Gospel Story Finder

Sir Thomas More understood the power of promises. He wouldn’t take an oath to support Henry VIII’s divorce, and because of it he lost everything. In the movie A Man for All Seasons, when he was imprisoned in the Tower of London, his daughter comes to him, saying that the family has no candles to read by and frequently sits in silence wondering what will happen to him.
“Father,” she says, “‘God more regards the thoughts of the heart than the words of the mouth.’ Or so you’ve always told me.”
More: “Yes.”
Margaret: “Then say the words of the oath and in your heart think otherwise.”
More: “What is an oath then but words we say to God? Listen, Meg, when a man takes an oath, he’s holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then—he needn’t hope to find himself again. Some men aren’t capable of this, but I’d be loathe to think your father one of them.”
The gospel of Christ is a gospel of promises. Baptism is a promise, renewed with every partaking of the sacrament. Why make promises? Because, as one Sunday School class of 16-year-olds decided, there is a difference between saying, “I’ll do it” and “I promise I’ll do it.”

For instance, I was speaking to the missionaries at the Language Training Mission, when I suddenly felt impressed to testify of the intrinsic worth of each person there. There was no need to compare oneself with another, that the Lord knew and loved each one as a separate person and had special guidance and power to give in helping each one move on to the next step, etc., etc. Afterwards, several asked me to bear that exact testimony again and to give more explanation, almost as if they desperately wanted to believe it. One was almost overcome with a feeling of relief and joy.

Many years ago, a young Latter-day Saint girl became lost in the rugged wilderness outside her family’s ranch. Frightened and bewildered, she realized she needed help immediately, so she closed her eyes and fervently prayed, “Father, show me the way home.”
The words had hardly left her mouth when she felt as if hands were placed on her shoulders, directing her. With this prompting, she started back up a nearby gulch. This strong impression remained with her all the way home and never left her until she turned the doorknob of her front door.
This experience helped form the foundation of the faith that sustained her throughout her life. “I wish all people, especially the lost ones, had such a knowledge of our Father’s love,” she said.
The Lord sees us in our daily activities and is ready to respond. As he helped the young girl who was lost and afraid in the wilderness, he will show us the way home when we humble ourselves and seek him in prayer.

This story took place in Guatemala.
Alejandra sighed in relief. She had just finished singing her solo in the music room for her teacher. All her weeks of practice had been worth it! She didn’t even struggle with the tricky part.
“What a beautiful voice!” Ms. Pérez, the school music teacher, stood and clapped. “You can move on to the next round in the talent contest.”
Alejandra was thrilled! In this contest, students from several schools would sing, dance, or play an instrument to compete and win prizes. Ms. Pérez was the judge who chose who got to stay in the contest. And now Alejandra had passed to the next round!
“You need to pass two more rounds of auditions,” Ms. Pérez said. “If you do, you can enter the final contest. It’s on a Sunday later this month.”
Alejandra’s joy disappeared as quickly as it came. She felt like there was a heavy weight in her stomach.
She knew Sunday was a day to go to church and learn about Jesus Christ. It was a day to take the sacrament. It was a day to rest and be with family.
“Sunday?” she asked. “I don’t know if I can.”
“If you can’t be there for the last day, then you can’t be in the contest. I know you would do well if you entered, but it’s your choice. Think about it over the weekend and let me know on Monday.”
The next day, Alejandra kept thinking about what to do. She always went to church with her family on Sunday. But did she really have to be there every week? It wasn’t that bad if she missed church just once, was it?
At bedtime she talked to Papá about what she should do. “Should I sing in the contest or go to church?” she asked.
“The Sabbath is a day we give to God.” Papá pulled her blanket up to her chin and sat next to her on the bed. “We have six days for ourselves. God asks for only one day. But I can’t make this choice for you.”
The next day at church, Alejandra and all her Primary friends got to sing “A Child’s Prayer” in front of the whole ward. They had been working on this song for a long time!
Alejandra sang with her whole heart. The music made her forget about the hard decision she had to make tomorrow. When they finished the song, she proudly walked back to sit with her family.
Mamá gave her a hug. “You sang beautifully!”
“We’re so proud of you,” Papá said. “Sharing your talent showed your testimony and faith in God.”
Alejandra was happy to use her talents to sing Primary songs. She knew it made her family happy too.
Then Alejandra thought of something. If today had been the contest, she would have missed the chance to sing about Heavenly Father. What would she miss if she didn’t come to church on the contest day? She wouldn’t be able to sing her testimony in Primary with her friends. And she would miss the sacrament.
On Monday, Alejandra knew what she had to do. She went to the music room to talk to her teacher.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” she said. “But I don’t want to be in the talent contest if I have to do it on Sunday.”
Ms. Pérez put down the sheet music she was looking at and frowned. “Are you sure you want to miss out on the contest?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Alejandra was proud of her decision. It was hard to make, but she knew it was the right choice. “I’ll miss something even more important if I go.”
Illustration by Janelle Anderson

When our children were young, we moved into a small house with a beautiful yard. On either side of the front door were two empty flowerbeds, and though my gardening experience was limited, I was excited to plant flowers there. I bought a gardening book and ordered plant and seed catalogs and studied them carefully.
Over the next few months I planned my garden, prepared the soil, and planted more than 200 bulbs. I knew it would be a few more months before I would see any results, but still I checked the garden often for growth. In early spring my flowers started to bloom, beginning with tiny purple irises and then daffodils. By the middle of spring my flower boxes were filled with a splendid display of tulips. I loved my garden, and I often sat on the front steps just to look at the flowers.
One afternoon our four-year-old daughter, Emily, had a friend over to play. Just before her friend’s mother came to pick her up, the girls struggled in through the kitchen door, their arms filled with heaps of tulips. “Look what we’ve brought you,” they said happily. They had picked nearly every bloom.
Tulips bloom only once a year. I was heartbroken—all that work, all that waiting. We filled my vases with flowers and sent the rest home with Emily’s friend. Later, as I complained to my mother about the disaster, she said, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re raising children and not flowers.”
I realized that I needed to change my perspective. I remembered the Primary song I had sung with my girls about gathering flowers:
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
O mother, I give you my love with each flower.1
I saw the ruin of my garden, but two four-year-old girls saw a gesture of love.
Planting a flower garden had required patience, and stepping back and looking at this incident through my child’s eyes required even more patience. But learning patience as a mother draws me closer to the Lord.

Many moving accounts have come to our attention as a result of this open house; countless hearts have been touched. Over eight thousand individuals with special needs came in wheelchairs, bringing relatives or friends to assist them. One young son paused at the entrance to the temple to carefully clean and polish the wheelchair his father was in before entering the sacred interior of the temple. A devoted father lifted his frail fifteen-year-old daughter in his arms as he carried her from her wheelchair into the brides’ dressing room. She looked around and said, “Oh, this is so beautiful.” With a smile on her lips and with tears in her eyes, she gently laid her head on her father’s shoulder and said, “This is where I want to come to be married someday.” This young girl had come to the temple from the hospital, where she has spent most of the past five years, her wish to see the temple fulfilled.

For example, a few months ago, a loved one was struggling with her faith. One night she tearfully explained her feelings to me. I wanted her to believe in the gospel so badly and to fix every doubt she had.
In my preferred reality, I would answer every question perfectly, and we would both leave the conversation with a sense of renewed faith and joy, complete with sunshine and rainbows!
But I knew that wasn’t likely.
So I said a prayer in my heart to know how to help her. And I felt a distinct impression from the Spirit:
Just listen.
Through listening, I let go of my instinct to fix and instead saw that she simply needed to know that she is loved. I testified of the love I and Heavenly Father have for her. And although that conversation didn’t end with her renewed faith, it did end with a renewed sense of Heavenly Father’s perfect love—which is often the greatest help we can offer those who are struggling.

I remember a bishop who treated me as if I were already what I had the potential to become in priesthood power. He called me one Sunday when I was a priest. He said he needed me to be his companion to visit some members of our ward. He made it sound as if I were his only hope for success. He didn’t need me. He had excellent counselors in his bishopric.
We visited a penniless and hungry widow. He wanted me to help him reach her heart, challenge her to make and use a budget, and promise her that she could rise to be in a position not only to take care of herself but also to help others.
We went next to comfort two little girls living in a difficult situation. As we walked away, the bishop said quietly to me, “Those children will never forget that we came to them.”
At the next house, I saw how to invite a less-active man to come back to the Lord by convincing him the ward members needed him.
That bishop was a Melchizedek Priesthood holder who was raising my sights and giving me a boost by example. He taught me to have the power and the courage to go anywhere in service for the Lord. He is long gone to his reward, but I still remember him because he reached down to lift me up when I was an inexperienced Aaronic Priesthood holder. I learned later that he saw me on a future priesthood path of greater responsibilities, then beyond my own vision.

One of Sister Redd’s “jewel” times was at the birth of her first child, a son. But within three months the trials and tests of this life closed in. Both mother and child were afflicted with polio. Anxieties were high and prayers were intense. Brother Philip Redd, her husband and now area director of seminaries and institutes in Southeast Asia, was preparing within the month to begin his career as a full-time seminary teacher. “We felt we had really tried to do what was right and that we were doing what the Lord wanted us to be doing. We had faith that the Lord would bless us even in our afflictions.”

Our Father in Heaven has told us that his people must be tried and tested, even as Abraham who was commanded to offer up his only son (see Gen. 22:1–4; D&C 101:4). And so it was that this faithful couple was tested. Their prayers were answered, but only partially. Sister Redd was healed and left without any ill effects from the dread disease, but her precious child, her only son, was stricken with crippling paralysis in his leg, his arms, and his back. The brightness of a happy time had quickly faded. The scratches and bites of life became a painful reality. Brother and Sister Redd were forced to give up their child to the professional care of the children’s hospital over a hundred miles away where he could receive special attention. Even after a year he was still very weak and progress remained slow.

Three long, anxious years, and the concern for her child only increased. The divine nature of a true and righteous mother, with all of the pure emotions inherent in the sacred role of motherhood, swelled within her aching heart. “I wanted desperately for him to be well,” she whispered. “It was so hard not to be able to tuck my little boy in at night. His life was vital to us.”

One night at the very peak of her anxiety, this young mother rose from her bed, went into the other room, and talked to her Father in Heaven. She had remembered an incident in her own childhood. A great and noble woman had prayed in behalf of her afflicted husband and requested that, if the Lord were willing, she be allowed to carry her husband’s infirmities so that his service to the Lord would not be restricted. This sister, almost immediately, became stone deaf and remained so throughout her life, while her husband, miraculously healed, became a spiritual giant, a man of God, and a powerful leader in building the kingdom of God in that area. With the memory of this incident in her heart, this faithful mother supplicated the Father in her son’s behalf, asking if she might take her son’s infirmities upon herself. Of this incident she concluded, “I returned to my bed and went to sleep.”

Even though her baby remained in the hospital, there were still some happy, “jewel” times. Another little boy was born and then a little girl. In time the afflicted child became stronger and stronger, and he learned to walk with braces. Eventually he was able to leave the hospital for a time, allowing this little family to be together at home for Christmas.

While there were ample reasons for quiet rejoicing, the scratching, biting times were painfully evident. Gradually over the following months Sister Redd became aware that she was losing the feeling in her hands and her feet. While diapering her baby, she would often stick the safety pin into her thumb unknowingly. When she noticed the blood, her growing concern increased. She sensed a frightening paralysis creeping over her entire body. It was very difficult for her to handle her new baby and the responsibilities of her young family. As the months and years passed, there were both struggles and blessings. Braces were laid aside and her little son managed to make his way to school. The blessings were acknowledged with humble gratitude, deeply expressed. But suffering severe headaches and with no feeling in her hands or feet, the young mother of three cried out for help. The support of family and friends seemed not enough. “People were good, so very, very good,” she gratefully recalled. “But being restricted physically, not being able to take care of those you love, is difficult.”

At this time a team of specialists determined that it was probably multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her body, leaving her so painfully handicapped. The thoughts of her future gave cause for great anxiety. “That was years ago,” she said. Sister Redd, now a beautiful, healthy, and active woman, vibrant in countenance and testimony, radiates a spirit that has been purified through struggle.

She spoke of the day she and her devoted husband, seeking first the will of the Lord in all things, asked counsel from a friend who had been the supervisor of seminaries and was now a General Authority. “He told us that he didn’t think the Lord meant for me to give my life. He gave me a blessing, explaining that the Lord had accepted my offering in behalf of my child. He promised me that I would live. But it is not we who regulate the magnitude of our tests or determine the time of relief,” she explained. “We do not receive a witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6), and our Father in Heaven will make that determination.”

The very hour one might expect relief may be the moment in which the Lord will take count of our endurance and our faithfulness. Following the blessing, Sister Redd’s condition worsened, and on the 25th of October she was confined to bed. She had to be fed, and “I couldn’t even brush my teeth,” she explained. “My good husband and I talked about the purpose of life and death, and we prayed that we could accept whatever the Lord had for us. At that time we felt that everything would be all right.” Drawing strength from each other, these young parents were tested and were found “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19).

On the 20th of December Nedra Redd was flown to the hospital in Edmonton. There she received further tests. After two long, anxious days, the doctors confirmed the probability that it was not multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her entire body, but rather a very deep and serious brain tumor at the base of her skull. It appeared to be inoperable. In her weakened condition, the possibility of surgery was considered a high and frightening risk. But the doctors explained that she would have only two weeks to live if they didn’t remove the growth. It was seriously impairing her breathing and would soon cut off her rapidly diminishing flow of air. The situation seemed desperate. One doctor offered counsel, suggesting that if they wanted to risk surgery, they would surely want to wait until after Christmas. But Sister Redd reached into her reservoir of strength, filled in large measure by the blessing she had received from their friend the General Authority. Courageously this young couple made their decision. “Surgery was scheduled for Christmas Eve,” she said. “We felt our Father in Heaven was beginning to answer our prayers. On Sunday night my cousin, who was the stake president, came to give me a blessing. He told me later that when he gave me that blessing, he literally felt the strength flow from him.” The power of the priesthood was again activated in her behalf.

Anxious family and friends waited through the nightlong vigil following the surgery. Dawn broke forth; it was Christmas morning. The tumor had been removed. All was quiet as the moments ticked on in that hospital room. Her future hung in the balance. “I had a very special thinking time as I regained consciousness,” Sister Redd explained. It was in the twilight time between life and death that the gifts of life came back to this faithful woman on that Christmas morning. They returned one by one with enough space between each to allow time for cherishing and savoring. Such gifts, such jewels, such priceless jewels!

“I’m all right! I didn’t die in surgery! I’m alive!” was her first realization. “But everything was black, and I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to speak, and I couldn’t speak. I thought, ‘I’m blind. I can’t hear. I can’t speak. But I am alive.’ I can remember such a surge of gratitude that I was alive, and then I sank into unconsciousness again. When I realized later that I was conscious again and that there was a sort of grayness around me, I thought, ‘I am not totally blind. I can see some light.’ I can remember praying and telling my Father, ‘Thank you. I’m alive and I’m not totally blind.’ I couldn’t have lived in darkness. So I gave thanks again. Then I realized I could see Phil’s face. My husband was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear him. But,” she said with intensity, “I could see him. I was grateful that I could see his face.

“Soon I realized I could hear him speaking to me, so I prayed again and gave thanks that I could see and hear. I thought, ‘I can’t speak, but it’s enough. I can see and I can hear.’”

Sister Redd, reflecting on her deep gratitude for those precious gifts on that Christmas morning, shared the ecstasy of her final treasure. “The doctor was there. I had been trying to speak. I heard him ask my husband, ‘Can she speak?’ He shook his head just slightly. ‘I was afraid of that,’ the doctor said. ‘We had to destroy quite a bit of her vocal chords to get the tumor.’ I was afraid she would not be able to speak.”

With a happy tone in her clear, full voice, Sister Redd recalled her thoughts at that moment: “‘Oh, so that’s it,’ I thought. ‘I can’t talk. But I can hear and I can see.’ I had such a deep feeling of joy and gratitude. Then the doctor put his finger on the hole in my throat where the tracheotomy was and said, ‘Now try.’ I could make sounds! I knew I was not mute. It was such a good feeling. We knew the Lord had blessed us.

“It was Christmas morning. Phil had spent the night with me when I needed him so much. With my whole soul filled with gratitude and thanksgiving, I asked him to go home and be with the children. It was a wonderful Christmas.”

From the deep reservoir of faith and courage, carved out by times of trial and suffering, Brother and Sister Redd rejoice. “It is such a comforting feeling to know that there is nothing the Lord can’t do or won’t do for you if it is for your good.” They have made this discovery: “The Lord is in the everyday things, not just the eternal, glorious things. It’s like the comparison between the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ and quiet background music. He is in both, and knowing that provides a continuous awareness of happily-ever-after times in all of life.”

One autumn I was assigned to a stake conference in a rural area of the Western United States. I arrived on Saturday evening and remained with the stake president and his family overnight. In the morning we started our journey of five or six miles to the meetinghouse, and on our way we passed several farms. It was apparent that the Sabbath day was being observed by the people.
We saw beautiful fields of ripened wheat with machinery standing in the fields just as it had been left the evening before. We saw haystacks partly built, with more hay resting in the fields waiting to be brought in. Some of the grain was harvested and some was yet in the field. The very land seemed to be at rest.
We entered the village, and there too we found a scene of peace and serenity. There was no sound of hammer, machinery, or work of any kind. Instead, we saw people gathering to the chapel from all directions in the valley.
I remarked to the stake president about this unusual sight and inquired whether the home teachers had canvassed the stake and warned the people that a visitor was coming from Salt Lake. “No,” he said, “we’re very pleased with the way our people observe the Sabbath day to keep it holy. Nearly every family in the stake is represented at our meetings every Sunday.” The records upheld his word.
It was a beautiful day—quiet, a soft breeze blowing, warm and pleasant. The hills in the distance were turning to their autumn colors. There were beautiful farms and fields, lovely homes, and a sweet spirit of contentment. The meetings and councils of that day were remarkably peaceful, productive, and satisfying.

Real missionary work is, of course, based on real love, and an experience of these fine young Latter-day Saints proves it. They worked for a long time to reactivate a member of the priests quorum, but it soon became clear that he wasn’t interested. They made it equally clear to him that they still wanted to be his friends, and recognizing their sincerity he was happy to have it that way. When he was in the hospital some time later, they visited him often, not to activate him, but just because they loved him. He got the message without their having to give it to him and took the first steps toward becoming active again.

It was the last of February in 1923, and the wintry wind rustled the curtains as it forced itself through a crack in my frozen window sill. Poking my head out from under the heavy feather tick quilt, I watched my breath turn into a misty, cold fog.
Last night we had finished the last of the potatoes, and Mom had told us that there wasn’t any more flour to make bread and that we’d have no more to eat until noon today. All we had left in our food storage were carrots and bottled tomatoes, so I knew it was going to be a long day.
I heard muffled voices. That meant that Mom and Dad were up and that a fire would be going in the kitchen stove. That’s the only room we could afford to heat this winter. At least I could get warm. I shivered once, pushed the heavy quilt aside, jumped into my clothes, and made a dash for the stairs. It took no more than a few seconds to reach the warm kitchen, but I was shaking from the cold before I got there.
“Well, good morning, sleepyhead. It’s already ten o’clock,” Mom greeted me, smiling. She always smiled, even when things weren’t going well. This had been one of those not-going-well winters. Dad had only been able to work a month since last November, and he’d earned only thirty dollars all winter.
My three brothers and two sisters were already nestled around the small potbellied stove. I was so cold that I wanted to hug the stove, but I settled for huddling near it and holding my hands out to its warmth. Mom and Dad were sitting across from each other at the wooden table, talking quietly.
“No, we’re going to pay it,” I heard Dad say in a low voice. “It’s not ours, and it isn’t right that we use it.”
“But, Ray, the children,” Mom said pleadingly.
“The Lord will provide, Sarah,” Dad said reassuringly. “We have to trust Him.”
I stood and looked over Dad’s shoulder. On the table were three dollars—enough to buy flour, potatoes, and even a little meat!
“Wow!” I blurted out. “With all that money we can eat again! We won’t have to eat those crummy canned tomatoes today.”
That was a mistake.
“Son, that’s tithing money,” Dad said. “It’s not ours; it’s the Lord’s. I planned to give it to the bishop long ago, but it slipped into the lining of my jacket, and I didn’t find it until this morning. I’ve been worrying about how to replace it, but now I can take it to the bishop today.”
“But, Dad!” I protested.
That was a mistake too. I got the lecture of my life on tithing. I’d heard it all before, but I got the whole sermon about how the Lord requires a tenth of our earnings, how it’s not really ours, and how if we pay the Lord first, He’ll provide for us. But my stomach just wouldn’t let me forget what that three dollars could buy and how that food would taste. I tried to reason with my father: “The Lord loves us doesn’t He, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t want us to starve to death, does He?”
Dad didn’t respond, so I gathered courage and continued. “Wouldn’t He understand if we used the tithing money this time? We could pay it back when you get more work.”
Dad looked at me for what seemed like hours. Finally he said, “Son, the Lord will provide. Three dollars won’t buy very much food, but it will provide a lot of blessings.” That was it. No more arguments. The tithing would be paid.
There were a few silent minutes before Dad got up, put on his coat, and handed me mine. “Thomas,” he said, “I’d like you to go with me to see Bishop Rawlings.”
The winter wind bit into my face as we trudged to Bishop Rawlings’s house. We walked in silence except for the occasional growling of my stomach. I knew Dad was trying to teach me something, but my stomach wasn’t cooperating.
When we reached the small white frame house, we were greeted cordially by the bishop. I felt the warm glow of a fire as we stepped inside the house. Dad and the bishop talked for a minute, then tears welled up in my eyes as I watched Dad give him the three dollars.
Sister Rawlings appeared in the kitchen doorway with bread dough on her hands. “Brother Brown,” she said, “could you wait for a loaf of this bread I’m baking? It’s a new recipe, and I’m anxious to see if your family likes it as much as we do.”
“Thank you, Sister Rawlings,” Dad said. “We need to get right home now, because Sarah will have dinner waiting. But if you’d like, Thomas will be glad to run back for it later.”
The cold wind stung even harder as we headed for home and the tomato-and-carrot dinner. A loaf of bread was not my idea of the Lord’s providing. As if he knew what I was thinking, Dad stopped and put a hand on my shoulder. His other hand wiped the tears from my eyes. “Thomas, the Lord will provide,” he said.
Dad was right, I knew. And though it’s hard to trust in the Lord when your stomach’s empty, I decided to give Him a chance. I walked with my shoulders straight and told myself, The Lord will provide!
We were passing Harland’s Market, about three blocks from home, when we met Mr. Gates. “Ray,” he said, greeting my father. “I’m glad to see you.”
Dad and Mr. Gates spoke for a bit about old times; then Mr. Gates said, “Ray, here’s the ten dollars I owe you.” I watched as he handed my father a shiny ten-dollar gold piece!
“What’s this for, Lee?”
“Three years ago, when I was in need, you gave me ten dollars,” Mr. Gates said. “Now I can pay you back.”
I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. All I could do was stare at the ten-dollar gold piece that Dad was holding.
When Mr. Gates finally left, Dad placed the shiny coin in the palm of my hand. “Would you like to do some shopping before we go home?” he asked, smiling. “I guess Heavenly Father thinks we should have something more than carrots and canned tomatoes for dinner. What do you think?”
My stomach rumbled happily as we turned into Harland’s Market.

I will begin with a true story. The characters are real. He was well-proportioned and, like King David, “ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to” (1 Sam. 16:12).

With him at his side was a lovely girl, slight of frame and beautiful of face and form. It was obvious that they loved one another, for as they sat together across the desk from me, he reached quietly for her hand and there were meaningful glances.

The melodious voice was hesitant and a bit choked with emotion as he introduced his girl friend, and there was pleading in their eyes. “We are in difficulty, Brother Kimball,” he said. “We have broken the law of chastity. We prayed and fasted and agonized and finally came to the conclusion that we must try to make adjustments.

“That junior prom date was a turning point. It started out a very special one. But as I see it now, it turned out to be a tragic one, the beginning of our troubles. When I saw her coming downstairs that night, I thought no girl was ever so beautiful and so sweet. We danced through the evening; and then when we sat in the car, long and silently afterward, my thoughts became unruly as we became more and more intimate.

“Neither of us dreamed what was happening to us,” he continued, “but all the elements were there to break down resistance. We did not notice time—the hours passed. The simple kisses we had often exchanged gradually developed into petting. We stopped at that. But there were other nights—the bars were down. We loved each other so much that we convinced ourselves that it was not so wrong merely to pet since we sort of belonged to one another anyway. Where we ended one night became the starting point for the next night, and we continued on and on, until finally it happened—almost as though we could not control ourselves—we had intercourse. We had even talked about it and agreed that whatever else we did we would not go that far. And then when it was late—so late—so everlastingly late—we woke up to the meaning of what we had done.”

“Can we be forgiven, Brother Kimball?” the young couple asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “the Lord and his church can and will forgive, but not easily. The way of the transgressor is hard. It always has been and it always will be. The Lord said: ‘I tell thee, thou shalt not depart thence, till thou hast paid the very last mite’” (Luke 12:59).

But I went on to tell them that in his goodness he provided for us a way to forgiveness. One may do as he pleases, but he cannot evade responsibility. He may break laws, but he cannot avoid penalties. One gets by with nothing. God is just. Paul said, “Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap” (Gal. 6:7).

Then, one night, I dreamed I was on a beautiful beach. A man with white hair was waist deep in the water. He had on white clothing and was holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon and encouraging me to come into the water, telling me that the Master wanted me. The next morning, I sketched a picture of the man I had seen in my dream. In the meantime, I continued my search for the truth.
Sometime later, two missionaries came to my home. Seeing that they held a copy of the Book of Mormon, I asked them in and showed them the picture I had drawn. The missionaries were very surprised. They told me it looked very much like a picture of President David O. McKay.
They asked if they could have the picture. Somehow the story of my dream and the picture itself got to Salt Lake City, and I received a letter from Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, who was then President of the Quorum of the Twelve. In the letter, he bore his testimony and counseled me to be baptized.
A missionary was given permission to extend his mission a week and stay in my home while we studied the gospel together. But, even after all this, my fear of making a mistake immobilized me, and I soon lost contact with the missionaries.
I continued to study the gospel, however, and one day, late in 1974, I left a note at the chapel in Wollongong, New South Wales, saying I wanted to meet with the missionaries. Once again they began teaching me. Three times they set a date for my baptism, and each time I postponed it. (Once they even had the font filled!)
My indecision came to an end when I was offered an excellent position as a translator for the Australian government. For this position I would have to travel to Canberra each Sunday, making it impossible for me to attend church. I decided not to join the Church, and to take the job.
Not long after I made the decision, I suffered a heart attack, which left me unfit to accept the position. Once again I promised to be baptized, but this time persecution from my former minister friends made me change my mind.
I was then offered a position as a Calvinist bishop, responsible for all the migrants in New South Wales. As I contemplated this offer, I suffered another heart attack—my seventh. I realized then that I could die at any time, and that I wanted to be baptized.
At last, on 15 March 1975, after knowing the truth but putting off acting on it for so long, I was baptized.
I have a great desire now to share the gospel with my fellowmen—especially those in Hungary. I have translated fourteen tracts into Hungarian, and much of the Book of Mormon. One day I hope to return to Hungary as a missionary and share with my former countrymen the restored gospel—the gospel the Lord had been preparing me to receive for so many years.

President Harold B. Lee was the kind of person who so knew the Savior and had been a servant for such a long period of time that he knew instinctively what the Savior would say or do in any given situation.
For example, shortly after becoming President of the Church, President Lee held his first press conference as the new prophet of the Church. The reporters posed for President Lee what could have been a difficult question: “What is your position with regard to the Vietnam war?” You recall that at that time the war was underway, and there were those who supported it and those who were against our involvement.
If President Lee said, “I am in favor of our government’s position,” the reporters could say, “How strange—a spiritual leader in favor of war?” If he answered, “I am against our government’s involvement,” the reporters could also raise doubts by saying, “How unusual—a religious leader who pretends to support his government, but does not?”
When the people of the press presented the question, President Lee responded as a servant of the Savior would, knowing how to use the very words of the Lord in an inspired manner. His answer disarmed them, impressed them. As I remember, he said, “We, together with the entire Christian world, abhor war.” And he went on, “The Savior said, ‘In the world ye shall have tribulations.’ But He also said, ‘In me ye might have peace’.” (See John 16:33.) Continuing, President Lee quoted from John 14: “‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I [peace] unto you.’” (Verse 27.)
And then President Lee taught a great principle. And he said to them: “The Savior was not speaking of the kind of peace which is won with armies or navies or force; nor was He speaking of the kind of peace which can be negotiated in the halls of congresses. He was speaking of the kind of peace we each can have in our hearts only when we live His commandments to such a degree that we know He is pleased with us.” President Lee, speaking as a true servant of the Prince of Peace, had answered them with inspiration.

Four seniors from the North Little Rock Ward, Little Rock Arkansas Stake, had a very successful year. They were active in school, and all completed and received their Young Womanhood Recognition.

Lori Wiggins, Shelly Anderson, Laura Johnson, and Jacque Adcock prepared for their awards through class projects such as learning to can, decorating cakes, making Mother’s Day plaques, fellowshipping inactive members, and other service projects. They also achieved several individual goals as well as the class goals.

Lori was an officer of the school drill team and member of the National Honor Society. Laura was stake seminary secretary and vice-president of her senior class in school. Jacque was president of the ward seminary and president of her senior class. She was also co-captain of the cheerleading squad. Shelly was active in a clown troupe and in the costuming crew during school plays. She also participated in community theater.

To conclude the year, the girls and their adviser made a quilt, which was presented by the class to the ward.

When you want to do a stakewide service project but your stake covers a 75-mile area, what’s a ward to do? The Auburn California Stake solved the problem recently with their “Day of Impact.”
Each ward and branch chose a local project that would be completed on the same day. Afterwards, they met at a centrally located park for a barbecue, games, and story swapping. They talked about things like how they painted bleachers at a high school, built a concession booth by the football field at another high school, and weeded and cleaned yards and cemeteries. They also repaired broken headstones. They sanded and painted picnic tables at an elementary school and even restored a historical landmark—an old caboose.
Later, at a stake fireside, everyone was able to catch a glimpse of their work via video—leaders had filmed each project. Even though they had spent the day working apart, they felt a spirit of pulling together.

My sister Tammy and I had a typical relationship when we were younger. As a clumsy fourth grader, I looked up to Tammy, who was three and a half years older, in the eighth grade, and seemed to me to be much wiser. I worshipped her and she tolerated me, just like many sisters.
Every once in a while, however, Tammy would do something special for me. She’d hug me or put her makeup on me, and at those times I knew that she loved me, though she’d deny it when the moment had passed. I never saw her much after that year—she ran away from home and didn’t come back. But I will always remember Tammy by those shared moments. She died July 18, 1983.
On January 26, 1985, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Just before a youth temple trip in May, I decided to be baptized for my sister because I had a very strong feeling that she would accept the gospel. I filled out the proper papers and submitted them. The verification to do the baptism came, and I thought that everything would be easy after that. However, one delay after another put the baptism off until January 14, 1986.
On that night, my bishop took me to the Boise Idaho Temple, and I felt that Tammy was there with me. A computer problem further delayed the proceedings, but finally my bishop was able to baptize me for my sister.
Not long after the baptism, I began to worry about Tammy. I felt that she had accepted the gospel, but I was concerned about her eternal progression. As a convert to the Church, I was still learning and didn’t fully understand where she was or how we could be together again. I felt cheated because I had never had much of a chance to get to know my sister. I could remember things we had done together, and the memories hurt. I got tired of hearing “families are forever,” because I didn’t know how I would ever see her again.
Then in seminary one morning, I read a scripture that answered my questions. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Prophet Joseph Smith addressed the doctrine of salvation for the dead:
“Thus came the voice of the Lord unto me, saying: All who have died without a knowledge of this gospel, who would have received it if they had been permitted to tarry, shall be heirs of the celestial kingdom of God;
“Also all that shall die henceforth without a knowledge of it, who would have received it with all their hearts, shall be heirs of that kingdom;
“For I, the Lord, will judge all men according to their works, according to the desire of their hearts” (D&C 137:7–9).
This passage answered many of the questions I had concerning Tammy, and it helped develop my testimony of the strength that can be found in the scriptures. It has also given me another reason to strive for the celestial kingdom. If my sister has accepted the gospel and is continuing in her progression, she could be there waiting for me. Families really can be forever.

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles (80 km) to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.

“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”

I didn’t feet much like an expert, but the four men in the small room looked at me as if I were, Reggie, Robert, Charles, and Don, the district president; they needed my help in getting their new chapel built, and I’d been sent for that purpose.
But there are times when the expert doesn’t have any answers. What could I tell these men who wanted an infallible method of gathering the needed funds? Certainly the approved way was by member contributions. But these members said they were incapable of such contributions—or at least they seemed to be. Even the richest among them appeared poor.
But I could think of no other solution. I said, “Of course, we’ll need to get the money from the members.”
They nodded, but said nothing. They knew I hadn’t really solved their problem.
So I took it a step further. “First it is essential that each of you make your own personal commitment,” I said.
“How much do you suggest?” Don asked.
“I’d suggest about fifty pounds.” I could tell by their expressions that I had struck too deep.
“As with the leader, so with the people,” I reminded them. “You cannot ask others to do what you yourself are reluctant to do. After you have made your own commitment, the Lord will help. With that, good planning, and hard work, anything can be done.” They nodded, but I could see they had some reservations. Two of the men had retired on small pensions, and the other two, one a contractor and the other a day worker, had families and small incomes.
Following the meeting, Don drove me back to my hotel, with Charles accompanying us. As I got out of the car, Charles looked at Don and said, “I’ll take a bus from here. I need to talk with Brother Walton.”
“All right,” Don replied. “I will come and get you at seven so that we can get to our meeting on time.” He was smiling but the worry that had come into his eyes at the suggestion of a fifty-pound donation was still there.
Charles and I went up the steps of the hotel veranda and sat down on wicker chairs. I looked into his face and saw a lifetime of grinding toil behind him. We sat there and rocked and looked across the street to the big green park and the Indian Ocean beyond.
At last he spoke. “About the money: I’m on a fixed pension and I have no other source of income. My health is poor. My wife and I struggle every month to have enough to pay our bills. I can honestly see no way to pledge anything—fifty pounds or even less.” He was a humble man, and I regretted having placed him in this position; I also felt his regret that he was not able to carry his share of our burden. “Most of the others are in as difficult a position as I am. It may be that we should wait awhile before we attempt such a huge undertaking,” he said sadly.
I said nothing because I didn’t want to pressure Charles, but I must admit that my mind began to reflect over the many pages of history written about the efforts of people who achieved the impossible. I finally said, “May I suggest that you talk this over with your wife and pray about it. It’s really between you and the Lord, not with me or anyone else.”
Charles stood and we shook hands. He was a small, pale man, with very little strength in his hands, but there was sincerity in his eyes. He walked down the sweeping wooden steps; as he crossed the street he must have felt my eyes on him for he turned and waved.
I was about to go to my room when Reggie drove up, waved, and parked his car. He was young and wiry and came up the steps two at a time. He told me of his small business, his young children, and lack of work, and finally that he simply could not see how he could pledge fifty pounds.
I gripped his shoulder. “Let me suggest that you discuss this with your family and with the Lord. You are not wanting to build this church for me, but for the Lord. Perhaps He has a way in mind for you. But most of all, don’t be depressed. No one expects you to do more than you are capable of doing.”
Reggie was in a hurry, and there was obviously nothing more that I could say. I knew that unless these leaders made their own commitments, their people could not be expected to respond. I did not have much time to think about Reggie; before my visitor was out of sight, a young hotel employee called me to the phone.
The caller was Robert. He was a retired postal worker, a fine man, and a recent convert. He talked slowly and he repeated, over the wires, almost word for word what Charles had said. “We have only a small pension … fixed income …”
I was standing in the lobby at the reception desk. There were other people around and I felt I should not discuss Robert’s finances in a public place. I agreed with all that he said, then reminded him, “But there is someone else that you need to talk to besides me.”
There was a pause, then he answered, “I understand. I will see you at the meeting.”
The members filled the small red brick building they called their Church. We closed all of the windows, but still the neighbor’s radio could be heard through the wall. It was the usual meeting, with few surprises. Despite the events of the previous afternoon, I wasn’t even surprised when the president and his counselors announced that they would each pledge fifty pounds for the new building. Their talks, though short, rang with sincerity, and the audience was moved to participate.
I returned to Sydney the following day with confidence. The money would be collected; the building would be built. All that remained for me to arrange was a Church building supervisor. I sent a telegram to Salt Lake City asking them to send one.
The first few weekly reports from Perth were not encouraging. Money was being pledged, but not enough. Soon I decided to make another visit to see when they would be ready to start construction. Certainly I did not want a supervisor sitting in Perth with no building to build. I sent a telegram to Don, and one week later I sat down again with the same four men. This time there was a definite air of excitement among them that had not been there before. I began to speculate, gave up, and asked Reggie to give his report.
“I didn’t see how I could possibly get the fifty pounds, but my wife and I decided to make the pledge anyhow and hope we could find a way to get it. After pledging the fifty pounds, I contacted a nursery to see what I could do. I got a contract to bring in wild flower seeds—we have the most beautiful flowers in the world here in western Australia. I was lucky; the nursery had just received a request for these seeds from a U.S. company. My family and I have given our Saturdays and every possible hour after work to gathering them. We have not only earned our pledge money, but we’ve also received some side benefits from the work. The children enjoyed the family outings as well as the opportunity to earn extra money. We have started some projects of our own at home that we could never afford before.” He looked at each of us and smiled, “It sure has been a great benefit for us!”
Next I asked Robert to report. He crossed his legs and, with a quiet smile, leaned forward and began to speak.
“Like Reggie, I just didn’t know how I was going to fulfill that commitment. I spent some time before and after that meeting in conversation with the Lord—I really needed help. Well, the next morning I received a letter from an old friend. His son had been admitted to the university here, and he needed room and board. Now that our children are married and gone, we have an extra room. The boy has been with us for the past two weeks, and he has brought light and sunshine into our home. He’s a fine lad, and we are happy to have him with us. He has no church ties, so he’s started coming with us.”
“What about your pledge?” Don asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, yes! Well, his father sent us fifty pounds in advance for his school year. It will be fairly easy to add what little he eats to what Mum and I need—especially with our garden as it is growing now.” He smiled at us, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “We not only got the money, we got extra sunshine in our lives as well,” he said.
Don turned to Charles. “Let’s hear from you now.”
“I also did not know what to do. I could not conceive of how I would ever get the fifty pounds I committed for the Lord’s house. I, too, spent some time telling the Lord of my problem and asking his help to fulfill my commitments.
“I was in town the morning after that meeting, and, as I crossed the street, a truck came by with a load of reinforcing bars extending well beyond the bed of the truck. I nearly walked into them—and I wasn’t the only one. Several other people had equally narrow escapes. I was so angry that he hadn’t tied a warning flag on the ends of the bars that when I got home I called the chief of police. He told me that there was an ordinance requiring red flags, but it had not been enforced because no flags were available for the truckers.”
Charles took a deep excited breath, then continued. “As of now, my wife and I have bought up all the red cloth in town. It’s all cut into the legal size; she sews a seam and I thread a piece of stout twine through it for tying it to the loads. I contacted some of the truckers, and we have more orders than I can possibly fill. More than that, our usually dull days have turned productive and we have established a little business that will bring us additional money long after the building is completed. Yes, we have fulfilled our commitment; and we will have the strength to do even more now.” He sat back with a satisfied smile that had in it more than a tinge of gratitude.
Don was the next to give his report.
“That Monday morning following our fund-raising meeting, I went to an early morning sales meeting. Afterwards, I overheard our store manager complain about the lack of honest, competent help to take inventory. I stepped forward and volunteered four people—my wife, my two oldest daughters, and myself. We’ve already received our first check, the fifty pounds that we agreed to work for. In six months we’ll take inventory again—just in time to meet the next needs. Oh, and one more thing: our work has brought me favorably to the attention of my superiors. I have already received a pay raise and I was told that I’m next in line for promotion.”
I looked at the men in the room, each of whom had found a way to honor his commitment—with the Lord’s help. And then I knew as never before that even though I may have felt inadequate as an expert, the Lord is never inadequate as a helper. The good Saints in Perth had responded to the challenge with obedience and effort. In turn, the Lord had responded by opening the windows of heaven and pouring out blessings.