Gospel Story Finder

One weekend I woke up and was unable to hear in my left ear. I called an ear, nose, and throat doctor and made an appointment.
The doctor immediately sent me to an audiologist for a hearing test. I began to worry when I could not hear any of the test sounds in my left ear. At the end of the test, the audiologist concluded that I had sensorineural hearing loss, meaning a cranial nerve used in hearing was damaged.
I was shocked. I was only 26 years old and was already discussing the need for a hearing aid. One of my biggest passions is music. Would I still be able to play my instruments and sing?
The doctor prescribed a steroid to see if it would help, but he was positive my hearing loss was permanent.
My emotions soon got the better of me, and tears flooded my eyes. I was afraid of what the future would bring, and I was sad that I would never hear normally again.
That night my husband, Brian, suggested that he give me a priesthood blessing. I expected that the blessing would give me comfort and strength to deal with my hearing loss, but instead Brian promised in his blessing that my hearing would be fully restored. I couldn’t believe it.
“My husband must be mistaken,” I thought. The doctor had seen many cases like mine and said that my hearing would not return.
Afterward, I asked Brian if he thought the promised blessing was his will or the Lord’s. Brian told me he had felt a strong prompting to make the promise. I wasn’t convinced.
As I pondered my condition, I remembered a scripture in the book of Mark where Jesus tells a desperate father that “all things are possible to him that believeth.” The man responded, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief” (Mark 9:23–24). This was my plea to my Heavenly Father that night. I wanted to believe that I would be healed, but I was unsure. I lacked faith the Lord would help me in my crisis.
After my prayer I thought about a lesson I had taught the young women about the power of priesthood blessings. I had told the class to ask for blessings and that the Lord can heal the sick through blessings. How could I expect them to believe me if I lacked faith? I decided to put my trust in the Lord—He had not lied to me before.
Two weeks later, my hearing completely returned. The audiologist and doctor were shocked.
I will forever be grateful to Heavenly Father that my hearing was restored, but I am even more grateful for the lesson I learned. Even if it’s not always in the way we are promised in a blessing, I know the Lord will bless us if we put our faith and trust in Him.

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

I hope I can convey to you the humility with which I approach this calling. I’ve just recently been released as a second counselor. What does one say, when one day you are the second counselor of the Bountiful Thirteenth Ward bishopric, and the next day you’re the Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric. In the Regional Representatives’ seminar Friday morning, Elder Russell M. Nelson reminisced that last year he was sitting in the Regional Representatives’ seminar—sitting very inconspicuously in the back, and very comfortably. Later that day he received an interview which turned his life upside down.
Last Friday I was in the Regional Representatives’ seminar, but my ticket wasn’t stamped “Regional Representative”; it was stamped “Invited Guest.” By four o’clock that afternoon, I had received a letter signed by President Hinckley telling me I was to speak for thirteen minutes in the Sunday afternoon session of conference.
My first question to President Hinckley wasn’t “What should I say?” It was “How do I get in?”
As late as last Wednesday night, I was rehearsing for a ward play. (By the way, Sister Lalli, wherever you are, I’m sorry I wasn’t to play practice yesterday morning.) I was released from the bishopric in January after serving for four years. How I loved that calling, and the brethren with whom I served—Bishop Lee J. Lalli, and his able and dedicated first counselor, D. Ray Alexander—Lee J. and Ray, as I affectionately called them.
Since my release I’ve been traveling extensively, and therefore have been without a calling for two months. At that play practice Wednesday, I sent a signal to the new bishop, Russ Herscher, that I was ready to reenter the “job market.” I hope you won’t feel that I’m an aspiring person, but I told the Primary president, Susan Mabey, I wanted to teach Primary—ideally my seven-year-old daughter’s class. I know sanctification comes not with any particular calling, but with genuine acts of service, often for which there is no specific calling.
Now, despite the humility with which I approach this call, I have full confidence in my ability to perform. This, however, is not self-confidence, but confidence in the fact that the Lord makes every man and woman equal to the assignment that he or she is given. Therefore, I state clearly but humbly, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Ne. 3:7.)
Brothers and sisters, I have never been a bishop. Since Friday afternoon I have felt puzzled, almost bewildered and overwhelmed, at how a man could be called to be a member of the Presiding Bishopric without having had the experience of being a bishop. I agonized for twenty-four hours until yesterday afternoon, when President Hinckley laid his hands upon my head and ordained me a bishop. I heard the voice of the Lord say in my heart, “No, Glenn, you have never been a bishop, but now you are a bishop, and always will be.”
Several years ago, I made a covenant with the Lord. I promised to give him anything he should require of me, and prayed this gesture might warrant forgiveness of my transgressions. Yesterday I gave the only thing I had left. It was something I cherished. I held on to it until the very last moment. I never thought of it as a selfish possession. That of which I speak flew out the window of my home when I turned on the television to watch the news and saw my picture on the television screen. I speak of my prized remaining possession—anonymity.
How I love not to be noticed! I don’t want to sit with the General Authorities in the “fishbowl” at the BYU football games in my dark blue suit! I want to sit in the stands with my father, wearing an obnoxious T-shirt which reads: “BYU #1. Enough said!” I have license and credentials to be obnoxious! I was born and raised in Provo, Utah. I attended school at Provo High School. I received my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from BYU. I’m a member of the Church, and I even work for the Church. My credentials are impeccable. I want to go berserk in the upper tier of the San Diego Stadium as I have the last four years at the Holiday Bowl—with the exception of Ohio State [which soundly beat BYU’s team in the bowl game], when I went into deep depression. I still have one faint hope—perhaps the Brethren will let me sit with Elder Perry at the ball games. Nevertheless, I give up my prized anonymity, just as I will give up my life if it is required of me.
I love the Lord Jesus Christ. I love the transformation his atonement has wrought in me. Earlier speakers have spoken of him with such eloquence. How I wish I had command of the language which would enable me to express my feelings on this Easter afternoon. May I add my simple testimony to those who have spoken articulately. I once was in darkness, and now see light. I once lost all of my confidence, and now know all things are possible in the Lord. I once felt shame and now am “filled with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.” (2 Ne. 4:21.) “I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.” (2 Ne. 1:15.)
I express my deepest loyalty to Bishop Hales and his First Counselor, Bishop Eyring. I will not betray their trust. I express my love and loyalty to the First Presidency, the Council of the Twelve Apostles, the First Quorum of the Seventy, and those I love most—the rank-and-file members of the Church. I express my love to my wife; without her love and understanding, I literally would not be standing at this pulpit today. I love my children, who must also give up their anonymity, as well as some time with their father. How I wish I could embrace my oldest son, who is serving a mission in the Cook Islands!
I thank God I was born of goodly parents. I begged my mother not to stand and take my picture as I came to the stand for the first time yesterday morning! But what would I have done if, during my formative years, she had not demonstrated that same pride and enthusiasm for everything I accomplished, however small. My father, Bishop Kenneth L. Pace, was the bishop of the Bonneville Ward in the East Provo Stake during my teens. He remains uppermost in my mind as exemplifying the pure love of Christ throughout his life.
Finally, I share the prayer of my heart with you at this time. May I display in my service the courage of my convictions in a manner like unto that displayed by Bishop Victor L. Brown. May I acquire the inspired, objective judgment of Bishop H. Burke Peterson. And may I acquire the open, warm, Christlike personality of Bishop J. Richard Clarke. May I exhibit the love and loyalty to Bishop Hales taught to us so beautifully by Joseph’s beloved brother, Hyrum. And lastly, may we as a Bishopric acquire the same love, respect, and unity I felt in the bishopric of the Bountiful Thirteenth Ward with Bishop Lee J. Lalli and D. Ray Alexander, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I clipped an item taken from the diary of Mrs. Rebecca Riter, entered December 25, 1847. She describes that first Christmas in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake:
“The winter was cold. Christmas came and the children were hungry. I had brought a peck of wheat across the plains and hid it under a pile of wood. I thought I would cook a handful of wheat for the baby. Then I thought how we would need wheat for seed in the spring, so I left it alone.”
In our bounteous lives, we may well reflect upon the more meager Christmas seasons of our pioneer ancestors.

You’ll see the most striking difference between character and actor when you look at Natalie Green. She plays Karen Parker, who makes progressively worse choices through the entire series. In real life, Natalie is a lively senior at Box Elder High School, where she’s an avid participant in the drama program. Away from school, she loves outdoor activities, including fishing, camping and rodeo. She’s a far cry from the questioning, sulking Karen.

Yet even with such a negative character, Natalie learned and grew from her part. She remembered catching the missionary spirit from the segment where the cast works to convert a nonmember friend. When one of Natalie’s theater acquaintances began asking questions about the Church, Natalie drew from the knowledge and spirit the script had given her. Soon Natalie and her friend were sharing membership in the Church as well as a place on the local stage.

As youth around the world make the effort to attend seminary, they’re receiving strength in much more than scripture study. Cameron L. of England found that he was blessed in all areas of his life. “Not only does seminary help with the spiritual side of things, but it also helps with school and education,” says Cameron.
He says that “an early start to the day gets your brain into gear. Some of my friends said they were too busy to attend—well, it’s not like you’re going to be reviewing math at 6:00 a.m., are you?” As you study, “the Lord will help you in your exams, and if you go to seminary, He will help you even more,” says Cameron.
Of course, seminary helped Cameron strengthen his testimony as well. He says, “The beginning of my testimony came from the seminary program. At the youthful age of 14, I was really struggling in the gospel. I did not enjoy church, and I got up to things that I shouldn’t have. It was only a matter of months before I would have given up entirely.” But when a friend invited Cameron to attend seminary, he decided to go with her. Then the blessings really began to come.
“I began to feel the Spirit again,” says Cameron. “I started paying more attention in church and attended my Sunday School and priesthood lessons. It became easier, and I started to feel happier. I finally gained a testimony of the gospel for myself.” After two months of seminary, Cameron met with his bishop and was ordained a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.
Cameron knows that seminary helps him stand strong against the temptations of the world. “As seminary continued,” he says, “I found it easier to deal with the challenges that the world presents. It’s pretty tough being a youth in the world we live in—sin is surrounding us from all sides. I testify to you that if you attend seminary, you will find the strength to defend yourself against it. Seminary creates a spiritual shield to protect you. Many different trials and temptations have been thrown my way, and seminary has been such a huge help in keeping me on the strait and narrow.”

The youth of the Liverpool First Ward, Liverpool England Stake, wanted to start their own sports team, dubbed the Ward One Warriors.
They selected volleyball since boys and girls could play on the same teams. They worked hard and were anxious to find other teams to play. They played games against local teams, but they could not participate in leagues because they would have been required to play on Sunday.
The Ward One Warriors then decided to take a week’s tour of other wards in the British Isles and play a schedule of games. Although the scheduling was difficult, they combined their sports schedule with a trip to the London Temple to do baptisms for the dead.
The Warriors have continued their sports team and encourage competition from other wards’ youth groups. They have found that the team is an excellent way to generate a feeling of closeness and concern for each other and to encourage each other to stay true to the Church.

How often do you reach the end of the day, look back on it, and say, “There were just enough hours in the day today! There was time to do everything I wanted to, and a little time left to spare!”
If you’re like most of us, it’s not often. If you’re Gracious Shoko from South Africa, it’s almost never. On a typical day, she rises at 3:30 a.m. to do her scripture reading, personal prayers, check her weekly goals, and list what she needs to do by the end of the day. By 6:30 a.m. she’s off to drop her two children at school and get to work. After a full day’s work and dinner, when most of us would be getting ready to put our feet up, she gets out her sewing machine to sew curtains, duvets, and pillowcases for her part-time business. Around 10 p.m., when many of us would be getting ready for bed, she opens her study books.
Being a parent, working full-time, running a part-time business, and studying part-time simultaneously are “not easy,” says Gracious, who has been studying toward a certificate in management accounting for some years. “That’s the reason I’m going like a snail in my studies,” she says. She alternates late nights with earlier ones so that she can get an adequate amount of rest. “Sometimes I feel so tired that I sleep for an hour when I get home, then I start studying after that,” she says. But she keeps at it, and recently wrote an exam that will take her one step closer to completing her qualification.
“It will get rough out there,” we read in the self-reliance course under principle three: Be Obedient. “We will all have times when we are discouraged or overwhelmed, but our Heavenly Father hasn’t left us alone in the wilderness. He gave us a lifeline: the Holy Ghost. We can pray for direction, confirmation on our choices, the energy to perform the tasks at hand. But the answers will come only if we are being obedient to the commandments.”
Obedience to the commandments can help us develop self-discipline, the self-reliance course teaches. And that ability to “endure to the end” (see 2 Nephi 31), to keep persisting toward a goal despite difficulties, is inherent to success.
The course gives a few practical tips for improving self-discipline, and by extension, our ability to be obedient and therefore succeed.
1. Visualise your motivation. Why are you choosing to keep this habit? Examples might include that you want to live with your family forever, or be more Christlike. When the going gets tough, it’s important to refer back to your greater purpose. Psychologists teach that it helps you deal with stress and stay focused as you encounter difficulties in your task as well.
2. Identify and practice good habits daily. “Behavioral scientists will tell us in order to succeed we need to control the things we can control,” says the course.
“This is the art of developing healthy habits: going to bed at a decent hour, rising early and preparing for the day with scripture reading and prayer, and then organizing your day; being honest; being kind; making time in your schedule to practice good habits daily. As you do, you’ll find your self-discipline increasing, making it easier to be obedient.”
And Gracious can attest to that. “I read my scriptures during the mornings,” she says. This gives her the focus she needs to stay positive.
3. Interview yourself at the end of the day. Identify what you did well and what you need to do better. Gracious does this regularly. She describes this self-interview as “kind of a push, a motivation—like if you talk to someone, and they say something positive, you feel like: ‘Oh yes, I will get there.’”
4. Pray. Be grateful for the opportunity to grow. Ask for guidance on important decisions. “When we have a load, we must just offload it on Him,” she says. “I feel like by so doing it gives me that strength to do what I need to, and my load becomes lighter.”
As long as she stays obedient, Gracious knows she can achieve her long-term desire of turning her part-time business into a full-time endeavour.
“You just give yourself to the Lord, and then you tell yourself that you’re just going to do what is right and you wait for the promises which He has made,” she says. “The important thing is having hope—you know that He’s not going to let you down.”

Erin stood on Temple Square in Salt Lake City looking at life-sized statues of the nativity scene and waiting for the music and story to begin. Christmas lights twinkled all around her. But it didn’t feel like Christmastime.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked her.
Erin nodded, but she wasn’t so sure.
Only a few days ago, a boy from Erin’s class at school had died in a car accident. She had seen a lot of people crying at the funeral, and she had cried a lot herself. She hadn’t known the boy that well, but Erin knew his family loved him as much as her family loved her. She felt scared to know that something like that could happen to someone her age.
Now she didn’t feel excited for Christmas. She felt worried all the time—scared to get in a car, scared to be apart from her parents, scared to leave her house in case something bad happened to her while she was away. All the Christmas lights on Temple Square couldn’t erase the worried feeling inside her. How could she be happy in a world where she wasn’t always safe?
“It’s about to start,” Dad said. He pointed to the nativity scene.
The loudspeakers crackled to life, and a voice began speaking. Music played, and spotlights shone down on statues of shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, and Joseph. Erin listened to the familiar story. The baby Jesus was born and lay in a manger. Angels sang. Shepherds worshipped. Wise Men rejoiced.
Erin looked at the faces of her parents and the crowd gathered around the nativity scene. They all seemed happy. But why was everyone so happy about the baby Jesus if His birth didn’t stop bad things from happening? Erin didn’t like the question circling through her head. All she wanted was to stop feeling afraid.
The story ended, and a recording of the prophet’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He bore his testimony and read a scripture from the Bible: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Erin’s heart beat faster. She said the words again in her mind, trying to remember them. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
The scripture said that everyone would die—young people, old people—everyone. Erin knew that, of course, but she hadn’t thought about it much before. She thought she was too young to think about such things. But she wasn’t too young to have a testimony of the truth: because of Jesus Christ, everyone would live again. That’s why the shepherds and Wise Men rejoiced. They understood what Jesus had come to earth to do.
Erin looked from the little stable to a window in the visitors’ center behind the nativity scene. Inside the building a light shone on a large statue of Jesus stretching out His scarred hands. Erin thought about the little baby in the manger and how He grew into someone who had all power. And yet He chose to sacrifice His life for her. He had been born so she could live again. No matter what happened, Erin could feel safe in Jesus’s love.
Peace washed over her. She couldn’t quite explain how, but her worry disappeared. When she looked at the statue of Jesus Christ, shining brighter than twinkling Christmas lights, she barely noticed the dark night sky. She was too busy feeling the warmth of hope flickering inside her.

Toward the end of his mission in Seoul, Korea, Michael Tally Ringwood spent a day with an ill, apartment-bound companion, which provided an additional opportunity for study, reflection, and prayer.
“I felt that I needed reassurance,” says Elder Ringwood, now a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. After praying for as long as he had ever prayed, the reassurance hadn’t come. It didn’t come when he turned to scripture study either. But finally, when Elder Ringwood turned to his missionary journal, the confirmation came.
“In every entry I read, I had written something significant about the Spirit. The message that came to me was this: ‘I have told you many times. How much more assurance do you need?’ That was the answer to my prayer. I realized that these witnesses had happened repeatedly and often. The Lord had always been there. He was reminding me that I had felt the Spirit and the testifying of the Holy Ghost.”
That lesson has served Elder Ringwood throughout his life and callings as bishop, high councilor, high priests group leader, Young Men president, Scoutmaster, stake president, and president of the Korea Seoul West Mission.

The courage of a military leader was recorded by a young infantryman wearing the gray uniform of the Confederacy during America’s Civil War. He describes the influence of General J. E. B. Stuart in these words:
“[At a critical point in the battle,] he waved his hand toward the enemy and shouted, ‘Forward men! Forward! Just follow me!’ …
“… With courage and resolution [they followed] after him like a wide raging torrent,” and the objective was seized and held.

Today we have modern Ruths and Josephs all over the world. When Brother Jimmy Olvera from Guayaquil, Ecuador, received his mission call, his family was struggling greatly. The day he was leaving, he was told that if he walked out the door, he would lose his family. With a broken heart he walked out that door. While he was on his mission, his mother asked him to stay longer in the field because they were receiving so many blessings. Today Brother Olvera serves as a stake patriarch.

When my family and I started attending The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I felt in my heart that my mom had guided us there.
Mom had died unexpectedly on Christmas Day two years before. She was an incredibly faithful and humble follower of Jesus Christ, but she had never learned about the restored gospel. After 11 months of learning about the Church, my husband, Navid, my daughter, Katie, and I were baptized on Christmas Day. What had once been a day of sadness because of my mother’s passing would now be a day of happiness for our family because of our new life in the gospel.
Many people attended our baptism. I was shocked to see over 100 people there at 10:00 a.m. on Christmas morning! We couldn’t have felt more loved.

As I walked down the dusty, Brazilian country road, my mind strayed to a day in my childhood. Now, I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was serving the Lord as a missionary. But the setting took my mind back to a loving aunt, a wonderful day, and a promise.
Aunt Rocilda and her family lived on a large farm. Our extended family was very important to us and we loved to visit her. Since a day in the country was a day away from the pressures of everyday life, I always looked forward to our visits to the country—especially Aunt Rocilda’s farm. I could tell that one of her greatest joys in life was making me happy.
One particular day, I had played hard and taken advantage of every opportunity to enjoy the farm. Aunt Rocilda had given me a fish to take home and it seemed that she had shown me her love more than ever that day.
As I prepared to leave, I hugged her and made her a promise; I wanted to somehow repay her for her Christlike love. “Someday,” I said with the sincerity of youth, “I will go to Sao Paolo and I will bring you back a big gift.”
As I grew up, the dream of Sao Paolo never faded, though the remembrance of my promise did. One day I learned that Aunt Rocilda had died. As I mourned, I remembered my promise to her and I grieved that I would never be able to fulfill it.
However, I did go to Sao Paolo and there I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries. After being baptized, I worked toward a mission and the blessings of the temple. As I entered the Missionary Training Center in Sao Paolo, I thought of my aunt. What would be the greatest possible gift I could give her? I felt a strong desire to share the blessings of the gospel with Aunt Rocilda, and I made sure that temple ordinance work was done in her name.
Though Aunt Rocilda didn’t receive the “big gift” in this, earthly life, I feel that she has accepted the greater, eternal gift.

Traffic in Santo Domingo is congested and noisy. Motorcycles, cars, and trucks make frequent use of their horns. At the start of our mission, our apartment was located at a busy intersection. During heavy commute times the traffic on this road is bumper-to-bumper. Motorcycles honk at every intersection. Cars honk the moment the signal turns green. Buses and semitrucks are especially loud and honk when they see the light change. The concrete apartment buildings here amplify the clamor. The traffic eases up at night, but some cars and motorcycles take advantage of the chance to gun their engines and race down the road.
Constant noise is hard for me. Early on, the only time I felt relief was at the temple or when working in the office. My brain felt the constant strain of trying to learn Spanish and trying to learn my mission responsibilities, and I desperately wanted a quiet refuge.
One opportunity that we have been given while in the Dominican Republic is to serve as temple workers in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple. In the temple it’s blessedly quiet. One day, coming out of the temple, the blaring traffic hit me hard, and I felt so oppressed. I said to Heavenly Father. “Could you please just make the noise stop for a little while?” In my mind I was huddled in a ball with my hands over my ears, begging.
With this memory, I felt the Holy Ghost whisper, “How about asking for something I can say yes to?”
I stopped there on the sidewalk outside the temple, where horns honked, and engines revved. I knew Heavenly Father would not stop the traffic. Then I remembered the story of the people of Alma in Mosiah 24. Alma and his people were in bondage to Amulon and the Lamanites. They were mistreated and burdened with heavy workloads. Alma and his people poured out their hearts to the Lord in prayer, and He heard them. I’ll bet a lot of those prayers were asking the Lord to make the hard things stop.
“And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.
“And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions” (Mosiah 24:13–14).
As the Holy Ghost brought these verses to my memory, I knew what to pray for. “Heavenly Father, please strengthen my mind so I can bear the noise of the traffic here and not feel the mental stress that plagues me now. I know you can say yes to this, because you did something like it for the people of Alma.”
I felt a new lightness as I walked home, dodging cars while crossing the street to our apartment building. I knew Heavenly Father heard and would answer my prayer. I didn’t know how it would come about; I just knew that He heard me.
About a week later, I was doing some work in our apartment, and I suddenly realized that I wasn’t covering my ears and I wasn’t in pain from the loud traffic. It had stopped bothering me the way it had before. It felt less intrusive and weighed on me less.

President Boyd K. Packer has counseled us to have a hymn memorized so that when an inappropriate thought comes into our minds, we can replace it with a hymn. In applying this instruction, a friend of mine explained: “One day I left my office for lunch. After I had walked for about two blocks, I noticed that I had been humming ‘my song’: ‘I Am a Child of God.’ As I chained my thoughts back several hundred yards, I realized that as I had crossed the street from my office, a young woman, inappropriately clothed, had crossed in front of me. Immediately, subconsciously, the words and music of ‘I Am a Child of God’ began to roll through my mind—to displace inappropriate thoughts.” That day my friend learned a great lesson about his ability to control his thoughts.

The heat rose in dizzy waves before us as we sped along the freeway. “It must be very hot outside,” I thought as the air conditioner hissed away in our station wagon. I had heard how difficult it was for the first settlers to even enter the St. George Valley in southern Utah, let alone survive there. This was almost impossible to comprehend as we drove easily along through rocky volcanic barriers on a ribbon of asphalt.
We rapidly ascended into the Virgin River Valley, and the little community of St. George stood out against the scorching sandstone cliffs.
A barrage of bright signs beckoned us with “Enter,” “Vacancy,” “Color TV,” “Sauna,” “Pool.” When I rolled down the window, a blast of hot air reminded me that I would soon be refreshed by a swim in the blue waters of a motel pool.
The heat from the hot pavement penetrated the soles of my gym shoes as we walked the few blocks from our motel to the old St. George Tabernacle.
Hewn from native red-orange sandstone, the thick rock walls showed countless small markings from the pioneer stonecutters’ hand-held instruments. Directly under the stately spire was a tablet with the inscription “Commenced 1863—Completed 1871.”
While my little sisters played under a shade tree on the Tabernacle grounds, I walked around the building for closer inspection. The doors were locked, but by shading my eyes, I could just make out through the old window panes the beautiful circular wooden staircases.
My mother pointed out some of the old buildings surrounding the tabernacle and told us that these were at one time part of the old Dixie Academy—later Dixie Junior College. The new Dixie College campus is now located clear across town.
As I peered into one of the old vacant classrooms where biology had once been taught, I could hear my young sister Terressa protesting crossly, “I’m tired and bored, and I don’t want to see any more old buildings.”
A morning of tennis and sight-seeing left me weary. I lay by the pool, and the perspiration trickled freely. It was then I realized I was more than just a sun-warmed visitor. I felt at home here, as if somehow I belonged. My passing feet had disturbed shadows in the sand—reminders of a life-style long since gone. And yet it was as if I had discovered a golden chain in those sands—a chain of people linked together by time and love—my family.

We must learn what it means to truly worship God. My six-year-old son taught me the meaning of worship one day while I was preparing a lesson. He was playing when he noticed that I was underlining my scriptures. He dropped his toys, ran into his room, and returned with his own scriptures. He lay beside me on the bed, duplicating my exact position, and opened his scriptures.
During the next half hour, I was aware that he was underlining with my colored pencils. When I looked up, he showed me his work. Somehow he had found the page I was working on. There in his own book was an exact replica of my own work. He had highlighted the same words in the same colors. My arrows, lines, and numbers were there. He had even duplicated my marginal notes until his large handwriting forced him to stop. Apologetically and almost in tears, he said, “My lines aren’t straight like yours.”
This small incident helped me see a greater principle: true worship is imitation. It happens when we drop our worldly toys, study deeply the Savior’s life, and try to imitate the details of his character. In doing so, we also imitate the Father. Our lives are not sin-free, as his is, but the Atonement’s power is sufficient if our love and efforts are sincere and deep. The eventual result of our worship will be godhood, not to mention happier, more peaceful lives here and now.

Sister Daisy Ogando lives in New York City, home to more than eight million people. Some years ago Sister Ogando met with the missionaries and was taught the gospel. Gradually, she and the missionaries lost contact. Time passed. Then, in 2007, the principles of the gospel she had been taught by the missionaries stirred within her heart.

One day while getting into a taxi, Daisy saw the missionaries at a distance, but she was unable to make contact with them before they disappeared from view. She prayed fervently to our Heavenly Father and promised Him that if He would somehow direct the missionaries to her once again, she would open her door to them. She returned home that day with faith in her heart that God would hear and answer her prayer.

In the meantime, two young missionaries who had been sincerely praying and working to find people to teach were one day examining the tracting records of missionaries who had previously served in their area. As they did so, they came across the name of Daisy Ogando. When they approached her apartment the very afternoon that Sister Ogando offered that simple but fervent prayer, she opened the door and said those words that are music to every missionary who has ever heard them: “Elders, come in. I’ve been waiting for you!”

Two fervent prayers were answered, contact was reestablished, missionary lessons were taught, and arrangements were made for Daisy and her son Eddy to be baptized.

“This will be the 10th load of hay,” David’s father called to him. “Drive over to the higher ground.” Young David O. McKay looked across the field to where his father was pointing. The first nine loads they had gathered were full of lesser-quality hay. David knew his father meant for this 10th load of the best hay to go to the bishops’ storehouse as their tithing. But he didn’t understand why they couldn’t give the Lord the same hay they were collecting.
David called back to his father, “No, let us take the hay as it comes.”
David’s father didn’t answer. David was about to repeat himself when he saw his father turn and begin walking straight toward him. Suddenly, the breeze in the hay field was gone, and the sun became feverishly hot. David wiped the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck. He knew his father was not crossing the field to give him a pat on the back for his snippy answer. He was coming all this way to be sure that David understood something.
“No, David.” His father spoke sternly, yet the calm in his voice made David pay extra close attention. “This is the 10th load, and the best is none too good for God.” David’s father looked closely at his son’s face to make sure he had been listening. Then he turned and walked away.
David swallowed the lump in his throat and then guided his team to the higher ground. As he loaded the cut hay onto the wagon, he began to think of what his father was trying to teach him. While he knew that tithing is a law, just as much as obedience and sacrifice are, David wanted to put their own needs first. But God had said to take the firstlings of the flocks—the very best—and give them to Him (see Deuteronomy 12:6).
“My father gives the best to God, and we get the next best,” David thought. “Perhaps this is how we make the Lord the center of our thoughts and our lives.”
David turned the hay wagon down the dusty road toward the bishops’ storehouse. He drove into the yard and unloaded the hay. It was a sacrifice for his father to give his best hay to the Lord, but David knew his father would have it no other way. He wanted to give his best for the Lord, just as Heavenly Father gave His perfect Son for the world.
As David turned his team back toward home, a good feeling came over him. He was glad his father had taught him the law of tithing. It was a lesson he would remember all his life.