Gospel Story Finder

Life was far from easy. My family struggled financially, and even the simple privilege of having books to study was beyond our reach. I often borrowed them from friends so I could study. My mother worked tirelessly to raise me and my brother, and by the ages of 15 and 16, we both began working part-time to help and support our family.
There were countless moments when I wondered why life felt so heavy. “Why is my life like this? Why can’t I be happy and carefree like other children? Why did my path feel so difficult?” But my mother anchored our lives in the gospel. She taught us to pray, to trust the Lord, and have a firm faith, no matter how overwhelming the trials may be. Because of her teachings, even in the darkest moments, I never lost faith in My Heavenly Father.
In 2021, my trials reached a peak. Emotionally and physically, I was exhausted. Covid attacked both my mother and brother, and I was the only one who could take care of them, it was hard to accept the reality I was deeply depressed at this point. There were moments when the weight of my challenges felt unbearable, moments when I questioned whether I could continue. But through many fasting prayers, a scripture repeatedly came to my heart:
“Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)
Those words felt personal, as if Saviour Himself were assuring me. I felt Him whisper, “You are not alone.” That assurance became my strength. Remembering that the Savior had already endured every pain and sorrow, gave me courage to keep moving forward.
When my family finally recovered, I realized something powerful: God never gives us trials beyond our capability. If a challenge feels big, it means we are bigger than the challenge. I began to understand that greater the trial, greater the blessing that follows. As we read in D&C 58:4, “For after much tribulation come the blessings.”
Though I did not experience much love from my earthly father, I consistently felt the deep and abiding love of my Heavenly Father. Trial after trial, I could see how He was strengthening and refining me and shaped me into someone more resilient than before. I came to understand that hardships are but “a small moment,” as written in D&C 121:7–8, and that they shape us into who we are meant to become.
Whenever I feel low or alone, one image comes to my mind. A couple missionary shared it I met in the Taiwan Temple in 2019, who became wonderful exemplars and supporters in my life. That picture reminds me that I am never alone. The Lord sends His guardian angels seen and unseen to protect, guide, and comfort us.
The example of Job has always inspired me. He said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away… Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return.” His humility reminds me that everything we face belongs to God. In my most private moments of sorrow, it was the Lord who comforted me, wiped my tears, and calmed my troubled heart.
Today, after bearing all my burdens, I feel blessed by Him. The hardships that once seemed unbearable have become the foundation of my spiritual strength. And because of what I have experienced, I now desire to help bear the burdens of others. I understand that every trial was preparing me for a greater purpose to serve and uplift God’s children on this earth.
My trials may have weakened me emotionally, mentally, and physically, but spiritually I have become stronger than ever. That spiritual strength now supports every part of my life. Looking back, I can honestly say that enduring trials have refined me, strengthened me, and taught me who I am and more importantly, who I become, every tear taught me something eternal. ?

Let me say something of the marvelous members of the Church themselves. In the reorganization of a rather far-flung stake recently, I felt the Lord’s prompting to call a man to the stake presidency who, I had been told, owned a bicycle but no automobile. Many leaders across the Church don’t have cars, but I was nevertheless worried about what that might mean for this man in this particular stake. In my terminally ill Spanish I pursued the interview, then said, “Hermano, ¿no tiene un auto?” With a smile and not a second’s hesitation he replied, “No tengo un auto; pero yo tengo pies, yo tengo fe.” (“I do not have a car, but I do have feet and I do have faith.”) He then said he could ride the bus, ride his bicycle, or walk, “como los misioneros,” he smiled—“like the missionaries.” And so he does.

As I entered graduate school, I was married and working and needed to get good grades. One day my professor said something that caused me to lay hold.
He asked, “Do you want to do well in school? Do you want to know the secret? Do two things each day: first, study your scriptures before you study anything else; and second, don’t go home until your homework is done.”
It was like a lightbulb had turned on inside of me. I took his words to heart. From then on I carried my scriptures in my backpack, and when I would sit down to study, I studied my scriptures first. And I would stay in the library—where there was no TV and no distractions—each evening until my homework was done. As a result, the following two years were the only years I earned straight As in my classes.

One of her first experiences as a member of the Church was ridicule by her young acquaintances, and when the family decided to join with other Saints in Far West, Missouri, Bathsheba was disappointed that she couldn’t leave immediately with her married sister, Nancy. While pondering this disappointment, she seemed to hear a voice say, “Weep not. You will go this fall.” And her family did leave for Missouri that autumn.

For others, recognition of imbalance may not be so clear. While serving as a stake president, I observed as a member of our stake grew in prominence in the business community. He had a growing family and held positions of responsibility in the Church. All appeared to be in order. Then it became evident that he was paying too high a price for his temporal success. The first indication was his request to be released from all Church callings because of their time conflict with his work-related obligations. Even more alarming, through a series of behavioral problems with his ­children, priesthood leaders became acutely aware that basic family duties were being neglected. Communication with his wife and children had deteriorated, as they seldom saw him. When they did, he was usually preoccupied by professional demands or simply too tired for family activities or even meaningful conversation. Only through a tragic and agonizing series of events was this man brought to a realization of the consequences of his actions on his own spiritual health and that of his family.

Someone gave me a copy of my high school yearbook the other day. I spent an hour thumbing through it, looking at the pictures of my friends of 73 years ago, my high school class of 1928. Most of those in that yearbook have now lived their lives and gone beyond. Some seem to have lived almost without purpose, while others lived with great achievements.
I looked at the faces of the boys who were my friends and associates. Once they were youthful and bright and energetic. Now those who are left are wrinkled and slow in their walk. Their lives still have meaning, but they are not as vital as they once were. I looked in that old yearbook at the faces of the girls I knew. Many of them have passed on, and the remainder live in the shadows of life. But they are still beautiful and fascinating.
My thoughts go back to those young men and women of my youth, back to where you are today. By and large, we were a happy lot. We enjoyed life. I think we were ambitious. The dark and terrible Depression which swept over the earth would not come for another year. Nineteen-twenty-eight was a season of high hopes and splendid dreams.
In our quieter moments we were all dreamers. The boys dreamed of mountains yet to climb and careers yet to be lived. The girls dreamed of becoming the kind of woman that most of them saw in their mothers.
When I spoke to the youth of the Church, I suggested six B’s that you ought to pursue. Be Grateful. Be Smart. Be Clean. Be True. Be Humble. Be Prayerful.
I have not the slightest doubt that these patterns of behavior will yield success and happiness and peace. I believe you will be successful in your endeavors. As you grow old, I am satisfied that you will look back with appreciation for the manner in which you chose to live.
In the yearbook of which I have spoken is the picture of a young woman. She was bright and effervescent and beautiful. She was a charmer. Life for her could be summed up in one short word—fun. She dated the boys and danced away the days and nights, studying a little but not too much, just enough to get grades that would take her through graduation. She married a boy of her own kind. Alcohol took possession of her life. She was a slave to it. Her body succumbed to its treacherous grip. Sadly, her life faded without achievement.
There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly. She also knew how to have fun but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.
There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.
These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.
Upon graduating from the university, they married. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.
A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.
I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed.
As I returned to my seat on the plane, I thought of those two girls of whom I have spoken. The life of the one had been lived aimlessly, without stability, without contribution to society, without ambition. It had ended in misery and pain and early death.
The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant working and struggling. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way. Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am reminded, as we all should be, that Thanksgiving Day, as such,
Began with that little band of Pilgrims who in 1621 expressed their thanks to God in a great harvest feast. History tells us that of the 102 immigrants who landed on the bleak, rocky coast of Cape Cod, nearly half died before their first winter was over. In December, 6 died; in January, 8 more passed away; in February, 17; in March, 13; a total of 44 in four months.
Today in our comfortable homes surrounded with plenty it is well for us to pause and remember with deep appreciation the sufferings of the survivors. One account tells us that most of these brave people were not used to hardships; among them were delicately nurtured and elite men and women, who during that first year built more caskets for the dead than homes for the living. Notwithstanding all their trials and hardships, these brave founders of a great and glorious nation had so much to be thankful for that they had to appoint “an especial day on which to give thanks,” thanks to God for all of his mercies and blessings to them, thanks to God for things that count. [Earl Nightingale; emphasis added]

Elder M. Russell Ballard tells a story about receiving a visit from one of the missionaries who served under him when he was a mission president. The missionary expressed that he was beginning to doubt his testimony and had several questions. Elder Ballard posed the following question to the young man: “How long has it been since you read from the Book of Mormon?”
His response was, “It’s been a long time.”
Elder Ballard challenged the young man to read the Book of Mormon for an hour each day until they met again. Ten days later the young man returned to Elder Ballard’s office. He immediately said that he knew the Church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. Elder Ballard asked the young man what he had learned from the experience.
The young man said, “Give the Lord equal time.”

I am reminded of the story that Elder L. Tom Perry shared with us just a few weeks ago at general conference time. It took place in the mid-seventies shortly after he had lost his first wife. Before one of the sessions of general conference he looked over where the wives usually sit, and of course his wife’s chair was vacant; she was not there. He stood up, ran outside the Tabernacle, and said, “I want to bring someone inside who would not have an opportunity to attend conference today.” Accordingly, he went right to the end of the line, found a lovely young lady, and introduced himself. After she had introduced herself as a student from Ricks College, he brought her inside and gave her the privilege of sitting in the seat that his wife would have occupied were she alive. During the session, he glanced over to look at her and observed tears streaming down her face. Afterward he went over and said, “I noticed that you were crying.” “I had lost my testimony,” she explained. “I thought, ’One last chance—I’m going to come to Salt Lake to attend general conference, and perhaps then I’ll know the gospel is true’ and then you came out and singled me from the crowd, brought me in, and sat me here. Even though I appreciate the great words that were spoken this day, it was your kindly act that let me know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true.” Each conference time, she writes a letter to Elder Perry, thanking him for his kindness.

The gray squirrel leaped from limb to limb in a frantic attempt to escape the terrible talons of its attackers, but to no avail. The great horned owls were quick and sure. Like twin lightning bolts they struck their mark, with beak and claw doing their awful work with deadly precision. And then, as if adding insult to injury, the intruders took over the squirrel’s nest, high atop a towering cottonwood tree behind Grandma and Grandpa’s farmhouse.
At first Grandpa was upset by the owls’ brazen behavior, but he began to appreciate them more and more as the days passed. The owls were excellent hunters. Rabbits, gophers, and field mice made up the major portion of their diet.
Intrigued by the owls’ activities, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce soon found themselves observing the birds every day through binoculars. In January they noticed that the great birds were keeping close to their nest and that one of them seemed to be sitting in it at all times. Later that spring Grandpa and Uncle Bruce spotted a fuzzy little face peering back at them from the nest.
One night there was a windstorm, and the next day they couldn’t see the baby owl. They searched the ground around the tree to see if the owlet had been blown out of the nest, and sure enough, it had.
The ground where the baby owl had fallen was cold and very hard. Grandpa figured that the owlet had lain there for about twenty-four hours. He and Uncle Bruce fixed up a plastic ice-cream bucket with some straw. Then they carefully wrapped a warm towel around the baby bird, placed it inside the bucket, and waited.
For about twenty minutes nothing happened. Then the little owl started to move and to make a tiny peeping sound. Half an hour later it was actively wriggling about, so they decided to feed it something—but what? Most birds like worms, but the ground was still frozen. Then an idea struck them: Perhaps the baby owl would think that noodles left over from their supper were worms. When Uncle Bruce dangled one before the little bird, it opened its beak and gulped it right down. Then it opened its mouth wide for another one. Soon the owl had devoured almost a cupful of noodles. For dessert it ate a teaspoonful of hamburger!
Having saved the baby owl’s life, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce had to figure out what to do with it. They tried to get it back into its nest. But the nest was too high to reach, even with their tallest ladder. Their next idea was to build a new nest. Not far away was a dead tree with a hollow in a branch about five feet off the ground. Uncle Bruce lined this cavity with straw and set the owl inside. The next day the bird was still there.
To be sure that it got enough to eat, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce continued to feed it. Grandpa’s dog, Queenie, would catch mice, so Uncle Bruce fed them to the owl after he had skinned them and cut them into bite-size pieces. The owl ate about half a mouse each time, nibbling Uncle Bruce’s fingers in the process. By the next morning the other half of the mouse would be gone too. Periodically other bird feathers were found in the nest, so Uncle Bruce and Grandpa knew that the parent owls were feeding their little offspring too.
After some weeks the little owl’s parents were often seen watching from another tree as Uncle Bruce fed the owlet. Whenever Uncle Bruce approached the growing bird, its parents started to click their beaks nervously. The little one would imitate them, and now and then it would also hiss like a snake. Finally it acquired a natural fear of man, so Uncle Bruce stopped feeding it. The parents took over completely, and Uncle Bruce and Grandpa just checked on the owl now and then to see if it was all right.
In time the baby owl grew to be as large as its parents. Then one day it was gone. Thinking that its wing feathers were not big enough to allow it to fly very far, Grandpa and Uncle Bruce searched the woods around the farm. But they found no trace of it.
Many months passed and memories of the young owl began to fade. Then one evening as they were sitting on their porch, Grandma and Grandpa heard a soft hooting sound from the direction of the old willow tree. Going over to investigate, they were greeted by two pairs of great round eyes. Yes, the owl had returned with a mate of its own to live where it had been so well cared for as a helpless little bird.

For over three months we had rehearsed dances and songs for “The Heart of Texas,” a jubilee celebrating the dedication of the San Antonio Texas Temple. Now the day had finally come, and we seemed to be getting worse at the polka! About five minutes before the jubilee was to start, I told my friend Emily and our partners, Jared and Preston, that I thought we should pray for help. We did, and we made only one tiny mistake in the dance. I said many prayers of gratitude during the rest of the night.

“Come on, Dad,” I pleaded. “It’s only rated that bad for violence. A little fake fighting isn’t going to hurt us.”
My 16-year-old cousin and I weren’t in the habit of asking to see movies rated for older audiences. We were good kids, active in seminary and our priest quorums. But we had both heard how great this movie was and how many awards it would win. Besides, we’d been told there was no sex, no innuendo, no nudity, and very little swearing. That’s all of the bad stuff, right?
My dad wasn’t seeing it that way. Finally he changed tactics. “Fine,” he said. “You know what’s right and wrong. You do what you feel is right.”
Church leaders have told us not to watch inappropriate movies, and in our family the rule was we could not watch R-rated movies. (In the United States an R rating requires an adult to accompany anyone under 17.) I guess I had been trying to get my dad to say it was all right for my cousin and me to see the movie so I could do what I wanted and not feel guilty. Instead, he had placed the decision squarely on my shoulders.
Well, he didn’t say no. And besides, it was only a little violence.
After my cousin and I saw the movie, I felt awful. I thought I felt bad because of the movie’s rating, so I promised myself I would never watch another R-rated movie again. But later after watching a somewhat violent movie (though its milder rating allowed teen audiences), I realized I had that same awful feeling.
What happened? Hadn’t I done the right thing by choosing a movie with a milder rating? Maybe it wasn’t just a movie’s rating that mattered. Maybe it was the violence itself. But could violence really affect me that much?
When I pulled out my wallet-sized For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, I was surprised I had missed such an important point before. Under “Entertainment and the Media,” it says, “Avoid anything that is vulgar, immoral, violent, or pornographic in any way.”
Still, I resisted. “OK,” I told myself, “maybe there are people who are affected by violence, but I know it’s not real. And yes, some movies are pretty graphic, but a little bit never hurt anybody, right?” All of a sudden I wasn’t so sure.
Then came the stinger. Right after telling us to avoid violence, the pamphlet says, “Commit to keeping God’s standards.”
Ouch. I was guilty. Sure, I could rationalize that I was choosing the right by avoiding vulgarity, immorality, and pornography. But was keeping most of God’s standards good enough? Was I truly committed if I wasn’t willing to keep all of them?
It didn’t matter what the movie was rated, and it didn’t matter that there was only a little violence. It had been enough to offend the Spirit. And if that’s the case with movies, could the same principle hold true with other things? Maybe there are some words that offend the Spirit even if they aren’t swear words, and maybe some music offends the Spirit even if the lyrics aren’t bad.
When I committed to being more selective about the things I watched, played, read, said, and listened to, within days I could feel a difference. I didn’t realize how desensitized I had become to the influence of the Spirit.
When I cut back on my diet of violence, I found it was easier to control my temper, and I didn’t fight as much with my brothers. I noticed that, while my language wasn’t foul, cleaning it up made a big difference. Best of all, I could feel the Spirit more strongly.
It taught me that “just a little violence” is more than the Spirit wants to see.

The second experience I would like to share involved our daughter Kelly.

Last June, our daughter Kelly was asked to help with the girls camp in her stake. She is a busy mother of four. With her husband serving in the bishopric, she wasn’t too anxious to go but she decided to accept the call because it was the ?rst camp for her oldest daughter.

A couple of weeks prior to the camp, the stake YW president and the camp director had gone to check out the camp site. They wanted to be sure they had everything they needed. They happened to run into a park ranger who told them among other things that their cell phones would not work there and they needed a satellite phone to communicate. He also gave them a number to call if they needed assistance from nearby help. Before the camp they acquired a satellite phone.

The day of camp arrived, June 26. A brother, who I will call Brother Dan, was recruited in a neighboring ward to help his wife bring all the equipment for their ward. I’m going to quote a lot from Dan’s own words as I share her experience. He was kind enough to write it up and share it.

All the participants, including a few men who had been asked to help set up the camp, met with their ward members early that day and left for the camp site. The camp was about an hour and a half away.

After Dan and his wife arrived with all of their ward’s equipment and they had ?nished their lunch, he was asked by one of the stake YW leaders to come and give a young sister a blessing. He was told at the time that he was the only man and priesthood holder in the entire camp. The other men who had been there earlier, had already left. He said he was somewhat nervous about giving this priesthood blessing alone with so little time to adequately prepare. He only had a few minutes to walk from his camp to where this young sister was located.

After he had given the young sister a blessing he returned to their camp area. The stake YW president came by to thank him and he says “perhaps she was inspired at that time to tell me... You can’t leave camp you’re the only Priesthood holder we have in the whole camp.” He hadn’t planned to stay but he had brought extra equipment and decided he could stay until other men arrived.

After our daughter arrived, she was helping to put up a large tarp or plastic cover, to provide shade over an eating area. She had been climbing trees to attach the cover. On the fourth corner she was about 10 feet up in a tree when the dried branches of the tree gave way and she suddenly fell, hit a table with her back and was thrown head ?rst onto the asphalt paved eating area.

I’m now going to share in Dan’s words what happened next.

A few hours after Dan had given the blessing to the young Sister, he wrote: “In our own camp, we had just started a ?re we would use to cook our dinners. Sister Harris, one of the stake leaders, came to the edge of our camp and quietly got my attention. She told me that someone had fallen out of a tree and also needed a blessing. Again, my heart began to race a little. As we walked she gave me scattered bits of what had apparently happened. It was clear that she was agitated. Her pace quickened. A moment later she sped up even faster. We were now running up the trail, past the stake camp and around a bend. There lying on the asphalt was one of the Young Women’s leaders. Other leaders were kneeling and standing at her side. Again I was not prepared for what I had been summoned to do. Not like earlier, this was different.

“I was expecting that someone might need a cast for a broken arm or maybe even a leg. No, that clearly was not the case. The condition of this young mother and the gravity of the situation hit me and I was afraid.

“I knelt on the ground above her head. Trying to process what I was seeing and all that was being explained by the others as to what had happened. It was immediately evident that she was in very serious condition. Her arms and shoulders were shaking violently. She was kicking her legs in the bushes to the side of the trail. We tried to isolate her head and movements so that she didn’t do herself further damage.

“The stake YW’S president was in the background, on a satellite phone talking to the 911 Operator. She relayed questions and answers and gave us instructions on what we needed to do to care for her as we waited for help to arrive. They told us that paramedics were on their way but It would be more than half an hour before they would arrive.

“The back of her head was a mass of bloody hair. Someone brought a bag of ice. We also put a cold compress on her forehead.

“Those at her side kept talking to her, each holding a separate hand. We had been instructed to keep this up and not let her lose consciousness. A nurse who was also there, kept checking her pupils, which were ?xed and dilated. She was not able to speak even with the constant dialog aimed at her. She just continued to kick and shake violently. All this time I sat there trying to summon inspiration and direction as to what I could possible say in a blessing.

“Judging from her condition, it appeared to me that someone’s life was in my hands. Thinking to myself, this is surely a job for someone else. There should be someone far better to carry this heavy burden. ‘Isn’t there another brother who could assist me,’ I asked? The question was met with empty, blank faced stares. One of the sisters asked, ‘Do you not want to give her a blessing?’ That wasn’t it. I explained that I can do it alone, but it would be nice to have someone by my side. I was still not ready to proceed. My mind was racing. In my heart of hearts I was still at a loss as to what I could and should say, what could I promise? Was I up to this? There was no one else.

“It took a few more minutes before I realized what I should have known all along. I did have someone by my side... He’s always by my side.

“I now resolutely said, ‘Let’s give her a blessing.’ I was still holding the cold compress on her forehead. I addressed her by name and then paused as the Spirit came into my heart. I knew that with the next six, seemingly simple words, that came out of my mouth I was stepping over a threshold into another realm. I would then be speaking the mind and will of the Lord. I proceeded, ‘In the name of Jesus Christ.’ I then declared the Priesthood authority by which I spoke in His name. Continuing, as the impressions came into my heart and mind, I blessed her with a peace and a comfort to come over her. Also, that the Lord was mindful of her and grateful for her service. I promised her that help was on the way.

“Almost unknowingly, I then commanded the elements of heaven and earth. The next impression came into my mind, and a split second later, came out of my mouth. ‘I bless you that you will recover from this accident.’ Nothing I had been seeing for the past twenty minutes or so suggested that this was a logical conclusion that I could make. The combination of those two phrases I had just pronounced, were so profound and out of character for me, I was struggling a bit with what I had just said. No simple man, of his own power, can make those commands. There was no denying the strong promptings as the Lord directed me. The blessing closed with the sealing of those blessings on her head, in the name of Jesus Christ.

Dan continued: “A collective, ‘Amen’ was pronounced by all those who were at Kelly’s side. Sister Witt, who was holding her right hand, immediately said, ‘Kelly it’s a miracle.’ She was looking at her face and was able to see that her pupils were no longer dilated and rolled back unresponsive. Sister Witt, once more, as she had been doing for nearly thirty minutes now, carrying on a one-way conversation with her friend, said ‘Kelly do you feel it? Do you feel the miracle that happened just as soon as he sealed those blessings on your head?’ Remarkably to us all, this time there was an answer. Kelly spoke. She answered ‘yes.’ This was the ?rst sound she had made since I had arrived. She was no longer shaking violently or kicking her legs. The ?rst portion of the blessing had come to pass just as soon as I closed.

Brother Dan concludes: “It is my most humble testimony that yes, a handful of people in a distant corner of Gods creations, were privileged that day to witness, and be a part of a miracle.”

Our daughter was taken by ambulance to the Park City Hospital and then transferred to the trauma intensive care unit at the Intermountain Medical Center in Salt Lake City.

She had a large skull fracture and two places where her brain was bleeding. Other tender mercies were granted to her as she was treated in the trauma unit. She was released after a week in the hospital to go home to recuperate. Her brain bleeds and resulting hematoma did not require surgery. Over time she has recovered as promised with only a few issues still remaining. (No paralysis, no permanent brain damage.) Today she is a busy active mother and wife caring for her family.

The old missionary joke about an elder’s having to lose either his girl or his hair as one of the “costs” of his mission may have some basis in the warm and humorous story told by another of the great and valiant servants in the early Church, Heber C. Kimball. Brother Kimball was bald, even when he was young. People used to tease him about his baldness, and once he explained how he lost his hair. It seems that shortly after he joined the Church, while still a very young man, he was called on a mission to Nova Scotia. He traveled the entire 1500 miles from his home in New York on foot, with his valise on his back.
“Soon after I started, I found that I was rather unlearned, though I knew that before, but I knew it better after I started. I began to study the Scriptures … and I had so little knowledge that exercise of study began to swell my head and open my pores insomuch that the hairs dropped out; and if you will let your minds expand as mine did you will have no hair on your heads.”5

During a recent open house and media day for a new house of the Lord, I led a group of journalists on a tour through the sacred structure. I described the purposes of temples in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and responded to their many excellent questions.
Before entering the celestial room, I explained that this particular room in the house of the Lord symbolically represents the peace and beauty of the heavenly home to which we can return after this life. I indicated to our guests that we would not speak while in the celestial room, but I would be happy to answer any questions after we moved to the next stop on the tour.
After exiting the celestial room and as we gathered at the next location, I asked our guests if they had any observations they wanted to share. One of the journalists said with great emotion, “I have never experienced anything like that in my entire life. I did not know quiet like that existed in the world; I simply did not believe such stillness was possible.”
I was struck by both the sincerity and the starkness of this person’s statement. And the journalist’s reaction highlighted one important aspect of stillness—overcoming and tuning out the commotion of our external environment.
As I later pondered the journalist’s comment and reflected on the often hectic pace of our modern lives—the busyness, noise, diversions, distractions, and detours that so often seem to demand our attention—a scripture came to my mind: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

My point is only this: important texts deserve careful and close reads. When we engage in that type of study, we learn things about the text’s meaning that don’t yield themselves to casual reading and that may be somewhat surprising. I learned much about the value of close reading from two friends on the faculty at BYU. Both philosophy professor Jim Faulconer and English professor Brandie Siegfried learned how to read a text closely under the tutelage of rabbi scholars. Professor Faulconer suggested to his tutor at Penn State that they take the entire eight-week term to read the Book of Genesis. After all, Jim wanted to study the book carefully. Jim was surprised that his professor was amazed at his proposal, certain that it was impossible to read so much in so short a time. His professor suggested they could only cover the first chapter of Genesis at most. As it turned out, they made it through chapter three, but Professor Faulconer reports that his tutor clearly felt rushed. Professor Siegfried’s teacher at Brandeis wouldn’t be rushed. They spent an entire month on the first verse of Genesis.

Sounds like hard work to me, and from professors Faulconer and Siegfried we get more bad news: Not only is close reading hard work, but it takes time. Much time. Much undistracted time.

Of those who epitomize the faith I wanted to obtain, a faith like Sarah Ann, is John Murdock. At age seventeen John “came near bleeding to death; yea death stared me in the face, but I covenanted with my Heavenly Father that if he would preserve my life, I would serve him.” True to his resolve, John turned to prayer and meditation and began his search for the gospel of Jesus Christ that professed and practiced the ancient ordinances (see Journal of John Murdock, typescript, BYU-A, p. 3). He first united with the Lutheran Dutch Church, but “soon found they did not walk according to the scriptures.” He next joined the Presbyterian Cedar Church: “I soon became dissatisfied with their walk, for I saw it was not according to the scriptures.” He then united with the Baptists, but soon recognized “their walk not to agree with their profession, [and] I withdrew myself from them” (ibid., pp. 3–4).

Continuing his search for truth, John turned to the Methodist faith, but discovered “when I did not please them I would have to be silent among them awhile.” By 1827 he had joined the Campbellites. “It caused me to rejoice, believing that I had at last found a people that believed the scriptures,” wrote John. For three years he faithfully attended their meetings, but as the ministers denied the “gift and power of the Holy Ghost,” John lost interest and concluded “all the [religious] sects were out of the way” (ibid., pp. 4–5).

Then, in the winter of 1830, John’s prayers were answered. Four missionaries sent to the Lamanites arrived in Kirtland from the state of New York. They preached, baptized, and built up the Lord’s church after the ancient order. Curious, John journeyed twenty miles to see for himself the new preachers and rebuffed a Campbellite who tried to dissuade him: “I told him I was of age, and the case was an important one, of life, and death, existing between me and my God, and I must act for myself, for no one can act for me” (ibid., p. 6).

He arrived at Isaac Morley’s home in Kirtland about dusk and was introduced to the four men and presented a copy of the Book of Mormon. As he read the new scripture,
The spirit of the Lord rested on me, witnessing to me of the truth of the work. . . . About ten o’clock [the next] morning, being November 5th, 1830, I told the servants of the Lord that I was ready to walk with them into the water of baptism. [Ibid., p. 7]

“This was the third time I had been immersed, but I never before felt the authority of the ordinance, but I felt it this time and felt as though my sins were forgiven,” wrote John. After being ordained an elder, he returned home rejoicing and endeavored “to bear testimony,” and to his joy, “My family gladly received me and my words, thank the Lord” (ibid., pp. 7–8).

Tammy and I have committed to follow the prophet and live debt free and within our means. We don’t have a mortgage or any other debt. We do make a car payment each month, but instead of paying a car dealership, we make a deposit into our own car savings account. A little while ago we took about four years of car savings and went shopping for a new car. We really liked a base model Toyota, and it fit our budget perfectly. We thought we were ready to buy, but then the salesman showed us the next model up. It was much nicer but was a little more than what we had saved. But then, and this was the temptation, we were led to a top-of-the-line model—a real dream machine.

Now, I have never been infatuated with cars, but driving that vehicle was a transcendent experience; it was so smooth and so powerful. I wanted it! I really wanted it, and Tammy wanted it too. We had just one problem: the car cost much more than what we had in our car savings. The sales person enthusiastically showed us that with our large down payment, our monthly car payment would be a pittance—very affordable! What would be wrong with a little debt if we could get what we wanted now? We wouldn’t be irresponsible. We were so tempted!

Fortunately Tammy and I don’t make a major financial decision on the spot. We talk about it, pray about it, sleep on it, and make the final decision when we’re fresh and hopefully more inspired. So we went home and tried to talk ourselves into this brief excursion into debt. But alas, we didn’t feel good about it, so we decided to wait.

When I told this story to my family finance class at BYU, one student asked, “Dr. Hill, why don’t you just buy a used version of the car you want? It’s better financially anyway.” He was right. It is more economical to buy a used, low-mileage car than to buy a new car.

I got excited. Right after class I searched Carfax.com and found a beautiful car with low miles in Rexburg, Idaho, that fit our budget. My dad lives in Rexburg, so I asked him to take a test drive. He called back and said it was the best car he had ever driven and that if I didn’t buy it, he would! I bought the car on the spot over the phone on the condition that my wife approved it—though I knew she would.

Our anniversary was coming up, so I decided to surprise Tammy. I asked her to give me twenty-four hours to celebrate with a little getaway. We packed our bags and headed north on I-15. Tammy kept guessing where we were headed, and it is impossible to get anything over on Tammy, but this time I did. I just kept saying, “You’ll just have to see where we’re going, dear.” She had no clue.

When we neared the car dealership, I said, “Let’s just stop here for a minute.” We walked into the showroom, and there was our gorgeous, new-looking used car draped in Happy Anniversary! balloons.

Tammy squealed in delight and nearly hyperventilated. A few seconds later she caught her breath and got concerned. She protested, “But, Jeff, we can’t afford this.” When she heard that we could pay cash for this used car, she hugged me, gave me a kiss, and said I was the smartest husband ever!

That is an experience I will always remember. I can honestly tell you that when you are true to a commitment to live debt free and within your means, you can live joyfully and claim blessings.

Accordingly, we can’t simply steer around difficult questions here. We have to wrestle right through them, and we must do it together. My marching orders came years ago in BYU’s new faculty orientation. When asked about dealing with difficult questions as a featured visitor in that setting, the late Elder Richard G. Scott warned us that avoiding them might actually harm faith down the road because we would have missed an opportunity to engage them here, together, within the household of faith. I have never forgotten that apostolic warning.

In my many years of teaching, I have seen students and faculty meet that challenge in memorable ways. Last year, when a colleague and I team-taught a course on Latter-day Saint political engagement, we joked the first day that we would rather casually combine the two topics one should never discuss in polite company! Our students marveled throughout the course that we refused to maneuver around tough questions. Each class period featured some fresh, daunting challenge, from violence to race to immigration to gender and sexual orientation. And we marveled back as our students navigated these issues with rigor and faith and, especially, that they chose to do it together, as difficult as it was for Saints from such varied backgrounds and perspectives. I wept as I read their course evaluations. To a person, they left the course more committed to the things that matter most, not less.

We had Mrs. Jacobson over for Christmas dinner last year. I now have someone to visit with when I feel depressed, like the other day when I went out with Dave and I spilled spaghetti all over and felt like climbing under the table. I told Mrs. Jacobson about that, and she told me about how once when she was dating her husband, he came to visit her one evening. She thought he was coming a half hour later than he did. He came to the door while she was in her room. Mrs. Jacobson’s sister invited him in to sit down and started to go up the stairs to announce that he was there. Mrs. Jacobson came out of her bedroom door, intending to go downstairs and borrow a necklace. She started singing a song and was halfway down the stairs when she saw the young man grinning up at her. I guess everybody does things like that sometimes.