Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after my call to the Presiding Bishopric, I received a letter from one of my uncles. “Dear Glenn,” it said. “I saw you on television last Sunday. Do you realize what an accomplishment it was to get your old sinner of an uncle to watch general conference?”
That summer he and my aunt celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. After the reception I walked them to their car and said, “If you would like to meet me at the Salt Lake Temple, I would love to perform your sealing.”
A year passed. I arrived home late one night to find a message awaiting me: “Please call your uncle, no matter what time you get home.”
I called, and he said, “Glenn, I’m calling to collect on your golden wedding anniversary offer of a marriage sealing in the Salt Lake Temple.”
I asked, “Are you serious? When?”
He said, “In December. My bishop thinks I can be good enough by then.”
I sealed them to each other and then sealed two of their sons to them. After fifty-one years of marriage, my uncle and aunt received the great blessings of the temple, and the entire family cried.

Hi! I’m Hilary, and I’m 11. If you’ve ever been bowling, you know you have to roll a ball down a long lane and try to knock down the pins at the end. You also have to wear funny-looking shoes. When you knock down all the pins at once, you get a strike. But that’s not as easy as it sounds.
The first time I went bowling was for my friend Meg’s birthday a couple of years ago. Meg invited a bunch of girls from Primary and school. I was excited to go, but I was a little nervous too. I always worried about trying new things.
We walked into the bowling alley and heard the loud crash of balls hitting the pins. We all jumped and giggled at the sound.
“OK, girls,” Meg’s mom said. “Go over to the counter and get your bowling shoes.”
Bowling shoes? I didn’t know I would have to wear different shoes. The girls started telling the worker their shoe size, but I shrunk to the back of the group. I had really long feet, and there was no way I could shout out my shoe size like everyone else. I was afraid they’d laugh and make fun of my big feet. I walked back to our lanes and sat down.
“Don’t you want to bowl, Hilary?” Meg’s mom asked.
“I think I’ll just watch for now,” I said.
The girls came back and plopped down to put their shoes on. Everyone laughed and talked, and I smiled with them. Maybe I would get some shoes later.
But as I watched my friends bowl, I started worrying about how I would look. I was taller than my friends, and I had long arms and legs. I wasn’t very good at sports, either. I thought I looked like an off-balance windmill when I tried to do sporty things—awkward!
“Hey, Hilary,” Meg called. “Do you want to try with my ball? You can take off your shoes and bowl in your socks.”
I really wanted to, but I was too worried about everything. (I told you I worried a lot!)
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m having fun watching.”
It wasn’t a lie. I was having fun watching my friends. But I knew I would be having a lot more fun if I could just stop worrying and bowl with them. So I sat watching by myself.
After that day, I promised myself that I would be braver about trying new things. A few months later I was back at the bowling alley again. It was McCall’s birthday this time. I blushed when I had to say my shoe size out loud, but then I looked around and saw that no one had even noticed. That made me feel a little better.
When it was my turn, I made myself pick up a bowling ball. Then I shuffled slowly up to the lane. I felt like everyone was watching me as I tried to make my body move as gracefully as possible. The ball rolled down the lane a little crooked and a little slow, but it hit three pins!
“Nice job!” Erin said.
McCall gave me a high five. I grinned so hard I thought my cheeks would break. This wasn’t so bad after all! I kept bowling and had a great time for the rest of the party.
Now I try not to worry about what I’ll look like or what other people will think when I try new things. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel awkward, but take my advice—don’t let worrying or being scared stop you from doing something new. There’s a good chance you’ll love it! I’m still not a very good bowler, but I have fun learning. Maybe someday I’ll even get a strike!

A few years ago, the Young Women general presidency gave us the 100 percent challenge: read the Book of Mormon every day, pray every day, and smile. I figured I would try it and keep at it for as long as I could. To my surprise, the challenge brought about a magnificent change in my life. I was happier, I had the Spirit with me, and I had a positive attitude. Even though I still had to face adversity, the strength of the Spirit helped me to endure happily.
Ariana G., 16, Virginia, USA

Phoebe Carter was similarly led 750 miles (1,200 km) from Scarboro, Maine, to Kirtland, Ohio, in 1835. Phoebe was 28 years old when she determined to gather with Church members, even though she had to make her trek alone. As she later reported: “My friends marvelled at my course, as did I, but something within impelled me on. My mother’s grief at my leaving home was almost more than I could bear; and had it not been for the spirit within I should have faltered at the last. My mother told me she would rather see me buried than going thus alone into the heartless world. … ‘Phoebe,’ she said, impressively, ‘will you come back to me if you find Mormonism false?’ I answered thrice, ‘Yes, mother, I will.’ … When the time came for my departure I dared not trust myself to say farewell, so I wrote my good-bye to each, and leaving them on my table, ran down stairs and jumped into the carriage. Thus I left my beloved home of childhood to link my life with the Saints of God.”6

At that point Phoebe had no idea that her footsteps of faith would lead her on a journey much longer than the 750 miles (1,200 km) to Kirtland. She would marry Wilford Woodruff and join with him in journeying through Missouri to Nauvoo and then on the 1,350-mile (2,170-km) trek through wilderness lands to the Great Salt Lake Valley.

When I was elders quorum president of the Cambridge Ward in Boston, Massachusetts, we found that we often lost track of incoming LDS students during the first few days of their arrival to attend universities in the area. Some of them never did seem to be associated with us in a strong, active way. We developed a program called Project 48. It offered incoming students who would be members of our elders quorum a chance to stay with a quorum member for 48 hours. The quorum member helped the newcomer find a place to live (we kept a list of available apartments). Quorum members offered friendship and brotherhood to the arriving student and made sure he knew his way around.
We bonded many new arrivals to our quorum this way. We didn’t lose them during the first critical hours in a new environment. Twenty-five years later, Project 48 is still being used to welcome students in the Boston area.

In April 1990, Jakub and I hitchhiked to Austria. In Vienna we met two nice women standing on the sidewalk of a busy street. One of them was holding the Book of Mormon in Polish. She told us about Jesus’s visit to the people of ancient America and promised to mail the book to our homes if we gave her our addresses. We also opened our address books and copied addresses of many of our friends. We thought it would be a nice surprise for them to receive a gift.
A few months later the Poland Warsaw Mission was established, and four missionaries arrived in our city. Later, I learned that the large number of “referrals”—our friends’ addresses—played a key role in the decision to open our city for the missionaries. To my surprise a few months later, Jakub told me that two “Mormon” missionaries had visited him and that he had decided to join their church.

One night in family home evening, Papa handed Carol Ann a small card with a picture of Jesus and some words on it. “This is your very own scripture,” he explained. “It’s a verse in the Bible, and it says: ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ Think and pray about the scripture, and try to ‘liken’ it to yourself, as Nephi told us to do when we read in the Book of Mormon this morning.”
On Tuesday, Carol Ann asked Mama to read her the scripture again and again. By lunchtime she had memorized it.
That afternoon, she sat on the front porch in the sun with a kitten on her lap. She gently stroked its fur, and it licked her fingers with a little pink tongue and purred happily.
The kitten loves me, thought Carol Ann. I loved the kitten first, and then the kitten loved me.
On Wednesday, Carol Ann picked up things in Patty’s room. Later Patty gave her a grateful hug.
On Thursday, she dusted all the model cars in Brent’s room, and Brent gave her a happy smile and said, “Thanks.”
On Saturday, Papa washed the car. Carol Ann dried the hubcaps with a soft cloth until they shone. “You are a good helper,” Papa said. “I see that you have been thinking about your scripture all week. You really love people, and they love you back.”
Carol Ann was happy when she went to bed that night. She looked again at the card with the picture of Jesus. She knew that He loved her and that she loved Him.

Raking leaves wasn’t as easy as Shannon had thought it would be. And it wasn’t as much fun as it looked. The rake was taller than she was and was hard to hold.
“Do you want me to help you?” her mother asked.
“No, thank you,” said Shannon. “I want to do it by myself to surprise Dad.”
The autumn air was crisp like the crunchy leaves crackling under her feet. But the sun shone brightly, and, feeling hot from the exercise, she took off her sweater.
“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” Mom asked.
This time Shannon said yes.
“Dad will be pleased with your surprise.”
“I know.” Shannon finished her drink and hurried back outside. She wanted to be done before Dad got home.
She raked and raked and raked. Finally there was only a giant pile of colored leaves in the middle of the yard. She could hardly wait to show her surprise to Dad.
Mom called to her from the kitchen window. “Guess whom I hear pulling up.”
Shannon ran around the house and down the sidewalk to greet her father. A sudden gust of wind almost swept her off her feet, but Dad caught her and gave her a bear squeeze. “I’d better hang on to you,” he said, laughing. “I don’t want my favorite daughter to blow away.”
“Come to the backyard, Dad,” she said, pulling him along. “I have a surprise for you.”
Just before they got there, Shannon said, “Now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.” She led him the rest of the way, going slowly so that he wouldn’t trip. “My pile of leaves!” she wailed. “It’s gone everywhere!”
Dad opened his eyes. “Don’t feel bad, honey,” he said after she’d choked out what had happened. “It was a wonderful surprise.”
“How could it be wonderful when it’s not even there anymore?”
“Well, a pile of leaves isn’t really the surprise—it’s knowing that a special little girl worked very hard to do something nice for her dad. The wind can’t blow that away, no matter how hard it tries.”
Shannon brightened up. “Really?”
“Really,” Dad said and kissed her forehead. “I bet the two of us could rake up these leaves again in no time if we did it together.”
Shannon smiled. “I’ll get the rake.”

One of the most important life lessons I have learned is to be steadfast in waiting for the Lord. As the psalmist wrote, "I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry" (Psalms 40:1). The summer of my high school graduation I received a very personal witness of Heavenly Father's awareness of and love for each of His children. When I arrived in Provo for my freshman year, I sought out my patriarchal blessing, desirous of better knowing the will of my Father for me, His daughter. I received very specific counsel and direction but was left with lingering questions and uncertainty. Should I change my major? Should I change the course I had prayerfully determined prior to coming to school? Through fasting and prayer the Spirit taught me to be patient, to continue forward, and to know that Heavenly Father was aware of me and my needs.

I finished my degree and graduated as I had originally planned. I was privileged to be a stay-at-home mother of six children. I served faithfully in my Church callings and responsibilities and engaged in voluntary community service. And during this time I waited steadfastly and patiently for further direction from the Lord. And it came. Not in my time, but in His. Opportunities seemed to appear from nowhere. Ways and means were provided for me to pursue my graduate work. Time after time I was in the right place at the right time. I was led and prepared to acquire the knowledge and experience necessary for me to fulfill the Lord's purposes. I have felt the guidance and tender mercies of the Lord throughout my life. It is His hand that led me to where I am today. I testify to you that if we remain steadfast and faithful, trusting in the Lord, He will direct our paths.

Debbie dashed out of the school as soon as the bell rang. She was dimly aware of her name being called, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t face Jill and Kelly after her latest fiasco. Debbie hurried across the school yard without looking back, her blond curls bouncing crazily as she ran. And she didn’t stop running until she had reached home and slammed the front door behind her.
“Hi, Debbie,” her mother called from the kitchen. “Could you please come and help me, honey? I’m running late, and I have a million things to do.”
Debbie hesitated. She didn’t want to refuse, but first she had to calm down and get her thoughts in order. “I’ll just change and be right down,” she called back, racing up the stairs.
She flung herself facedown on her bed, burying her burning cheeks in the cool bedspread. Her ears still rang with the teacher’s gently teasing voice: “Honestly, Debbie, does my lesson go in one ear and straight out the other?”
“Math!” Debbie groaned. “I just can’t understand it.” Prickly tears stung her eyes again. She had felt humiliated, and she was certain that the entire class was laughing at her, and not at the teacher’s remark. I may as well give up. I’m never going to pass math, she though, and cried harder into her pillow.
Debbie heard her older brother, Mark, arrive home. It’s easy for him, she thought. He breezes through math. I’m the only dummy in this house.
Splashing, her face with cool water, Debbie examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I don’t look stupid. In fact, I look pretty normal,” she murmured miserably, brushing her hair. “You wouldn’t know by looking at me that I can’t do anything right.”
In the kitchen no one noticed that there was anything wrong with Debbie as she peeled some vegetables and mixed a meat loaf while her mother sorted laundry into loads.
“How are you, short stuff?” Mark inquired good-naturedly, using his habitual nickname for her.
“In three years time, I’ll be taller than you, stringbean,” she replied, her gloom beginning to lift.
After the blessing on the food, Dad asked Mark and Debbie his usual question: “How was school today?”
Debbie was expecting the question, but she hadn’t planned on bursting into tears. She blurted out the whole story, adding, “I’m sorry, Dad. I really have done my best, but it just isn’t good enough!” Excusing herself from the table, she fled to her room again. Her head was whirling and buzzing in complete confusion.
They’ll be having a family council now to decide how they can help me, Debbie though when she’d calmed down a bit. I guess most families have one member who’s having problems. She heard movement below, but it was a half-hour’s anxious wait before she heard anyone climb the stairs. Her father softly rapped at her door and said, “Please come downstairs, Debbie. We need to talk with you.”
After Dad left, Debbie reluctantly descended the stairs, unsure of the reception she would get. She got what she’d never expected to get—a round of applause!
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dad announced as she timidly walked into the dining room, “our guest of honor for this family home evening is Miss Debbie Hayden.”
Around the table sat her brother, her parents, their neighbor Mrs. Craske, and Debbie’s friends Jill and Kelly. At the head of the table was a seat reserved for Debbie, and her father guided her to it. “Our first speaker,” he continued, “will be our new neighbor, Mrs. Craske.”
In a daze, Debbie heard herself praised and thanked for her help while the Craske family was moving in—for looking after their little boys, for helping to unpack cartons, for running errands. “And,” Mrs. Craske concluded, “for being a truly thoughtful, unselfish young lady.”
Next Jill and Kelly stood up. They had come to tell Debbie how much they appreciated her for helping them with their English projects. They praised her for her pitching ability on their class softball team. And finally they thanked her for her loyal friendship. Debbie’s cheeks flushed scarlet with embarrassment, but she felt a rush of pleasure at the same time.
“My turn!” Mark declared. “I want to tell everybody what a good sport Debbie is. I tease her all the time, and yet she’s always ready to help me out by mending my ripped football shirts or by cleaning up after me before Mom sees the mess I’ve made. She’s a pretty good sister, and I’m glad she’s around.”
“Coming from Mark, praise like that is equal to getting a Nobel Prize,” Father teased.
Mother stood up. “Honey, I don’t think I could manage without your help,” she stated, squeezing Debbie’s hand. “Just tonight you cooked the supper—and you make better meat loaf than I do. I can always rely on you, and lots of times I don’t even have to ask because you’re already there to lend me a hand. I don’t always tell you how grateful I am for your help. From now on, I promise that will change.”
Debbie knew what her mother meant about taking people for granted. She couldn’t remember the last time she had shown her own appreciation to her family and friends. She resolved to tell them all tonight—and regularly in the future.
Her father took Debbie’s arm and gently urged her to stand beside him. “We didn’t realize you were feeling so upset about math,” he began. “But you’re bright and do well in your other subjects. You’ve let your worries about math get out of perspective, Debbie, and you’ve overlooked all the things that you do well. Each one of us here wants you to know that you’re a thoughtful, loyal person. We’re all proud of you. All anyone expects of you is for you to try to do your very best.”
Dad’s right, Debbie thought later as she lay in her bed, waiting for sleep to come. It’s a question of perspective. I can do some things well. And I’ll still work hard on my math—without letting it get me down.

In the summer of 1983, I was given an opportunity of which I had only previously dreamed.
When I was a young man, I had three passions. One was sports. I loved both watching and participating in football and track and field.
Another passion was the outdoors. I loved hiking, fishing, and hunting in the great outdoors.
The third was art. I loved to draw and at this point in my life was being introduced to oil painting. At that time, I was starting to think about a career which could involve all three passions.
My dream was to become an illustrator for a magazine or magazines, which would allow me to draw or paint athletes competing in various sporting events or wildlife and wildlife adventures . . . or both. That is where my dream opportunity comes into the story.
One of my best friends’ dads worked in the art department here at Ricks College. I had occasionally sought advice from Brother Robert Worrell about drawing and painting, but it wasn’t something that was ongoing or long lasting.
That summer, I was invited with my friend to spend some time up here on campus with Brother Worrell using the facilities to learn more about oil painting. For me, this was going to be an exceptional experience, especially since there was a real possibility that I would get to interact with, and hopefully learn from, my artistic idol Brother Leon Parson.
At that time, Brother Parson was not only a member of the art faculty here, but also an illustrator for Outdoor Life . . . kind of my dream job.
During that summer, I was able to learn, from Brother Parson and Brother Worrell, many wonderful things. I don’t know if I became any better as an artist that summer, but I started down a path, which over time, has helped me learn more about God.
After graduating from high school, I came here as an art student. I chose to major in illustration, where I was able to continue to be taught by Brother Parson.
During those first semesters, I was not only taught a lot about art, like color theory, light, contrast, observation and creativity, but Brother Parson was a master of teaching us about life and our relationship with our Heavenly Father. I loved all of it.
After a year of college, I then left on a mission to Bangkok, Thailand, where I was able devote myself to learning about God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ and to sharing that with the people of Thailand. That experience changed what I wanted to do with my life, but it also started me on a path of learning more about the character of God.
My change of direction in my life, coupled with a lot of art credits, led me to switch my major to art education and simultaneously take the classes in the seminary teaching pre-service program. That dual study of art and seminary teaching opened my eyes to the character of God in a way that I hadn’t studied or experienced before.

“No! You can’t go with me!”
There was no discussion. I had issued my verdict and slammed the front door to the house behind me, hurrying out to the car before Nathan could hound me again. He was always hounding me, but, as my best friend, Brian, said, that was a little brother’s job.
Brian was an older brother, too, with two sisters. I’m three years older than Nathan. Brian and I both agreed that as 17-year-old high school seniors, we should not be bothered by younger siblings. After all, had my big brothers even given me the time of day while we were growing up? I’m not sure they even knew I existed, except to punch or tease me once in a while.
Nathan dropped from the edges of my mind as I gunned the car out of the driveway and headed for Brian’s house. When I pulled up front I saw someone on the porch I didn’t recognize. I honked the horn, and the tall kid turned to open the door to yell something inside. In a minute Brian appeared, and the two hurried to the car.
“Hey, Alex,” said Brian as he slammed into the front seat. The back door slammed too, right behind him.
“This is Jason. He just moved in next door.”
I had to turn in the front seat to get a good look at Jason in the back.
“Hi, Jason. What’s up?”
Jason was at least four inches taller than Brian, and very skinny. His hair was red, cut short, and combed neatly back away from his slender face, which was covered with a multitude of freckles.
“Hi, Alex. So where we going?”
“We’ve got a history project we’re working on,” said Brian. “We need some things from the library, but it won’t take long. Then we’ll stop by the mall and see who’s there.”
“Great,” said Jason. His smile was huge, stretching almost across his whole narrow face. “But I have to be home by six-thirty for dinner.”
Brian and I both nodded, knowing that our parents expected us home for dinner as well.
Over the next few weeks Jason became a third member of our friendship, going everywhere with us, and doing the things we did. We all had so much in common that we got along great. Then came the day we had planned to go to the school’s swimming pool, and Jason called me just a little while before it was time to leave.
“Alex, do you mind if I drive tonight?”
Since my family happened to have an extra car with my brother away on a mission, I had driven everywhere we went. My friends chipped in for gas now and then, but I was always behind the wheel.
“I guess,” I said into the phone. “How come?”
“Oh, I just want to drive tonight, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, I don’t care. Pick me up after you get Brian at seven.”
I had to gulp down my dinner to be ready in time. I hoped that the warning about swimming on a full stomach was just a legend. With my dishes safely in the dishwasher, I grabbed my swimming stuff and headed for the door. Suddenly, an excited voice called out from behind me.
“Can I go with you, Alex?”
I didn’t even turn around.
“No!”
I heard my dad call something out to me as I shut the front door, but I knew it would be a comment about being nice to Nathan, so I jumped down the front steps and ran to the old Buick idling in front of the drive.
It wasn’t until I was sitting down in the back seat that I noticed Brian was also in back, and another person, a very short person, was up front with Jason.
“Hey, Alex,” Jason said with a turn of his head toward me. Then, nodding to the short kid next to him up front he said, “This is my brother, Daniel. I wanted to drive tonight so I could bring him.”
Daniel was all smiles as he turned in the seat enough for me to get a better look at his round and happy face. His thick head of blond hair stuck out , but it was something else that caught my attention. I was surprised because Jason had often mentioned his younger brother, but never the fact that he had Down’s syndrome.
“Where are we taking him?” I asked.
“He’s going swimming with us,” said Jason. He had pulled the car out onto the street and headed toward the pool.
I took a quick glance at Brian, who just raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.
“Got stuck baby-sitting, huh?” I looked at Jason as he drove, but my attention went quickly back to Daniel, who was still turned, still smiling brightly at me.
“No. I just wanted to bring him along. Daniel really likes to swim. He won a gold medal in the 50-meter race at last year’s Special Olympics.”
I didn’t think Daniel’s smile could get any bigger, but suddenly it did. Then he turned back to the front and reached across the space between him and his older brother and placed a pudgy hand on Jason’s shoulder. It remained there all the way to the swimming pool.
Daniel really was a good swimmer. Brian and I headed straight for the high dive once we were in our suits, but Jason and his brother remained in the shallow end, where they practiced a few laps with several different strokes. Almost every length of the pool Jason would fall behind just before reaching the end, Daniel surging ahead to touch the wall first. Then his blond head would pop up, the smile as big as ever. I couldn’t help but watch him between each dive I took.
Before long most of the friends who had met us at the pool had abandoned the deep end and were cheering Daniel on as he challenged each newcomer to a race. With each victory Daniel would slap the wall, jump up smiling, and shout out in glee. Then he would give solid high-fives to anyone near. I’m still not sure just how I got there, but suddenly I found myself back against the wall of the pool, waiting to push off in my own race with Daniel.
Since I was on a couple of athletic teams at school, I was used to the cheers of the crowd, but this time it was different. No one was cheering for me.
“Go Daniel!”
“Come on, Danny Boy!”
The voices echoed through the building as Jason gave us the starting signal. I didn’t want to disappoint the crowd, but my competitive spirit was suddenly in gear and I pushed off with a great burst. I’m not the greatest swimmer in the world, but then I’m not too bad, so I moved strongly through the water, determined to win the race. After a stroke with my right arm I lifted my head to see how far Daniel was behind. I was amazed to see him right beside me.
I took a huge breath, put my face in the water, and surged forward, but under the water I could see the motion next to me. Daniel swam with strong, steady strokes that pushed his short, round body swiftly through the water.
No way, I thought to myself and gave everything I had to the power in my legs and arms. Still, no matter what I did, Daniel moved steadily on. He touched the wall almost a full body length in front of me. When I came up out of the water, there was Daniel, his face dripping wet, smiling as big as ever.
“Good race, Alex,” he said and suddenly his arms were around me, hugging me tight. The cheers from our friends broke us up as Daniel moved through the water to give the high hand to everyone. But first among them was Jason, Daniel’s big brother.
“Great job, Daniel!” Another high-five and then another hug, this one between brothers.
I swept my wet hair back from my forehead, not sure if the water that had suddenly appeared in the corner of my eyes was from the pool.
A few nights later, I again had to wolf down my dinner to get out in time to meet the guys. Without saying much I cleaned up my plate, put it in the dishwasher, and headed for the door.
“Where to tonight?” Dad asked.
“Bowling,” I said. “Brian’s dad got us some coupons for the new alley by the mall.”
I turned again toward the door; then, stopping in my tracks, I turned and took a couple of steps back to the table.
“So, Nathan,” I hesitated for an instant, glanced at Mom and Dad, then back to my younger brother. “You want to go with me?”

I would like to take you back four and a half years ago to the 2002 Olympic Winter Games held in Salt Lake City. Jimmy Shea, from the United States, competed in the sport of skeleton, where the athlete lies on his stomach on a sled and goes head first down the track at over 80 miles per hour. Jimmy had been one of the leaders on the World Cup circuit in previous years, but in the season leading up to the Olympic Games, his results were disappointing.
Jimmy came from a unique family of Olympians: the first three generation Olympic family. His grandfather, Jack Shea won two gold medals in speed skating in the 1932 Games. His father was also an Olympian. Jimmy was hopeful of having them both there to cheer him on. Tragically, his grandfather died shortly before the Games as a result of a car accident with a drunk driver. Jimmy pressed on in the memory of his grandfather.
I was fortunate to be there the day of the event to watch history unfold. During the skeleton competition, the athletes make two runs and the total time determines the final standings. No one expected much from Jimmy due to his recent results on the World Cup circuit. Everyone was stunned when after the first run when he held the lead by a fraction of a second. For the second run, they go in the reverse order of their standing. Jimmy would go last. A light snow was falling, potentially slowing the track for the later competitors.
The competitor just before Jimmy, who was in second place, had a great second run. Next up: Jimmy. As he went down the track, the gap between him and second place narrowed. An expert commented, "Jimmy's going the wrong way." Near the bottom, Jimmy lost his lead by one one-hundredth of a second. Then came Jimmy's 'Moment of Truth.' Turns 13, 14 and 15 were Jimmy's specialty. He stunned the crowd by regaining the lead through those turns and winning the gold medal. As he jumped from his sled, he removed his helmet and pulled out a picture of his grandfather for all to see. The crowd erupted in celebration. His mother took out two security guards to get to her son for an embrace. This was one of the great stories of the Olympic Games.
Now, let me tell you the rest of the story. The reason Jimmy had trouble on the World Cup circuit in the season leading up to the Games was due to a circulatory disorder in one of his legs that left it at only 70% in strength. This would greatly affect his running start, a key element to a successful run. Jimmy didn't want anyone to know of his injury to avoid excuses. But he knew he had to do something different to prepare. He dedicated himself like no other athlete to know the Olympic track. He arose very early every morning to walk the track at 6:00am step by step to find the perfect lines to run. Through his dedicated preparation, he found a unique line to run through turns 13, 14 and 15 that would allow him to compete for the gold medal. It paid off. When Jimmy's 'Moment of Truth' came, he was prepared.

Some time past I received an unusual package in the mail. It contained a small crystal and a letter. The letter said something like this:

I was a student in your mineralogy class a few years ago. I saw this crystal in the lab and wanted it. It seemed that there were other, similar specimens and that this one wouldn’t be needed or missed, so I took it.

The letter went on to describe the burden of remorse that had grown over those years. In my mind’s eye a desk drawer is opened at home, and a BYU graduate shrinks from this innocuous little crystal. It is moved to a less frequently accessed drawer, but weeks or months later, the same thing happens, almost unexpectedly. Finally, so much of self-worth and self-respect seems to ride on a nearly worthless little piece of inorganic stuff that this intrinsically good person must return the crystal.

I felt a little emotional as I read the letter and imagined this person carrying the weight of senseless guilt for so long. Then, as I recognized what I was feeling, words of scripture came to mind: “And how great is his joy in the soul that repenteth!” (D&C 18:13). Truly His yoke is easy and His burden is light. My former student made a choice to change. That choice is open to every one of us; only the specific nature of the change varies.

In November 1997 I was called to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission and would soon be able to realize my desire to attend the temple and receive more light and knowledge. But then doubts began to trouble me. As weak and imperfect as I was, was I really worthy to enter? Would the Lord really welcome me with open arms after all the times I had offended Him?
I shared my doubts with my stake president, and he helped me understand that if my life was in order and I was really trying to do all the things I had been taught, I was worthy to enter the house of the Lord. Feeling better, I left for the missionary training center in Santiago, Chile. A few hours before it was time to go to the temple, however, my doubts returned.
The beauty and peace inside the temple were so great that the longer I was there, the more I wondered if I deserved to be there. Afterward in the celestial room, everyone but me seemed happy and radiant. As I touched the door handle to leave, however, a strange sensation came over me, and I felt that I should stay. I also felt as if someone were behind me, putting a hand on my left shoulder to turn me around. Slowly I turned.
On the wall I saw a large painting of Jesus Christ at His Second Coming with His arms opened wide. I could not move. Then I clearly heard the following words inside my mind: “You are welcome in my house.”
A warm feeling coursed through my whole body, and tears began to spill from my eyes. The only thing I could think of was “Thank You.”
For some minutes I cried without stopping. My heart was overflowing with gratitude to my Savior. I still felt weak and imperfect, but I knew that He loved me and would strengthen me.
Many years have passed since that experience, but every time I go to the temple, the joy of that day returns, as do these comforting words: “You are welcome in my house.”

When they returned for our second meeting, the two missionaries spoke to me of many new things that I did not know but felt were true. When they told me about the Word of Wisdom, I felt my heart sink, and I said “Tell me how I, of all persons, can give up alcohol, since I have tried every way I know how, and have had no success.” They asked me if I believed in God and in the things they had taught me and if I felt that I had faith in the Lord. I replied that I did.
“Good,” they said. “If you will listen to us, we’ll help you and the Lord will give you the power to overcome your problem.” “I’ll be infinitely grateful,” I answered. Their exhortations filled me with joy, with hope, and with faith, and I really desired in my heart to follow their guidance. When I prayed I felt more and more self-confidence, and from that morning, with my newborn courage, I imposed the rule that I would never drink cognac again. And I was able to maintain that rule though I suffered greatly. With the help of the elders, and with humility, I was able to gradually reduce the doses of other alcoholic beverages and of cigarettes. It was not easy, but I felt the Lord near to me, helping me. I felt that I had to do my part and that I would not be alone in this trial.
After a month and a half I was able to overcome my vices. Finally free, I felt ready to be baptized, with my wife, on December 28, 1977. I came up out of the baptismal waters renovated in body and spirit, sure that the Lord forgets our sins if we are truly repentant. I can’t explain what a joy it was to abandon the old me and see myself reborn full of trust in myself and love for my fellowman. I had an immense desire to recover all the lost time showing gratitude to the Lord with a commitment to do everything that he commanded me.

The Prophet’s brother Hyrum understood this and testified fearlessly of divine truth as it had been revealed to his brother Joseph and confirmed in his own heart. His testimony blessed the lives of many, including Parley P. Pratt. When Parley first encountered the Book of Mormon, Hyrum took him into his own home and spent the night teaching and testifying to him. He bore witness of the prophetic mantle that rested upon Joseph and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Shortly thereafter, Hyrum set aside his own needs and went with Parley to honor his request for baptism. (See Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, ed. Parley P. Pratt Jr. [1938], 35–42.)
We may never fully comprehend or be able to measure the far-reaching effects of Hyrum’s one-on-one testimony to Parley P. Pratt. In addition to Parley’s faithful posterity, his apostolic witness and missionary service drew countless souls into the kingdom of God. Interestingly, included among those who joined the Church as a direct result of his ministry in Canada were Joseph Fielding and his sisters, Mary and Mercy. After his first wife, Jerusha, died, Hyrum met and married Mary Fielding, and from their marriage came President Joseph F. Smith and countless other members and Church leaders. Now I realize that not all testimonies will return such a blessing as Hyrum’s did.

We can learn how to trust God by looking to the example of one group of pioneers.

One of the most incredible pioneer stories is the journey of the first wagon company from Nauvoo, Illinois, USA, to the Missouri River. They experienced their fair share of feeling “stuck.” How did the pioneers feel after being chased from their homes in Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois, only to find themselves stuck in the mud while trudging their way through Iowa Territory? Let’s take a look at their story.

The first wagons crossed the Mississippi River on a freezing morning in February of 1846. With their limited knowledge of the western United States, they estimated they could cross the plains and reach the Salt Lake Valley in a few months. The company optimistically started the 300-mile trek across Iowa—only to find themselves caught in endless spring rain.1

Traveling incredibly slowly, they took more than four months to cross just Iowa. They were over 1,000 miles away from the Salt Lake Valley and didn’t have enough resources to make it there before winter. So they were forced to settle along the Missouri River until they could continue their trek the following spring.2

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were days some pioneers felt frustrated with God’s timing, felt alone, or perhaps even wondered whether God was guiding them.

He knew that the pioneers wouldn’t make it to Utah in the summer of 1846. Just like He can guide you throughout your life, He had future blessings in store for them that involved present momentary disruptions. I sometimes wonder if at times this is part of why God allows bad things to happen to good people.

The rain slowed the pioneers down just enough so they could indirectly help thousands of pioneers after them. God knew the pioneers needed to create a settlement on the Missouri River, which would become an essential outfitting post for thousands of Saints who would follow.3 God saw the bigger picture—and was able to use the rain to fulfill His plan.

I’d like to share a bit of my story with you.

In a way, it began in my college days at Brigham Young University in Provo. Like many of you, I struggled with choosing a major. My dilemma, if one can call this a dilemma, was that I loved too many subjects – Math, English, History, Biology, Home Economics, Accounting, even Horticulture. Everything was fun and fascinating to me. So narrowing it down to a single major – that was tough. Like many of you, I changed my mind, more than once! After much prayer and careful thought, I eventually chose to pursue a Bachelor of Science degree in Geography with an emphasis in Travel and Tourism.

Did the Lord guide me in my decision? I believe so. The world of travel was an exotic choice of major for this small town girl. I come from a family of educators – parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles. Most of them teachers. I thought I too would be a teacher. So you may all chuckle, but back then for me, choosing a degree in Travel and Tourism was going out on a limb! However, as it turned out, the Lord guided me to choose a degree which would eventually help supplement my family’s income in a place where tourism was the number one industry – Hawaii.

The Lord continued to guide me in a way that would lead me here to Brigham Young University–-Hawaii. On September 11, 2001, the tragic bombing of the twin towers in New York City had a drastic effect on the tourism industry. Air travel almost ground to a stop for a time. Within a month of that tragedy, the agency for which I worked made the decision to shut its doors.

Now a year previous to this event, my husband’s employment seemed shaky for a time and so I sought out another part-time job and interviewed for the position of an academic advisor here on this campus. However, my husband’s job stabilized and I was prompted by the Spirit to withdraw my application. Months later, when I was facing unemployment in the travel industry, I admit that I questioned that earlier prompting I had received to withdraw that application! Why had the Lord told me to let that opportunity pass by? My ability to help sustain our young family was now uncertain.

I should not have questioned. The Lord was still mindful of me and helped me immediately secure part-time employment at a local elementary school. I say immediately because this new job opportunity came the week before my last day of employment at the travel agency. Upon the kind recommendation of a friend, I applied for an opening at the elementary school and was hired. The Lord does work in mysterious ways because the principal later told me that he had seen me working with his grandchildren in the Primary organization and that was one of the things which prompted him to hire me. So this is a testimony to everyone here that all experience is to our benefit. Every calling you receive from the Lord will add to your skills and help you develop into the person the Lord knows you can be.

So right now you are all thinking, “Wait, that can’t be the end of the story because Sister Ching is not yet here at BYU–Hawaii!” Almost a year passed when I once again saw an opening for the same position for an academic advisor that I had interviewed for 18 months previously. I immediately felt a confirmation of “now is the time” and fortunately, was offered the position when I applied. I knew that I was where the Lord wanted me to be. Part of my testimony that confirms this to me comes from my patriarchal blessing. I’ll share just a small part of it in which the Lord tells me that men and women will come to me for counsel and advice in the activities of their lives. To the shy, young girl who received this blessing, this sentence from my patriarchal blessing was almost unimaginable at the time. Now, this sentence of my blessing is clearer to me.

I haven’t shared this experience widely with a lot of people previously because it is very personal and sacred to me. Perhaps to others, my story may seem insignificant when you look at the big plan. It’s true, my story is a miniscule piece of the Lord’s larger plan. But to me, this is further testimony that He truly cares for each one of us individually and will guide our path if we allow Him to.

I recently met a young woman whose family stopped attending church when she was young. When they moved to a new place, this young woman started going to church again. Then she brought her brother back, and eventually her parents also returned to the Church. This was only possible because she spent time with her family. They worked together, went to movies together, and had dinnertime discussions. Her parents knew her friends and knew that she was going back to church. Her parents were engaged with her in good things—they just needed some help from their daughter to return.