Gospel Story Finder

My four-year-old niece Mollie was playing at her grandmother’s house one day when she asked if she could cross the street to visit a favorite aunt. Mollie was cautioned to look carefully both ways before crossing. Always an inquisitive child, she questioned this procedure, so her grandmother replied, “You could easily get hit by a car, and I love you so much I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Before long Mollie was back. “You lied to me! You said I would get hit by a car if I didn’t look both ways. Well, I closed my eyes and ran over and back and a car didn’t hit me!”
Just as a loving grandmother cautioned a four-year-old child to look both ways before crossing a street, a loving Father in Heaven has given us detailed instructions to ensure our happiness and safe arrival at our ultimate destination. Yet we often question the consequences, or think we can get away with taking chances, so we close our eyes to some of God’s commandments and cross the street of life. At such times it appears that we might not get hurt if we obey only some of God’s laws. But the Lord has said, “Keep my commandments.” He didn’t say, “Look this list over and pick out what you think applies,” or “Try to work on part of these some of the time.” His instructions were simple, yet direct and unqualified—“Keep my commandments.”
My four-year-old granddaughter Jordan asks “why” after almost everything I say. I realize her need to understand and I explain as much as possible. But there are occasions when no amount of explaining can penetrate her level of understanding. And so it is with us. Our mortal minds are limited. How tedious it must become when we continue to question what we cannot comprehend. Often the consequences from our actions are not immediately visible and our obedience requires some faith. Elder Neal A. Maxwell has said, “Obedience, among other things, provides us with a grace period. During this period, we go forward out of a sense of duty, doing what we should do before we have all the answers as to why” (Meek and Lowly, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1987, p. 114).
Many of us wish we could counsel with the Lord concerning situations in our lives. What we sometimes fail to realize is that we can! We have been given personalized counsel in the form of a perfect road map detailed specifically for us in ancient scripture and modern-day revelation. Just tune in to general conference, and you will be astounded at the solutions to your own problems that you will hear from the Lord’s chosen leaders.
We have also been given the ultimate model. The Savior’s life is the perfect example for us to follow. And if our footsteps falter, because of the Atonement, and through our own repentance, we are welcomed back to the pathway of righteousness.
Tucked inside our own personal road map, we have been given a promise concerning our willingness to follow the commandments of the Lord. We are told that the Lord is bound when we do what he says. And then, we are given a caution. When we do not what he says, we have no promise. (See D&C 82:8–10.)
It is pretty clear, isn’t it? We cannot afford to be selectively obedient. We must be steadfastly obedient. In the Doctrine and Covenants, we are told, “When we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated” (D&C 130:21).
If we are willing to put our trust in the Lord and keep his commandments, we have been promised that we will be blessed. The blessing might not come in the form of straight A’s, having a date every Friday night, or inheriting a lot of money. But we will grow in capacity, experiencing joy along the way as we keep more and more of the commandments and eventually become prepared for a celestial existence.
The catch in all of this is that our level of obedience determines the outcome. Whether we are studying music or microbiology, we all know that success hinges on how thoroughly we study or how hard we practice. Does it really surprise us that God operates in this same cause-and-effect manner?
Douglas Smoot, Dean of the College of Engineering and Technology at Brigham Young University, once told me, “It is impossible to leap from the top of a building and disobey the law of gravity. Placing one’s finger in an electric outlet will cause an electrical flow through a person’s body irrespective of intent. Fundamental laws of nature cannot be disobeyed.”
I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”
Use this tragic story to illustrate what happens when our judgment is impaired and we refuse to obey the laws God has given us—both physical and spiritual. In this case, the consequence of falling from that high up seems pretty obvious. But there will be times when we will feel physically or spiritually impaired and will not realize what could happen if we choose to disobey, or if we walk too close to the edge of disobedience. If only we could realize that the momentary pleasure we might feel by an act of disobedience can never be equal to the feelings of peace and happiness that result from obedience.
Joseph Smith assured us, “As God has designed our happiness—and the happiness of all His creatures, he never has—he never will institute an ordinance or give a commandment to His people that is not calculated in its nature to promote that happiness which He has designed” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 256).
Sometimes we are tempted to test the law, as Mollie did, and even question the wisdom of the lawgiver. We may feel that we find freedom in disobedience as we dash across life’s highway with our eyes closed. But as Elder Boyd K. Packer has said, “Obedience—that which God will never take by force—he will accept when freely given. And he will return to you freedom that you can hardly dream of—the freedom to feel and to know, the freedom to do and the freedom to be, at least a thousandfold more than we offer him. Strangely enough, the key to freedom is obedience” (Obedience, BYU Speeches of the Year, Provo, 7 Dec. 1971, p. 4).

The next thing Jake knew, he was cold, so very, very cold. Snow was blowing in his face, and an ice cold wind cut through the thin, coarse jacket he was now wearing. His legs were covered by very thin, gray wool pants with patches on both knees. He couldn’t feel his feet and had to lift them out of the snow to see if they were still there. His high-top, cross trainers had been replaced by old-fashioned boots. But the toes of the boots were completely worn through, revealing the red wool socks that now covered his frozen toes.
Taking in his surroundings, Jake became aware that he was standing on the bank of a wide river. There were people on both sides of the river pulling and pushing handcarts and shivering in the cold. Those on the opposite side of the river appeared to be waiting for their turn to walk down into the water and cross to Jake’s side. Jake shivered involuntarily as he looked at the sheets of ice floating on the cold, gray water.
“What is this?” was all he could say before he heard a cry for help.
“My boy, my boy! Somebody save my boy!” The cry came from the far side of the river, and Jake focused on a woman with several children gathered around her. She was screaming and pointing at a boy, no more than 10 or 12, being carried downstream with their handcart by the force of the current. For an instant, Jake was frozen in terror as he watched the tragedy unfold before him. It seemed hopeless. Then he noticed someone from his side of the river racing down the bank toward the boy. The rescuer jumped into the water, splashed out to the boy, and pulled him and his handcart toward the safety of the shore.
Something finally clicked within Jake, and he ran down to the bank of the river. He reached the water just in time to help pull the boy and his rescuer up onto the bank. With chattering teeth, the boy thanked the rescuer over and over again, “Thank you, Annie! Thank you, Annie!”
For the first time, Jake realized that the rescuer was a young girl not much older than himself. As he reached out his hand and pulled her out of the water, he asked, “Annie? Annie Hicks?”
She looked at him for a moment with a quizzical look on her face and then replied in an English accent, “Why of course it is. Have you had a bump on your head today? Now quit looking at me that way, and let’s get this poor chap back to his family and into camp.” Jake smiled sheepishly, took hold of the handcart, and pulled it up the hill toward the rest of the company.
As he walked into the camp, Jake realized it was like none other he had ever seen. There were four to five hundred men, women, and children, all in wet and frozen clothes. From what Jake could see, few, if any, had dry clothes to change into. Some were trying to clear away snow and set up tents, but the ground was too frozen to drive the tent pegs. One or two small fires burned, but there wasn’t any additional firewood in sight. There were a few people eating, but what they ate looked like nothing more than a flour paste. Jake thought about the masterpiece burger and fries he had eaten for dinner. It probably would have fed half the camp.
“How are these people going to survive the night?” he wondered aloud as he helped Annie pull her cart into camp. Annie looked at him but didn’t respond. As they passed cart after cart, he began to wonder if they would ever find Annie’s family. “Where’s your family’s camp?” he finally asked.
Annie stopped pulling and studied him closely before responding. “My family is in England. They disowned me the day I was baptized. I don’t expect that I will ever hear from them again.” As she spoke she laid down the handcart handle and turned to unpack her few belongings.
“You, you’re here by yourself?” Jake’s disbelief and shivering caused him to stammer. After all, here was a girl, no older than himself, pulling a handcart across the country in the middle of winter without her family.
“No, I’m not by myself,” Annie responded matter-of-factly. “I’m surrounded by my brothers and sisters, and God is with us.”
“But how, Annie? How can you keep going without your family and with so much suffering?”
Now Annie stopped working and looked directly across the handcart at Jake. “From the moment I heard the gospel, I knew it was true. The day after I was baptized, my family heard of my baptism and told me some of the vilest stories about the Mormons. They said if I joined the Mormons I would be ruined for life. That night I prayed with all my heart to know the truth. I prayed, ‘Dear Lord, do not let me do wrong. Let me know tonight, dear Father; let me know tonight.’ I immediately was comforted by a wonderful dream. A book was opened to me, and the leaves were turned in rapid succession until the page with my record was found. On the page was my name without a mar or blemish against it. A loud clear voice spoke to me saying, ‘This is the way. Walk ye in it.’ When I woke the next morning, I laughed for joy to think that I had been heard and answered. I told my folks that it had been made known to me that Mormonism was right, and I would follow it.”
She hesitated for a moment and Jake looked down. A warmth burned within him that even the most severe cold couldn’t stop. Annie stepped around the corner of the cart and touched him on the sleeve. “This is the right way, Jake. Walk in it.”
The river crossing described in the story is based on the Martin handcart company’s crossing of the North Platte River.
The rescue of the “fine young chap” (Annie’s words) and her testimony were taken from her unpublished autobiography, which is in the possession of family members. The conclusion of the rescue story is heart wrenching. The young boy Annie pulled from the river insisted on searching for firewood that night for his widowed mother. “When he had been gone a long time, a search was made for him, and he was found frozen to death with his sticks in his arms.”

“The year I turned 17, I studied the Book of Mormon in seminary. I hadn’t intended to take seminary, but I quickly became fascinated by my teacher’s lessons. Little by little I began to want to read the Book of Mormon, even though I did not understand what I read. It was hard to stick to my determination to read it to the end, but I was guided by the Spirit to continue reading every day.
“Seven months later the memory of a particular scripture I had read struck me forcefully, and I decided to pray. The first words I addressed to my Heavenly Father were difficult, and I was troubled. But during that personal prayer a warmth filled and surrounded me, and I perceived that my Heavenly Father was listening and that he loved me.
“Reading the Book of Mormon was only the beginning of my conversion. Since that time I have had to continue to work to repent and live the gospel daily. But now I know that Jesus Christ is my guide and my example. I need only follow him and, as he commanded, ‘do the things which ye have seen me do’ (2 Ne. 31:12).”
Nicolas Billings,Nogent Ward,Paris France East Stake

A few months ago, my elders quorum president entrusted me with the responsibility of training a newly ordained 14-year-old teacher in my ward on how to minister. I was proud to be able to teach him everything I had learned in all my many years of service, but it was in fact he who taught me that day!
During this period, I was a little overwhelmed by my responsibilities and it took me a few weeks before I began serving alongside him. Eventually, I made an appointment with the family we wanted to minister to. As we made our way to the family’s home, I seized the opportunity to tell him everything I knew about our responsibilities as priesthood holders. While we were chatting with this family, the mother turned to my young ministering companion and said, “thank you so much for taking care of us these last few weeks, you called us three times to find out how we were doing and today you made us a cake.” I was stunned! My companion had not waited for me to tell him or show him what to do, he simply began to serve. He had acted on his own, out of love for this family, and followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit. He showed me that age is not a barrier to service.
That day he taught me as the Saviour taught, to do with his heart and out of love, without boasting of anything; to do rather than to say.

Recently my family and I moved to a different state. About a month before the move, I was having some concerns and uncertainties about it. My parents felt that it was the right thing to do, but I wanted to know for myself that all would work out for the best.
I asked Heavenly Father to help me feel at peace. Then one night I received an answer to my prayer. I was reading in Doctrine and Covenants 98. Verse 18 stood out to me. It reads: “Let not your hearts be troubled; for in my Father’s house are many mansions, and I have prepared a place for you; and where my Father and I am, there ye shall be also.” Immediately I was overcome with love and peace. All my fears seemed to melt away as the words let not your hearts be troubled filled my mind. I knew that Heavenly Father was aware of what was going on in my life and that He would not leave me alone.
Looking back now, I see that moving has helped my testimony grow stronger. It wasn’t easy, but I have learned that if I put my trust in the Lord, He will direct my paths (see Prov. 3:5–6). I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. No matter where we find ourselves in life, He will always be with us.

I am not a naturally patient person.
I like to think of myself as a go-getter, a person who does the things that need to be done. When I’m confronted with a problem, I like to work at it until it feels resolved.
So you can imagine how things went when I knowingly married a man working to overcome a pornography struggle—I was relentless. In my mind, we were going to address this problem my way: immediately and unceasingly until everything felt resolved. I wanted therapy, filters, addiction recovery meetings (ARP), items to check off a list.
There’s nothing wrong with these things—they can be very helpful tools. But I was using them to take control of the situation instead of turning to Jesus Christ.
My husband and I tried many solutions throughout our engagement and first year of marriage—he continued working with priesthood leaders, we attended ARP meetings, and my husband welcomed any questions about his struggle and how he was addressing it. We had many raw, vulnerable conversations. And he did make a lot of progress.
But I was hurting and impatient. I’d given this problem my all, so why wasn’t it resolved by now?
One night, one of my favorite scriptures came to mind:
“Let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed” (Doctrine and Covenants 123:17).
I had done just about everything I could think of—and then I’d continued at that frantic pace, attempting a new solution every time I felt any sort of distress. Standing still and waiting with faith hadn’t been part of my process at all.
I began learning about replacing chaos and frustration with stillness and compassion. And as I practiced turning to the Lord instead of trying to control my husband, something amazing happened: I began to learn from my husband.
I knew my husband was a wonderful man in many ways. But I’d always seen this as his big shortcoming. I thought he needed my help.
Instead, I came to realize that we both need the Savior’s help. My husband was being blessed for turning to the Savior, and while my reasons for needing Him were different, I needed the Savior’s power in my life just as much. While I stubbornly try everything on my own before turning to the Savior, my husband’s struggle with pornography has taught him that involving Jesus Christ should always be the first step.
He knows the value of daily repentance, what it means to fail one day and then try again the next. As Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, explained: “Worthiness is not flawlessness. Worthiness is being honest and trying. We must be honest with God, priesthood leaders, and others who love us, and we must strive to keep God’s commandments and never give up just because we slip up.”1 He also believes in the principle that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy taught: “There must be a consistent, day-in and day-out effort. And although we won’t likely be perfect, we must be determined to mirror our persistence with patience.”2
This realization expanded my perspective—I’d acted like the end goal for my husband and me was resolving this pornography problem. But I had to remember the bigger picture; the end goal has always been returning to Heavenly Father and living with my family for eternity. While that includes striving against pornography for as long as it takes, even if my husband never viewed pornography again, we would still need to focus together on a lifetime of working toward a celestial marriage. We would still be flawed people who need grace and mercy.
So we started living with that expanded perspective, implementing small, sustainable changes in many aspects of our lives. Often we focused on spiritual improvements, like establishing a time to read our scriptures together. Other times we focused on diet and exercise changes or connecting more throughout the day. We also continued those habits we’d had all along—therapy, ARP meetings, filters—but this time, we embraced progress instead of expecting perfection. Rather than giving all our energy to a single problem and hoping everything would be perfect once it was resolved, we began working on our lifelong project of becoming better and more Christlike people.
Learning about slow change and regular repentance changed my life. As President Russell M. Nelson explained: “Nothing is more liberating, more ennobling, or more crucial to our individual progression than is a regular, daily focus on repentance. Repentance is not an event; it is a process. It is the key to happiness and peace of mind.”3
I finally realized that I am not exempt from the need for daily repentance just because I don’t have a compulsive habit. Repentance has been the key to my healing because it helps me turn to the Lord every day. Through repentance, I stopped seeing my to-do list as a way to “fix” my husband and instead let it be something that brings me closer to Christ. Through repentance, I realized that peace doesn’t come from absolute control; it comes from absolute trust in the Lord.
I also know that the Lord can take even the most damaging and frightening challenges and use them to help us grow. Because of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). I love my husband. I feel true joy and peace in my life, more than I imagined I could, and I know that it has come through my daily efforts to turn to the Lord and allow Him to change me.

In my heart of hearts I wanted to serve a mission. But I was in love. Sure I know guys usually leave girlfriends behind, but Chris was different. She was a cheerleader in our high school, blonde, beautiful, with a clever personality, and not stuck-up. I had a crush on her when we went to high school in Nebraska but didn’t have the courage to ask her out until we met in college. She was a year older than I.
For a guy in high school to win an older woman is nearly hopeless. It gets easier in college where you can’t tell how old a guy is by the books he carries. So I asked her out. My heart raced when she agreed to a date. Friendship quickly blossomed into romance. I felt my life was now complete and nothing else much mattered, even a mission call.
Then we argued about something really important. I can’t remember what right now, but I know it was life-or-death because of how angry I felt about it. I did not sleep that night. I continued to sulk without relief. Something had to change, and I was pretty sure it was not me.
In a physics class the next day, as Professor Hill talked about light, I wanted to collapse with some distant galaxy into a black hole. Maybe light was what we had lost. Radiant, burning light. This is how I had felt in the beginning when I was with her—like stars exploding in the skies. But now I felt uncertainty, darkness even. For the first time I longed for what I had been hearing about in religion class—pure love, selfless but fervent caring. I thought of Christ and how he felt for the little children. I knew he was the source. And I knew prayer would help.
I had always said my prayers at night. It was a childhood habit. But, unfortunately, they had become routine. It was more like brushing teeth than communion with deity, a way to prevent spiritual cavities. Please bless … please bless … please bless. Night after night I had been describing to the Lord exactly how I thought my world should be ordered.
But that day in physics I realized my whole world was turned inward. I knew that to escape the confusion I must find a way to reach out to other people. But how? I could not even reach out to my girlfriend. Instead I had tried to annex her personality into my own, to possess it, to lock her up inside me. The problem needed more maturity and strength than I had. All of the routine prayers in the world wouldn’t be adequate. I needed a prayer of faith like Enos offered in the wilderness.
So there in the wilderness of 200 physics students, I looked down as if at my textbook, and with one hand shielding my eyes, offered a simple, heartfelt prayer. My idea was to prepare the Lord for what I would be asking later, to humbly and sincerely bring him up to speed on what I had been feeling. But as I opened my heart the feelings gushed out. I told him everything. Tears trickled from my chin and wet the book. Then, suddenly, a profound peace washed through me. And with it came light, illumination, an unmistakable understanding.
I knew missionary work was the key. I needed a mission more than the Lord needed me to be a missionary. I needed to put aside my own problems and help those who were wandering in darkness worse than my own. I had learned to pray about problems. But those who lived in the dark did not pray because no one had told them they could.
After class I called my bishop.
That evening I met Chris to study in the library. I felt calm as I explained the events of the day and my determination to go on a mission. She was supportive and complimentary. As I looked at her, I considered the real possibility that she would not be waiting when I returned. But peace replaced jealousy. I knew nothing could keep me from my mission.
For two years I wrote to her. Weekly at first, then less often. When I returned, we visited. I told her of the people I had met and the lives I had watched change. She told me about her studies of South and Central America. She had developed such a love for the people of those countries that she now wanted to serve a mission. It was the last time I saw her for several years.
The selfish emotions which had consumed me before were gone, replaced by a desire for service, a love for others, and a powerful new faith in the Savior.
Back in school, I met Julie. She was blonde, beautiful, clever, and someone who cared about other people. More surprising, she was attracted to me. We were married in the spring. I can say with conviction that the Lord knows better than we do how our lives should be ordered. The self-centered existence I would have chosen for myself cannot compare with the blessings that have followed obedience and service.

“Hey, Shelly!” Shelly looked up from tying her old running shoes to see Rosa waving from the starting line. “Come on,” Rosa called out. “Today we’re going to beat our best time!”
Shelly grinned. Rosa said that every practice.
Shelly liked two things about her new middle school. The first thing was being on the track team. When she ran, she felt light inside, like she didn’t need to worry about anything.
The second thing she liked was that nobody here knew that her parents had just gotten divorced.
Shelly gave her shoelace one last tug and took off to join the other girls on the relay team. Ouch! She winced as her toes jammed into the end of her running shoes. How was she going to tell Dad she needed new shoes again?
After the race, Shelly, Rosa, Becca, and Tiana were celebrating their new best relay time. “I told you we were going to do it today!” Rosa said.
Shelly laughed. She handed the baton to their track teacher and bent to loosen her laces.
“Good work, girls,” Ms. Goldmann said. “You work really well together. Don’t forget to pay your track fee tomorrow.”
Shelley’s smile faded. She had totally forgotten about that!
On the bus ride home, all Shelly could think about was the shoes and the track fee. She didn’t want to give Mom one more thing to worry about. And the last time she had called to ask Dad for extra money, he had sounded annoyed. Lately it seemed like there was no one who could give her the help she needed.
When she got home, Shelly went straight to her room. At dinner her brothers and sisters talked and joked, but she just pushed her food around her plate.
After dinner Mom helped Shelly clear the table. “I’m meeting with Bishop Parker tonight,” Mom said. “Would you like to come and get a priesthood blessing?”
Shelly nodded. She really missed the blessings Dad used to give her when she was worried or sick.
A little later, as Bishop Parker gave her a blessing, Shelly felt something deep inside her relax. “Shelly, your dad isn’t in your home to help you now,” he said in the blessing. “But your Heavenly Father is always there. I bless you that you will be able to talk to Him just as you would to your dad, and Heavenly Father will always help you.”
Shelly felt lighter than she had for a long time. She had a warm feeling inside that told her the bishop’s words were true. Heavenly Father loved her and would listen to her. With His help, maybe she could even have the courage to talk to her parents.
On the way home, she told Mom about the shoes and the track fee. That night she knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help her have the courage to talk to her dad. She prayed about it again on the bus to school the next morning. By the time she got home from school, she felt brave enough to call her dad. This time he didn’t seem impatient or annoyed when she told him what she needed. Her prayers had been answered.
A few weeks later, Shelly laced up her new running shoes and ran to join Rosa and the other girls. It felt good to know she had a great team supporting her. She didn’t need to run her race alone.

“My father died when I was two and a half years old. I was the youngest child of seven. A sister died shortly before my father, so three boys and three girls were raised by my mother, a remarkable woman who lived to her eighty-fifth birthday. She was a great, great lady.
“Mother had none of the economic advantages that some people have. She relied on her own resources, the Lord, and her children. When my oldest brother was seventeen, he left high school to go to work to feed us. He and Mother and then each child in turn supported the rest while we went on missions and to school and so forth. Mother was the heart of the family. We loved her, and our lives revolved around hers. We all understood that we needed to help each other. As I look back now, I marvel that there really wasn’t any sense of discouragement or hopelessness or despair about our meager situation.
“Mother was the Relief Society president, first in the ward and then in the stake. At that time, during the Great Depression, food for those in need was delivered to the Relief Society president’s home. I remember that on occasion some day-old vegetables and bread and a five-gallon can of milk were delivered to our door, I don’t know by whom. The milk went into my mother’s canning jars and was parceled out with the other commodities, which I delivered to the poor. I couldn’t help wondering at the time why we weren’t numbered among the poor. Nevertheless, we never tasted any of that food; it went to the poor.
“I remember taking a plate of food each Sunday to the little Scandinavian lady who lived in a basement apartment on the corner of our street. She had no family or friends nearby. The dinner was sent on Mother’s nicest china with a cloth napkin over it.
“People were always coming to my mother for comfort and counsel or food. Somehow it was always there. She was a sweet soul; she was strong and loved the Lord and had great faith. She knew that if we did our part, everything would work out all right. And it always did.
“Once, when I was about seven years old, Mother gave me a dollar bill and asked me to go to Joe Wood’s market to buy a pound of hamburger. As Joe Wood put the hamburger on the counter, I put my hand in my pocket for the money—but the dollar bill was gone! I just panicked. I said to him, ‘I’ll have to come back later,’ then ran out of the store and retraced my steps, looking for the money. I couldn’t find it. I got all the way back home without finding it.
“I couldn’t face Mother and tell her I’d lost the dollar, so I ducked under the kitchen window and went around to the coal shed. I knelt down on the ground and told Heavenly Father that I just had to find that money. Then I crawled back under the window and went down the street again. There in the parking lot I found the dollar! Gratefully, I picked it up and went into the store to pay Joe Wood his money and get the hamburger.
“By the time I was eleven years old, I was working many hours a week. Every night after school until eight or nine o’clock and all day Saturday from seven in the morning until nine at night I worked in a butcher shop. I earned seventy-five cents a week, which I gave to my mother.
“I have had the unusual blessing of living both in England and in Asia with my own family. We have been exposed to the friendship of a great many little children. Here is one thing they all have in common: They really are all children of God. He loves them, and Christ died for them, and they are individually valued.
“There will come to you, no matter where you live or what your circumstances are, opportunities to be useful and constructive and helpful. If you use those opportunities, you will acquire a sense of respect and love for all people.
“You are valuable. You must never permit anyone to think otherwise. And you yourself have to start where you are in life. There is no other place to start. Accept what there is to work with and make something fine of yourself.”

We’ve found this to be true in our own family. When we were first married, Ed would occasionally come home upset about something that happened at work. As he walked in the door, Ann would immediately wonder what she had done to make him irritable. It took many reassurances for her to understand that Ed wasn’t angry with her. We have noticed a similar reaction in our children when the two of us have been disagreeing about something. They seem to feel an element of responsibility for our problems.
By the same token, they seem to feel peaceful and secure when we are on good and friendly terms. And they’re more cooperative and considerate when that’s the feeling of our marriage.

When I was younger, I lived next door to an elderly lady who spent most of her time alone and seldom left her house. When she did leave, she would be gone for a long time, and that is when I went to work.
I would get a rake or snow shovel or broom and do what I could to clean up the area around her house. Sometimes I would just leave her a plate of cookies with a note. I tried so hard to be a friend to the lady who lived there, and I thought that if I did these things for her she would be nice to me.
I really enjoyed the extra work because it made me feel good inside, but I thought I would feel even better if she would only acknowledge my kindness. I would watch her come home and feel disappointed because she never made an attempt to show thanks or appreciation. I had worked so hard and never received so much as a smile.
Then one Sunday at church we had a lesson on service, and I realized that I had been performing acts of service for my neighbor with the expectation of getting something in return. I went home and asked my mother about service and she gave me a scripture to read. It was Mosiah 2:17:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
That taught me a valuable lesson about my activities. And I knew that even if my neighbor didn’t seem to care about my efforts, my Heavenly Father did care.

Both Elder and Sister Christofferson graduated from BYU in 1969. Elder Christofferson went on to pursue a law degree at Duke University. When he completed his schooling in 1972, he was hired as a law clerk to federal judge John J. Sirica, the judge who would later preside at the Watergate trials. Time magazine named Judge Sirica Man of the Year and called the Watergate affair “the worst political scandal in U.S. history.” The scandal and its legal trials pervaded the U.S. news in 1973 and 1974.
Elder Christofferson had planned to clerk for one year and then work for a prominent Washington, D.C., law firm, from which he had received an employment offer. Elder Ralph W. Hardy, now an Area Seventy, has spent his career as a member of that firm and remembers that in those difficult Watergate days, Judge Sirica called the firm’s managing partner and said, “I can’t let Todd go. He is too valuable. He is the only person I can talk to.” As a result, Todd assisted Judge Sirica throughout the Watergate proceedings.

Not long ago President Eyring’s home teacher, Brother Moore, challenged him to get out and meet the people around the campus. President Eyring knew it was a good idea but, due to his concern over new changes and programs that were being explored and researched, he was a little slow to accept the challenge. Not long after receiving the first challenge, President Eyring received a call from Brother Moore. In his voice there was an apparent sense of urgency. “Have you made your visit?” he asked. President Eyring replied that he had not but that he had set aside some time for it in the next week. Brother Moore’s voice lowered and he said, “President, you had better not wait. I’ve been told twice now that you should be out there.” Nothing further needed to be said. President Eyring was out on campus that day. The priorities of the president of Ricks College were literally changed by the spirit and caring of a humble but dutiful home teacher. And the results? The president has had incredible experiences that have brought him closer to the pulse of Ricks College. Now he spends one morning every week just walking and moving about the campus to find out more about his stewardship.

Elizabeth “Buffy” Tateoka Fairbanks of Holladay, Utah, loves serving others, and she always wanted to work in the medical field. But by the time she graduated with a degree in biology, she realized medical school wasn’t for her.
Then she discovered a 15-month accelerated nursing program that seemed a perfect fit. Still, she would need help with tuition expenses. Buffy looked into scholarships and found that the military offers tuition assistance programs for those on active duty as well as for those who finish their military service.
“I decided to join the Navy because my husband, Tom, is already in the Navy. He received a scholarship to pay for his degree in mechanical engineering,” she says. After discussing the idea with him, and making it a matter of fasting and prayer, Buffy applied for and received a scholarship “to help me get through nursing school and become a registered nurse.”
Buffy was accepted into the Nurse Candidate Program. “I wasn’t required to do anything but go to school and pass my state licensing exam after graduation,” she explains. “But once I graduated, I was commissioned in the Navy Nurse Corps.”
Nursing school, Buffy discovered, emphasizes critical thinking skills and ways to apply those skills as a nurse. “It was exciting to come through the program knowing how to help save people’s lives,” she says. “I enjoyed learning how to care for patients and getting to know them as individuals.”
The thought of serving in the Navy appealed to Buffy’s sense of adventure as well as her desire to serve others. “In addition to getting help to pay for my schooling, I also knew the Navy would provide opportunities for experiences that I otherwise wouldn’t have.”
Serving in the military means time away from home and family. Fortunately, Buffy and her husband are stationed near each other and they can be together. Even during times of separation, the Internet helps them communicate with each other frequently.
They also know how important it is to rely on their testimonies of Jesus Christ to repel Satan’s temptations. She says, “We are all faced with adversity throughout our lives, and sincere prayer and staying in tune with the Spirit are important to keeping us on the right path, and also help us when we have difficult decisions to make.”
Buffy knows that faith and prayer are important in choosing educational and career paths—and in life in general. She knows that for her, choosing to join the Navy and become a nurse helps fulfill her desire to serve others.

Like you, I know some who once enjoyed the gift of the Holy Ghost but who through failure to keep the commandments of God have lost that blessing. One in particular comes to mind whose membership in the Church had been withdrawn due to transgression. He said that his initial reaction was to feel offended. He felt judged by imperfect leaders. He knew his conduct had been wrong, but he rationalized it by pointing to the faults and failings of others. After a while, he began to feel comfortable in a lifestyle outside the Church without the obligation of callings and expectations of attending worship services and ministering to others.
This continued for some time, but he began to feel ever more keenly the absence of the Holy Spirit—God’s presence—in his life. By experience, he knew what it was like to have, day by day, the comfort, guidance, and confidence born of the Spirit, and he missed it. Finally, he did what was needed to repent and qualify once more for baptism of water and of the Spirit.

Live theater was my passion! As a young adult, I threw myself into acting and singing on the stage. I was blessed with talent and hoped to establish a career performing professionally. I won the most challenging roles I could get and always behaved professionally in order to win the respect of my fellow thespians.
I was thrilled when the most influential director in our area told me that he would be holding auditions for an operetta and that he wanted me to try out. The show would be performed in our area’s most prestigious venue, and it seemed that my director friend already had me in mind for the leading role.
The script was unavailable for perusal before the audition, but the operetta was based on a novel by an 18th-century philosopher, which I read. I also became familiar with the show’s music, which was exceptionally beautiful and challenging.
The audition went well, and I was soon informed that the leading role—the most important part—was mine! I believed that this role was a huge opportunity.
I walked on clouds of excitement—until the script arrived. As I read it, my elation rapidly floated away. While the novel and the music were worthy, the script was irreverent and contained suggestive and inappropriate stage directions. I knew that I shouldn’t be involved in this production. It was a terrible disappointment.
Suddenly I had a dilemma. Theater etiquette dictates that after accepting a role, an actor does not quit because the production schedule does not allow time for changes in cast. Backing out now would be considered very unprofessional. I feared losing the trust of the theater company, offending the director, and even losing the opportunity to continue performing elsewhere.
Of course, I was tempted to rationalize! A voice strutted across my mind, proclaiming, “You can’t quit now. The script isn’t so bad. The good in the show will make up for the naughty parts.” But the Holy Spirit was always in the wings of my heart—firmly, patiently, unwaveringly cuing me that I needed to exit the operetta.
I knew what I had to do. Trembling, I picked up the phone and dialed the director.
“Hello, sir,” I said when he answered. “This is Annie.”
“Annie! I’m so excited about the show. Did you get the script?”
“Yes, I did, and I … I …”
I burst into tears. Talk about unprofessional!
Somehow, between sobs, I managed to explain to the director why I could not be in his show. And then I waited for the world to end.
The dear man laughed. He respected my choice. At first he tried to talk me into staying with the show, but he relented. He said he would still adore me even if I didn’t want to be in his operetta. And he simply asked me to bring the script to him right away so that he could give it to somebody else. I hung up the phone, mortified at my weeping but grateful for the director’s affectionate, understanding response.
I wiped away my tears and then grabbed the script and jumped into my car. As the engine started, the radio also came to life. It was preset to the local classical music station, and to my amazement, the tune playing was the overture of the very same operetta. I had never ever heard it played on the radio before.
I felt like Heavenly Father was playing this music for me. He wanted me to understand that He loved me and that He approved of my choice. The music coming over the airwaves was one of God’s tender mercies. Through it I felt the comfort of His love.

A convert since May 1970, twenty-one-year-old Linda Lee MacArthur lives in New York City, is a member of the Manhattan Ward, New York Stake, and has been part of the New York City Ballet Company for eight years. Although she had no burning desire to join a church two years ago, she became friends with “a very special Latter-day Saint girl, Diana Bradshaw,” who was also in the ballet company.
“At that time in my life,” said Linda, “the most important thing to me was a new dress. I had my own apartment and wanted to be chic in all I did. Things were fine until I became very sick and began to feel a religious need. Then, coincidentally, my Mormon neighbor invited me to a parent-youth night production and I became interested in the Church.”
Linda likes to tell of her ballet career and what means the most to her.
“I’ve been in ballet a long time. I started to learn when I was three years old and living in Dorchester, Massachusetts. As a child I also took up drama and singing and performed in off-Broadway productions such as Peter Pan. It was my mother who prompted me, but I didn’t begin to study ballet seriously until I moved to New York when I was eleven. I was asked by the New York City Ballet Corporation to be an apprentice for The Nutcracker, but I didn’t appreciate the honor and wanted to go home for the summer to enjoy swimming and have fun. The following year I was given the same opportunity; I accepted and began my professional career. I apprenticed until I was thirteen because it was unheard of to have anyone so young in the company. But when the company went to Europe, I got a chaperone and became an official member of the team.
“My European tour taught me a lot. I saw extreme luxury and poverty side by side. I gained an appreciation for my country and our way of life. It was all very exciting, and other neat opportunities came my way, such as an interview for Ladies’ Home Journal, because I was the youngest in the company.
“A great deal of self-discipline is needed in ballet. Having been an actress, dancer, and singer, I find dancing the most demanding profession of all because it takes so much of one’s time and is physically exhausting. I didn’t realize this when I first began studying. My main concern was to get into the company, but once I had made it, I found it even harder, especially since I was still in school. It was very difficult for me to keep up in school even though I went to a professional children’s school in arts and theater. I was still very young to be absent so much because of performances and rehearsals.”
Linda has a special feeling for theater and arts in general because she feels that it’s the best way she can express herself. Dance involves her total movement and expression of emotion, and she advises everyone to find the field of personal exposition that suits him best.
“My life has changed most drastically since I’ve been a member of the Church. Had I not found the truth, I wouldn’t now have the things that are important, like spirituality and the gospel. I’m not dancing very much anymore because dance takes up so much of my time that I’m not able to do the church work I feel I need to. The MIA program in particular means a lot to me, and I’m privileged to work with youth that I love dearly. Living the principles of the gospel is now my daily goal. The worst conflict between the Church and my profession is the time schedule. If I were performing, I wouldn’t be able to go to church on Sunday or to MIA. Being a new convert, it’s important for me to be there. Spiritually there is no conflict. I haven’t found the people in the theater to be wild and mysterious as they sometimes are portrayed. I think you get more of that in show business and musical comedy. Girls in our company range from sixteen to twenty-five years of age. They’re just out of school and are very dedicated. They don’t have time for the outside world, so it’s not a very wild kind of crowd.
“I often question whether I can be a Mormon and remain successful in my field. I hope it will be possible, yet I feel it’s important to have a family and raise them in the Church. That means more to me than my career. A couple of years ago I wouldn’t have given up dance for anything, but my idea of a good Latter-day Saint woman is one who is dedicated to her home and family. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to completely stop dancing after having been in the theater so long. I probably will always have the desire to perform. That’s the kind of conflict I haven’t yet resolved. I hope that if I live the gospel, the Lord will bless me with enough time to do both the way I want to.”

Before school let out for the summer, the club members put their muscle into helping a local care center for abused children store its stock of winter clothes and unpack its summer supplies. The club also spent a creative afternoon making scrapbooks for children.
With so much planning and organizing, everyone in the club became better team players. Carrie and Rebecca contributed service ideas from their youth group while Victoria found other service opportunities in the community. “The club helped me learn how to let other people share their ideas and do things their way,” Rebecca reflects. “I’ve learned how to better interact with others.”

I am grateful for my ten brothers and sisters, all of whom have gone on missions. Two of my sisters, widows—one the mother of ten and the other the mother of eight—after sending their children on missions, talked to their bishops about going on missions themselves.
I well remember the day they called me on the telephone and said, “Guess what? We’ve received our missionary calls.”
I said, “What missionary calls?”
They replied, “Don’t you know?” (They expected the President of the Quorum of the Twelve to know everything!)
I said, “No, I hadn’t heard.”
They responded, “Yes, we’re both going to your old field of labor in England.”
I wished them well, and I wish you could have heard the reports of those two sisters as they returned from their missions.

Clay Brimhall eased the Bronco into traffic and began weaving his way toward the interstate. He couldn’t resist a kind of sad, ironic smile, thinking that two weeks before he had been driving a BMW from Washington, D.C., to an elegant house in the Maryland suburbs. Now he was driving a Ford from Salt Lake City to a condo in Provo. Divorce changes things.
Was it a mistake, he wondered, coming back here to try to rebuild his life? Once Utah had been home, but that was years ago. Was this fair to Carrie, his only child? She had come willingly, foregoing her plans to attend college at Georgetown in D.C., but still he worried that it might not be the right thing for her. Carrie’s decision to come with Clay seemed neither to surprise nor disappoint her mother. “You were always the one who cared the most,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “It’s natural that she would want to go with you.”
Carrie was in the kitchen preparing dinner when Clay came in from work.
“Hi, Babe. How did you get along at the mall?” her father called from the hallway.
“Fine.”
Clay tossed his briefcase onto a chair, entered the kitchen, and gave his daughter a hug.
“Did you leave any clothes on the racks?”
“Not in my size,” she replied happily.
“Ah, good. I wouldn’t want to be accused of not spoiling my daughter.”
“I met a boy,” Carrie said.
“You did? Tell me about him.”
“Well, he works in the mall and goes to college. He’s studying communications and he’s funny.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Jeff. He took me to lunch. And we’re going out Saturday night. With my father’s permission, of course.”
“He sounds like a fast worker.”
Carrie smiled. Then her face clouded a bit. “There’s one problem,” she said. “He’s a Mormon.”
Her father laughed. “So are you, Babe!”
“No, I’m not, Daddy. Not like he is. I’ve hardly been to church since I was little. I think he goes all the time. He was even a missionary in South America.” Carrie noticed a sadness in her father’s eyes; then she remembered. “You were a missionary, too, weren’t you Daddy? I’d forgotten.”
Clay nodded his head. “Yes, I was a missionary once,” he said slowly. “Long ago.” He turned to leave the room. “I’m going upstairs to change now.” At the doorway he stopped and caught his daughter’s eye. “Don’t burn the Jello,” he said.
As he walked deliberately up the stairs, Clay’s mind was suddenly flooded with memories of his time in the mission field. Memories of a young man full of faith and zeal. What had happened to that person? he wondered. Had he come back to Provo to look for him?
“I’ll get it,” Carrie called to her father, who was working in the garage. She opened the front door to Jeff, who was holding a bouquet of dandelions tied with a red ribbon.
“For me?” she said in mock delight.
He bowed. “A dandelion by any other name …”
“Would be a weed just the same,” Carrie concluded.
Jeff laughed. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
She smiled. “Come in while I get a vase for the flowers.”
“Be careful,” Jeff warned. “These are the long-stemmed variety. Very delicate.”
“Of course,” Carrie nodded, sticking the yellow weeds in a glass of water.
“In fact, they’re not indigenous to this area.”
“They’re not?”
“No. I had to go to a pasture on the edge of town where the moisture content and other stuff in the soil make the conditions ideal for long-stemmed dandelions.”
Carrie gave Jeff a skeptical look. “Did your parents have any normal children?”
Just then, Clay entered from the attached garage. “Hello.”
“Daddy, this is Jeff. Jeff James,” Carrie said. “Isn’t that weird? He has two first names.”
Clay smiled and extended his hand. “Please excuse my daughter’s rude behavior. Her mother and I failed in our attempts to teach her good manners.”
“She was probably a slow learner,” Jeff said.
Carrie gave him an indignant look and a little punch on the shoulder. “You two talk while I finish getting beautiful,” she said, heading up the stairs.
At the top of the landing, Carrie stopped and called down to Jeff, “Show my father the lovely flowers you brought me!”
Jeff looked a little embarrassed as he turned and followed Clay into the living room, but Clay was smiling as they sat down. It had been a long time since he’d seen his daughter so animated, so happy.
“Carrie tells me you’re a returned missionary,” he began.
“Yes, sir. I was in Argentina,” Jeff reported.
“I served a mission in the north central states,” Clay said.
“Oh? Where’s that?”
“That included Minnesota, the eastern Dakotas and Manitoba, Canada.”
“Big area,” Jeff observed.
“The Church was much smaller and the missions a lot bigger in those days.”
“It’s exciting to see the way the Church is growing,” Jeff said.
“Yes,” Clay said slowly. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“Did you read about the new stake in Nigeria?” Jeff inquired.
“No, I didn’t.”
“The work’s going great there. My folks are in Nigeria now on a mission.”
“Your father’s retired, then?” Clay asked.
“Uh huh. Well, he’s not really my father. I call them my folks because they sort of raised me.”
“I see,” Clay said. But of course he didn’t see at all. What did “sort of raised me” mean? Looking at Jeff, he suddenly found himself lost in thought. There was something familiar about him. He looked so … wholesome—so good. Wasn’t there a scripture about that? Clay searched his memory for a moment, but it wouldn’t come to him.
Jeff was a regular at the Brimhall residence for the next few weeks, and Carrie was soon attending church with him. There followed other changes in Carrie’s life. She began reading the Book of Mormon, and Clay noted her praying in her room before bed. Also, there was a subtle, almost imperceptible difference in the way she looked. It was nothing Clay could put his finger on, but it was real nonetheless. Clay felt both pleased and threatened by these spiritual stirrings in his daughter. Carrie was all that he had now. Was he going to lose her too? That possibility frightened him, and the feeling manifested itself in resentment toward Jeff. Clay tried to mask that resentment because he knew it was misplaced. One day, though, it spilled over when Carrie innocently repeated to her father something that Jeff had said.
“Well, isn’t your young man all wise and knowing,” Clay remarked sarcastically.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, looking both stunned and hurt.
“It means that when you’ve been around as long as I have, everything isn’t either black or white.”
“Who said that it was?” Carrie challenged.
“Jeff is 22 years old,” Clay went on, “and except for his mission, I suspect he’s spent his whole life here in this valley surrounded by Primary teachers, quorum advisers, and bishops. What does he know about the world?”
Carrie sat quietly for a moment, biting her lip. When she began to speak, she did so slowly, to keep her emotions in check.
“Jeff was born in Texas,” she said evenly. “His mother was an alcoholic, and he never knew his father. He lived dozens of places and had a lot of ugly experiences before he was taken in by a Mormon couple when he was 13. I think he’s seen a little of the world. I also think you’re jealous, Daddy. I think you’re jealous that Jeff found something special to guide his life. Something that you once had.”
Clay had no reply as Carrie rose and left the room.
The following Sunday afternoon Carrie returned home from church to find her father in the living room paging through an unfamiliar green book. Clay glanced up. “Jeff’s not staying for dinner?”
“No. We’re going to a fireside tonight though. What are you reading?” Carrie wanted to know.
“My journal.”
“What journal?”
“My missionary journal. I found it the other day when I was unpacking some things.”
Carrie peered over her father’s shoulder. He was looking intently at a photograph he’d found in the journal. A family of five, flanked by two missionaries, jumped out at him, and the memory of that day and the events that led to it brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Suddenly he remembered the scripture that had escaped him the night he met Jeff. It was from Alma in the Book of Mormon: “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances?” (Alma 5:14). It was there, on the faces of those people in the picture—the image of God in their countenances.
Clay handed Carrie the photograph. “Recognize anyone?”
Carrie looked closely at the old photo. “How old were you when this was taken, Daddy?”
“Twenty,” he said. Then he asked, “Does that picture of me remind you of anyone?”
“Jeff,” she said without hesitation. Carrie walked from behind the chair and sat down on the couch, opposite her father. “Daddy?” He looked at her. “Do you still believe in the Church?”
Clay turned away and stared out the window. “Yes, Babe,” he said softly, “I do.”