Gospel Story Finder

A spy? Seven-year-old Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes. She traced her finger over Mosiah 9:1 again, just to make sure.
“I, Zeniff, having been taught in all the language of the Nephites, and having had a knowledge of the land of Nephi, or of the land of our fathers’ first inheritance, and having been sent as a spy among the Lamanites …”
A spy! There it was.
Amanda closed her Book of Mormon. She knew she should be listening to Brother Anderson’s sacrament meeting talk, but she couldn’t help but giggle. She knew lots of Book of Mormon stories, but she never knew there was one with a spy in it.
She sank down on the bench and peeked at the page again. Zeniff the Spy. It sounded mysterious. And important.
I could be a spy! she thought excitedly. She knew all about spies. Spies noticed everything. Spies used secret codes. Spies wrote down important information with special pens.
Amanda knew some secret codes. And she had a special pen—well, a very special pencil. She rummaged through her scripture case and pulled out the sparkly yellow pencil she had earned in Sister Wooster’s Primary class for perfect attendance. Then she pulled out her little purple notepad. It had pages and pages just waiting to be filled with important information.
Amanda the Spy! she thought. It sounds mysterious and important!
The closing song and prayer captured her attention. She loved to sing the hymns, and she always wanted to mean it when she added her own “amen.”
Normally Amanda would have hurried to Primary. But today she peered over the back of the bench and watched.
Brian Fisher tripped on his shoelaces. Three babies were crying. And … and … something small and gray was under the last bench.
It was an envelope. A heavy envelope that jingled.
It sounds like money, she thought. She peeked inside. It was money!
Amanda hugged it to her chest. Wow! she thought. I could buy a doll. Or a new book. Or lots of candy! She pulled out her notepad and pencil and wrote, “Found money.”
Then she wondered, It’s all right to keep it, isn’t it? After all, it isn’t that much money. If she’d found a million dollars, that would be different. But this was just a few dollars. Whoever had lost it probably wouldn’t even miss it.
Amanda gave the envelope a quick kiss—then gasped. The letters seemed to jump right off the paper: “Bishop Johansen, Creek Ward.”
It was a tithing envelope!
She plopped down on the bench, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t fair! She had already planned what she was going to buy.
It was hers! Wasn’t it?
She looked at her notepad. What would Zeniff have done? she asked herself. Spies were experts at staying out of trouble. Amanda thought she knew what to do.
She glanced around. Brother Campbell was just leaving the chapel. He was a member of the bishopric.
Stuffing her notepad into her pocket and dashing toward the doors, she called to him, “Brother Campbell, I found this envelope in the chapel.”
Brother Campbell shook Amanda’s hand. “Thank you, Sister Pratt,” he said. “I’ll make sure the bishop gets it.”
Turning toward the Primary room, she thought, Amanda the Spy knows how to stay out of trouble, too! She got out her notepad and wrote, “Turned money over to Brother Campbell.”
“Oh, no!”
Amanda looked up to see the box in Sister Kelly’s hand bounce onto the floor, spilling crayons.
“What next?” Sister Kelly despaired as she balanced her crying baby on her hip and desperately grabbed at pictures slipping from her fingers.
Without even thinking, Amanda dashed down the hall toward her CTR teacher. “Don’t worry, Sister Kelly,” she said as she started to pick up crayons. “I’ll help.”
“I can help, too,” her friend Melanie said.
Amanda and Melanie quickly filled the box with crayons.
“Thanks so much,” Sister Kelly said with a grateful smile. “Everything’s been going wrong today.”
“No problem,” Amanda and Melanie said together.
“Come on, girls,” Sister Kelly whispered, glancing toward the Primary door. “We’d better hurry.”
Amanda and Melanie slipped quietly into Primary and sat with their class. Amanda quickly wrote, “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” in her notepad.
“Sister Kelly,” the Primary president said, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts, “Randy could not come today. Would someone else in your class like to give the prayer?”
Sister Kelly glanced at the four children in her row. Amanda did, too. She knew Jared wouldn’t do it. He was scared. And she knew Wayne wouldn’t do it—he never volunteered for anything. That left Melanie and her. But Melanie was holding Sister Kelly’s baby.
“I’ll do it,” Amanda volunteered. She walked quietly to the podium. When she sat down again, she wrote in her notepad, “Said opening prayer for Primary,” and drew a smiling face.
“What’s that?” Melanie whispered.
“It’s my spy book. I’m writing down important information.”
“Oh. I thought maybe it was a CTR book or something.”
Amanda read all the things she’d written. “Found money,” “Turned money over to Brother Campbell,” “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” and “Said opening prayer for Primary.” It was like a CTR book. The entries showed she had chosen the right.
She wrote “CTR” in large letters on the cover of her notepad. It’s like a secret code, too, she thought happily. Amanda the CTR Spy! Being this kind of spy really is wonderful and important.

Imagine having some free school days to start the new year—your possibilities are wide open. Do you go camping? Take a road trip to visit relatives? Start a new hobby? A group of 29 youth from Texas, USA, chose to hold a scripture-reading marathon. Their goal: to read the entire Book of Mormon over the break.
Held during a school break at the beginning of 2012, the reading marathon was an ambitious undertaking. To help them all stay together, the youth read along while listening to an audio narration.
There were also some surprising challenges. During the first day a main waterline broke in town, leaving them with no running water. Determined to stay on track, leaders hauled in water from food storage. The youth wanted to keep reading despite the obstacles. As they approached the end of the reading marathon, a big cheer went up after they turned off the recording and a member of the stake presidency read the final chapter out loud. “There are good things and there are better things,” says Audrey J., one of the youth in attendance. “This was a better thing for us.”

Fatima skipped down the street. She was walking home from school with Mamá. She hummed a song while she skipped.
“Ms. Lopez asked us to learn a song,” said Fatima. “Can you teach me one?”
Mamá smiled. “Of course!”
When they got home, Mamá and Fatima sang songs together. They sang lots of songs. But they hadn’t sung her favorite one.
“Can I sing a Primary song?” Fatima asked.
“Sure,” Mamá said.
Fatima sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.” She practiced the words with Mamá. Then she sang it alone. She sang it until she got all the words right.
At school, Fatima was excited to share her song with her class.
“Does someone want to share their song?” Ms. Lopez said.
Fatima raised her hand. “I will!”
She stood up and smiled. “I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me,” she sang.
While she sang, Fatima felt happy. And she remembered the whole song! Everyone in her class clapped.
After class, Mamá came to pick up Fatima. Ms. Lopez spoke to Mamá.
“She sang a beautiful song. And she didn’t seem scared at all.”
Fatima smiled. So did Mamá.
“We sing beautiful songs every week at church!” Fatima said.
“You can come with us anytime,” Mamá said.
Ms. Lopez smiled. “Thank you.”
Fatima sang as she walked home with Mamá. She liked sharing a song with her class. Singing made her feel happy.
This story took place in Guatemala.

Above the timberline, a mountain peak is a desolate spot, a land of boulders and glaciers. In the high Uintas, particularly, such a peak is often a land of rocks and rocks and rocks, with an occasional patch of snow or sparse vegetation to relieve the monotony. But it is also a spot from which the entire world spreads before you like a marvelous tapestry, designed and woven by the Creator.
Some peaks are lone and desolate and foreboding. Others, though cluttered with talus, seem glad for the company of adventurers and eager to lift them, both through their elevation and their lofty view of the world. Mount Watson is one of the latter, a friendly mountain if you get to know it. But it rewards only the diligent with a view from the top and a slide down its snowbanks. To get there requires some strenuous hiking.
The young women of the Spanish Fork 14th Ward, Spanish Fork Utah Stake, accepted the mountain’s invitation and challenge last summer and spent four days in some of the most beautiful country on earth—country made even more exciting by the fact that it’s reasonably close to the girls’ hometown.
“The Uinta trip is a yearly adventure for me and my two sons, and since I had been called as a ward camp specialist, we decided that this year we’d take the Young Women along,” said Sister Mary Visker. Her two sons, Jeremy (age 9) and Kevin (age 11), easily blended into the group and offered lots of help and advice about building rafts, putting worms on hooks, mixing pancake batter, and lighting safe fires. (In addition, they were the only ones, along with Bob Trevenen, a Sunday School teacher who’s also a seven-year veteran forest firefighter and a paramedic, to catch any fish!) A few other hardy adventurers, like Young Women President Beverly Lewis; Bishop Darwin Thomas; Ray Huntington, first counselor in the bishopric and a seminary teacher at Spanish Fork High; and Pam, Bob’s wife, who’s also a Sunday School teacher for some of the young ladies, rounded out the group that included a dozen Mia Maids and Laurels.
Sister Visker knew that with some advance planning, the trip would go well. Besides, most of the girls had completed the stake Young Women Campcrafter Certification program, which included hiking, camping, and first-aid training. With her help, the young women prepared a menu, a cooking schedule, and a packing list, including items needed to build a reflector oven to bake cakes in the wilderness. “We wanted the girls to bring as little as they could and still be comfortable for the four-day trip,” Sister Visker said. “We had to talk them out of bringing huge pillows and stuffed animals, but some of them still smuggled up things like fingernail polish, curlers, and lipstick.”
For 14-year-old Kimberly Lewis, however, it was the first time on a backpacking trip. “Before we left, I didn’t think I’d make it,” she said. “I thought it would be a long hike the first day, but in fact the three miles went so fast that when we got to the camp, I said, ‘You mean this is it?’ Then some of us went swimming (in Watson Lake by the campsite),” Kim continued. “It was cold, but fun, because the water was so clear.”
While the others were swimming, Marlene and Jeremy became the Tom Sawyers of the group. “Jeremy was out there building a raft, and he said ‘Come in and help me,’” Marlene said. “So I went over and we started putting boards and logs together and tying them with string and rope. Then we just floated out on it.” Adult leaders nearby kept a careful watch on swimmers and rafters in case of emergency. In fact, Sister Lewis lent a hand building the raft.
The group had arrived in Mount Watson’s neighborhood, but the trek to the summit would begin the next day, after dinner and a good night’s rest. What the young ladies hadn’t counted on was rain—buckets of it. Maybe the mountain wanted to see how sincere they were about the climb. “The rain came while we were trying to get our dinner. It put out our fire and everything. Soggy macaroni, soggy everything,” said 15-year-old Becky Thomas. “But it was good, wasn’t it?” laughed, Suanne, her 17-year-old sister.
There were the inevitable problems of leaky tents, soaked sleeping bags, and dripping clothes. Luckily, Bishop Thomas, who had been rained out once on a similar trip, had hauled along a box of plastic garbage sacks. A large face hole punched in one corner transformed a sack into a makeshift rain coat and offered some protection until dinner was done. (To avoid danger, the use of the plastic bags was carefully supervised.) Later that evening, when one tent was flooded, those in well-pitched shelters courteously doubled up so that everyone could be dry and warm. There were also the usual sleeping struggles of avoiding roots, pointed rocks, and bumps in the ground, but eventually everyone managed to doze off.
The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

During a drive to amass warm clothing to ship to suffering Saints, Elder Harold B. Lee and Elder Marion G. Romney took President George Albert Smith to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City. They were impressed by the generous response of the membership of the Church to the clothing drive and the preparations for sending the goods overseas. They watched President Smith observing the workers as they packaged this great volume of donated clothing and shoes. They saw tears running down his face. After a few moments, President Smith removed a new overcoat that he had on and said, “Please ship this also.”
The Brethren said to him, “No, President, no; don’t send that; it’s cold and you need your coat.”
But President Smith would not take it back.
The Apostle Paul’s admonition surely was fulfilled that day: “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.”

The spring Lanny was born, the Toronto Maple Leafs were in the quarterfinals of the Stanley Cup playoffs—led by the playmaking defense of Borje Salming, the quick goaltending of Mike Palmateer, and the scoring touch of right winger Lanny McDonald.
Mr. O‘Brien was a big Maple Leafs fan. In fact, while his wife was delivering in the hospital in Basques, Mr. O‘Brien watched game 7 of the quarterfinals in the waiting room. By the time the doctor came out to say “It’s a boy,” the Maple Leafs and New York Islanders were locked in a 1–1 overtime battle.
The doctor, who liked a good game of hockey as much as the next Newfie, stayed. And finally, when the CBC [Canadian Broadcasting Corporation] announcer screamed in a breathless frenzy that Lanny McDonald had scored to advance the Leafs to the semifinals against the Montreal Canadiens, both the doctor and Mr. O‘Brien had the same idea: The kid’s name must be Lanny McDonald O‘Brien.
They signed the birth certificate before Mrs. O‘Brien had a chance to slap them both.

My companion and I later learned that Brother and Sister Diaz were both working for minimum wage at a local textile mill and sending half of their earnings to Guayaquil to help support their families. When we suggested that we eat less often at their house so we wouldn’t be a financial burden on them, Niza exclaimed, “Oh, no, Elder Norman!” She explained that since they got baptized and started paying tithing, somehow their freezer seemed to stay full of chicken and fish, even though she frequently fed the missionaries.

In Doctrine and Covenants 123:12 we learn, “There are many yet on the earth … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” Through Hugo and Niza’s missionary efforts as members and later as stake missionaries, many came to know the truth of the gospel.
When we, like Hugo and Niza, seek diligently for the truth and then eagerly share the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ, we will see a multitude of blessings in our lives and in the many lives we touch.

A week later the fire was still burning when Latter-day Saints gathered to hear President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, speak. He pronounced an apostolic blessing upon them. After the meeting, he shook hands with every person, including 16-year-old Tori Gross.
“President Packer reminded us that we lost our houses, not our homes,” Tori says. “When a boy at school said he was homeless, I said, ‘You’re not homeless, you’re houseless.’ Our house burned to the ground and so did part of the new house we are building. But our family survived. Since the fire, I feel closer to Heavenly Father, and I rely on the gospel more.”

The highlight of our mission was the visit from the first members in Ukraine. We had prepared ourselves. The mission president’s wife spoke Russian, and even I learned part of one of the ordinances in Russian. These members had such a reverence for the house of the Lord. As they came and left, they bowed in humility. They were so happy they could receive their endowments, and many cried for joy and didn’t want to leave the temple.

Some decisions are choices between doing something or doing nothing. I heard an example of this kind of choice at a stake conference in the United States many years ago.
The setting was a beautiful college campus. A crowd of young students was seated on the grass. The speaker who described this circumstance said they were watching a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of a beautiful hardwood tree. Sometimes it was on the ground, sometimes up and down and around the trunk. But why would that familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree, the setter would quietly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparently indifferent posture. This was what held the students’ interest. Silent and immobile, their eyes were riveted on the event whose outcome was increasingly obvious.
Finally, the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the little animal away from the dog, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving his or her arms or crying out, but none did. They just watched while the inevitable outcome got closer and closer. No one asked, “Where will this lead?” When the predictable occurred, all rushed to prevent the outcome, but it was too late. Tearful regret was all they could offer.

Time Cat: The Remarkable Journeys of Jason and Gareth, by Lloyd Alexander. Jason isn’t surprised to find out that Gareth can talk. After all, Gareth is an exceptionally smart cat. But what does surprise Jason is that Gareth can travel through history! Together the boy and his cat visit time periods from ancient Egypt to the American Revolution—and many in between—to discover the cultures of people around the world.

The completion of the Kirtland Temple was foundational for the entire Church. It was accompanied by spiritual outpourings, doctrinal revelations, and restoration of essential keys for the continuing establishment of the Church. Like the ancient Apostles on the day of Pentecost, many members experienced marvelous spiritual experiences in connection with the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. But, as in our own lives, this did not mean they wouldn’t face challenges or hardships going forward. Little did these early members know they would be faced with a United States financial crisis—the panic of 1837—that would test their very souls.

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph. He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations. Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him. Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

My schoolteacher has a special shelf where she keeps books that she doesn’t want anyone to take home. I saw a book there that I wanted to take home and read that night. I knew I could finish it and bring it back the next day before she missed it.
I read the book that night and put it on my dresser. Later, my sister spilled a glass of water on the book and didn’t tell me. By the time I found out, my teacher’s book was wet and puffy. I was so scared that I started to cry! I was afraid my teacher would be really mad at me. I prayed that she wouldn’t be mad and that she would still trust me. I decided I should pay for the book, and my sister agreed to help pay, too. We put our money in an envelope.
The next morning I wished that I didn’t have to go to school. All morning I practiced in my head how I would apologize to my teacher. Finally I took the book and money to her and explained what had happened. She didn’t get mad at me, and she even gave back the money.
I know that Heavenly Father forgives us and loves us, but it would have been better if I had chosen the right in the first place. I learned a good lesson, but I’m glad that it’s over. Now I am trying to choose the right every day, even when it’s hard.

The Liahona came into my hands before the Book of Mormon did. I remember in the 1960’s, when my oldest daughter had hepatitis, the missionaries came and gave me a magazine for her to read. When I read it, I was impressed by President David O. McKay’s message, “No success in life can compensate for failure in the home” (General Conference, April 1964). This message made me think about the home I was raised in.

Dear brothers and sisters, I know that by reading the inspired messages in the magazine, we will strengthen our faith. I know that they are the scriptures and revelations to guide us in our lifetime.
Mercedes Godoy de PantojaLa Florida Second Ward, Santiago Chile La Florida Stake

I am, admittedly, not very good at this. The “I’ve got this” mentality overtakes me sometimes.
Shortly before general conference last year, when they knew I was extra busy, the sister and brother who minister to our family offered to bring some soup. They sent a kind text to my husband and me. True to form, I quickly responded to say we were good and no soup was needed. My gracious husband, on the other hand, responded with a message that soup would be great, inviting them to minister to us in that way. I should have done better.
In anticipation of Doug’s surgery in St. Louis, I asked for the name of a stake Relief Society president I could call there, just in case I had some extraordinary need for help. That was way out of my comfort zone, but I asked and received the number for Sister Diana Taylor, who is a stake Relief Society president in the area.
I called Sister Taylor and explained why we were coming to St. Louis and assured her I would let her know if and how I needed her help.
The next day, she sent me this text: “Sister Johnson, 10 hours is a long time to be waiting alone while Brother Johnson is in surgery. I would be happy to come to the hospital to be with you if that would help. I could come the whole time or part of the time. We could share the Spirit of Christ as we pray and remember the blessings of a loving Father in Heaven, the blessings of sisterhood, the blessing of families and of service.”
Perhaps you’ve guessed my first reaction: “I’m good. I’ve got this alone. I’ll wallow in my sadness by myself!” And I was just about ready to send a response that declined her invitation—until I remembered what I had preached in the April 2023 general conference and thought that I ought to practice it:
“How does the Savior relieve us of the burdens of living in a fallen world with mortal bodies subject to grief and pain?
“Often, He performs that kind of relief through us! …
“… We are a conduit through which He provides relief.”1
I responded with this text message: “I don’t want to trouble you at all. Perhaps you and I could have lunch together. That would be a nice break from the talks that I am writing.”
The Lord sent Sister Taylor (right) to minister to me while I was waiting for my husband to come out of surgery.
Sister Taylor and I walked to a restaurant. We sat outside because it was a sunny day and enjoyed lunch together. And in the end, I trust that both of us found needed relief.
I was alone in St. Louis. Doug was in a surgery lasting more than 10 hours. How was the Savior going to help me, to relieve me of loneliness and frustration and worry? He sent someone to minister to me, someone who was magnifying her calling and keeping her baptismal covenant by comforting someone who stood in need of comfort (see Mosiah 18:9–10). If I had failed to receive her, I would have failed to receive Him.

Turn to the righteousness section of your daily newspaper and read the lead story. “Elder Sargent won a big one today. When the Gomez family returned their Book of Mormon and asked him not to come anymore, he rebounded, said a quick prayer, hugged his companion, and decided to knock on a few more doors. ‘There’s a family waiting out there somewhere,’ he said. ‘We’re going to find them.’ The outstanding play brought the crowd to its feet.”

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries.
As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that,” I told them. “I just need a more organized way to learn about beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than the members of other churches I had met—and in my search for religion, I had met members of many faiths. My friends’ prayers were different, too. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. And they lived what they learned in church. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the brilliant stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another.
I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was 10 and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially touching lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he will tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. Heavenly Father did tell me. All I had to do was listen.

Jim came home one Friday night and asked his father if he could borrow the family car to drive some friends to a high school ball game. His father asked him, “Jim, can I trust you with the car?”
“Sure, dad, you know me.”
“Yes,” chided his father, “that’s why I asked. I want it back in one piece, and I don’t want you to hot rod around. If you will give me your word that you will drive carefully, keep within the speed limits, and not leave the gas tank empty when you come back, you may take the car. Do I have your promise, Jim?”
“Yes, dad. Do I have to sign in blood?”
“No,” his father said. “Your word is good enough.”
Taking the keys, Jim left the house, climbed into the car, and drove off to pick up a couple of friends on the way to the game. For the first few blocks he was a model driver, remembering everything he had learned in driver’s education. Shortly after picking up his friends, however, he found himself speeding down the road. One of his friends asked, “How fast will this machine go, anyway?” The other friend responded, “This hunk of junk probably won’t even go over 90.” But it did!
Jim and his friends soon pulled into the neighboring town for the ball game. It was a great game. Jim’s team won. He and his friends were excited as they got into the car to head for home. Driving up to a stoplight, Jim and his friends noticed some girls pulling up alongside them in a brand-new car.
“Ya wanna drag?” said one of Jim’s friends to the girls.
“You bet!” came the reply.
Amidst the roaring of engines and the screeching of tires, two men standing on the street corner waiting for the light to change went unnoticed. They, also, had attended the ball game and were on their way back home when they saw the great drag race.
Later that evening Jim dropped off his friends at their houses and returned the car to the family garage. It was late, but his father was snacking in the kitchen. When Jim came in, his father asked, “Well, Jim, how did you treat the car?”
“Fine, dad,” was the reply.
“Okay. Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, dad.”
The following Sunday, however, both the men who had witnessed the drag race the Friday before approached Jim’s father.
“That son of yours is some race driver!” one of them said.
“I’ll say!” exclaimed the other. “He passed me on the freeway, and he must have been going at least 100.”
“You must be mistaken,” retorted Jim’s father. “Jim wouldn’t do that. He gave me his word.”
“I’m sorry,” one of the men replied, “but we both saw Jim hot rodding the car and racing from a stoplight. We were only a few feet away from him.”
That night Jim approached his father and said, “Dad, can I have the keys to the car? I want to go to a fireside.” What do you think Jim’s father said to him on that occasion? What would you have done if you’d been Jim’s father? In this case Jim’s father said, “I’ll take you to the fireside, son, but don’t ever ask me to loan you the keys to the family car again. I can’t trust you.”

Finally Wilford arrived in Memphis. Tired and dirty, he went to an inn.
“I am a minister, traveling without purse or scrip,” he told the innkeeper. “I would be happy to preach in exchange for food and a bed.”
“You don’t look like a minister,” the innkeeper said. “This man says he’s a preacher!” he called out to the men nearby. The men laughed and gathered around. Wilford looked at them. He had never preached to so many people. They looked more frightening than a bear or a pack of wolves.
Wilford said a silent prayer. The Lord had protected and provided for him and healed his knee. Surely he could teach these men. “Do you want to hear what the Lord has to tell you?” he asked.
“Bring it on, preacher!” they jeered. Wilford knelt and prayed aloud. He asked the Lord to tell him what those men needed to hear. Then he gave a talk and told the men to repent. When he finished speaking, the room was quiet.
“You’ve earned a bath, a meal, and a bed, preacher,” the innkeeper said. “Anytime you’re in Memphis, you can stay here, but that’s enough preaching.”
Wilford knew he had taught with the Spirit. He had arrived in his mission field prepared.

“Years ago,” Mother began, “I had a neighbor who felt I had done something very wrong. It hurt me deeply. I couldn’t even see her in church without hurting so much that I wanted to go home where I wouldn’t have to look at her. I talked to your dad about it, but it didn’t help. I even talked to the bishop. But still the hurt went on and on. In time, I think she realized that she was wrong, but she never apologized to me.”
Mother reached for the large family Book of Mormon on the end table next to the couch and flipped through the pages. “I used to pray so hard that I could forgive her so that we could go on being friends like before. But it didn’t seem to help. I didn’t even want to have a Church calling anymore if it meant working with her or teaching her children. It was like a poison, and I knew it. But I just didn’t know how to overcome it.
“I was reading in the Book of Mormon one afternoon, and I came across these verses.” She pointed to Moroni 7:47–48 [Moro. 7:47–48]. “Will you read them for me, Roger?”
“‘But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
“‘Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.’”
“Well, at first I thought, That’s just what I’m doing. I pray every morning and every night that I can forgive, but it just isn’t helping. And then another thought came to my mind as clearly as if someone had spoken it: It doesn’t say to pray to forgive, it says to pray for the pure love of Christ. The thought was startling to me, and I realized that by asking Heavenly Father to help me forgive her, I was really asking Him to side with me. After all, if I had to forgive her, then she was wrong and I was right. But if I just wanted to love her the way Jesus Christ loves her, it didn’t matter who was wrong and who was right. Then I was leaving the judgment in the Savior’s hands, where it belonged.”
“Are you still friends?” Roger asked.
Mother nodded. “That neighbor was Kathy.”