Gospel Story Finder

Jared Womack, of Franklin, Idaho, knows what team spirit is all about. After managing the Preston High School football team for five years, he received his letter in the sport. Jared also plays basketball and is a great example of good sportsmanship; he is always cheering for his teammates on the basketball team and finding ways to serve those around him.
“That’s just Jared,” says one classmate.
Although Jared has Down’s Syndrome, he is able to participate in school activities and hold an after-school job at a local grocery store. Jared is active in his priests quorum and blesses the sacrament regularly.

In Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, President Bokolo shares how he and his family joined the Church in France. One day, as he was reading his patriarchal blessing, the Spirit inspired Brother Bokolo to return with his family to the DR Congo. Brother Bokolo knew they would face many challenges if they returned. And their church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was not yet established in Kinshasa.

Yet, in faith, as have many others, the Bokolos followed the Lord’s Spirit. In Kinshasa, they ministered to and blessed those around them, overcame challenges, received spiritual and temporal blessings. Today, they rejoice in having a house of the Lord in their country.

When tragedy strikes in a village in Polynesia, help isn’t very far away. That’s just the way things work in the tightknit communities of the Pacific.
This was especially true for Tevita Lei, a student at Saineha High School in Vava’u, Tonga.
When his family’s home was completely destroyed by fire, they lost everything. The next day, his classmates got together and discussed what the family needed to start putting their world back together.
Mele’ana Mafi teaches computer science at the school, which is operated by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She remembers the day she looked around her classroom and noticed someone missing. Students confirmed that Tevita Lei was not there.
The teacher asked, “Why is he not here?”
A soft voice in the back said, “His house burned down last week.”
“Our simple discussions led everyone to think outside the box,” Mele’ana recalls.
“Students started volunteering to donate things for the most urgent needs, such as uniforms, school materials, a new school bag. The rest of the students volunteered to donate other things such as food, clothes and blankets.”
Mele’ana then went to the school principal, Motuliki Fakatava, to tell him about the situation and to see if he could provide transportation for the class members to deliver the items they had collected. He readily agreed.
“As soon as Mele’ana told me this story,” Motuliki reports, “I felt an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Several months ago, I felt prompted to begin to set aside in storage some food and clothing, but I didn’t know why or who it would be for. As soon as Mele’ana told me this story, I knew this was the right time and purpose.”
The next day, all the members of Tevita’s computer class got on a school bus during home room time and went to see what was left of his home. In addition to Motuliki’s items, the students brought along all that they had managed to collect including some essentials such as rice, flour, sugar, beans and crackers.
They found Tevita and his father there by themselves amongst the charred remains of their home.
“I told his father the purpose of our visit and asked permission to do a short devotional service with them,” Mele’ana says.
“When we started to sing ‘We thank thee, O God, for a Prophet,’ we truly felt the Spirit present and confirmed God’s love for His children. The sincerity of the prayer offered truly touched our hearts and put everyone in tears.”
She continued: “I was so brokenhearted when we arrived to see Tevita and his father outside trying to clean up the ashes and burned remains of their home. I knew in my heart that this was the right thing for us to do.”
Some of the students shared their feelings about their visit to Tevita and his dad:
“Last night I was confused about what I should take to give the family. It came to my mind that it doesn’t matter if it is something small, big, cheap or expensive, but that you tried your best to help. It shows Tevita’s family that this is not the end and that the good Lord loves them. I saw the smiles on their faces, and it reminded me of my family.”
“I hope that what we gave them was a big help to their family. By helping others, we learn to love them as ourselves. I am grateful, and may God bless their family.”
“As we arrived, I just imagined myself in the position that he is in, with such difficulty and struggling to survive. It touched me most when his father said that he is grateful that Tevita has family out of his actual family, meaning us, his computer classmates.”
“Seeing my classmates’ willingness to help him really touched my heart. It showed the love of a family we had in our class. No matter how big our help was to Tevita Lei, that didn’t matter, but what mattered was that our classmates were willing to give a helping hand to our dearest brother. We will never leave anyone behind.”
“I know that Tevita’s dad was so excited and grateful for what we have been able to do. He said that now he can feel that ‘there is a family for his son that still cares about him.’ Everyone in this life is my family.”
“The moment I saw this brother, my heart and soul filled with the spirit of love. I appreciated my teacher for the great spirit that inspired us as a computer class to visit our beloved classmate Ti Lei. I felt the love that Jesus had for His children.”
Mele’ana summarized her thoughts about this experience: “I am grateful for the opportunity to reach out with our class to Tevita. What has happened this morning was a great start of our day. The acts of kindness, working together, love, empathy, and service, does reflect who they really are. They are sons and daughters of Heavenly Father.”
“As I came back to my classroom and reflected on my students and the goodness and mercy of God for His children, the scripture in Alma 26:37 came to mind:
“Now my brethren, we see that God is mindful of every people, whatsoever land they may be in; yea, he numbereth his people, and his bowels of mercy are over all the earth. Now this is my joy, and my great thanksgiving; yea, and I will give thanks unto my God forever.”

When a family in my ward posted photos on Facebook about their experience being stuck in an elevator for two hours, I could not relate to it. That was, until I got stuck in an elevator myself.
I had left my cell phone at home, so I pounded on the elevator doors and called out for help. I also prayed. Soon, several young men heard me and—like good Samaritans—called emergency services. Then they said they lived in apartment number 38 and joked that when I got free, I could bring some food by their apartment to say thanks.
They left, and I found it hard to calm down. What if the emergency crew didn’t arrive? I prayed more. I knew that my husband would soon return home from work and would not know where I was.
I began pounding again. Between the crack in the elevator doors, I could see people walking by. I called out to them and asked if they could call my husband and tell him about my situation. They did, and I was able to calm down. My husband now knew, and he would make sure I didn’t stay stuck.
I sat in the elevator for about an hour. Finally, a maintenance worker came and freed me. He said the elevator had jammed, so he had to climb up the elevator shaft to get the elevator working again. I thanked him for his help.
Later that day, I went and thanked my neighbors in apartment 38. I brought them some home-cooked food. They said they were just joking about the food, but I was glad to thank them. As I look back on this experience, I now know what the family in my ward went through, and I am grateful to the people who did not pass me by but stopped and helped.
They might not have known it, but they followed the Savior’s example. He did not pass us by or leave us. He gave His life so we can be saved from physical and spiritual death. Because of this, I will try to follow His example and never pass by someone else’s trouble. I’m grateful for this experience that has unexpectedly given me a greater appreciation for Him and for His blessings.

Most people don’t start thinking about Christmas until jolly songs play on the radio and festive decor fills the malls. But Rachel H. was thinking about it back in May of 2010. She wasn’t waiting for any physical present; instead, she was preparing to audition for and perform in Savior of the World: His Birth, a musical production depicting the birth of Jesus. When she auditioned for the stake production, she didn’t realize how much of a gift the experience would be.
When the cast list was posted a few weeks later, Rachel was excited to see that she had been given the part of Mary in one of the two casts. “I was so happy to have been chosen to play the part of Mary. I was excited but very nervous,” she recalls. Rachel was just one of nearly 300 youth who participated in the production.
Preparing for Savior of the World was a daunting task, especially with so many youth participating. The teens were grouped into two casts—the red cast and the blue cast—to allow more youth to participate. Each cast had over 40 assigned parts, a dance ensemble, and an angel choir with about 50 performers.
Rehearsals began in mid-August and continued until the show’s performances started in mid-November. Brie S. (Mary’s Mother, red cast) recalls her initial feelings on the amount of time they had to put into the production. “The four-hour practices every Saturday afternoon were not very appealing,” Brie says. “But whenever I chose to fulfill my promise of attending rehearsal, I was always blessed with a happy feeling. I’m so grateful for the opportunity I had to be in Savior of the World. I gained a stronger testimony of the divine truths our Savior has given us.”
Throughout the months of practice and especially on the days leading up to and during the six performances, the cast members relied heavily on prayer. “Before every performance, my counterpart and I would pray to perform with the Spirit and that we could help those in the audience feel the same Spirit we felt throughout all our rehearsals,” says Taylor H. (Zacharias, blue cast).
When problems arose, the cast members and production staff noticed many blessings that allowed them to perform the musical.
Shawn G. (Joseph, red cast) remembers how one of his props would malfunction whenever he prepared to go on stage. “Every time I would attempt to turn on my battery-powered candle, it would quickly turn off. No matter how many times I pushed the button and fidgeted with the batteries, the candle would not light backstage,” he says. “However, every single time I went out on stage, it always lit perfectly without fail.”
On the final night of the performance, one of the microphones wasn’t working. “With minutes to go until the start of the show, the directors still couldn’t get this person’s microphone to work. One of the backstage managers began to walk through the halls and ask everyone in sight to say a prayer, asking for help with the technical difficulty,” Brie recalls. “Before bowing my head, I looked around me to see every single cast member humbly bowing his or her head to pray in faith to our Father in Heaven. Sure enough, as we sang the opening number and started the show, all of the microphones were working perfectly.”
In addition to witnessing miracles, the cast members felt spiritually uplifted by the music of the show.
Jamie V. (Elizabeth, blue cast) shares her experience, saying, “I remember the music in particular and what a huge role it played in delivering the message of the Savior. When I performed my scene with music, I was so overcome with the Spirit and I knew that it was the Lord’s work we were doing.”
Catherine H. (Angel Choir, red cast) had similar feelings about the impact of the music: “Savior of the World brought on such a constant powerful and spiritual feeling every time we worked on it,” she says. “When we sang ‘Come Deliver Us,’ you could just feel the power of the music and the emotions of the song. I was so grateful to bear my testimony through song.”
Even after the production had finished, the cast members found strength and comfort in the music from the show. Lauren A. (Shepherd Jeshua, blue cast) talks about the testimony meeting that followed the final performance: “After we bore our testimonies, our leaders decided to close by singing one of the songs—‘Come, Lord Jesus.’ The second we stood up and began singing, the Spirit in the room was strengthened even more.”
For many of the youth, performing in Savior of the World had a profound effect on their testimonies of the gospel and of Jesus Christ.
Taylor recalls his experience as one of growth. “Savior of the World has forever changed how I will think about Christmas,” he says. “As I knelt as at the scene of Mary, Joseph, and the infant Savior, the Spirit testified to me that my Savior lives. The experience I had brought me more joy and happiness than I ever imagined. I now have a much deeper understanding for why Christ’s birth was heralded by angels and mortals alike.”
Daniel M. (Joseph, blue cast) says, “I felt so grateful to be a witness of this special moment that testifies to me that the Savior of this world did come to us in a humble stable to loving parents who knew of the sacredness of their calling. I now know so much more about my Savior’s birth and about how Mary and Joseph must have felt to be the ones chosen to raise this holy child.”
Rachel’s greatest Christmas gift was her strengthened testimony as a result of the production. “I grew so much closer to the Savior through prayers, scripture study, and pondering. He blessed me with a calm assurance that He cares about me. I was so worried, but when I just trusted in Him, He helped me to replace my fear with faith.”

When the doctor released Tracy’s father from the hospital, it was to send him home to die. The cancer had been discovered too late and was too widespread for there to be much that could be done.
It wasn’t entirely for his father’s benefit that he wasn’t told he was dying; his mother needed some time to deal with the situation before she talked to her husband about it.
Tracy, then eighteen years old, numbly endured the last few weeks of high school, then it was summer. He worked on a highway department survey crew, which left him his weekends free to wait.
His three older brothers and their wives each took turns flying into town on weekends, spending a day or two with their father before returning to their jobs in faraway places.
One day his father called him into his room. It was dimly lit and smelled of pain; the bedside table was littered with glasses and bottles of pills.
“Have I ever lied to you?” his father asked.
“No.”
“Then don’t lie to me. Am I dying?”
Tracy suddenly found it difficult to speak. He tried to remember hopeful words about “being up in no time” that his brothers and their wives had used so easily. But it was no use.
“Am I dying of cancer?” his father again asked.
“Yes,” Tracy answered.
His father sighed and said quietly, “That’s what I thought.”
Over the next few weeks, his father made all the necessary preparations—calling in a lawyer to complete the will and other financial matters, and picking out a reasonably priced casket and a cemetery lot for his burial.
Then he lay back and patiently waited to die. But death, like sleep, does not always come when invited.
He even seemed to improve a little.
One warm summer day in July he looked out his bedroom window and said, “I want to go fishing.”
Of course, it was impossible. That was what his mother said; that is what the older brothers and their wives said; that is what the neighbors said.
The doctor said, “If he feels up to it and somebody can go along to do most of the work, why not let him go?”
Tracy was put in charge of taking his father for one last trip into the mountains. After a busy few days of planning and buying groceries and stocking up on pills and reading his mother’s never-ending list of how to care for his father, finally one Saturday morning, Tracy stepped inside the small camping trailer to make his last inspection before getting his father.
For all the years I was growing up, he thought as he looked at the worn path in the cracking linoleum floor of the camper, this has been dad’s church.
For as long as he could remember, his father had not been active in the Church. Long ago someone in the Church had offended him—about what and by whom no one could now remember. But it had been enough to keep him out of church, except to watch his sons perform, for twenty years.
For all the years that Tracy had been alive, his father treated Sunday as his day. “I work hard at the store six days a week. At least one day I ought to be able to do what I want to do.” And that meant fishing in the spring and summer, hunting in the fall, and doing some home carpentry in the winter.
Tracy drove the camper up the canyon, and his father sat in the front seat and silently watched the twisting mountain stream beside the road.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here,” his father said. “I know this country as well as anyone. Every road, every hill, each turn in the river—I know it all. See that place where the river goes under the railroad bridge? Right down there on that point is a good place to fish. If you use the right fishing equipment, I’ll guarantee you could catch two or three nice brown trout.”
“You make it sound easy, dad, but it never is when I try it.”
“Well, I’ve spent the last twenty years fishing this river. I should’ve learned something. You know, I should write down all the good places for you. Somebody ought to benefit from all I’ve learned about this river.”
They drove in silence for several kilometers as his dad studied the river and the condition of every fishing area.
Tracy wondered if his father knew that he didn’t care at all about fishing.
“We should’ve come out here more often, just father and son.”
“Mom never would’ve let me come on Sundays.”
“No, she was strongly opposed to your doing that.”
“But we could’ve come on Saturdays, dad.”
“Sure, we could’ve done that,” his father said wistfully, “if I’d ever had an assistant manager I could trust to leave the store with. You know Saturday was our busiest day.”
“I know; that’s what you always used to say.”
We’re strangers, Tracy thought as he drove. I really don’t know much about him. And what does he really know about me?
Soon they arrived at the lake. They discovered that the campsite, which for years had been his father’s favorite, was still vacant. It was the last one along the road to the lake and was located on a hill, giving a good view of the lake and mountains.
After lunch his father took his pills and lay down for a nap.
About mid-afternoon he woke up. “I feel terrific!” he announced happily. “This mountain air has done more for me than all the doctors in the world. Let’s go fishing!”
First Tracy carried down two folding chairs, next the fishing equipment, and after that a sunshade that his mother had made him promise he’d set up for his dad to use. After everything was ready, he escorted his father down the trail to the lake.
Not much happened for a couple of hours, but suddenly, his father shouted and his fishing rod bent over sharply. At the same time thirty meters out into the lake, a large trout jumped out of the water, shaking its head back and forth in an attempt to get rid of the hook.
“He must be about nine kilos!” his father yelled excitedly.
It was a long battle between man and fish. When the fish relaxed, the slow, steady reeling in of the fishing line brought it closer to shore. A couple of times it was within six meters of them before it surged its way back into deeper waters.
“Dad, I can see it now. It’s huge.”
Finally the fight was over.
“Get the net, Tracy. Careful now.”
Tracy stood near the water and waited for the fish to get close enough, then dipped the long-handled net into the water and pulled the exhausted fish into the air, causing it to frantically writhe.
“It’s beautiful,” his father said reverently.
Tracy picked up the large knife and prepared to strike the fish sharply on the head with the handle to put it out of its suffering. That was something his father had taught him.
“Don’t kill him!” his father cried out. “I don’t want to keep him.”
“No?”
“I want him to stay alive. He belongs in these waters. He fought too bravely to die. Can you remove the hook very easily?”
Tracy grabbed the fish by the gills and looked to see where the hook had lodged. It was deep in its throat.
“He swallowed the hook, dad. I can’t get the hook out without killing him.”
“Then cut the line and put him back in the water. Quickly now.”
He took his knife and cut the line a few centimeters from the fish’s mouth, then gently lowered it into the water. For a second or two, it just lay still; then sensing freedom, it quickly swam away from them into the deep.
Tracy looked back at his father, wondering why he let loose the largest fish they’d ever seen in the lake.
“He’s free now, isn’t he? Free to move through these waters. He can go places we’ll never see. I’m glad we didn’t keep it, aren’t you?”
Since anything else after that fish would be anticlimactic, they quit and packed everything back to the trailer.
“How’d you like to go to California with me for a few weeks this summer?” his dad asked, the excitement of catching the fish still bubbling over. “There’s a hospital there where they treat people with diseases like mine. We could drive down there. They claim they can cure people even worse off than me.”
His father was as positive as Tracy had seen him for years.
“We can fight back at disease, can’t we? We don’t have to just sit and accept defeat, do we? We’ll leave in a week or two, just you and me. And when I’m all cured, we’ll have mom fly down and meet us. We’ll take a little vacation and show her all of California, just the three of us. Maybe we’ll even go down to Mexico and Central America and take a boat through the Panama Canal. How does that sound?”
Even as Tracy cooked supper, his father talked about visiting Mexico. He cooked hamburgers and opened a can of beans. His father took the pills and then they had their meal.
Thick clouds had moved in during the late afternoon, and by evening they were in the middle of a violent thunderstorm. Looking out, Tracy watched the wind drive sheets of rain across the lake in sporadic patterns. Several times lightning crashed around them.
His father, suddenly looking much older, his forehead drenched with sweat, went to bed after taking his pills. Tracy stayed up reading a book.
At eleven o’clock his father woke up coughing and retching, and vomited the food he had eaten for supper.
Tracy got out of bed and turned on his flashlight. His father was sitting up, his body hunchbacked with pain.
Tracy got a pan of water and a towel and began to clean up the mess on the floor.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his father repeated over and over again. “It must’ve been the effect of the pills.”
Tracy finished with the floor and then took a wash cloth and cleaned up his father as best as he could. They got him out of his sweat-soaked pajamas and into a pair of old pants and a shirt.
At first his father was afraid of taking any more pain pills that night. As the night progressed, he sat on the edge of the bed and rocked back and forth, his head down, his teeth clenched, fighting against the pain.
Finally, at one o’clock, unable to stand the pain any longer, willing to risk vomiting again, his father asked for a slice of bread and his pills.
“Does the fish hurt tonight?” his father asked after taking his last pill.
“I don’t know, dad. It’s only a fish.”
“It’s out there swimming around with the hook digging in with each breath.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Do you think it’s grateful to me for sparing its life, or is it cursing me for allowing it to continue to suffer?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Every time it tries to eat, every time it swallows, the hook will be there, tearing at it. Maybe it’d be better off dead. Maybe we should’ve let it die.”
“Dad, please, you’ve got to sleep.”
“Maybe it’s already dead; maybe it’s floating belly up in the water.”
His father stood up and walked to the window to look out at the lake. The rain had turned to a steady drizzle.
“It’s so hard to know what we should’ve done—so hard to play God even for a fish.”
Tracy lay back in bed, hoping his father would soon go back to his bed and rest, but he remained standing there by the window looking out into the blackness of the night.
Tracy must have fallen asleep, but a few minutes later, he heard the door shut and his father walk out into the darkness.
He jumped out of bed, got dressed, and ran out.
A few minutes later, he found his father standing at the edge of the lake, flashlight in hand, shining the light across the surface of the water.
“Dad, what are you doing down here?”
“I want to know if the fish is dead.”
Suddenly Tracy was terrified. He knew he couldn’t forcibly move his dad up to the trailer. He was too big.
“Dad, please go back inside. It’s raining.”
“I know it’s raining,” his father said, shining his light back and forth across the water.
“You know mom would be mad if she knew you were out here in the rain. Please go back.”
Finally satisfied, his father turned around to face Tracy. “He’s not belly up. He must still be alive. We can go back now.”
Tracy put his arm around his father’s waist and helped him up the trail.
“Do you ever pray about me?” his father asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“What do you pray about?”
“That you’ll get better.”
“Don’t pray for that anymore. Pray that God’s will be done. We’ve got to trust him to know what’d be best. You and I can’t even decide that for a fish.”
Back in the trailer, his father slept the remainder of the night.
When Tracy woke up the next morning he discovered a gray, dull, rainy day. His father woke up at ten o’clock. Tracy fixed them both some hot cereal and his father a cup of instant coffee.
“This is Sunday, isn’t it?” his father asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s the first Sunday I ever recall you missing church. I shouldn’t have come up here with you. Especially with this weather. We’re not going to get much fishing today, are we? Of course, fishing is sometimes very good when it rains—if you want to.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“I’ve been thinking about what I said yesterday—about going to California. It would use up all our savings if we went. One thing’s for sure, the insurance money would never pay for it. And if the treatment is no good, then where would your mother be without any money?”
Tracy ached inside as he realized that California was his father’s last hope for recovery, and that hope had slipped away.
“I guess I’ll never see the Panama Canal, will I?” his father said, looking up from his cup. “Well, we’ll just have to make the best of what we’ve got here while we can.”
Tracy, still drying the pan he’d cooked the cereal in, looked away as the tears fell.
“I’ve got some money set aside for your mission and part of your schooling, but if there’s anything else you need from me, let’s talk about it now, before we head back home.”
Tracy knew what he wanted but didn’t know if he dared to ask his father. He knew it wasn’t what his father expected him to say.
“Dad, I want a father’s blessing.”
His father sadly shook his head. “You know I can’t give you that. I’m not an elder. Why do you want that?”
“All my life I’ve been ordained and given priesthood blessings by other men, sometimes by men I don’t even know. But what I wanted was for you to do that, my own father.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”
“I used to think that I if tried hard to be the best kind of boy that you’d see what the Church was like and become active again. Dad, I never did any of the things that other guys in school were doing. Why didn’t that make you love the Church?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t even notice, did you? You took it all for granted. And now it’s too late. Dad, I want a father’s blessing.”
“I can’t do it. If you want a priesthood blessing, you’ll have to see the bishop or the home teachers.”
“They’re not my father. You are.”
“I can’t do it. I don’t hold the Melchizedek Priesthood.”
“Dad, you can give me a father’s blessing even if you don’t hold the priesthood. But if that makes you uncomfortable, just put your hands on my head and say a prayer,” Tracy pleaded.
“No, I can’t. Please don’t ask me. I don’t know how. God wouldn’t hear anything I say anyway.”
“I’d hear it. Doesn’t that matter to you? Please, this may be my only chance to receive a father’s blessing.”
His father sat on the kitchen chair and looked out the window for a long time.
“Please, dad.”
“What do I do?”
“Stay in the chair, and I’ll kneel down so you can put your hands on my head.”
Tracy kneeled down in front of his father.
“What do I say?”
“Just say a prayer.”
He felt the big hands of his father rest gently on his head.
“God,” he began slowly, “Tracy wanted me to do this. I don’t have the right priesthood, but he thought if I just said a prayer.” He paused for several seconds and then began again. “He’s been a good boy, always has been. Not that I can take any credit for that. I should’ve been a better example for him, but there was always enough food on the table, and I taught him about honesty and about work. When he’s given a job to do, he does it. There’s a lot of people, even Mormons, who can’t finish a job.”
Tracy knew there were tears streaming down his face, but he didn’t care about that.
“I wasn’t everything I should’ve been, I guess you know that, but I think he’s turned out okay—well, better than okay. I think he’s the most wonderful boy a father could have. God, you better take care of him. He’s going to need that, because I’m dying. You’d better help him, that’s all I can say.”
Suddenly all the heartache that had been locked inside Tracy was gone.
“Maybe he could remember,” his father continued with a strange calmness, “the good things I did as a father and not think of my failings. And maybe when he’s a father, he won’t be too busy to take his son out and play ball with him. I used to do that, you know. And maybe he won’t be too eager to look down on people in the Church who drink coffee or have a beer now and then. Instead, maybe he’ll try to help them, and not be like those who sniff their noses when somebody who smokes goes to church.”
His father paused and then began again. “I want him to go on a mission, but only if he works hard. And I’d like him to be married in the temple. I never was, but I think it’d be a nice way to start a marriage. You’d better bless him. He’s a good boy, and I love him.” There was a long pause. “I guess I’m through. Tracy, how do I end it?”
Tracy told him, and his father ended the prayer.
Tracy wiped the tears away on his sleeve and stood up.
“Was it okay?” his father asked.
Tracy silently nodded his head, unwilling to trust his voice to explain what it meant to him. Then he reached out and threw his arms around his father and hugged him.
“It wasn’t so bad. I just hope the blessing works,” his father said with a slight smile through the tears.
The rain continued through lunch.
After lunch, his father suggested that they go back home, because if they left then, they would be in time to go as a family to sacrament meeting.
They went to church for the next three Sundays, and then the pain became too much for his dad and he had to stay at home. They had the home teachers help Tracy with the sacrament each week for the family in their home until the end of August, when his father died.

One of my children turned the television to a popular children’s program, and a scene soon came on that really disturbed me.
“Yuck,” my 11-year-old said. “That was sick!”
“Yes, it was,” I agreed. I thought about calling the television station and letting them know how we felt. If I said something, would it really make a difference? I wondered. So many popular shows include material that is inappropriate for children—for anyone really. But this scene seemed particularly inappropriate.
I called the local station and received the telephone number of its national affiliate. After being redirected several times, I finally reached someone who played a part in the program’s production. I explained how offended I was and what my child’s reaction had been. I said, “If others haven’t called, it may be that they feel as I do—that it doesn’t do any good.”
“To tell you the truth,” the man said, “I argued with the writers on that segment, but they insisted we put it in to test the viewers’ responses. I was sure a lot of people would feel as you do, but few people call or write. Tell your friends and neighbors to let us know!”
After I hung up, the thirteenth article of faith came to my mind: “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” [A of F 1:13] I realized I could make a difference by becoming more alert and letting my feelings be known not only about entertainment but about my local environment as well.

“When you come home, tell me what songs you sang in Primary,” Jenny said.
“I will!” her sister Miriam said as she put on her shoes.
Not everyone in Jenny’s family could go to church every Sunday. There were six people in Jenny’s family. But Mamá only had enough money to buy two bus tickets each week. So they had to take turns riding the bus to church.
Jenny wished she could go every week. She liked learning about Jesus Christ. She liked singing in Primary. She wanted to see her friends. Most of all, she wanted to feel the warm, happy feeling she always got at church. But today she had to stay home.
“Time to go.” Mamá hugged Jenny and her brother and sisters goodbye.
Jenny tried to smile as Miriam and Mamá left. But she felt a lump in her throat as she watched them walk away. I wish it was my turn to go, Jenny thought. It was always hard to stay home.
“Want to color?” Jenny’s little brother, Marco, held up some crayons and paper.
Jenny nodded.
For the next few hours, Jenny read stories and colored with Marco and their older sisters. It was fun, but Jenny kept thinking about church. Were they learning new songs in Primary right now? What was the lesson about today?
Finally Jenny heard the front door open. Mamá and Miriam were home!
“Mamá! Miriam!” Jenny raced to the door and hugged them.
Mamá set her purse down. “Let’s talk about what we learned at church.”
Everyone sat down together. Mamá pulled out the little hymnbook she kept in her purse. Jenny’s family sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.” She knew all the words.
Then Jenny asked Miriam about Primary. Miriam opened her Book of Mormon and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She held it up so everyone could see. It was a picture she had colored of Jesus with some children.
“We colored a picture and sang ‘I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.’ Then we talked about how Jesus can help everyone.”
“We talked about that in Relief Society too,” Mamá said. “Jesus Christ can help us when we are scared or lonely.” Mamá pulled out a piece of paper from her purse. “The teacher gave everyone this quote from the prophet. ‘As you choose to live on the Lord’s side, you are never alone.’”*
“Even here at home!” Jenny said.
Mamá smiled. “Even at home. We can always feel the Savior close to us.”
Jenny smiled big. She didn’t get to go to church every week. But she could feel close to Jesus at home. And she was excited for her turn to go to church again soon.
This story took place in Mexico.

C. S. Lewis wrote The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, a fantasy story for children. The story refers to Eustace, who hides in a dead dragon's cave to escape a sudden downpour. The dragon's treasure arouses his greed. He fills his pockets with gold and jewels, but as he sleeps, he is transformed into a dragon. As a dragon, he becomes aware of how bad his previous behavior was. He attempts to shed his dragon skin without success. It is only with the help of Aslan, the lion, who actually pulls off the thick, dark, knobbly-looking dragon skin, that he is able to become human again, though the process is painful.
Eustace says, "The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.... And there was I--smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been."

As I casually peered out the window, an unexpected stomach spasm began at the sight of an all-too-familiar car pulling into our driveway. It shot from the pit of my stomach, tickling its way upward, stopping briefly to flip-flop my heart, then climaxed in my throat with a delighted scream. Matthew Conally was here! Actually here at my house! He was only the most coveted hero on campus. And he was actually here!
I began to run to the door, but just as I realized it wouldn’t look cool, I tripped, falling flat on my face, and from my now horizontal position, I had a horrifyingly realistic view of our living room floor. It was covered with blocks, Lincoln logs, doll clothes, doll furniture, a dollhouse, and among other things, that rotten Tonka truck I had just tripped over.
As I picked myself up, another unexpected spasm began. Only it began in my throat, draining all the moisture, and dropped downward until it landed with a painful thump in the pit of my stomach. The living room was a total disaster area! What kind of an impression would it make? Grabbing up an armful of coats, newspapers, and books, I relocated them into the next room. Next, I began kicking anything else that would fit into and under the sofa and then threw the cushions back into their natural position on top. As I ran past the window, I could see that Matthew was having a hard time climbing over the tricycles in the driveway. I dumped another quick load down the hall just as the doorbell rang. A final glance around the room revealed that I had cleared out most of the clutter.
Putting on my calmest smile and trying to concentrate all my 16 years into a look of maturity, I opened the door. Then there we were, face to face, Matthew Conally and me, his biggest fan.
“Well hi!” I said in my sweetest, most surprised voice.
“Hi. How are you?” came his refined reply.
“Just fine. Won’t you come in?” I most invitingly smiled back.
Matthew strolled through the door and handed me a book.
“Well, I just dropped by to bring you back your book. You left it in the car the other night. You know, the night I brought the gang home.”
“Oh, really? Gee, thanks for bringing it by. I was beginning to wonder where I had left it.” That was my coolest response yet, but I was letting my cool go too far. I knew darn well that I had left it on purpose as an excuse to see him again.
But of all times, why had he chosen this day to return it! The whole house was such a mess because I was in charge. Mother was in the hospital with a new baby. It was very evident that I wasn’t as organized as she. I watched Matthew’s puzzled expression as he looked around the room and into the kitchen. That was the worst spot in the whole house! Nothing in the kitchen was in its proper place. Aside from every dish, pot, and pan piled high in the sink, every box, package, mixing bowl, and canister was stacked on the counters.
With a crush like I had on Matthew, I knew enough about his life history to write a book. He was an only child, and it didn’t take much to know he’d never seen a mess like this one. Matthew was suddenly aware I was watching him. He calmly lifted his eyebrows and tried to explain.
“Oh, I, I was just wondering if, if I could have a drink of water.” He seemed pleased at his quick response.
“Sure,” I said, “but you’ll have to excuse the mess.” This seemed like the only natural thing to say. I reluctantly led him into the kitchen and was even further embarrassed to find that there weren’t any clean cups. Quickly I grabbed a clean bowl and filled it. Then I handed it to him with an apologetic smile.
“You’re lucky today,” I chuckled encouragingly, “sometimes it gets down to plates!” Matthew didn’t say anything. I was going to explain about Mom and the new baby and me being in charge of eight younger brothers and sisters, plus the house, when Kent and Steve came running into the kitchen chasing each other. They made it around our legs twice and over the kitchen table, throwing chairs for barricades. After they had made two more laps, I was furious and, without thinking, handed the baby I had rescued from the floor to Matthew and excused myself.
I ran after the boys, even though their size was in their favor. They darted around the furniture in the bedroom—over, under, through, and between. I finally caught two handfuls of hair and found, much to my delight, a brother attached to each. After threatening them with the termination of their lives, I returned to the living room, panting. There I found Matthew still holding little Jerry in the same position. He hadn’t moved an inch. It was obvious he didn’t know what to do with the baby. When he saw me, he quickly handed him back, giving Jerry a nasty little smile.
“What in the world is he wearing?” he asked.
“Oh … ah … it’s a towel. We’re all out of clean diapers.”
We sat down as I tried to explain about the circumstances.
“You see, the washing hasn’t been done yet. My mom is in the—” Again my explanation was interrupted. Matthew’s eyes suddenly grew terrified, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Quickly I grabbed Jerry, prying his teeth away from Matthew’s arm. Little Jerry was teething and happened to like the feel of flesh against his sore little mouth. But Matthew didn’t understand.
“I think he likes you,” I told him reassuringly.
“And I think you’re right,” he replied as the baby once again squirmed his way back onto his lap. But this time, very much to Matthew’s relief, Jerry sat quietly, beaming his toothy grin. Then into the room came Kent and Steve and Lori and Cathy, dancing and singing, “Ginnie’s got a boyfriend! Ginnie’s got a boyfriend!” One glance at the look on my face, and they knew it was time to leave.
My anger and embarrassment were suddenly forgotten as I heard Matthew’s terrified voice announce, “I think he’s wet!” Again I quickly rescued Jerry from his lap. Jerry wasn’t wearing plastic pants and, boy, was Matthew soaked!
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Gosh, I’m sorry about all this.”
Matthew followed me down the hall. Then as I opened the door I found myself staring at another embarrassing mess! I had forgotten I had hung flannel sheets in place of towels on the racks. Again I was apologizing.
“I used all the towels as diapers!”
“What kind of a madhouse do you live in?” I was surprised to find his good looks fading away with his anger. “This place ought to be condemned!”
Matthew stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as I began to apologize. The doorbell rang. I slowly walked down the hall back to the living room and sank down onto the sofa. I just couldn’t face anyone now.
The bathroom door swung angrily open. Out charged Matthew with a huge wet spot on his pants. It looked terrible. He said nothing, just stormed out of the house.
“My mom had a baby,” I quietly called after him. “It was a girl.”
The front door had been left open and in through it came Charlie. Good old Charlie Miller, the best piggyback-ride-giver and sidewalk-snow-shoveler in the neighborhood, with a smile big enough to make a pumpkin jealous.
“Hi, Ginnie! I rang the bell, but nobody answered. Hey, what’s wrong? What was Matthew Conally doing here?”
He sat down and listened as I told him about the whole horrible mess. Suddenly I was surprised to hear the sound of laughter. Charlie thought it was funny! And then I was laughing, too. We howled until we thought we’d break. The tears were rolling down my face from pure delight. How come everything suddenly seemed so funny?
Charlie had come over with a pie his mother had baked. But it was after he had changed Jerry’s diapers and was helping with the dishes that I realized he was truly something special. Quietly I slipped my name bracelet into his coat pocket—just in case he needed a reason to come back over.

Marcia was sitting at the kitchen table, watching her mother make a cake. “Thanksgiving isn’t going to be any fun this year,” she said. “I wish we could go back to New York and be with Grandmother and Granddad. Why did we have to move to Denver, anyway?”
“It’s hard for all of us to be away from the family at holiday time,” said Marcia’s mother, wiping flour from her hands. “I guess we’re all a little homesick. But Daddy’s job is here now, and Denver is our new home.”
“Last Thanksgiving there were seventeen relatives around Grandmother’s table. What fun we had!” said Marcia. “This year there will be only the three of us at our table. It just isn’t fair.” As Marcia went into the living room, she heard her mother sigh. Marcia knew that her mother wanted to be with the family at Thanksgiving too.
This is terrible, thought Marcia. We’re all so gloomy. Lots of families are apart on holidays. Then, sighing herself, she resolved, We’ll just have to make the best of it.
However, things weren’t much better the next day at school when Marcia’s teacher asked each student what his family was going to do on the Thanksgiving holiday. Marcia only half listened to the wonderful plans the other children were telling about. She felt worse than ever. What would she say when it was her turn?
As Marcia tried to decide what to say, she began to get interested in what Sally was saying. Sally’s family was going to have a picnic in the mountains for its Thanksgiving dinner. That surely was different from any Thanksgiving that Marcia knew about.
Next it was John’s turn. His family was going skiing. Then Jeff told about his family’s plans to go to a hospital and entertain the patients. Amy’s family was going to help serve at a church dinner.
Marcia was amazed. She’d thought that the only thing you did on Thanksgiving was go to your grandmother’s house and have a big dinner. Suddenly Marcia saw that Thanksgiving could be a wonderful new experience!
When the teacher called on Marcia, Marcia stood up very slowly. “We haven’t made any plans yet,” she said, “but all of you have given me a lot of good ideas!”
Later, when the school bus dropped her off, Marcia ran the rest of the way home. “Mom,” she called as she burst through the kitchen door, “I have the most wonderful ideas for Thanksgiving! Just wait until you hear!” Marcia told her mother about all the different Thanksgiving plans that she’d heard about at school.
When Marcia finished, Mother said, “Those are all wonderful things to do for Thanksgiving.”
“Maybe we could think of something special to do on Thanksgiving day, too,” Marcia went on excitedly. “Since it’s a day of giving, maybe we could entertain at a hospital, like Jeff, or serve at a church dinner, like Amy.”
“You mean not have a Thanksgiving dinner?” asked Mother.
“Oh, no!” said Marcia. “I still want to have Thanksgiving dinner.” She thought for a minute, then said, “Maybe we could share our dinner with some people who are away from their families like we are.”
“But we don’t know anyone here yet,” said Mother.
“I do!” Marcia told her. “I mean, one of the boys in my class was telling about his grandmother in a nursing home. He said that lots of older people in the nursing home are far away from their families and that they are very lonesome. Couldn’t we invite some of the people from the nursing home to have Thanksgiving dinner with us at our house?”
Mother didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she slowly nodded her head. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Marcia. And I’m sure your daddy will think so too. We could have a big dinner just like Grandmother always has. It would be a happy time.” Mother grinned at Marcia. “Well, come on,” she said. “We haven’t a minute to lose. There are a hundred things to do to get ready. First, we’ll call Daddy and the nursing home; then we’ll plan the dinner; then we’ll get out the good dishes. Then we’ll—” she stopped and gave Marcia a hug.
Marcia hadn’t seen her mother so happy since they’d left New York. As a matter of fact, thought Marcia, I don’t know when I’ve been so happy myself. Thanksgiving is going to be more fun than ever this year!

I had a conversation once with a young man I cannot forget. His story of activity, complete inactivity, and a return to activity included the description of two classrooms. He said: “When I was about 15, I started to have a lot of questions about the Church. I thought maybe there would be a chance to talk about my questions at church, but it didn’t happen. In priesthood it seemed like most of the time everybody talked about the game the night before. Sunday School was about the same—maybe a little lesson thrown in during the last five minutes where the teacher asked questions, and it was kind of ‘guess-the-right-answer-from-the-manual-time.’”
Well, other things happened—late Saturday nights, a switch to an earlier meeting schedule—and soon the young man’s attendance dropped to nothing. Several years passed by until he found himself in church again. This time his face lit up as he described his Sunday School class:
“The teacher was this unimpressive-looking guy, but he was so excited about what he was teaching. He didn’t waste a minute. He asked important questions. Everyone had their scriptures. They looked up verses, shared ideas. They listened to each other. They talked about problems at school and how they fit in with the lesson. You could tell that the people in the class were all different, but they had one amazing thing in common—they were all interested in learning the gospel. After five minutes, I knew that this was a good place for me.”

Let me help you understand how this pattern of making early commitments can help you by relating the experience of one Church leader. As a young man he decided that he would always keep the Word of Wisdom and never use alcohol or tobacco. He does not remember what prompted him to make that important commitment at the time, but a crucial victory was won in his heart, and on his knees he made a commitment with the Lord to always keep that commandment. Over the years there were invitations to use these substances, but he learned that “no, thank you” was a good answer. There was no personal battle over the Word of Wisdom because years before he had made a commitment in his heart, and he had sincerely made a commitment to the Lord to obey that law.

“OK, Jason,” Mom said as she tucked him into bed. “You’ve been extra quiet tonight. Is anything wrong?”
Jason looked up at her. “It’s about school,” he said. “I just wish recess was different.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Mom asked.
Their family had just moved, and Jason was finally starting to feel comfortable in his new third-grade class.
“A few,” he said. “But it’s the playground helper. She’s grouchy all the time! And some of the kids say mean things about her.”
“What do you think about that?” Mom said.
“Well, I don’t think she’s nice, but I also don’t like it when the kids talk like that about her,” Jason said. “It makes me feel bad inside, even when she doesn’t hear them.”
“Jason, do you remember how the Holy Ghost speaks to you?” Mom said.
Jason tapped his heart.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “He talks to you through feelings and thoughts.”
Jason loved the peaceful feeling of the Holy Ghost. But when the kids were mean to the playground helper, he didn’t feel peaceful at all.
“But the Holy Ghost makes me feel good,” he said.
Mom nodded. “That’s right, but He also tells us when something isn’t right, or when we need to fix something. When you feel bad or uncomfortable inside, it could be the Holy Ghost telling you that something is wrong and you need to do the right thing.” She smoothed his hair. “What do you think is the right thing to do?”
“Well, I know Jesus wants us to be kind to everyone,” Jason said thoughtfully. “I guess that means playground helpers too.”
“Yes, it does!” Mom said. “We are all children of Heavenly Father, so we should treat everyone nicely.”
“Well, what can I do?” Jason said, frowning. “If she wasn’t so grumpy, maybe everyone would be nicer to her.”
“We don’t always know why people act a certain way,” Mom said. “We don’t know what’s going on in her life. Maybe she’s doing the best she can.”
Jason thought about when they had first moved here. Everything was so different from his old home. He had tried not to show it, but at first he had been scared and sad. Maybe the playground helper felt that way too.
“But if I don’t know why she’s feeling bad, how can I help?” Jason asked.
“We don’t always have to know what’s wrong to cheer someone up,” Mom said.
Jason thought about what cheered him up. “I know! Can we make her some chocolate-chip cookies?”
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
Jason was getting excited. “And maybe we can make some extra cookies to give to the kids at recess too!” he said. “I could share cookies with everyone and talk about how we can brighten her day even more!”
“Even better,” Mom said. “I sure am proud of you, Jason.”
Jason smiled. He was glad he had the Holy Ghost to remind him to treat others like Jesus would treat them. Recess was going to get a whole lot sweeter.

Then I had another experience. One of our secretaries in the Church office building had a daughter attending a non-Mormon university. She had been in charge of the Junior Sunday School in her ward and had prayed with our people and so forth, but her professor had so destroyed her faith that she resigned from the Sunday School and refused even to kneel in prayer with her own family. Her mother came to me broken-hearted to see if she could get some help, and I said, “Well, I can’t help her because I’m not a college graduate, but I know how I can get you some help. I can make an appointment with a man who can get her back on the track, I’m sure, if she is willing to fill the appointment.” She was, so I made the appointment with Brother Henry Eyring, and he got her back to her place in the Church. A few years after that I was down in Los Angeles attending a conference; after the conference I ordained a young man a bishop, and I learned that he was the husband of this girl that I mentioned to you who had lost her faith temporarily in that university.

I have a brother who experienced kidney failure. For over a decade his kidneys kept failing and during this time, the family knew he would eventually need a kidney transplant. There are six boys in my family and he asked each of us if, when the time comes, we would consider donating a kidney. At the time the answer was easy because it seemed so far away. We all said yes. I am the youngest of the six boys and my brother is 10 years older than I am. In good fun, I would tell him if I was the eventual donor he could average the age of his internal organs and reduce his overall age by a few years. I actually think he may have started doing that.

About two years ago, the joking stopped because his kidneys were completely shutting down, and to survive he would either need to begin dialysis or receive a kidney transplant. He asked all of us brothers the same question: "Will you donate a kidney?" I can imagine how hard it must have been for him to ask that question knowing what a donor might go through. We all said yes and began the testing. I passed my initial screening with flying colors. I also passed the next phase. The next test was to determine if we were a match. The results came back and showed we were a very strong match; as strong as a match can be when the donor and recipient are not identical twins.

Now things were starting to get serious. I was being narrowed down as the donor. In fact, my other brothers paused their testing to wait and see what would happen with me. By this time I only had one test left: a psychological analysis to see if I could mentally handle being a donor and to evaluate my decision. They needed to make sure I was not being forced, coerced, or rewarded financially.

Throughout all of this I remember thinking how much I really wanted to be the donor. Deep down within myself I know why I wanted to donate, but to this day I can't articulate why. They are feelings that are difficult for me to put into words. Just know it is something that I really wanted to do.

At the time my wife and I had five children. I remember someone asking me, "What is going to happen to your wife and kids if something happens to you or you have long-term medical issues as a result of donating kidney?" I had honestly never thought about that question, but it caused me to ponder the decision even more deeply. I remember feeling I needed to take this decision to the Lord.

On June 1, 2010, I took a vacation day from work and went to the Rexburg Idaho Temple. I was taking this issue to the Lord, seeking instruction to determine if I should donate my kidney to my brother. I remember after a wonderful session walking into the Celestial Room in the Rexburg Temple. I sat down and began praying and seeking direction. I glanced over at the table next to me and noticed a set of scriptures on it. A feeling came to open the Bible, but I thought to myself "I didn't come here to read. I am seeking answers from the Lord." Again the thought came, "Open the Bible." Again, I told myself I didn't come here to read but to seek direction. Finally, as if the Lord was to speaking to me, I remember thinking, "I know. Open the Bible."

After going through this mental exercise, I realized the Lord was trying to tell me His advice through the scriptures. So I opened the Bible not knowing where to go and found myself in Proverbs 16. Verse 9 jumped out from the pages and into my soul: "A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps."[3]

I testify that this message was sent directly from the Lord. Remember: donating my kidney was something I wanted to do. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to do it. However, the message to me was that even though my heart was behind this, the Lord was directing my steps and all of this was not a coincidence. I got the prompting that He had created my brother's body, and He had created my body. He knew that one day I would need to give a kidney to my brother and created both of our bodies for the transplant to occur. In my opinion, that is why we were such a good match. I was created to be a good match; it was part of the Lord's plan for me.

On July 13, 2010, a very successful transplant occurred. It was a life-changing experience. I received deep lessons about the Savior, the Atonement, and His sacrifice that I could not have received any other way. It was something I needed and in the end I was the recipient of great blessings.

Some months back I sat in my office chair reading the daily mail. I opened a letter from Martha Sharp of Wellsville, Utah, and read her entreaty seeking a blessing for her grown son, Steven, who was a patient at University Hospital in Salt Lake City. She described Steven’s spiritual and physical needs and the likelihood that he would suffer the amputation of his foot. Her tears were felt in each word, and her feelings of love marked every sentence. Hers was a request which the Spirit simply did not allow me to delegate.

When I entered Steven’s hospital room that night, I saw a man who just seemed built to ride a horse. Sensing this, I began to chat with him about a Western adventure film I had seen recently. I described the beautiful horses ridden by the principal characters. A warm smile came over Steven’s face. Not until that moment did I note on his nightstand a book he had been reading. It was the book from which the film we had been discussing was made. Our conversation was warm and free from that point forward.

In describing his condition, Steven commented, “I hope they leave enough of my foot so that I can get it into a stirrup.” I assured him we would remember his name when the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve met in the holy temple and that my wife and I would personally remember him in our prayers. I told him that he had a wonderful mother, who loved him and remembered him in his need, and a Heavenly Father who also loved and remembered him. Steven began to weep. A special spirit filled the room. A blessing was given, a heart cleansed, a memory of home and family rekindled, and a mother comforted.

As I departed the hospital, situated high on the east bench of Salt Lake City, I gazed at the panoramic view of the valley before me. The miles collapsed; the stars drew near. I could almost see through the window of mortality the expanse of eternity. One star shone especially bright. It seemed to light the way and mark the path to Wellsville. I remembered the poem from Primary days:
Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.
What was my wish? That Martha Sharp might receive the welcome message, “Your son loves you.”

From sacred soil far away, and from a timeless truth taught long ago, came the message, “With God all things are possible.” (Matt. 19:26.)

Once more a gentle but unseen hand had opened a window to the soul, that precious lives might receive blessings heaven-sent.

I recently engaged in a wrestle. When the policy was announced that the children of gay parents might not be eligible for baptism at age eight, I was confused. I did not question the Brethren or doubt their inspiration, but neither did I understand the doctrinal basis for the policy. So I asked the Lord to teach me. I prayed, searched the scriptures, studied the teachings of prophets, and pondered my question in the temple. This went on for several months. Then one day a colleague made a statement that sparked a new thought for me, and in that moment the Spirit illuminated the doctrine in my heart and mind. I consider that answer personal revelation and not something I should teach. Though I have wept with friends to whom this policy directly applies, the doctrine gave me peace and understanding.

About this time, a seminary teacher in our branch challenged me to write in my journal every day for 20 days. She said if I did, it would become a habit. I decided to try it.

Writing was hard at first, but it got easier. I found that by writing down my feelings and thoughts, I naturally included feelings and thoughts of a spiritual nature. I made my record fun by trying to include information I thought my children might be interested in someday—for example, how much things cost. I figured it would be interesting for them to see what daily life was like when I was young.

I received my 20-day challenge five years ago. I’m still writing in my journal every night. I get it out before I go to bed. I read my scriptures; then I write in my journal. Now it’s automatic, and I plan to keep writing in it throughout my life.

President David O. McKay and President Harold B. Lee used to relate an incident from the life of Bishop John Wells that is instructive to all of us. Bishop Wells was responsible for many Church reports and so had to devote a great deal of his time to details and statistics.
A son of Bishop and Sister Wells was killed in a railroad accident in Salt Lake canyon. He was run over by a freight train. Sister Wells could not be comforted at the loss. She felt no relief from her sorrow during the funeral and continued her mourning after her son’s burial. Bishop Wells was concerned for her health, as she was in a state of deep anguish.
One day, soon after the funeral, Sister Wells was lying on her bed in a state of mourning. The son appeared to her and said, “Mother, do not mourn, do not cry. I am all right.”
He then told her how the accident took place. Apparently there had been some question about how the accident had happened because the young man was an experienced railroad man. But he told his mother that it was clearly an accident.
Now note this: He also told her that as soon as he realized that he was beyond the mortal world, he had tried to reach his father but could not. His father was so busy with the details of his work that he could not respond to the promptings of the Spirit. Therefore, the son had come to his mother.
He then said, “Tell Father that all is well with me, and I want you not to mourn any more.” (See David O. McKay, Gospel Ideals, Salt Lake City: Improvement Era, 1953, pages 525–26.)
President McKay and President Lee used this experience to teach that we must always be responsive to the whisperings of the Spirit. These promptings most often come when we are not under the pressure of appointments and when we are not caught up in the worries of day-to-day life.