Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, I began to notice that things around me were beginning to darken. It troubled me because simple things like reading the print in my scriptures were becoming more difficult. I wondered what had happened to the quality of the lightbulbs and wondered why manufacturers today couldn’t make things like they had in years past.

I replaced the bulbs with brighter ones. They, too, became dim. I blamed the poor design of the lamps and bulbs. I even questioned whether the brightness of the sun was fading before the thought occurred to me that the problem might not be with the amount of light in the room—the problem might be with my own eyes.

Shortly thereafter, I went to an ophthalmologist who assured me that the world was not going dark at all. A cataract on my eye was the reason the light seemed to be fading. This certainly gives you my age. I placed my faith in the capable hands of this trained specialist, the cataract was removed, and behold, light again flooded my life! The light had never diminished; only my capacity to see the light had been lessened.

This taught me a profound truth. Often when the world seems dark, when the heavens seem distant, we seek to blame everything around us, when the real cause of the darkness may be a lack of faith within ourselves.

A letter was given to me, written by a young man whose twin brother had been killed while on an activity in Big Cottonwood Canyon east of Salt Lake City. His quorum leader grieved over the loss of one of his boys whom he had been called to serve, to teach, to inspire, and to motivate. He received comfort, as an adviser, in the help our Heavenly Father provided him in the answers to his prayers. He was asked to speak at the funeral of the deceased boy. It was a difficult assignment, but he fulfilled it. Then he received a letter from the surviving twin. The letter is the finest letter he has ever received in mortality. With his permission, I’ll share it:
“Dear Brother Cannegieter:
“I’d like to thank you for the talk you gave at Brian’s funeral. You told about all those wonderful times we had with Brian that I had almost forgotten. Brian and I both thought you were the best adviser and the best teacher we ever had, because you really cared about us and gave us your time. You taught us very important lessons and provided us advice from your own experience in life.
“We are going to miss Brian very much, and we will never forget the example of living life to its fullest and of courage and of dedication that he gave to us.
“I love you, Brother Cannegieter, and I hope I can be as smart and understanding and caring as you are. I hope I will really listen and get to know people like you do.
“I’d like to thank you for everything you have done for us.”
This is the comfort that comes to the heart of a person who loves his neighbor as himself. The same comfort will come to the heart of the person who loves God.

Tim Ryan listened to the wind howling through the empty city streets. Night was rapidly approaching, the night of December 24. In other years the day of the 24th itself and most especially the day to follow would have been joyful days for Tim Ryan. But not this year. No, most definitely anything but joyful. Upstairs in the back bedroom on the third floor of the house that he was just leaving, Maggie was dying.
“Only hours,” the young doctor had said. “Your wife has a very short time to live, Mr. Ryan.” He seemed to take a smug satisfaction in being able to so casually measure off the time of life remaining to another human being.
That had been this morning. The hours had dragged by slowly since then. The pale sunlight of December had brought little warmth to Timothy Edward Ryan, caught in the middle of his 67th year.
Long ago, and it seemed to be a part of that other world in which he and Maggie had been born, little Tim would have taken comfort from what the priests would have offered him. He had been faithful in his church, and when he married Maggie, the ceremony had been performed by Father Kelly. He hadn’t considered any other alternative.
Forty-eight years had gone by since that day. In those 48 years, Christmastime had been special to the Ryans. Their house had been filled with the laughter of six children and the children’s friends. Twenty years ago the first grandchild had seen Christmas at the Ryan’s.
Now December 24 or 25, and it didn’t really matter which, was about to become a day etched in pain and sorrow in the mind of Tim Ryan. There was a part of him up there, a part of him that was slowly, painfully slipping away. He wanted to cry, but no tears would come.
As he began to move away from the front steps, moving in some direction, any direction to be away from this place, he took a companion with him. The companion was Bitterness, and he had been with Tim for some time now.
Bitterness laughed at long-held beliefs. “See, Tim? It all must end this way. This is the end of the laughter. That was temporary; this is not.”
At 4:30 he pulled on his scarf and followed with his heavy parka. He told the nurse that he would be back, that he needed to get out and get some air. Really Tim wanted to go and embrace the cold and the coming darkness, for without Maggie, would there be anything left but cold and darkness in his life?
The sunlight had faded rapidly away and become the dark of night. Tim walked aimlessly through the streets of his adopted city, about to be alone for the first time. “I must make a plan,” he thought. “I must see to the future. There is hope—”
The word hope stuck in his throat. His companion, Bitterness, told him that to believe in hope at this point was a cruel joke on himself. Why, it was like believing that angels would come and lift their voices to the heavens! Both hope and angels were things of the past, Bitterness told him.
Bitterness became quiet as Tim turned his mind to thoughts of past years. When he was just a boy, he had left Ireland with his two older brothers and a younger sister to come to America. They landed in New York and then moved to Baltimore to join an uncle.
The streets of Baltimore hadn’t been paved with gold. They had had to work long hours in their uncle’s store. Slowly the hours began to pay off, and the sweat and toil became the mortgage price of prosperity. Ever so slowly, poverty released its strong icy fingers from around the immigrants.
When he was 17, Tim Ryan had let his brother Michael talk him into going to a parish dance. “Come along, Timmy. It’s time that you began to think about the ladies. And what better place to meet them than at the parish house?”
Tim went with Michael, shyly, unwillingly at first. He stood off on the sidelines, watching the others dance and hating them for their social graces and himself for his shyness. Then Maggie appeared and the climate changed.
She was short, no taller than his five foot three inches, with long black hair. She smiled often, and once, when he looked enough in her direction, she smiled at him. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks.
He summoned up the courage to go over and introduce himself. She asked him with that ever-present smile if he always blushed so brightly. “No,” he said, “it only happens when I talk with a beautiful young lady. And by the way, may I have the next dance?” She said yes.
Tim Ryan walked Maggie Rourke home that night after the dance. They saw each other often in the next year. Then, one night, on the anniversary of that dance in the parish house, he asked her another question. She answered yes to this one too, and they made arrangements with Father Kelly to perform the ceremony.
The old man that Tim Ryan had become shook himself to break the train of thought. He had walked so far as to arrive in the department store district. The big stores were closed now, their displays of Christmas merchandise garish in the neon sun.
“I will walk a little further,” Tim thought. “Just a few more minutes here in the cold and I will be ready to return and face what I know I cannot avoid.” He headed slowly up the hill into the wind, with its blasts tearing at his face and jacket.
“One more house, Brother Henderson?” That was Jan Andrews’s question.
Gregory Henderson looked at his group. He had come into the city with a dozen of the kids from his Sunday School class to visit some of the older members of the ward and sing Christmas carols. They had seen all of the families on their list with the exception of the Billings, and it was getting late and the kids were getting cold.
“Face it, Henderson,” he thought, “you’d like to go home too. You have a family to be with on Christmas Eve and a wife who would like some help in decorating the Christmas tree.” Another part of him spoke up quickly, though, and put things into perspective.
“Yes, we’re going to see the Billings. They live on Clayton Avenue. It shouldn’t take too long to get there. I think we’ll sing three songs, like we’ve been doing, and then head for home.”
As the kids piled into his car and Dave Maxfield’s van, he could see on their faces that one last visit would be about enough. He hoped that the project had touched some of them. They needed to start learning a little about service.
His car moved on through the dark Baltimore streets in silence. Inside were the most active kids in the ward, the doers and movers. Jan Andrews, Tony Morgan, Bob Smith, Carol Miller—his wife called them the angels. They had been the biggest helps to him so far.
After several minutes’ ride, Greg saw the turn-off for Clayton Avenue. He swung the big Dodge into the narrow street and continued down the two blocks to the Billings’ house. The young people piled out again, ready to conclude the project, thinking thoughts of home and the next morning.
Jan called the group together outside the house: “Let’s start off with ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,’ then go to ‘Joy to the World,’ and close with ‘Silent Night.’ The Billings are both pretty sick and haven’t been able to get out to church for a long time. They’ll appreciate this a lot.”
Tim Ryan turned the corner onto Clayton Avenue. He was only a few blocks from home, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. His thoughts had led him downward into a valley of despair. His normal energetic step had become the shuffle of a man worn down by age.
Then he heard the voices. Like the clear, pure sound of a tinkling chandelier, the voices cut through the cold night air, reaching his ear with cheerfulness. They brought his mind back to what day would fall tomorrow.
Tim stopped to listen more closely, despite the still-insistent voice of Bitterness inside. He wanted to hear what they were singing and find out who they were. How could they be happy on a night like this when he was about to lose the most important thing in his life? Didn’t they have any feelings?
The words, carried to him on the back of the wind, began to enter his mind. Subtly at first, and then more quickly, a light that had been burning low within Tim Ryan began to flare up once again. The flame began to thaw the ice that had been forming inside and outside.
Once upon a time, when Michael had asked him what about Maggie had first attracted him, he had said that she had the laughter of an angel. Laughter fell clear and pure from her lips. Hearing her laugh made him feel that he had been able to set a foot into heaven.
Now, this group of young people, singing to an unseen audience in the house across the street, were touching him in that same way. They were like angels with their clear voices, simple and pure in the message which they presented.
“Oh, Lord,” he thought, “I cannot turn the tide of what must come. But I can learn to hear the bells again and look past tragedies. I must go home quickly, quickly.” Tim had intended to stay and talk with them when they finished. Instead, the urgency of the moment directed him homeward.
In the back of his mind, Greg Henderson wondered if the old man standing across the street was enjoying the singing. The thought faded just as rapidly as it had come, and Greg turned his mind back to the music.
It was late, almost midnight. Tim sat by the bed, holding Maggie’s hand. It was an act that he had performed often in 48 years. Tonight it took on special meaning.
“My dear, you would have loved it. They were like angels with their clear voices. I doubt that I have ever heard the songs of Christmas sung so beautifully or received such enjoyment out of the sacred music.”
She said nothing for a long time. Then she looked up at him with a smile, one like the smile that he had first seen so many years ago.
“Tim, you’re happier tonight than I’ve seen you at any time since I … since I’ve been ill. That makes me happy.”
Maggie lapsed into silence again.
The clock stretched forth both its hands to 12. Christmas would have already dawned over the desert where it had first been celebrated so many years ago.
“Tim.”
“Yes, dear. What is it?”
“Tim, I think I’ll sleep now. I feel so in need of rest. Will you hold my hand while I sleep?” She closed her eyes. Some of the worry and pain that had written itself across her face in the last year began to fade.
The little man with the shock of wind-blown white hair looked down at his Maggie. Great soft tears, tears like the drops of a gentle spring rain awakening the earth, began to well up in his eyes. The tears were sweet, though. He had heard the angels sing, and he was beginning to understand.
Somewhere out in the suburbs, Greg Henderson rolled over in bed. He had just finished assembling the last toys, and he was tired and wanted to rest before the children would patter in asking mommy and daddy if they knew that it was Christmas Day.
Just before the last trace of consciousness fled, Greg thought about the old man who had listened to them sing on Clayton Avenue. Greg wondered if the man had liked the kids’ singing. Then sleep came and chased the thought from his mind.

Without appearing to be self-serving, I would like to tell you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood a little about my call to a full-time mission. The year was 1962, and a call was received from President David O. McKay to serve in the Mexican Mission. Shortly after receiving the call, I learned that I had bone cancer in my right arm and that the probability of my living many weeks was extremely low. A blessing was received from a wonderful father, wherein he blessed me with my life and that the mission call would be fulfilled and that I would have a family and be able to serve the Lord all my days.
The doctor congratulated me on being one who had great faith in the Savior but assured me that I didn’t realize the seriousness of what I had. As some of you have noticed, I only have one arm as a result of that problem; but ten months after having my arm amputated, I entered the Mexican Mission, full of excitement and ready to work. You see, young men, I had several years earlier committed to the Lord that I would serve a full-time mission and that I would not let anything stop me from fulfilling that call. Well, brethren, the doctor passed away twenty years ago, always amazed to see me still breathing, and he actually became quite interested in the Church.
Brethren, I want you to know that having one arm for nearly thirty years has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. It hasn’t been my greatest challenge, but it has been a great teacher to me, teaching me to be more patient and tolerant with others as I have had to learn to be more patient with myself. It has helped me to understand the necessity of our having challenges in life to help develop our character and stamina, helping us to become what the Lord ultimately wants us to become.

One such decision is whether or not to go on a mission. While I was growing up I had a desire to serve a mission. But when it finally came time to send in the papers, I was hesitant. The decision became filled with pressures. I didn’t know whether to leave after my freshman year, after my sophomore year, or after I had completed my college education. I fought with a multitude of inward thoughts and feelings. I also wondered if I had enough knowledge to go out there and give what was so precious to me to somebody else. I talked to a lot of people, and most of them willingly shared their opinions with me. Some said that I should go immediately, others said later, and some said I shouldn’t go at all. I wonder, if I had asked you, should I go now or later or not at all, what would you have told me?
Perhaps you would have been like one of our great priesthood leaders. I went to him, and we talked about my situation. He listened with patience and concern. After I expressed my feelings about being able to play basketball when I returned, he said, with words that sank deep into me, “Devin, if you serve a mission and serve faithfully, when you return you will be a better basketball player than you are now.”
I had great confidence in that man, and I felt that he was moved by the Spirit to say what he did. I felt he was talking to me personally and not to all athletes who serve missions, because each case is different. He could advise me, my parents could advise me, my friends could advise me, but they couldn’t serve for me. I was the one who was going, and no one else could make my decision. I had to make that myself.
One reason I desired to serve a mission was that I had seen the impact that serving a mission had on my father and mother. Many times in our family home evenings Dad would mention his mission. He told us about his call. He had a desire to serve a mission, but when he expressed that desire to his father, his father discouraged him from going. My dad grew up on a chicken farm in American Fork, Utah. Because of failing health, his father didn’t feel that he would be able to maintain the farm, and there would be no money to finance a mission.
Bishop Melvin Grant came to discuss the matter with my dad’s family. When Dad’s father told the bishop that his son couldn’t go, Dad’s mother stood right up from her chair and said, “I’ll take care of the chickens. My son George is going on a mission.”
And so he went to England. My dad told me that a few months into his mission he received a letter from his mother that said, “I think the chickens know where you are, because they’ve never laid as many eggs as they are laying now.”
In April of 1980 I entered the Missionary Training Center and began to learn Spanish to prepare to serve in Madrid, Spain. While in the MTC, I knew that I was doing the right thing. In my heart I wanted to someday return to play basketball. Yet at the same time I decided that even if I never played another game of collegiate ball I wouldn’t regret the decision that I had made.
In Spain I had the honor of wearing a little name tag that said “Elder Durrant.” That title, Elder, was a greater honor than any I had ever before known. I had many experiences as a missionary. When someone accepted the gospel, I felt indescribable joy. When people rejected the message of the gospel, it brought me great sorrow.
One of my most joyous memories began during the summer of 1981. We had walked the city streets all morning talking to businessmen about the Church. By noon we were hot and tired and ready to take a break. We decided to walk through a nearby park, and as we did so, we could see off to the side a group of young people. We decided to see if they would listen to our message.
As we approached, they looked at us with some suspicion. We told them we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They laughed a little and made a few mocking comments. It seemed obvious that they didn’t want to listen to us. But there was one young man in the group who looked at us with a sincere interest. So we focused our attention on him. He had a guitar. We asked, “Would you play something for us?” He smiled, lifted his guitar, and began to play.
When he finished, we told him more about ourselves and our message. He told us his name was Jose Manuel. We talked for a few more minutes and then ended the conversation by asking if we could talk to him another day about our church. He replied he would be glad to listen to us and that we could find him in the park most every day taking his dog for a walk or playing his guitar.
As we left, we couldn’t imagine this young man ever being baptized. A few days later we were in that same area. To our pleasant surprise, there he was. We asked if he would listen to us. He consented, and we pulled two park benches together, and my companion and I sat on one and he sat on the other. We looked into Jose Manuel’s eyes and told him about Jesus Christ. Near the end of our message we told him about the Book of Mormon and that Jesus Christ had visited America after his resurrection. We challenged him to read about this great event. He said he would. We left the book, yet we had our doubts if Jose Manuel would ever even open it.
A few more days went by, and we decided to see how he had done on his reading assignment. To our surprise, he told us that he had read the part in the Book of Mormon that we had assigned him. He explained that he had told his friend about what he had read. His friend also wanted to read the book, so Jose Manuel had given it to him. He asked us if he could possibly get another copy. We told him that we could probably work something out.
After that we continued to teach him the gospel. We saw him change his appearance and his heart. He wanted to be baptized.
Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for eighteen months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona mission.
We’re all faced with different obstacles that sometimes make serving missions seem difficult. In my dad’s case, his father was ill. Jose Manuel’s family didn’t want him to go. I wondered about my basketball future. Many of the obstacles we face are those within our own minds. For just a minute I want to talk directly to you—just you. You who might say, “I have this girlfriend”; or, “I’ve got a good job and a car”; or, “I’ve never been good at schoolwork, and I know I could never memorize scriptures and all those discussions”; or, “I can’t talk to people who I don’t even know”; or, “I couldn’t be obedient to all the rules missionaries follow”; or, “I don’t really know the Church is true, so how could I tell others about it?”
To those who have such thought and feelings: if you don’t now have a testimony, you can gain one on a mission. Your girlfriend will be all right. You can learn the scriptures and discussions well enough to be effective. You’ll have the courage you need to talk to strangers. You can be obedient. You can do it.
Some of you may be fearful about your ability because to this point in your life you have struggled. Perhaps you’ve not been academically gifted or socially prominent. I agree that being socially graceful, well educated, experienced in leadership, and able to speak well are useful talents for doing missionary work. But there is something beyond these which can give a missionary his real power.
I was told recently of two missionary companions—one had many outward talents, the other didn’t. They had received a letter from a man and his family to whom they had taught several discussions. The letter told the elders to come by and pick up the Book of Mormon because the family had decided they were not interested in continuing the discussions.
The more outwardly talented elder felt confident that by using all his social skills and all his learning he would be able to change the man’s mind. During the meeting he used every persuasive skill he could think of. The other elder listened. Finally the man agreed to continue the discussions.
Later, at the family’s baptism, the talented elder remembered the night with some degree of pride. After the baptism the man told him, “The night I changed my mind and continued to have you teach me was the most important night of my life. As you talked to me, my mind was so determined to not listen that there was nothing you could have said that would have caused me to continue. But then I looked at your companion. His eyes were focused on me. I saw in his face more love than I had ever known before. My heart felt a spirit that made it so I could not resist his silent message. I decided then that if this church could cause someone to love like that, then I wanted to be part of it.”
Outward social and educational talent help, but more needed than these are the inward talents of love and faith and testimony. In these talents we can all be equal.
If your health will allow, make yourself worthy to serve. Push aside the obstacles and go.
I pray that the Lord will bless us in all of our decisions—decisions about missions, decisions about marriage, decisions about character, about dedication, about morality.
I’m grateful for the honor that I had of being Elder Durrant while in Spain. I know that Jesus Christ lives, that while he was on the earth he taught us the way that we ought to live. I know that he expects us as holders of the priesthood to take what he has given us and go out and share it with others. And as we do this, he not only blesses the lives of the people we come in contact with, but he also blesses us. I know that the gospel he has given us is true. That’s why I wanted to share it—because it means so much in my life.
I testify of these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The mental image of his wife also gave Viktor Frankl the strength to survive the agonies of a Nazi concentration camp: “As we stumbled on for miles, … dragging one another up and onward, … my mind clung to my wife’s image … her look was then more luminous than the sun. … for the first time in my life … I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love.” Therefore, “He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how” (Man’s Search for Meaning, 1984, 56–57, 12). His “why” was the vision of being together with his sweetheart. Full of such hope, he could live with the awful “how” of imprisonment.

My name is Matthew. I guess I was a typical boy growing up. I liked to play games and be outside when I didn’t have to be in school. When I was eight years old my brother Raymond and I started taking piano lessons. I didn’t like sitting in front of that old piano and practicing every day before I could go outside and play with my brother and my cousins Chance and Brian, who lived down the street. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as riding bikes and climbing trees, especially during summer break. But I did it because Mom insisted.
One day I was just begging to go outside and play. “Please, Mom, Chance doesn’t have to practice the piano. Why do I have to?”
“Because it’s good for you. Now I want you to practice some of the Primary songs that I gave you yesterday. And hurry, Raymond needs to practice too, before you boys can go play.”
“All right, but only for 20 minutes today, OK?”
“OK.”
So there I was dragging my feet over to that old piano. At least it was only the Primary songs today. I liked the Primary songs. They always cheered me up when I was sad or scared, but I still would rather have been outside playing with my cousins.
I opened the book and started plunking out the notes to the song “Search, Ponder, and Pray.” I slowly got the hang of it, and it began to sound a little bit like the song I learned in Primary. Softly, I started to sing along. “‘I love to read the holy scriptures, and ev’ry time I do, I feel the Spirit start to grow within my heart—a testimony that they’re true. Search, ponder, and pray are the things that I must do. The Spirit will guide, and, deep inside, I’ll know the scriptures are true.’” Then I felt a feeling that I’d never felt before. As I started singing the second verse, tears began running down my cheeks. “‘So, prayerfully I’ll read the scriptures each day my whole life through. I’ll come to understand. I’ll heed the Lord’s command and live as he would have me do. Search, ponder, and pray are the things that I must do. The Spirit will guide, and, deep inside, I’ll know the scriptures are true.’”*
Later I realized just what it was I was feeling that day. The Holy Spirit had testified to me that the scriptures are true. Heavenly Father had blessed me with the gift of the Holy Ghost, and through that gift came my testimony of the truthfulness of the scriptures. I’ll always be grateful that my mom made me practice the piano that day instead of letting me go out to play.

It would never happen, you might say, but Kelli Pay of Glendale, Arizona, knows better. When she was on her mission in Ecuador, she really did have only five minutes to get ready to give a sacrament meeting talk.
“My heart pounded and my mind raced, but I was calmed with the fact that I had done this before,” says Kelli.
Remember Kelli and Brook? Kelli excelled in the public speaking competition—something that came in handy on her mission.

As President Cowley’s traveling companion in the mission field, I received instructions from him to keep my briefcase packed with a couple of changes of clothing. He said, “When I say ‘We’re going,’ you grab your bag, start the car, and don’t ask any questions.”

When that would happen, I would grab my bag and go to the car. Being a young, eager missionary, I often wondered where we were going; but I didn’t ask.

Once, after we had driven a few kilometers, he asked, “Would you like to know where we’re going?”

I said, “Yes.”

Then he said, “So would I! I’m not sure just where we’re going, but we’ll keep going; and when the Lord tells us to turn, we’ll turn, and we’ll end up where He wants us to be.”

About a month later, my crew made another perilous medical evacuation, this time on the side of a 60-degree mountain slope under a double canopy of foliage. This meant that we had to maneuver our helicopter down through the first cover of branches and leaves and over to an opening in the lower canopy of foliage where a hoist could lower a litter for the wounded soldier. Our rotor blades were literally inches from the branches, and the rotor wash of air bouncing off the foliage made hovering critically unstable. Despite these obstacles, the mission was successful, and the crew felt it deserved special recognition. We were once again recommended for the DFC, but again it was lessened to an Air Medal.
I was furious! “Do those people know what it’s like to put your life on the line every day?” I fumed. “They must be crazy to think this kind of flying is part of normal duty!” But in the quietness of my quarters, I remembered the words of my patriarchal blessing, which reminded me that the Holy Ghost would guide me. I thought, “That’s right. The Spirit made this mission and all the other missions, as hazardous as they may have been, possible for me.” And I knew Heavenly Father had protected me. No crew members who had flown with me had ever been harmed. I realized I had a great deal to be thankful for.

Last June, I was on an assignment to South America. We were on a tight 10-day schedule visiting Colombia, Peru, and Ecuador. An enormous earthquake had killed hundreds, injured tens of thousands, damaged and destroyed homes and communities in the Ecuadorian cities of Portoviejo and Manta. I felt prompted to add to our schedule a visit to members living in those cities. With damage to the roads, we weren’t sure we could get there. In fact, we had been told we could not get there, but the prompting would not go away. Consequently, we were blessed and were able to visit both cities.

With such short notice, I expected that only a few local priesthood leaders would attend the hastily organized gatherings. However, we arrived at each stake center to find the chapels filled all the way back to the stage. Some who attended were the stalwarts of the region, the pioneers who had held fast to the Church, encouraging others to join them in worship and to feel the Spirit in their lives. Sitting on the front rows were the members who had lost loved ones and neighbors in the earthquake. I felt prompted to bestow an apostolic blessing upon all who were in attendance, one of my very first given. Though I was standing at the front of that room, it was as if my hands were on each of their heads, and I felt the words of the Lord pouring forth.

It didn’t end there. I felt prompted to speak to them just as Jesus Christ had done when visiting the people in the Americas. “He took their little children … and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.”15 We were in Ecuador, we were about our Father’s business, and these were His children.

We envision your families gathered around the television or online to watch the proceedings of general conference at home. An alert mother and father sent me a copy of a picture they took at conference time. They observed the reaction of their then 18-month-old son, who recognized the features and voice of the speaker. The child started to throw kisses toward the TV. He wanted to come closer. So his thoughtful older sister quickly hoisted her little brother on her shoulders and brought him closer. Here is that photograph.
Yes, the image on the TV is mine, and those children are our grandchildren. In a few years this boy will be an elder endowed in the temple and ready for his mission. Later he will be sealed to an eternal companion of his choice. Can you see him one day as a husband and father, with children of his own? And one day he will say farewell to his grandfathers, with a sure knowledge that death is part of life.

President Baudin describes his second voyage to Taenga as one of the most unforgettable experiences of his mission. President Temanu had come to get him, and soon after they left Makemo, stormy weather set in, with the wind and waves buffeting the boat through the waters and altering its course. “Imagine my concern,” relates President Baudin, “when after six hours there was still no land in sight.
“Suddenly, President Temanu stood and pointed with his finger and calmly stated that the island was in that direction. Almost immediately, the wind died and the sea became calm, and as if they had come to greet us and guide us to the pass in the reef, dozens of dolphins appeared, leaping out of the water in front of the boat. As if this weren’t impressive enough, we also saw a whale some thirty meters to the side, spouting water and unhurriedly keeping pace with our forward movement.”

After receiving an invitation to “come and see,” I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time at the age of 26. I had recently separated from my first husband. I had a three-year-old boy. And I felt powerless with fear. When I entered the building, I was filled with warmth as I perceived the faith and joy of the people surrounding me. It was truly “a refuge from the storm.” Three weeks later, I made the baptismal covenant with Heavenly Father and started my journey as a disciple of Christ, although my life has not been perfect along that journey.
For me to receive those eternal blessings, many physical and spiritual elements had to be in place. The gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored and preached; that meetinghouse had been built and maintained; there was an ecclesiastical structure, from the prophet to local leaders; and a branch filled by covenant members was ready to embrace me and my son as we were brought to the Savior, “nourished by the good word of God,” and given opportunities to serve.

“Have you ever had the feeling that your life is out of control?” asks Gwen Legler of Arlington, Washington. “So you spend your time worrying. Such was my life a few years ago. I constantly worried and felt anxious about our future.
“One day I was reading the Book of Mormon and came to 2 Nephi 4:27 [2 Ne. 4:27]: ‘Why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul?’ Lightning could not have pierced my soul more deeply than did those words. I realized that worry and anxiety were temptations of the devil and were destroying my peace. This scripture did not change my circumstances, but it did change my attitude. I gained peace of mind as I put my faith in Heavenly Father for the future.”

The Kingston Ward, Albany New York Stake, really has learned to go the extra mile to succeed. With no gym in which to practice in their meetinghouse, many of the young women have to drive more than half an hour to basketball practices. But for the second year in a row, they have taken the regional championship.
The girls basketball team demonstrated not only their skill but good sportsmanship and love for each other. When they were congratulated by the stake, it was said of them, “You displayed fine sportsmanship and team effort. The team well represented the stake, and we are proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom and Dad,” I yelled as I headed for the front door, the keys to the family car jingling in my hand. “Don’t wait up for us—it’s a double feature, and the second movie isn’t over till nearly midnight.”
Dad gave first me and then my cousin Sandi the piercing look for which he was famous in our family. “Listen, I don’t like you girls staying out late all by yourselves. Why don’t you go to an earlier movie?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dad, you’re so old-fashioned. Sandi and I are hardly babies.” We had finished our first year at Ricks College, and Sandi had come to spend the summer in Rockford, Illinois, with my family. We had jobs at a local factory, and we felt pretty responsible and grown-up. I said so to my dad.
It didn’t help much. He still quizzed us. Which theater were we going to? What movies would we see there? Were we coming straight home afterward? Finally he sighed and said, “Your mother and I will be awake when you come home, so check in with us no matter how late it is, all right?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said, resigning myself to the inevitable.
The movies were comedies, and when we walked out of the theater late that night Sandi and I were laughing and repeating our favorite funny lines. We got into the car and headed toward home.
Even at midnight there was a lot of traffic on the main streets of Rockford, so I turned onto a side street, taking a shortcut in order to avoid most of the traffic. A battered brown car followed us around the corner. I drove three blocks and then turned onto a deserted street. The brown car turned too, close behind us. I made several other turns, leading us toward home through the back streets. When I looked into the rearview mirror, the lone man in the car waved at us and yelled something obscene.
Although it was a hot night, we quickly rolled up the windows and locked all four car doors. We decided that if we ignored the driver of the brown car he would probably lose interest. But instead he moved his car closer to ours, driving nearly bumper to bumper. Then he pulled into the middle of the street and edged his car toward ours, forcing us toward the curb. By now we were getting pretty panicky.
As I neared an intersection, Sandi said tensely, “Turn right—quick!”
I did, and with a left turn at the next light I entered the main stream of nighttime traffic. Maybe in all the noise and confusion our pursuer would lose sight of us or forget whatever crazy ideas he had.
He didn’t. At every light he was there behind us, leaning out his window to yell lewdly. He was obviously drunk, but he was persistent. Even in the bright lights of Rockford’s busiest street, we were scared.
Finally we reached Fairview Boulevard. My house was only half a block away. We turned the corner, and he followed us, only inches behind our rear bumper.
I pulled to a stop in front of my house. The front sidewalk seemed miles long. Worse yet, the porch light was off, and no light showed from any of the windows. And the brown car had already pulled to a stop behind us. Sandi checked to make sure the car doors were locked.
I got a sick feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. “Sandi, we’ve got to say a prayer,” I said.
“I know. What do you think I’ve been doing all the way home?”
We were both silent for a split second, each pleading for the Lord’s guidance. I guess I was hoping for a miracle. But the stranger was out of his car and running toward us, yelling and cursing. There was no chance of getting past him, so Sandi and I sat in the locked car. The stranger grabbed the handle of my car door, then tried the door behind me. When he found the doors were locked he began pounding on the windows and trying to pry them open. He was shouting threats, and his angry drunken face was only inches from mine.
Suddenly good sense returned to me, and I pressed on the horn, making long blasts of jarring noise. Within seconds the light went on in my parents’ bedroom. Mom appeared at the window. Light from the front porch fixture suddenly flooded the yard, and my dad flung open the front door and ran out onto the lawn, bellowing, “Get out of here!” in his most menacing voice.
The man who had been so threatening and persistent moments before suddenly turned and ran. Leaping into his car, he drove off into the night.
A few minutes later Sandi and I sat at the kitchen table with Dad, giving a blow-by-blow description of the unpleasant incident. My mom bustled around the kitchen making hot chocolate and offering us occasional hugs as she passed us at the table.
Suddenly my newfound college independence didn’t seem so important. The kitchen was cozy, familiar, and comforting. Mom and Dad, scolding us because we had forgotten to write down the car’s license number, were pillars of strength and security. In that moment, my eyes flooding with tears, I thanked God for old-fashioned parents who insisted on waiting up until all their children came home.

“My father ran a grain elevator, and as a young boy, I used to have to shovel wheat. Dad taught us to work for our own money. He paid us three cents a sack to stack and load wheat, and I thought that that was pretty generous of him. We could load a thousand bushels into a boxcar in about three or four hours. My two brothers and I could make as high as nine dollars a day loading wheat. And that was back in the days when earning two dollars a day was good wages. My father encouraged us to be frugal and to put the money away for our education.
“Mother was a great lady. I remember sitting by her and having her read to me from a little white Bible. She loved the scriptures. She also loved poetry and prose and history; she was a deep reader and a deep thinker. She helped instill in her children an appreciation for good books.
“When I was about thirteen years old, my mother had prepared a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Before she could get the table set, an emergency call came, and my mother and father had to go to be with my brother, who was very ill. After my parents left, I went to a friend who didn’t have a mother and whose father wasn’t well. I knew that he wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited him to our home for dinner. I got out Mother’s best linen, crystal, and silverware, and I set a table that was fit for a king. After our dinner together, I sent some food home for my friend’s father. I was trying to follow my parents’ example to serve others.
“I have a great respect for nature, and I have always loved animals and birds and have tried to protect them. Once when we were youngsters, a friend of mine and I were riding double on a horse along the railroad track. Suddenly I spied an owl that had a broken wing and couldn’t do anything but run along the ground. I slid off the horse, caught the owl, and got back on the horse behind my friend. I remember that it was a beautiful white horse with a long mane. We started galloping along the railroad track, and the owl started to wiggle. It stuck its claws into that horse, causing it to jump straight into the air and make a big kick. I rolled off backward, but somehow I kept my hold on the owl, and it never got away. We took the owl home, put splints on its broken wing, and turned it loose.
“My wife and I have had a wonderful experience in the Pacific Islands. One day we went to a little Tahitian island on a boat, and as the boat pulled up to the dock, twenty-seven children were standing on it, singing, ‘I Am A Child of God.’ I thought, What a beautiful, beautiful thing to know that children all over the world are singing the hymns of the Church and beautiful Primary songs.
“Heavenly Father loves all children. Jesus loves them, too—children of all countries, colors, and creeds.
“Live the principles of the gospel so that you can live again with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Listen to the counsel of the prophets. Stay pure and clean after your baptism. Your parents and Primary teachers will teach you the things that you should do. Listen to them and do what they tell you.”

A depressing spirit pervaded the funeral congregation as the services for a young mother who had died in childbirth drew to a close. The eulogies had been eloquent, but many gathered there that day felt some bitterness. How could a loving Father in Heaven allow such a lovely mother to be taken, leaving behind a family of four little ones to be cared for alone by a grieving father?

At the conclusion of the formal program the young father calmly rose from his seat and walked to the pulpit. "I sense your grief and concern," he said quietly, "but there is something I should tell you to comfort you. The first hour after my wife’s death I didn’t know how I could possibly endure it—how I could possibly go on without her. But then a sweet, peaceful spirit filled my soul, and since then I have had the assurance that everything will be all right. Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be just fine."

This same comforting spirit spread throughout the congregation. Everyone went home comforted.

“When my husband was four years old, he became very ill and went into a coma. Everyone thought he had died. In fact, his body had been placed in a casket for burial. In a little while they heard a faint knocking on the side of the casket. The child was alive! The casket was quickly reopened and the boy sat up. ‘I want a soda pop,’ he said.
Thereafter, he was known as the ‘soda pop kid.’ His parents have often said that after this experience he was a changed child. He was more responsible and would help tend the others in the family. He was concerned about others and seemed to be blessed with a special spirit.