost as much as Granny Bebe’s restaurant.
The highway passed the airport and, as they neared it, Frankie saw cars parked all around the airstrip.
“Look, Mama!” Mary said. “This is the day that the planes are taking passengers for a ride.”
Mama turned the car off the road and pulled into a parking space. Sometimes Mama did unexpected things. “I’ve never been up in a plane,” she said. “Come on, kids, let’s go.”
Almost before Frankie knew what was happening, he was flying! Two pilots sat in the front seats, he and Mama sat behind them, and Mary and another passenger sat in the rear seats. The engines of the yellow plane made a thunderous noise. Frankie leaned as far forward as his seat belt permitted so that he could hear the pilots’ conversation.
“Where to, young fellow?” one of them asked him.
“Fly over Granny’s restaurant. You know—‘Bebe’s’!” Frankie had to shout to make himself heard.
“Roger,” said the pilot.
It took only a moment for the plane to circle toward Granny’s restaurant. The buildings in town looked like a model village, and the cars looked smaller than his pocket racers. The restaurant was in a crowded area, and Frankie had a hard time locating it among the other buildings. Finally he spotted the dome-shaped building with cars sticking out like little feet around it.
Mary tapped Mama on the shoulder. “Now ask him to fly over our house!”
Mama gave the pilot directions to their home in the foothills north of the highway.
As they flew along, Frankie pressed his nose against the small window of the plane, trying to identify places on the ground. He looked at the winding river and could see miles of it all at one time. He saw the tiny houses in their tiny yards and the cars crawling like ants along the highway. He leaned forward to listen to the pilots again.
“Look over there to your right,” the man flying the plane shouted. “See that house with the bright green roof on the side of the mountain? That house is my beacon. I always spot it before the airport.”
“Me, too,” said the copilot. “When I see that green roof, I know that I’m almost home.”
“Why,” Mama exclaimed, “that’s our house!”
Frankie could see that indeed it was their house that the pilots were talking about! The green roof shone like a jewel among the gray winter trees, and their very own yellow dirt road ran along the ridge next to the sloping fields of winter wheat. And the pond at the very edge of a cliff was the most beautiful of all. Frankie had helped Grandpa Townsend build it for a fish pond. He hadn’t realized before just how pretty it was.
“I wish everyone could see his home from the air,” Mama said. “Sometimes we are too close to things to properly appreciate them.”
“It sure looks different from up here!” Mary declared.
Now Frankie could see a silver-roofed house father down the little yellow road. An old truck was parked in front of it. “Look, Mary!” Frankie cried, pointing. “There’s Grandpa Townsend’s old orange pickup! I bet that he doesn’t know that we’re way up here!”
“No!” shouted Mary in agreement. “He’s probably waiting for you to help him feed the fish!”
Suddenly Frankie could hardly wait for the plane to land. He wanted to rush home and tell Grandpa Townsend about his flight and about how different the farm looked from the air.
Maybe I won’t move to Granny Bebe’s, after all, he thought. It’s pretty special living in a house that pilots use for a beacon. And pretty soon they’ll be talking about the boy on the yellow dirt road who waves to them when they fly over.

When I arrived in Natchez to accept a job with the U.S. National Park Service, I entertained doubts and fears. I had left all that was comfortable and familiar to me in Utah, and as I took up residence in this new and seemingly foreign city, I felt lost and alone.
On my first day of training, the supervising ranger began by taking me through the park’s Civil War-era mansion and demonstrating the type of guided tour I would soon be expected to conduct. By the time we had finished exploring the first floor, I was already having a hard time remembering all of the details. From the French rococo revival furniture to the English porcelain china, the ornate home embodied Southern prosperity—and thoroughly overwhelmed me. Realizing that we had yet to see the second level of the home, I was overcome with a feeling of frustration and a longing for home.
As we climbed the grand staircase, an oil painting of a townscape caught my attention. I had never seen it before, yet there was something familiar about it. My eyes were drawn to the depiction of a large building atop the town’s bluff, and I recognized the sweeping curve that the river made around the city. Could it really be what I thought it was?
I asked if the painting was a depiction of Nauvoo. My supervisor, startled by my question, replied that indeed it was. I soon learned that the painting had been purchased by one of the home’s later owners because presumably it had been painted during the mid-19th century and the river scene coincided nicely with the Natchez landscape.
The Saints who passed through Natchez amid persecution must have felt a great sense of relief and gratitude when they finally arrived at Nauvoo. Similarly, I felt comforted when I saw the painting of Nauvoo in the mansion in Natchez. Seeing the painting helped me know that Heavenly Father was aware of my situation and would bless me with the strength to overcome my homesickness, fear, and doubts. I knew that the painting of Nauvoo was a tender mercy of the Lord.

Kathy listened as Mr. Sodeberg explained how people migrated in the United States. She was excited about her new history class. Flipping through the pages of her new history book, Kathy stopped at a picture of Brigham Young. She had never realized Brigham Young’s significance in United States history before.
Mr. Sodeberg finished his lecture. “There will be homework every day,” he said. “Your first assignment is due tomorrow.”
At home Kathy sighed as she looked at all the questions Mr. Sodeberg had assigned.
“Tough day at school?” Mom asked.
“Homework every day,” Kathy said. She remembered the picture in her history book. “Mom, Brigham Young is in my textbook. What makes him so important in U.S. history?”
“He directed the migration of thousands of Latter-day Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Then he organized them into settlements,” Mom said. “That took a lot of planning. It was a significant part of the country’s westward migration.”
The next day Mr. Sodeberg announced, “Next week we will perform a readers’ theater. Each of you will dramatize a character of the westward migration. Your parents and other students will be invited to attend the performance.”
Mr. Sodeberg began assigning characters and handing out scripts. When he asked who wanted the part of Brigham Young, Kathy quickly raised her hand.
“Tonight’s homework is to begin memorizing your part,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “You must recite it perfectly. Your grade depends on it.”
Kathy read over her part as she and her friend Laura left class. A terrible feeling came over her. “This is all wrong,” she said to Laura. “It makes Brigham Young sound dishonest.”
“You just see things differently because of your church,” Laura said.
“I can’t say these things,” Kathy said.
“You have to recite them perfectly,” Laura reminded her.
Tears rolled down Kathy’s cheeks as she ran home and burst through the front door.
“More homework?” Mom asked.
“Worse,” Kathy said, handing her the script. “Read this.”
Mom read the script and shook her head. “This writer didn’t know a lot about Brigham Young.”
“What should I do?” Kathy asked.
“First let’s find a Brigham Young costume,” Mom said.
Kathy tried on Grandpa’s long black coat and rolled up the sleeves on her brother’s white shirt. Mr. Grandi next door showed Kathy how to walk with his extra wooden cane.
Mom found a tall black hat in a closet and put it on Kathy’s head. “You’d make Brigham Young proud,” Mom said. “Now you need a new script.”
Kathy looked for information about Brigham Young in Church history books and on the Church website. Soon the script was rewritten.
“The true story of Brigham Young,” Kathy said.
On the day of the performance, Kathy’s class gathered in the auditorium. Parents and other students waited in their seats. Mr. Sodeberg introduced the program; then he stood offstage as the students recited their parts.
Alex recited his script perfectly, but Randall mixed up his words. Mr. Sodeberg made him begin again. Kathy squeezed her cane. When it was her turn, Kathy recited the true story of Brigham Young.
“Did you change your script?” Laura asked after the performance.
“Yes. I told the truth,” Kathy said.
“Here comes Mr. Sodeberg,” Laura said.
“Well done, ladies,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “Kathy,” he continued, “you were the best Brigham Young I have ever seen.”

God is anxious to help us feel His love wherever we are. Let me give an example.

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.

The second decision for which I am grateful is the decision I made to learn if the Book of Mormon is true. President Bednar mentioned that when I finished at BYU I received a scholarship to go to Oxford University in England. When I arrived at Oxford it was very clear that it was going to be inconvenient to be a Mormon in Oxford. The Rhodes Scholarship Trust that had given me my scholarship had a lot of activities for the recipients of the scholarship, and if I was going to be active in the church it would be difficult for me to participate in those activities. I realized, as I thought through the extent to which I wanted to be involved in the church, that, you know, I didn’t even know that the Book of Mormon was true. I had read the Book of Mormon, until that point, seven times in my life, and in each of the seven times I had gotten to the end of the book and had knelt in prayer and had asked God to tell me if it was true, and I had gotten no answer. And I realized, as I thought through why I hadn’t gotten an answer, that each of the previous seven times, I had read it on an assignment, either from my parents or a BYU instructor or my mission president or a seminary teacher, and my objective was to finish the book. But this time I just desperately needed to know for myself if the Book of Mormon was true. To that point in my life I had sustained myself on a belief in many of the doctrines of the church and in the trust of my parents because I knew they knew it was true, and I trusted my parents. But finally when I arrived at Oxford, for the first time in my life I just desperately needed to know if it was true
Some of you who have seen pictures of Oxford may know that it’s the world’s oldest university. The building that I lived in was built in 1410-beautiful to look at, horrible to live in. It just had a little heater that they had dug out of the stone wall and had inserted there. I decided that I would commit every evening from 11 to 12 o’clock to reading the Book of Mormon to find out if it was true. I wondered if I dared spend that much time, because I was in a very demanding academic program, studying applied econometrics, and I was going to try to finish the program in two years, whereas most of the people in the program finished it in three, and I just didn’t know if I could afford allocating an hour a day to this effort. But nonetheless I did, and I began at 11:00 by kneeling in prayer by the chair by that heater, and I prayed out loud. I told God how desperate I was to find out if this was a true book, and I told Him that if He would reveal to me that it was true, that I then intended to dedicate my life to building this kingdom. And I told Him if it wasn’t true that I needed to know that for certain, too, because then I would dedicate my life to finding out what was true. Then I would sit in the chair, and I read the first page of the Book of Mormon, and when I got down to the bottom of the page, I stopped, and I thought about what I had read on that page, and I asked myself, “Could this have been written by a Charlatan who was trying to deceive people, or was this really written by a prophet of God? And what did it mean for me in my life?” And then I put the book down and knelt in prayer and verbally asked God again, “Please tell me if this is a true book.” Then I would sit in the chair and pick up the book and turn the page and read another page, pause at the bottom, and do the same thing. I did this for an hour every night, night after night in that cold, damp room, at the Queen’s College Oxford.
By the time I got to the chapters at the end of 2nd Nephi, one evening when I said my prayer and sat in my chair and opened the book, all of a sudden there came into that room a beautiful, warm, loving spirit that just surrounded me and permeated my soul, and enveloped me in a feeling of love that I just had not imagined I could feel. And I began to cry, and I didn’t want to stop crying because as I looked through my tears at the words in the Book of Mormon, I could see truth in those words that I never imagined I could comprehend before. And I could see the glories of eternity and I could see what God had in store for me as one of His sons. And I didn’t want to stop crying. That spirit stayed with me the whole hour, and then every evening as I prayed and sat with the Book of Mormon by the fireplace in my room, that same spirit returned and it changed my heart and my life forever.
I look back in the conflict that I experienced, wondering whether I could afford to spend an hour everyday apart from the study of applied econometrics to find if the Book of Mormon was true, and you know, I use applied econometrics maybe once a year, but I use my knowledge that the Book of Mormon is the word of God many times every day of my life. In all of the education that I have pursued, that is the single most useful piece of knowledge that I ever gained.
I love to return to Oxford. Most of the people there are either students or they’re tourists who have come to look at a beautiful university. But I love to return there because it’s a sacred place, and I can look at the windows of that room where I lived, and I think that that’s the place that I learned that Jesus is the Christ, that he is my living Redeemer, and that Joseph Smith was the prophet of the restoration for the true church.

1. Prayerfully decide on the activity.
A counselor in the stake Young Women presidency was given the assignment of prayerfully searching for youth conference ideas. As she reviewed past activities, she realized that the stake had often tried to entertain the youth instead of getting them involved in a meaningful, testimony-building activity. Her recommendation for a service project was approved by the stake leadership and the search was on for the appropriate activity.
2. Prayerfully select specialists.
Once the project was decided, the stake looked for the technical help required to plan and oversee construction. The Tanners, a new couple in the stake, had knowledge and experience in construction that was vital to the project. For example, five days before construction was supposed to begin, it was discovered that the plans for the house did not meet local government building specifications. Brother Tanner and another builder worked many hours to re-draw the plans. Then the manufacturer of the roof trusses said he couldn’t assemble and deliver them until three days after the youth conference was scheduled. Brother Tanner knew how to negotiate with the manufacturer to get the trusses there on time.
3. Prayerfully decide who you are going to help.
Mr. and Mrs. Ward Roney, well known in the community as active members of the Catholic church, might have rejected the offer of help from Latter-day Saints. However, the Roneys and Brother and Sister Dazey and their family had been carefully, and prayerfully chosen. When a stake high councilor approached Mr. Roney and suggested replacing a barn that was destroyed by a storm, he was overwhelmed. As a result of the stake youths’ efforts, the Roney family allowed their daughter to attend stake girls’ camp, invited the stake to hold activities at their farm, and set up a scholarship fund for stake youth.
4. If the event is newsworthy, invite newspapers and television.
When the television and newspapers were informed about the project they each said they would send a reporter out for a few minutes. Although reluctant at first, the reporters were so impressed with the work being done they stayed for up to three hours. Favorable reports appeared in newspapers and on local television news.
5. Publicize and recruit.
It took time for some of the youth in the stake to get used to the idea of a service-oriented conference. The stake youth leadership held a fireside to build up enthusiasm. One boy, Todd, who at first did not want to become involved in the project, later surprised everyone with his enthusiasm. The builders showed him what needed to be done, and he worked like a professional. Todd also developed a good relationship with another, rather lonely boy, by working with him and showing him how to use tools. The two boys not only established a friendship between themselves but with the adults as well.
6. Hold frequent planning meetings.
The project planning committee met every two weeks for three months prior to the conference. The meetings were needed to make sure that all the arrangements had been made and preparations were going according to plan.
7. Plan fun activities for the evenings.
Even though the youth worked hard during the day, they still had energy left over for evening activities like dancing, singing around a campfire, and even competing with each other trying to climb a greased pole. After each evening’s fun time, the youth went home and came back the next day ready for more work.

Last spring an elderly resident of Provo took me down a peg. I had just attended the convocation of the College of Physical Education in the Provo Tabernacle and was rushing out of the Tabernacle to try to get to the Smith Fieldhouse for the convocation of the College of General Studies. My two daughters were graduating, and I wanted to be present for each of them. As I came running out of the Tabernacle dressed in my academic costume, the robes flowing behind me with my agile wife and younger children running to keep up, an elderly man just coming out of the post office across the street stopped, hooked his thumbs in his trouser pockets, and watched the spectacle with a combination of amazement and indulgence. As I hurried past him toward the car he tried to make a friendly conversation with this question and comment: “Well, you finally made it, did you?”

As a freshman in high school, Jacqueline C., from Indiana, USA, was asked to design costumes for all 25 members of her school’s play. The play was set in the late 1800s in the southern United States, so designing costumes that fit the time and place was not an easy task.
Jacqueline started by reading books about costume design, researching the time period, and looking at lots of pictures. She also spent time talking with the director about how each character should be portrayed.
After all her research, Jacqueline designed the costumes, and she made sure all the actors looked their part. “There are two characters in the play that are complete opposites,” Jacqueline says. “Their actions showed that they were opposites, and I made sure their costumes did too.”
When actors are dressed appropriately for their character, it adds a lot to the play. “Their costumes pull the whole show together and give it a polished look,” Jacqueline explains. As a costume designer, Jacqueline knows the importance of actors’ looking their part, and as a Latter-day Saint, she knows the importance of our looking our part too. “The first impression the world has of us is based on how we look,” she says.

Those who are called to serve as bishops are blessed with the gift of discernment. The Holy Ghost helps them to discern when someone is telling the truth and also helps them see the good in ward members. Years ago, I was preparing to set apart a newly called bishop. Before I laid my hands upon his head, he turned and asked in great humility, "President, while you are setting me apart, could you bless me with the gift of remembering names. This is a weakness of mine, and I want to improve myself. I believe this gift would help me magnify my calling." I was struck with his childlike faith. The Spirit whispered to me that the Lord was pleased with such a righteous desire.

President George Q. Cannon, counselor to several Presidents of the Church, said, "If any of us are imperfect, it is our duty to pray for the gift that will make us perfect." Since the most important callings in the kingdom are that of mother and father, President Cannon encouraged parents to ask for spiritual gifts. He suggested to young mothers, for example, that they might ask for "the gift to govern children" or to "organize households."[25] If you want to be a better parent or spouse or roommate, there is heavenly help available. Why not ask?

Clint Dalley was the first assistant to the president in the priests quorum that year and one of those natural All-American athletes. Scott liked Clint and probably gravitated to him because of Clint’s athletic successes. Clint, however, was busy trying to make those important life decisions and was quite busy with many activities. As a result, the two did not spend a great deal of time together. Like other quorum members, Clint gave Scott a ride occasionally or sometimes they went for a soft drink at the local drive-in.
They came together one springtime in our town of Highland, Utah, because of a basketball tournament. It is traditional for all men and boys in the ward to be formed into basketball teams and participate in the “H.A.C.” tournament. The initials stand for Highland Athletic Commission (no one knows why they named it that), but those who participate think the name “HAC” describes how rough the hacking fouls are.
That year I was selected to be the coach for one team and found that both Clint and Scott had been chosen as team members. During each game, I made sure that everyone on the team played. Because of Clint and some other players my team kept winning during the three nights of play and eventually won the championship. After the last game, Scott’s mother stopped to thank me for allowing Scott to play in the games, “even when the score was close,” she said. She was aware that because of the intensity of play other team members might resent Scott’s participation. He is moderately handicapped and is not very coordinated. But I told her that Scott did just fine and made his contribution. In fact, when he played the pressure on everyone was reduced and basketball became more fun and less competitive. I noted that after the last game Clint left with Scott, and Clint’s dad told me they were going to get an ice cream cone before going home. I learned later that from that moment they spent more time than usual together.

A fifteen-year-old Korean boy, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, used his allowance each week to buy newspapers. Then he and his friends sold them on street corners in Seoul, giving the money to a classmate who couldn’t remain in school without this financial help. He wanted to know how it felt to be a Good Samaritan rather than just having an intellectual understanding of the lesson he had studied in the scriptures.

A mission had been a great desire of mine since I was a child. But since I married young, I put the dream aside while we raised our children, hoping that my husband, Ben, and I might be called later in our lives.
That lifelong hope appeared to be crushed when Ben suffered a stroke at the age of fifty-four which took away his ability to speak, write, or read and paralyzed his left side. In spite of a miraculous recovery through the power of the priesthood, he was still handicapped in many ways when our bishop called us in twelve years later to interview us for a mission. The stroke had left Ben unable to speak properly, so that he had difficulty communicating with anyone except family members. Words just did not come out right, and he had not been able to pray vocally or even ask a blessing on our meals. His left arm had been amputated; his right leg was swollen and painful much of the time; and he was likely to get a heart attack when under tension.
Furthermore, our financial income was small—about as small and inadequate as we felt. But we had no misgivings about accepting the call. Ben felt that if the Lord needed him or wanted him, that was it.
Our stake president was not too sure about submitting the application to Church headquarters. However, the Missionary Department’s advice was, “Send in the papers, and we’ll let the Brethren make the decision.” I prayed fervently that there might be a place suited to us where we could help in building up the kingdom. A few weeks later, when our call came to serve in the southeastern United States, my joy was full. I knew without a doubt that my prayers had been answered.

Now there has been added another element. It began some years ago when drought in Africa brought hunger and death to uncounted numbers. Members of the Church were invited to contribute to a great humanitarian effort to meet the needs of those terribly impoverished people. Your contributions were numerous and generous. The work has continued because there are other serious needs in many places. The outreach of this aid has become a miracle. Millions of pounds of food, medical supplies, blankets, tents, clothing, and other materials have staved off famine and desolation in various parts of the world. Wells have been dug, crops have been planted, lives have been saved. Let me give you an example.
Neil Darlington is a chemical engineer who worked for a large industrial company in Ghana. Eventually, he retired.
He and his wife were then called as a missionary couple. They were sent to Ghana. Brother Darlington says, “In areas of famine, disease, and social unrest, we were there as representatives of the Church, extending a helping hand to the destitute, the hungry, the distressed.”
In small villages they drilled new wells and repaired old ones. Those of us who have fresh, clean water in abundance can scarcely appreciate the circumstances of those who are without.
Can you picture this couple, devoted Latter-day Saint missionaries? They drill into the dry earth. Their drill reaches the water table below, and the miracle liquid comes to the surface and spills over the dry and thirsty soil. There is rejoicing. There are tears. There is now water to drink, water with which to wash, water to grow crops. There is nothing more treasured in a dry land than water. How absolutely beautiful is water pouring from a new well.
On one occasion, when the tribal chiefs and the elders of the village gathered to thank them, Brother Darlington asked the chief if he and Sister Darlington could sing a song for them. They looked into the eyes of the dark-skinned men and women before them and sang “I Am a Child of God” as an expression of their common brotherhood.
This one couple, through their efforts, have provided water for an estimated 190,000 people in remote villages and refugee camps. Contemplate, if you will, the miracle of this accomplishment.

Within the walls of the temple is where those we love will feel so close even if they are now on the other side of the veil. Here the glorious plan of salvation is revealed. Here we can come with our deepest concerns and feel peace and comfort as we turn our thoughts to Jesus Christ, whose house this is. Some years ago, I was wrestling with a deep concern regarding one of our children. It caused me many sleepless nights and much anxiety over many months. I decided to seek an answer to the question that was troubling me by going to the temple.
While there, in a personal and sacred experience, the word of the Lord came to my mind in the form of a simple scripture, “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”3 I knew my question had been answered. This brought peace and comfort and has continued to guide me in the years since. I am a witness to President Nelson’s promise that as we joyfully keep our appointment with the Lord by being in His holy house, He will bring the miracles He knows we need.

After my childhood challenges, I am confident that Heavenly Father knew exactly what I needed to enable me to trust my eternal companion. He placed many steadfast examples of fatherhood in my life. These included my righteous grandfather, who loved the Lord, and a diligent home teacher who—understanding my family’s financial limitations—took me on as a student at his art studio and inspired me to follow in his footsteps professionally. In my young adult life, heavenly healing was also delivered through the unexpected blessing of gaining a righteous stepfather, who was patient with my hesitancy to trust a father figure and who continually showed me kindness.

When I was young, my mother taught me how to pray, and I would attend church with her every Sunday. My sister and brother were members of the choir at the local parish church in Hertfordshire, England, and it seemed natural to follow their example and attend.
Because I was only eight years old, I wasn’t required to attend communion service early on Sunday mornings. I would sleep in but eventually would get up and cycle to the main morning service.
In the middle of the winter of 1952, with a foot of fresh snow on the ground outside and frost on the inside of my bedroom windows, I snuggled down in bed, determined not to go to church that Sunday.
My mother called for me to get up, but I pretended to be asleep. Then I could hear her footsteps as she started to climb the stairs. I called out, “It’s all right. I’m getting up.”
But then I said under my breath, “What’s the point? There is no such person named Jesus Christ anyway.” Immediately a voice came into my head and said to me, “There is, and you will serve me one day.” The voice seemed so natural, as if a friend were talking to me. The years went by, however, and I forgot about the experience.
I grew up, joined the Royal Navy, and after nine years began working for a fire-protection company. One evening after work, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, two sister missionaries introduced themselves. I was tired, dirty, and hungry, so I suggested that they come back later in the evening or some other time.
To my surprise they returned an hour later. I invited them in. As soon as they started talking, I knew there was something special about their message. My home felt different, and I knew it emanated from these two sisters.
They gave me the first discussion that night and the second discussion the following night. Two elders then came every night until I had received all the discussions. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Getting down on my knees to pray for the first time in 20 years was the most spiritual experience I had had in my life.
I made the commitment to be baptized a week after finishing the discussions. After my baptism, Elder Ross and Elder Fullerger laid their hands on my head to give me the gift of the Holy Ghost. As soon as their hands touched my head, my experience with the Spirit 20 years before came back to me. Something precious that had been preserved within me—but had been suppressed by all the mistakes I had made in life—was spiritually reunited with my memory. I was overwhelmed to think that I meant so much to the Savior that He had not forgotten me.
I’m grateful to the missionaries who taught me the gospel and to the members of my first ward who nourished me. Most of all, I’m grateful to my Savior, whose existence I had once doubted but whom I now gratefully serve.

In general conference a year ago, Elder Don R. Clarke of the Seventy told how his grandfather went blind and could no longer care for his farm on his own. He received a notice requiring him to make a $195 mortgage payment, something that seemed impossible given the family’s reduced circumstances. Then a miracle occurred. Elder Clarke’s grandfather later wrote:

I shall never forget that cold evening, just before Christmas of 1919. It looked as though we would lose the farm. My daughter, Gladys, laid a slip of paper in my hand and said, “This came in the mail today.” I took it to her mother and asked her what it was. This is what my wife read to me, “Dear Brother Larsen, I’ve had you on my mind all day today. I am wondering if you are in financial trouble. If you are, I have $200 you may have.” The letter was signed “Jim Drinkwater.” Jim was a small, crippled man, and he would have been the last man on earth that anyone would have thought had that much money on hand. I went to his house that night and he said, “Brother Larsen, I received a wireless message from heaven this morning, and I could not get you off my mind all day. I was sure you were in financial trouble.” Brother Drinkwater gave me $200 and we sent the $195 to the mortgage company, and with the extra $5 we bought boots and clothes for the children. Santa Claus did come that year.[11]

Jim Drinkwater, the “small, crippled man,” demonstrated true love. How easy it might have been for him to wallow in self-pity or to think of the comforts he could buy with his money. Instead, he prepared himself by righteous living to be in tune with the Spirit of the Lord. He had selfless intent, and when the “wireless message from heaven” came, he took selfless action.

Four-year-old Micalah had just finished scripture study with her family. They had been reading from Alma in the Book of Mormon about the Zoramites. Micalah had asked a lot of questions about how the wicked Zoramites each said the very same prayer, never really thinking about Heavenly Father or what they might want to say to Him.
After scriptures and family prayer, Micalah knelt by her mom at the side of her bed to say her own prayer to Heavenly Father. “Heavenly Father, please bless our family to be well, and please bless us to do good things. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” It was the exact same prayer she said every night.
Mom didn’t get up right away. “Micalah,” she asked, “do you think that Heavenly Father listens to you when you pray?”
Micalah nodded her head earnestly.
“Do you think Heavenly Father wants to hear what you have in your heart? Or do you think He wants to hear you say the same prayer to Him every night without thinking about what you really want to tell Him?”
A small smile came over Micalah’s face, and her eyebrows went up. “You mean, like the Zoramites?”
Mom smiled back. “Only a little bit like them.”
Micalah thought hard, wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t want to pray like the Zoramites,” she said. “But how can I know what to say every time I pray?”
Mom put her arm around Micalah. “Well, before I start my prayer to Heavenly Father, I kneel down and I just think for a few minutes. I think about the things I did that day. I think about the things I’m thankful for. And I think about the problems I have that I need help with. Then I start my prayer.”
Micalah liked that idea. “I want to try again!” she announced.
Micalah and her mom knelt quietly beside each other for a few moments. Micalah thought about their trip to the park earlier that day to play and to feed the ducks. She thought of her grandma and her cousins who were visiting from out of town. She thought of celebrating Jesus’s Resurrection during Easter. She thought of many things, and then she began to pray. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee that we had fun at the park, and thank Thee for making such a beautiful earth. Thank Thee that Grandma Jolene and Julian and Lonnie are visiting. Thank Thee that Jesus died for us. Thank Thee that we were safe today, and please bless us always to be safe. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When she finished her prayer, Micalah felt warm and peaceful inside. Micalah knew what that feeling was—the Holy Ghost!
She kissed her mom good-night and snuggled down under her cozy blankets. She was smiling as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She knew that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and that He was happy she had spoken to Him from her heart.

In a recent stake conference, Elder Lance Wickman, speaking on this subject, told an experience he had as a young soldier in Hawaii. His battalion had just been given a new commander who had seen many soldiers die because of poor attention to details. After a week of stiff training, the commander came to Elder Wickman's company, ordering them to set up a defensive position while other companies were dismissed. Not only did the soldiers resent this, but digging foxholes in volcanic rock was almost impossible and seemingly unnecessary. When the commander came to inspect, he looked at the small rock outlines where foxholes should have been. What's that? he asked. Sir, that's a simulated foxhole. A simulated foxhole. What good will a simulated foxhole do you? You will not be dismissed until you have dug foxholes according to the book. For several hours they chipped away at the volcanic rock, speaking disparagingly of the commander but finally finished and were dismissed, well trained. Landing on a Viet Nam beach late in the evening with another company, they decided to dig their foxholes while the other company decided to wait until morning. That night enemy fire was taken, and while others suffered heavy damage, Elder Wickman's company did not. The next morning nobody had any disparaging remarks to say about the commander. Elder Wickman taught that in our own lives we must be careful not to rely on simulated foxholes. We need to prepare and to be diligently obedient.[25]