Gospel Story Finder

Shawn stared at the cracked picture frame lying on the floor. He knew that he shouldn’t have been tossing his football in the house. He certainly hadn’t meant for the ball to hit the picture of Grandma and Grandpa and knock it off the table.

Mother was going to be upset when she saw it. She always dusted the frame carefully and placed it just so on the table. It was a very special picture to her. Grandma had given it to her when Grandpa died. The frame had been made by Grandpa. The more Shawn thought about what he’d done, the worse he felt.

He put the frame back on the table, stood back, and squinted his eyes. He could still see the ugly black line running through the side of the carved frame. He knew that it wasn’t possible, but the line seemed to be growing bigger and blacker.

No one had seen him kick the ball or break the frame. No one else knew he had broken the family’s rule about playing ball in the house. Only he knew how the frame had been broken. But he did know—and Heavenly Father knew too.

Shawn could hear Mother out in the garden, pulling weeds and singing. “She won’t be singing when she sees this,” he said to himself.

He knew what he should do, but he didn’t want to make Mother unhappy. He liked to hear her sing. He liked to see her smile and hear her happy voice. Shawn knew that when she found out what he had done, she wouldn’t be singing or smiling or saying happy words.

“I guess I’d better get it over with,” he said to himself as he walked through the house and out the back door to the garden.

“Mom, can we talk about something?”
“Sure. What’s up, Shawn?”
He hung his head. “I don’t think you are going to like me very much any more. I did something awful.”
She pulled him down to sit by her in the garden. “Whatever you have done, Shawn, I will still love you. Remember how we talked about Heavenly Father’s love for us? He loves us even when He doesn’t love the thing we have done. That is how I love you. Now tell me about what you did.”

Shawn began to tell her about the picture frame and the football. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks as he told his mother how sorry he was for not obeying the rules and for breaking the frame. “Maybe I could earn some money and pay for a new frame,” he offered.

“Let’s go in and see just how bad it is.” After looking at it, she said, “Shawn, I think we can mend this with some glue.”

Shawn ran to get the glue while Mother slipped the picture out of the frame. Together they glued the crack securely. When it was dry, Mother put the picture back in the frame and placed it on the table. “There,” she said. “It’s fixed.” Shawn stared at the frame. Even with the pieces glued together, the ugly black crack stretched across one side of the frame. How could Mother say it was fixed? “It looks terrible!” he groaned.

Shawn’s mother put her arms around him. “Not to me,” she said gently. “To me it looks wonderful. When I look at the picture, I think of your grandma and grandpa and how much I love them. When I look at the frame, I think especially of Grandpa and all the great times we had together. And when I look at the crack in the frame, I think about a son who told the truth even when it was hard—and that’s the best treasure in the whole world!”

That early spark rekindled among four friends—Desmond, Edmund, John, and Arnold—who first sang together as children in Primary. Hymns like “I Am a Child of God” and “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus” helped shape their testimonies and deepened their friendship. Over time, their shared love for music evolved into a powerful means of expressing their faith and building unity.
Reuniting after Elder Okori’s departure, the friends formed a new choir with a vision to serve the Lord through music. Each brought unique gifts: Desmond’s soulful voice, Edmund’s rhythmic talent, John’s deep harmonies, and Arnold’s dedication to playing and arranging music. Supported by mentors like John’s mother, Madam Eva, their harmony extended beyond music to strong bonds of friendship—fueled by games, shared laughter, and spiritual growth.
They now make music videos, capturing both their sound and recording their accomplishments. As they start their missionary service—John and Desmond departed May 29, Arnold in June, and Edmund later this year—they carry with them the joy of music and the strength of their brotherhood. Their dream is to someday sing with the Tabernacle Choir on Temple Square and continue their legacy of music and service. Arnold concluded, “We’ll continue to rely on the Lord as we begin our missions, knowing that as we unite our gifts from God in doing good, we can create something wonderful wherever we are.”

When Sam (short for Samantha) Southwick started high school in Grand Blanc, Michigan, she wanted to be involved. She knew that the secret to having a lot of fun in high school is to participate. She thought it would be either in cheerleading or playing on a sports team, but her plans didn’t work out easily. “I tried out for basketball. I tried out for cheerleading. I don’t know how many times I tried out for cheerleading, but finally I just stopped. Then I tried out for volleyball. It was fun, but I didn’t even make the first cut.”
Even in those moments of disappointment, Sam was a little bit proud of herself for following through and not quitting. But which was her sport? Where was she going to succeed? Repeatedly not making the team could have made her want to quit trying. But she kept on. Only now can she look back and see clearly what she needed to understand. “When you go into something with a positive attitude and the will to do it, then it actually becomes a lot easier. I was going through some of this for the wrong reasons.”
In Sam’s junior year, some of her friends were playing lacrosse. Because she was always willing to try something new, she started learning about the game and began the conditioning. “My friends helped me, and I’ve loved lacrosse ever since. We joke that it’s soccer in the air.”
Even after making the lacrosse team, Sam still had some learning to do. At first, she wanted to play offense. “It’s really fun to shoot on the goal and to make it. Everyone gets really excited. Offense is the glory place.” But her team needed her on defense—in the goal in fact.
Playing goalie is a scary position. To block a shot, she would get hit hard by a small rubber ball. Sam freely admits that she wasn’t very aggressive when she started out. “And on defense you’re trying to make sure the other team does not score, so you feel worried and responsible.”
Sam can still give you a blow-by-blow account of her first game as the goalie. “I was standing there thinking, What have I gotten myself into? Then they came down, running straight at me. Our defense didn’t really know what they were doing because we were new. I just stood there gripping my stick so hard. I was saying to myself, Just move, just move. It was really nerve-racking. I don’t think I blocked the first shot, but after that it got easier. I learned that when those balls hit you during the game, it doesn’t bother you because you’re just so intense. But after the game, you really feel it. You get hit everywhere.”
The team tied that first game. But two games later, after their first loss, Sam took it hard. She appreciated her team’s being supportive because they knew she felt responsible. “Losing takes an emotional toll on the goalie,” says Sam.
How does she deal with the pressure? Sam says, “I’ve actually said prayers in my head. I’ll ask myself, ‘Why am I praying about a sport when there are other things you should be praying for?’ But when I’m in those moments, I know that God really will help me.”
Losing is not fun, but Sam has learned that the old saying “Winning isn’t everything,” is actually true. Her philosophy is that sports are for fun and for learning how to deal with other people. “You learn how to communicate better with people and how to talk with them and get along. What I have learned playing goalie has helped me at my job.” Sam works as a waitress and sometimes has to deal with difficult people.
Even when you lose, Sam says, you can still feel great. “If you lose and you played as well as you can, you feel good because you feel like you actually did something. Winning looks good on your record, but it’s all about what you learn and how to deal with it.”

I was ordained an elder, and on the day of my departure for active duty with the navy, a member of my ward bishopric joined my family and friends at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed in my hand a small volume titled Missionary Handbook. I laughed and commented that I wasn’t going on a mission.
He answered, “Take it anyway. It may come in handy.”
It did. I needed a hard, rectangular object to place in the bottom of my seabag so that my clothing would stay more firm and would thus be less wrinkled. The Missionary Handbook was just what I needed, and it served well in my seabag for 12 weeks.
The night before our Christmas leave, our thoughts were of home. The barracks were quiet, but then the silence was broken by my buddy in the adjoining bunk—a Mormon boy, Leland Merrill—who began to moan in pain. I inquired concerning the reason, and he said he felt really sick. He did not want to go to the base dispensary, for he knew that doing such would prevent his going home the following day.
He seemed to grow worse as the hours passed. Finally, knowing that I was an elder, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing.
I had never before given a priesthood blessing, I had never received a blessing, and I had never witnessed a blessing being given. As I prayed silently for help, I remembered the Missionary Handbook in the bottom of my seabag. I quickly emptied the bag and took the book to the night-light. There I read how one blesses the sick. With many curious sailors looking on, I proceeded with the blessing. Before I could put everything back into my bag, Leland Merrill was sleeping like a child. He awakened the following morning feeling fine. The gratitude each of us felt for the power of the priesthood was immense.

Shortly before I graduated from high school, a seemingly small miracle happened, an event that would turn my life in another direction. Despite the distance between my actions and gospel standards, one Sunday morning I followed a strong prompting to go to church and pay tithing. When I arrived at the chapel, I asked for people I knew. One of the names I gave was the Young Men president I had when I was a deacon, the last time I had attended church. He was now serving as bishop of the ward.
That good bishop helped bring me back into the Church. I confessed my sins, and he worked with me to set up a progress plan. Over several months I repented. I advanced in the priesthood. I held a calling. I was doing so well, in fact, that I was called to serve a mission, and I had a period of several years when my addiction was under control.
When I returned home from my mission, I did not struggle with pornography; I simply did not have access to it. That changed in the late 1990s, when the Internet became increasingly pervasive. I accidentally stumbled across some pornographic images online, and I returned to pornographic sites over and over again during the following months. The web had ensnared me.
I wanted to reach out to someone for help, but I wasn’t sure whom—or how. How could I talk to my parents about this? How could I admit to my bishop that even though I had made so much progress, I couldn’t stop engaging in this immoral behavior? I desperately wanted to stop, but I was too embarrassed by my weakness to confide in anyone, so I kept my addiction to myself.
I didn’t even tell my wife, whom I married in 2000. I wanted to tell her about my struggle when we were dating, but I was terrified that she would look down on me or, worse yet, refuse to marry me. So I lied. And I continued to do so in our marriage. I found myself being sneaky to prevent being caught. I hid pictures on my computer. When my wife asked me about particular Internet links, I denied knowing what she was talking about. Addictions are like that; they create great liars. I knew it was creating a wedge in our marriage and causing her great pain, but I would not acknowledge that I had a problem. What mattered most to me was not my behavior but how people perceived me.
My double life—and the resulting loss of the Spirit—made me vulnerable to increasingly serious sins, including infidelity. My wife had strong impressions that something was wrong and told me about them. With great remorse, I admitted to what I had done.
That was my lowest point, the point at which I realized that I had to change. Sitting across from me was the woman I loved. She loved me. I had betrayed her. I determined then to do whatever it took to save our relationship and our family.
I began meeting with my bishop regularly in working through the repentance process and Church discipline. He recommended I attend meetings of the addiction recovery program, offered through LDS Family Services. I had never heard of the program. I learned that the group held free, confidential meetings based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, adapted into a framework of the doctrines and principles of the Church.
I admit that during the first few meetings, I thought, “I don’t need to be here. I don’t really have a problem with pornography. I can quit any time.” That, of course, wasn’t true.
With my bishop’s encouragement, I continued to attend. My pride began to melt away, and I began to work the steps of the program: honesty, hope, trust in God, truth, confession, change of heart, humility, seeking forgiveness, restitution and reconciliation, daily accountability, personal revelation, and service. For the first time in a long time, I was living a “sober” life, a life free of pornography. Recovery isn’t ever really “over,” but I had been introduced to a new level of freedom. It came because as I participated in the 12 steps, I came to understand what was behind my addiction.
I learned that most people battling addictions have turned to some kind of “self-medication” to fill the voids they feel in their lives. Pain, sorrow, loneliness, fear, or other kinds of discomfort can act as triggers that can entice people to use this self-medication to make them feel better. Some people use prescription drugs. Others use illicit drugs. Others use alcohol. For me, pornography offered the short-term, artificial “quick fix” I thought I needed.
Knowing what triggered my addiction was one thing. Avoiding environments that aided my addiction was another. This stance requires being vigilant 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the rest of my life. I cannot get online “just to browse.” In fact, if I am by myself, I don’t go online at all. I can’t look at an ad and entertain thoughts in my mind. We don’t have cable TV in our home. When I commute to work, I avoid taking certain roads because I know there are billboards along those roads that could trigger inappropriate thoughts. If I start to slip and my mind begins to wander, I turn to my wife, to my bishop, and to prayer for strength.
My addiction affects the most minute parts of my life, but taking these precautions is worth it. I cannot neglect these defenses because I know what my addiction can do to me and to those I love.
It’s not just a matter of avoiding the bad, though. I also must make constant, conscious efforts to turn to the good. Several of the 12 steps have helped me do this by bringing me closer to God.
Every day when I wake up, I get on my knees and thank Heavenly Father for giving me the opportunity to repent of my sins and to come to Him through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ. I ask Him to let me know His will so that I can do it. I ask Him to lead me away from temptation. I pray as though I rely on Heavenly Father every minute of the day—because I do—and I keep that prayer in my heart throughout the day. I pray again each night. I also spend some time in the scriptures daily so that I can focus my thoughts on virtuous things. If I don’t make these a habit, I don’t have the Spirit in my life. And left on my own, I am not strong enough to resist temptation.
For a long time I believed I could overcome my behavior anytime I wanted to by my own willpower. But I failed miserably. After a while I got tired of doing it on my own, especially when “on my own” wasn’t working. I realized that I could not do what I needed to do without the Lord’s help. Ether 12:27 helped me understand this better. The Lord told Moroni, “My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”
Once I went to Him, still doing all I could do (see 2 Nephi 25:23), I realized that I could do much better and become much more with His help than I ever could dream of by relying on my own merits (see Alma 7:14).
My wife and I now serve as facilitators at the addiction recovery program meetings. She has learned—and is helping others understand—that the Atonement is for not only those who are working to overcome an addiction but also those who have been affected by the addiction through no choice of their own. If we turn to the Savior, His grace can work in all of our lives.
To those who are battling addiction and to the people they love, I can attest that there is hope. There is always hope in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am deeply grateful to Jesus Christ because He literally saved me from the chains of sin. Addiction is like being held by chains that “bind the children of men, that they are carried away captive down to the eternal gulf of misery and woe” (2 Nephi 1:13). When I realized I was in trouble, I didn’t know where to turn. I was desperate because I could not free myself from my predicament. But the Lord could free me. When I turned to Him, He was there to help.
I can relate with Ammon: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12). I know that God can help us do all things, including overcoming the chains of addiction.

We sat huddled on the wet lawn in front of the Joseph Smith Monument in Sharon, Vermont—the birthplace of the Prophet. Draped in ponchos in a vain attempt to keep dry, we strained to hear our leader over the sound of the rain. Shortly, we would finish our final activity—a few moments alone in the woods, meditating and doing some self-evaluation.
The idea really excited me. Earlier, a speaker had related to us a story about President David O. McKay receiving his patriarchal blessing. Thirteen-year-old David was, at the time, a champion marble player. After the blessing, the patriarch told David that he had more important things to do than play marbles. I felt that now, too, was the time for me to “put away my marbles” and decide what to do with my life. A big part of that decision depended on knowing if the Church was true. I decided to ask our Heavenly Father.
The world seemed to fall silent as I entered the woods. With my poncho pulled around me to protect me from the rain, I found a secluded spot and sang some hymns to myself. Then I read the scriptures for a while. When I felt ready, I knelt to pray.
I was excited to pray, but I was also nervous. I had felt the Spirit before—in fast and testimony meetings and when I had received a testimony of the Book of Mormon—but I couldn’t honestly say that I knew the Church was true. What if I prayed and there was just nothing? What if, out here in the woods, kneeling and praying aloud got me nothing but wet?
But I decided that I had to try. So I knelt on the soggy leaves and bowed my head in prayer. I spoke in a whisper, fearful that someone might eavesdrop, and asked very simply to know if I really belonged to God’s true church. I finished my prayer and remained kneeling, awaiting an answer.
At first, I received an impression that I already knew the Church was true. But I figured that must have been my own thoughts, so I prayed again.
“You already know,” came the answer again, along with the warm and calm feeling of the Spirit enveloping me with peace and joy.
My heart quickened, and I couldn’t hold back the smile that covered my face. I realized that through seminary and my personal study, I had built my testimony step by step, precept upon precept, so slowly that I hadn’t even realized I had it.
I had a testimony of the Church, and I could now put aside the less important things in my life and get on with my spiritual growth. I felt so relieved, so content, and so grateful that I knew personally that the Church was true. Still kneeling, I bowed my head again and gave a prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for his witness that, although I hadn’t recognized it before, I already knew.

Before the curtains opened, I stood nervously backstage in the dark silence. Many precious hours were sacrificed in preparation for this moment. The curtains opened to reveal a high school choir poised and ready to sing. Our conductor stood in the wing across from me. She caught my eye and smiled before entering the stage.
I was the accompanist for the high school concert choir. Our conductor chose a series of songs that meant a great deal to her. The music was difficult, especially for a high school choir. I had labored long and hard over these songs, attempting to perfect each note. At this moment, however, I wondered if I had done enough to prepare. I worried that I might not live up to my conductor’s expectations.
I cautiously stepped onto the stage, sensing a thousand pairs of eyes on me as I sat down at the piano. Although shaking, I positioned my hands for the first chord and waited for my conductor’s cue. She looked into my eyes, and together we began the piece. Immediately, I felt a change come over me. The notes came easily and comfortably to my trembling fingers. It seemed that I was not playing the piano alone—something else inside of me was. I believe that the Spirit was there, guiding my fingers and calming my heart. Each song was better than the last. The choir sang with surety and deep emotion. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly in my young life.
My eyes brimmed with tears as the last notes lingered on the piano. The audience was struck silent for a moment before they applauded and gave us a standing ovation. They had also felt that overwhelming influence of the Spirit. After taking our bows, my conductor and I left the stage. She fell into my arms and we both cried because the Spirit had touched us so deeply. I received many compliments, but in my heart, I knew that I did not play those beautiful pieces alone that night. Something much more powerful than I had delivered those songs with such divine beauty.
Just as I did my part to practice the music, I know that when I do what the Lord asks me to do, He will bless me and guide me. My efforts were blessed that night on the stage and are continually blessed in my daily life as I strive to do my best to obey His commandments. I may fall short, but He can make up the difference. I gained a testimony one night on a bright stage while sitting at a piano.

In a personal way, I recall the experiences my dear wife and I went through after deciding the course I should take for my life’s work. I had taken some courses in pharmacy with the plan in mind of converting to a career in medicine. As many of us do, I changed my mind and engaged in another business, banking. We were blessed with steady employment, but I felt attracted toward the profession of law. This was a serious decision because I was married and had a family to support but after fasting and prayer and obtaining the facts as to the best way to proceed, I completed my undergraduate work and entered law school. I took classes at night because it was necessary to be employed during the daytime. These were not easy years for us, but desires are usually accomplished if we are willing to make a determined effort. Needless to say, I had the help and support of my wife. She remained a homemaker and cared for our children. What she gave in love, encouragement, frugality, and companionship was far in excess of any material contribution she might have made by taking employment.

There is a special bond between Mary Carmen and three others in the group because she helped to bring them into the Church. She had begun by talking about the Church to her friend María del Pilar and María’s sisters Isabel and Loly. Unbeknown to her, her mother ran into María’s mother in the doctor’s office, and although they were complete strangers, began telling her about the Church. The two conversion factors merged; the family accepted the missionaries into their home and were baptized within 13 days of beginning the discussions.
“I shared the gospel with Pili (María del Pilar) and Isabel and Loly because they are my friends and I love them,” Mary Carmen said. “I wanted them to be able to feel the presence of the Spirit and enjoy the rich blessings from the Lord that I do. When they were baptized, I was so happy that no one could stand me at school for a few days. It made me remember the day of my own baptism.”

As time went by, a pair of missionaries taught us the riches of the restored gospel, of the doctrine of the plan of salvation, and of eternal families. We were baptized, and when my father began his calling as district president, his first objective was to journey to the temple and receive the blessings which would come because of that sacrifice. It was a 15-day journey covering 4,800 miles (7,725 km)—a journey filled with difficulties and setbacks, highways in poor condition, uncomfortable buses, not even knowing the route, but with great hope in the ordinances we would participate in.
Upon arriving in the city of Mesa, Arizona, we headed down an avenue at the end of which we could see the house of the Lord, gleaming and beautiful. I remember the joy which filled our hearts; we all broke out in songs and praising, and tears ran down the cheeks of many Saints.
Later in the temple we knelt as a family to hear the beautiful promises about an eternal family, with the certainty that our mother, though absent, was now our mother forever, and we felt the peace which comes from knowing that we are an eternal family.
The promise of life eternal thus gave us the riches of eternity! “Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich” (D&C 6:7).

Late last year, I decided to talk to my stake president about something I had kept inside for a long time. Even though I’ve had a picture of the temple on my nightstand for over 10 years and have always had a temple recommend, I had never actually gone inside. A quiet fear had kept me from taking that step.
What made it even harder was that I had been deeply involved in the success of many temple-related events in Haiti, including the laying of the cornerstone at the dedication of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple as a member of the Haiti Communication Council and helped promote the temple in many ways. Yet still I couldn’t bring myself to go inside.
I told my stake president that it wasn’t a lack of faith but a fear I couldn’t overcome. Having grown up in the Church, I’ve always tried to be a faithful disciple of Christ. But the thought of actually entering the temple overwhelmed me. Maybe it was the sacredness of the place or the feeling that I wasn’t ready or worthy, even though I wanted to go.
He listened kindly and encouraged me to pray for help to overcome that fear. I took his advice seriously. As the new year began, I knelt in prayer and felt it was finally time to move forward. I no longer wanted to miss out on the blessings of the temple because of my doubts. I told the stake president I was ready to go, and he responded with words I’ll never forget: “May the Light of Christ illuminate your progress as you walk the covenant path and help you overcome your fear.” Those words gave me strength and peace.
I made plans to go to the temple with my mother on January 3, 2025—a day I will never forget. I was nervous but excited. Just before we left, I received a surprise phone call: a long-awaited prayer of mine had finally been answered. After several rejections, I was told that a request I had lost hope on had been approved. It felt like a direct message from heaven, a sign that God had been listening all along.
With a joyful heart, I entered the temple for the first time. The temple president and his wife welcomed me warmly, fully aware of the significance of this moment for me. Their kindness helped calm my remaining fears, and I felt a deep peace.
During the temple session, every word touched my soul. I felt a clarity and joy I had never experienced before. I knew I was in a holy place of revelation and blessings. Afterward, the temple president walked me to the door. That simple act made me feel loved and supported.
That day changed me. I overcame a fear that had weighed on me for years. I felt God’s love and guidance more clearly than ever before.
But the blessings didn’t stop there. When I returned home, I received a second confirmation—another answer to the same prayer but through a different person. It was as if the Lord wanted me to be absolutely sure that He had heard me. Receiving two answers to the same prayer was a powerful witness of His love and mercy.
As I reflected on everything, the words of President Russell M. Nelson came to mind: “It is significant that the Savior chose to appear to the people at the temple. It is His house. It is filled with His power. … I promise that increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”
Now I know the temple truly is a refuge—a sacred place where I will continue to return for light, direction, and peace.

During the winter of 1990, I was serving as a full-time missionary in Lérida, a city located in the Spain Barcelona Mission. My companion, Sister McKee, had become ill, and we had to stay in our apartment for several days. We were frustrated, especially because we finally had some investigators who were making progress and needed to be taught. We had others who weren’t progressing and needed to be encouraged. We prayed for ways to be useful during this difficult time.
One morning we were reading about the Savior, and we began to share our feelings about Him. Suddenly we knew how we could put our time to good use. We could create a presentation about the life and mission of Jesus Christ.
As we prayed for assistance, a feeling of peace came over us. We began to envision the illustrations we needed and to hear the words that would accompany them. We felt prompted to look in specific places, and there we found phrases or paintings that were exactly what we needed. We remembered issues of the Liahona and the Ensign where certain pictures were printed. We asked the members and other missionaries to help us get pictures we didn’t have. We had similar experiences locating music.
After working for several days, we finished the planning part of our work. We began practicing again and again to coordinate the music with the text, so that everything would fit together when we shared the presentation.
The name for our work became obvious. In the process of completing our project, we had come to understand aspects of the Savior’s mission we had never been aware of. Each of us could now say with much greater conviction, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” That phrase became the title.

Yet I early learned that sharing is as much responsibility as it is opportunity. I was about six years old when I carelessly dropped my older brother’s steam engine and broke its cast iron base. Looking at the little brass boiler—bright from repeated polishing but now listing hopelessly—I suddenly remembered that this was his favorite toy. Later, as Bill pulled the ruins of his engine out from under the pile of toys I had “given” him as a desperate recompense, he didn’t cry—at almost ten he felt he was too old to cry—but my mother’s quiet “He’s your brother, Billy” not only knotted my guilty heart, it filled me with mighty resolve that I wouldn’t exploit him again. I never have.

A few years later, I received a very special phone call at home. It was President Hinckley. He said, “Brother Richards, you are called to the Second Quorum of the Seventy. You are in for a wonderful experience. May the Lord bless you.”
After I hung up the telephone, I realized that President Hinckley had not asked me whether or not I would accept the call to serve. But he had not needed to ask me because I had already decided as a young boy that I would always follow the Lord’s prophet.

The young couple’s courtship was interrupted when Elder Benson was called to the British Isles Mission. When he returned, he lost no time in proposing.
But Flora had a timetable of her own, and “Not yet” was her answer. She felt this young man needed a good education to be prepared for the great future ahead of him. Besides, she had received her own call to the Hawaiian Mission. She served twenty months, part of the time teaching in the Church schools; for the last eight months, her mother was her missionary companion.
One of young Sister Amussen’s mission duties was working part-time in the Hawaiian Temple. One night, as she was getting ready to leave, she discovered everyone else was gone. Her walk to the mission home was through a dense forest and by a camp where some dangerous incidents had occurred. She feared for her safety.
Before leaving the temple, Flora prayed for the Lord’s protection. As she stepped outside, a circle of light appeared and surrounded her. That radiance shone around and ahead of her as she walked through the forest, past the camp, and to the steps of the mission home, disappearing as she slipped safely inside. She has since felt encircled with security and guidance many times as she has trusted in the Lord, though never as literally as that night in a land far from home.
Returning from her mission, Flora prepared to marry Ezra Taft Benson, who by then had graduated from Brigham Young University. On 10 September 1926, Flora Amussen left a handsome monthly allowance to begin married life on a meager subsistence with her beloved T.
“I had inherited from my father quite a portion of worldly goods in stocks and dividends,” Sister Benson explains. “I turned all of this over to my widowed mother at the time of my marriage. I chose to marry a man who was rich spiritually, not materially. I preferred that whatever positions of honor or material things would come to us we would achieve together, starting at the bottom.”
Hours after the ceremony, the newlyweds left Salt Lake City to take a seventy-dollar-a-month postgraduate scholarship at Iowa State College at Ames, Iowa. They traveled east in a used Ford Model T pickup truck that contained all their earthly possessions, camping along the way in a leaky tent.
While her husband worked on his Master of Science degree, Sister Benson took courses in home economics. The couple learned new ways to make their money stretch through the month, always taking out seven dollars first to pay the Lord his tenth. “The lessons I learned were priceless,” Sister Benson recalls. “Money could not buy them. We lived on the Lord’s help and the love that bound us together.”
A few weeks after their marriage, “T” felt they needed some recreation and suggested a tennis game. “I tell you, I never was beaten so badly in my life at anything,” President Benson laughs. “I said, ‘Where did you learn to play like that?’ Flora replied, ‘Oh, I won the women’s singles championship at Utah State Agricultural College.’ I hadn’t known that.”
After Brother Benson’s graduation, the Bensons moved to a farm in Whitney, Idaho. “We had a heavy debt on the farm,” President Benson remembers. “It took hard work, budgeting, and planning to meet our obligations. Sometimes we would just get a cow paid for, and then we would have to sell it to pay the doctor for the arrival of a precious baby.”
But the Lord did not leave the young family on the farm for long. Brother Benson’s interests soon took him to Preston, then Boise, Idaho; then to California, for additional schooling; and eventually to Washington, D.C. It was his call to the Council of the Twelve in 1943 that brought them back to Salt Lake City.
Just two years later, at the close of World War II, Elder Benson was called by President George Albert Smith to go to Europe to reorganize the Church there and to distribute badly needed food, clothing, and medical supplies. President Smith lived near the Benson family and promised to watch over Sister Benson and the children while Elder Benson was away.
Although her health was severely tested during the ten months he was gone, Sister Benson’s steadfastness never wavered. Three months after Elder Benson left, their nineteen-month-old daughter, Beth, became seriously ill with pneumonia. Sister Benson’s constant faith and tireless nursing, accompanied by priesthood blessings, restored Beth to health.
Another chapter in the Bensons’ life began a few years later when Elder Benson, with the encouragement of President David O. McKay, accepted an appointment as United States Secretary of Agriculture under President Eisenhower. Sister Benson cheerfully moved her family to the nation’s capital, focusing her time and energies on her family and shunning much of the Washington social scene.
But on one occasion, as a missionary effort, Sister Benson decided to give a luncheon for Mrs. Eisenhower and the other wives of the president’s advisers. As was common practice in the Benson household, no outside help was hired for the affair. She and her four daughters spent weeks carefully planning a menu, cleaning their home, preparing entertainment, and reviewing etiquette and protocol.
If Sister Benson worried that her guests would miss the coffee, cigarettes, and card playing which normally were part of such affairs, she needn’t have. The cocktails made from ginger ale and home-bottled apricot juice were a great success, as was the entertainment—a choir from Brigham Young University that was touring the east coast.
“The most exciting part was the beautiful letters we received afterward from the women, telling us what a thrill it was to experience a touch of ‘Mormonism’ and what wonderful youth the singers were,” Sister Benson remembers.
Those Washington years, fraught with controversy and criticism over agricultural policy made Secretary Benson the target for more organized and sustained criticism than anyone else in high government office. Yet he was known for his peaceful manner and ability to stay cool under pressure.
What was his secret? American Magazine identified it as his home and family life, and more specifically Sister Benson. “[Secretary Benson] has gathered from both his religion and his close family life a strength and serenity that’s … unique in public life. … Flora is considered to be the pivot on which the family moves. Friends of the family agree that she acts as a leavening influence on her husband.” (American Magazine, June 1954, pp. 109–10.)
Her husband, children, and Church have been the principal focal points of Sister Benson’s life. Her husband has been absent from home at least half of their married life, leaving much of the family responsibility on her willing shoulders. She often declined invitations, even one from the President of the United States, when she felt she was needed at home.
“I would be willing to live in a log cabin if I could have my family and the gospel,” Sister Benson claims, then adds with a semi-serious wink, “Well, if the cabin is clean and I can have curtains at the windows.”
The Bensons’ family includes son Reed, his wife, May, and their nine children of Provo, Utah; son Mark, his wife, Lela, and their six children of Salt Lake City; daughter Barbara, her husband, Robert Walker, and their five children of Calgary, Alberta, Canada; daughter Beverly, her husband, James Parker, and their four children of Burke, Virginia; daughter Bonnie her husband, Lowell Madsen, and their six children of Littleton, Colorado; and daughter Beth, her husband, David Burton, and their four children of Salt Lake City. In addition, they have twenty great-grandchildren.
“I wanted a dozen children, but had to settle for a choice half dozen,” Sister Benson, says, adding, “If we just would have had twins every time, we would have made it.”
In her patriarchal blessing, given when Flora was only eighteen months old, she was promised that men would not be able to deceive her. That promise has been fulfilled in her discernment and unerring judgment. On meeting a person for the first time, she often relates her impressions to her husband, only to have those feelings shown to be correct at a later time.
“Mother has the ability to hear the whisperings of the Spirit,” agrees Reed. “Whenever she says, ‘I feel you should do such and such,’ I listen to her, because so many times she has been right. I have often walked into a room to find her on her knees, praying. I know that when she prays for you, you have a direct line of help.”
The Bensons enjoy one another’s company now more than ever, still going on frequent drives in the mountains, eating ice cream at a favorite spot, and singing and dancing together. Each day Sister Benson reads the Book of Mormon aloud to her husband, after which they discuss what they have read.
Both agree that one of the greatest strengths of their marriage is the absolute love and trust each has in the other. “I have never, never had any question about Flora’s loyalty,” President Benson stresses. Each is still happiest when they are together.
After singing “There’s a Long, Long Trail Winding” and “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” at a recent family gathering, President Benson smiled at his wife of sixty years, declaring, “You’d think we were still in love … and we are.”

Not long ago, Jeff Pugh was driving across state to attend a session of Especially for Youth. He never made it. He was involved in a serious car accident and woke
“The first moments I remember of the whole ordeal were about a week and a half after it happened. There were unfamiliar faces in my room. I got to know these faces very well. They were the youth of the Tulsa (Oklahoma) Second Ward. The young women brought me sweets to eat. The young men came and talked to me, and one time helped push me in my wheelchair outside for a conversation.
“I am writing so that the Tulsa Second Ward youth can be recognized for their unselfish love and their Christlike example. They helped a scared and confused young man feel their love. This happening helped build my testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and helped me realize there really are people out there like the ones you hear about in Sunday School stories. Thanks.”

A few years ago, I was invited to the Beehive House to meet with a group of girls who had been shepherded there into a club during the war years in an effort to keep them from falling into evil ways while they were away from their homes—they came from country towns for the most part. After I had fulfilled my assignment and was about to leave, a young girl drew me aside and asked if she could speak to me a moment. She opened her purse and took out of it a picture of a handsome young soldier in uniform, and underneath it said something about love and was signed. Then she took out from behind the picture a folded piece of paper, and as she was doing this, the tears were swimming in her eyes, and I asked, “Well, what does this all mean?” She replied, “Brother Lee, I met this young man out here in one of the nearby camps. He was a fine young man, clean, good habits, and he always treated me with respect, gentlemanly. I felt perfectly safe when I was out on a date with him; all but for one thing. He was not a member of the Church. Finally he proposed marriage and I said, ‘Well I love you, Jack, but we have to think about something else. Marriage to us is more than just something for this life. If it is the genuine kind of love, it should last always and should make us husband and wife forever.’

“Well, at first he argued with me; then he became angry; and then he was out of patience. Finally the time came when he received his overseas orders to go into a combat area, and at this time he pressed the matter of our engagement, and so I said to him plainly, ‘No, I can’t marry anyone until I can be married in the House of the Lord.’ And he had replied in anger, ‘All right, if you think more of your Church and your religion than you do of me, why you can have them but you can’t have me.’”
I guess she cried herself to sleep or cried all night without sleep; I don’t know which. Two or three weeks passed before he arrived at his destination down in Australia, which was to be the staging area for the war raging in the Pacific Islands. On the way over he had time to think about all she had said to him, this sweet, lovely girl who to him represented the ideal of his life. She was everything that he could ask for in a sweetheart, a wife, the mother of his children. Then he started thinking, “I wonder if I have been too harsh. Maybe it’s the religion she believes in that has made her the kind of girl she is.”

Prompted by that thought, when he arrived in Australia, he located our Latter-day Saint boys and our Latter-day Saint chaplain who was over there. He began to attend meetings, and he began to ask questions, and finally, on her birthday, he was baptized, and he sent her his picture with his baptismal certificate as a birthday present. With it was a letter in which he said, “I am going to try hard to live as a Latter-day Saint should so that when I get back home I will be worthy to be ordained an elder so I can take you to the House of the Lord where at last you and I can have that eternal marriage you have planned for so long.”

He could remember the day well. It was May 1975. He was 18 years old, and it was just a few days before graduation. His friends and he had planned a party to celebrate. As his car was in the shop, he’d asked his dad if he could borrow his car.
“What kind of party is it going to be, Kevin?” his dad had asked.
“Oh, you know, a party,” he’d stalled.
“There’s going to be beer there, isn’t there?”
“Ah, yeah, I guess so.”
“You can’t go,” his dad said firmly.
“If I can’t use your car, I’ll go with Doug. He can squeeze two more into his.”
“You didn’t hear me,” his dad said softly, but firmly. “I said you can’t go.” Kevin couldn’t believe his ears. He decided to try another approach. “Gee, dad, you never let me do anything I want.”
“I don’t?” his dad said with mock surprise. “I asked you not to grow your hair long. Right away you grew it long. But I didn’t stop you. I asked you not to hang around with those long-haired hoods. Right away you made friends with them. But again, I didn’t stop you. I have always let you make the decision, hoping you would make the right one.”
“Then why can’t I decide this time?” Kevin asked angrily.
“Okay, you can,” his dad said, struggling to keep his cool. “The choice is yours. The party or your home.”
“What?”
“If you go to that party, then don’t bother to come home. If you won’t respect me as your father, then I won’t treat you as my son. So go out that door now or go to your room. The choice is all yours!”
Kevin stared at him in disbelief. He wanted to walk out the door in defiance. But he knew his father never lied. If he left, he couldn’t come back. He had no money; his car was going to cost him more than he already had. He really had no choice but to stay. “Okay,” he said at last. “You win; I’m staying. But just wait until I get enough money. Then I’ll leave for good.”
“Kevin,” his dad said, “I love you. I’m doing this for your own good. You don’t know what kind of party you’re going to.”
“I hate you.”
Kevin’s dad finally lost his cool. “Then go to your room.”
The next day it had been all over the school. Kevin’s friend Doug had been fooling around and had slipped some drugs into the beer. He had hoped to liven things up. Kevin had never drunk beer before, but he had planned to that night. Still, he’d never wanted to mess around with drugs. Even users knew better than to mix drugs and beer. Doug had tried to fly his Mustang through a telephone pole. Three kids were dead, and another girl was in the hospital with brain damage.
“Dad saved your stupid life,” he said to himself. “If he’d let you go to that party, you’d be checking in upstairs. Or maybe you’d be lucky and be bouncing off the rubber walls at the funny farm. How did dad get those feelings?” Kevin was sure his dad had had a premonition of what was going to happen. But how had he gotten those feelings? Then one night, while trying to get up the courage to ask how, Kevin stumbled onto his parents praying. Then he knew.
It had taken him a week to get up the courage to say he was sorry. But three despair-filled funerals smashed at the wall he’d built up between him and his father. He had done it. The next day they went to the barber shop together. His hair came off easily.
It was harder to change his life. But his father was always there to help him. Three months later, when his father asked him to set a mission as a goal, he couldn’t refuse. But it took him two years to get ready. He worked a year to get the money. Then he spent a year at Ricks College. The small school gave him a needed change in atmosphere. He was pleasantly surprised when he received straight A’s for the first time in years. And the two Spanish classes were more useful than he had ever imagined.
Two weeks after he got home, he was in the Missionary Training Center. Two months after that he was on his way to a country he had hardly even heard of before—El Salvador.

I remember the time so well as we were preparing for my very first invasion, sitting out in the Pacific on a troop ship with three thousand men aboard. This large group of soldiers represented the first seven waves in the invasion force. Prior to disembarking, one of the Protestant chaplains held a final church service. He had us all look around and get acquainted with each other and then he said: “Now, gentlemen, I don’t want to worry you, but do you realize by tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, many of you will be standing before your Maker? Are you ready?”
Well, how would you feel, young men, if that challenge were hurled at you? At that time I was almost nineteen. Shortly after the service I found a secluded spot on the ship and called time-out and talked to my Heavenly Father. I didn’t sleep that night nor did most of the men. The next morning as the seven waves of infantry went ashore, many not making it, I dug my first foxhole and took another time-out. I remember the event well. I called upon my Heavenly Father and said, “I really need to know if thou art there.” Heavenly Father spoke to my mind, and I haven’t been the same since.

Elder Monte J. Brough of the First Quorum of the Seventy tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.
They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began for the new year, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.