Gospel Story Finder

We shouldn’t try to force spiritual things.71 If we try to, we may rely on emotions that mimic spiritual promptings but are not. These emotions may include sentimentality, awe, empathy, excitement—or raging hormones.

Similarly, it is an advanced spiritual skill to know that revelation has not been received and to be prompted not to act. I know a Relief Society president, Sister Jones,72 whose first counselor moved out of the ward and needed to be released. Sister Jones felt inspired to recommend that her second counselor be called as her first counselor but didn’t feel prompted to recommend a new second counselor. The bishop encouraged her to consider several qualified sisters. She gave prayerful consideration, but affirmative confirmation didn’t come, and she knew it. So she waited, and she knew that she should wait.

Two weeks later, a relatively new convert, Sister Brown,73 moved into the ward. Sister Jones now felt a prompting to recommend that Sister Brown be interviewed by the bishop and, if he felt a spiritual confirmation, that she be called as the second counselor.

Sister Brown was called and served for several years as a counselor to Sister Jones—not only helping significantly but learning from Sister Jones and the experienced first counselor. Upon Sister Jones’s release, Sister Brown was called to be the new ward Relief Society president. I am grateful that Sister Jones did not force a conclusion prematurely and instead had become sufficiently spiritually mature to know that revelation hadn’t been received and that she had been prompted to wait on the Lord.

Other happy memories for Jared and his mom took place in April and October 1990 when the family attended general conference in Salt Lake City. Only one family member could sit in the special section of the Tabernacle with Sister Anderson, and Jared was chosen. Sister Anderson sat in her wheelchair near the railing, and Jared was assigned a place on the front row. He attended her every need, including wrapping her legs and shoulders in shawls for warmth and quietly massaging her feet when they went into spasms.
In the last session of conference in October, Sister Anderson began having a seizure. Jared saw her distress and immediately put her medicine in her mouth, averting a problem. One of the hosts in the Tabernacle said, “I’ve played a lot of football in my day, but I’ve never seen a bigger man than you were in the way you showed compassion to your mother today.”

A few years ago, neighbors who frequently hired our daughter, Elizabeth, as a babysitter, complimented us on what a wonderful daughter we had. They asked what we had done to raise a young woman who felt so comfortable interacting with adults. I immediately began a mental scan of our parenting strategies to see which one might explain this particular positive outcome. But my review was cut short by a gentle rebuke from the Spirit: "Do you think visiting and serving her grandmother and other elderly people every week for several years might have had something to do with this?" At the time, my mother was engaged in a decade-long bout with a particularly nasty, strain of Alzheimer's that impaired not only her memory but her perception of reality. I confess that if it had been up to me, I would have chosen to lose my mother to a heart attack instead. But in that moment, I couldn't help but think about how my daughter had been shaped and blessed over that decade of affliction by serving and loving my mother and other elderly people. Indeed, even after my mother passed away, my children have chosen to continue our family tradition of singing together every Sunday afternoon with our friends the Thomases to residents of the assisted living facility where my mother spent her final two years. As I watch Elizabeth interact in a remarkably mature and caring way with these precious children of God, I recognize that my mother's prolonged suffering played a preparatory role in my family's life in ways I did not fully appreciate at the time. This experience has helped me better obey the command to "thank the Lord thy God in all things[, ]"[22] including preparatory afflictions.

Scripture chasing is a popular pastime in many seminaries throughout the Church. In most cases seminary students learn to find scriptures within seconds after being given a clue or situation. Competition is intensified when youth are put on teams and given points for their speed and accuracy. And in the Champaign Illinois Stake, even the media took notice.
The students were given the challenge to memorize 40 scriptures in the Old Testament. The objective was to learn to locate the scriptures and then apply them in daily life. During practice sessions the students were given (1) a short clue, usually one word, (2) a verbal description of a life situation, or (3) a picture of some event. They then had to find the specific scripture in 15 seconds. The time was gradually reduced until each student could find every scripture in just a few seconds.
Out of 250 home-study and early morning seminary students in the Champaign Stake area, 15 became finalists in a run-off competition. In May 1976 the students with the fastest times formed three teams of five members each. Final competition between the teams was telecast over commercial television. The winning team, Robert Woolley, Carol Burdock, Deann Veach, Sue Ellen Emery, and Carol Retz, were given award plaques for their accomplishment.

In my experience, receptor dysfunction for God’s love happens slowly and imperceptibly over time—not all at once. I will relate an embarrassing experience that I did not tell my wife for years. I learned for myself that I was vulnerable. Because I suspect you might be at risk too, I will share my cautionary tale. It highlights this warning by the Savior:

But there is a possibility that man may fall from grace and depart from the living God;
Therefore let the church take heed and pray always, lest they fall into temptation;
Yea, and even let those who are sanctified take heed also.

After I finished medical school, my wife, daughter, and I moved to Baltimore, Maryland, for further training at Johns Hopkins Hospital. At that time the training years were brutal, time intensive, and exhausting.

Toward the end of my first year, I was weary. Because interns worked every day and every second or third night, I worked every Sunday and was able to attend church only about half the time. Our ward met in a suburb of Baltimore at 2:30 in the afternoon. We lived across the street from the hospital and had only one car. Some Sundays I could finish my work and join my wife and daughter as they left for the meetings at 2:00 p.m. Other Sundays I could not.

One Sunday I could tell that if I really hurried with my work, I would be able to go with my wife and daughter to church. But then I had this thought: If I slowed down a little bit and waited, I would not get home until after my wife and daughter had departed. Then I could skip church and take a nap. It mortifies me to say that I did exactly that.

I walked home at 2:15 and laid down on the couch. But I could not sleep. I was profoundly disturbed. I had always loved going to church. I had always felt a burning testimony of Christ’s living reality. But on that day the intensity was not there.

It was not so hard to figure out why. I had stopped consistently doing some personal, private acts of devotion. My routine was that I would get up in the morning, say a prayer, and go to work. Sometimes there would be no distinction between the end of the day and the beginning of the next. I would work through the night and the next day, come home late that second day, and fall asleep without a prayer and without reading anything in the scriptures. The following day the cycle started again. I had allowed my receptors for God’s love to become dull, so that the things of the Spirit were less urgent and less important.

With this realization, I got off the couch, knelt on the floor, and pleaded with God for forgiveness. I begged for help. As I did, a plan formulated in my mind and heart to change the pattern of behavior.

I began with simple reminders to myself. On my daily to-do list, I started including morning and evening prayers. I brought a paperback Book of Mormon to my cubicle in the hospital and included scripture reading on that to-do list. Some nights the scripture reading was short, just a few verses before midnight. Sometimes my prayers were offered in unusual locations. But I read the scriptures daily. I prayed daily. My plan included a commitment that I would never miss an opportunity to partake of the sacrament. Never.

As I enacted my new course of action, the intensity returned, and my testimony burned brightly again. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had not gotten off that couch that Sunday afternoon. My life would have been very different. Instead, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ became central to my life again. My receptors for God’s love and my affinity for the Spirit improved.

One autumn day during my shift as a worker in the Salt Lake Temple, a young man and his friends, clearly not dressed for temple worship, arrived.
“We’re here to see the temple,” the young man said.
“Do you have a recommend?” I asked.
The young man thought for a moment. Then he said, “Yes. My mother has a Mormon friend in Minnesota. She recommended that we come see the temple.”
I felt impressed to pull the young people aside and talk to them. The young man’s name was Lars. I explained to him that not only could he come to the temple but also that Heavenly Father wanted him to come. I told Lars that he first had to prepare, and I explained how.
The following spring, Lars wrote me a letter, thanking me for explaining the real meaning of a temple recommend. “I did learn more about a temple recommend,” he wrote. “Actually, I was baptized and received a recommend of my own last January!” My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the photograph he had enclosed of himself in his white baptismal clothes and of the missionaries who had taught him.
My journey back to the temple was remarkable, and learning of Lars’s journey was a wonderful blessing that reminded me how we can all touch lives for good.

At the same time, I have had several students from other countries express to me how difficult it is for them to believe that obeying the law will have any effect, especially considering how corrupt their political leaders are. This can make life challenging, and Yeah Samake, a political leader from Mali, West Africa, faced this very issue almost a decade ago. He came to campus last May to present to the University Forum and related his very inspiring story of how he decided to run for mayor of his village with an emphasis on leading with integrity, which is being honest in your public and private life. After he won, he persuaded his people that great things could happen if they lived with integrity by following the laws in the form of paying their taxes, as less than 10% paid taxes. This was a huge leap of faith for these people, and it was followed by remarkable results. By the end of Yeah Samake’s term, 100% paid their taxes, and their village went from being ranked in the bottom 5 cities to the top 7 out of the 704 cities in Mali. Yeah Samake credits this unbelievable progress to the idea that “consistent small actions focused on others bring about extraordinary results.”

Every day Elder Brewster led the daily prayers, in spite of jeers and complaints. If mighty King James had not intimidated the Pilgrims, however, surely the strangers on board could not.
One of the worst tormenters was a huge, brawny seaman. “Aye, I’ll be burying half of you praying psalm singers at sea,” he taunted. Often he cursed and swore at them bitterly. Then one morning he was stricken. By afternoon he was dead, and his lifeless body was lowered over the side of the ship.

I met another young woman whose early spiritual preparation has woven a life of righteousness into many generations.

On a beautiful September afternoon, my husband and I were in the temple awaiting the opportunity to participate in temple ordinances. Chris, a friend of ours, entered the room. It was great to see this young man, who had recently returned from a mission to Russia.

As the session was about to begin, a lovely young woman sat next to me. She was radiant, smiling, and filled with light. I wanted to know her, so I quietly introduced myself. She whispered her name, Kate, and I recognized her last name as a family that had lived in Michigan, where my family once lived. Kate was their grown-up daughter, who five weeks earlier had returned from her mission to Germany.

During the session the thought kept entering my mind: “Introduce Kate to Chris.” I put this prompting aside, thinking, “When, where, how?” As we were preparing to leave, Chris came over to tell us good-bye and I seized the opportunity. I pulled Kate over and whispered, “You are two virtuous young people who need to know each other.” I left the temple satisfied that I had acted upon my prompting.

On the way home, my husband and I discussed our recollections of the challenges that had come to Kate’s family. I have since come to know Kate better, and she has helped me understand the reasons for the joyful countenance I observed in the temple that day.

Kate has always tried to stay on her covenant path by seeking holy places. She was raised in a home where having family home evening, praying together, and studying the scriptures made her home a holy place. As a child, she learned about the temple, and the song “I Love to See the Temple” was a favorite for family home evening. As a little girl, she watched her parents set an example of seeking a holy place as they went to the temple on a weekend evening instead of going to a movie or to dinner.

She loved her father dearly, and he used his priesthood authority to help her make her first covenant of baptism. She then had hands laid on her head and received the Holy Ghost. Kate said, “I was excited to receive the Holy Ghost, and I knew that it would help me stay on the path to eternal life.”

Life continued on for Kate in a very blessed and happy way. When she was 14, she started high school and loved seminary, another holy place to learn about the gospel. One day her teacher started to talk about trials and guaranteed that we would all face them. She said to herself, “I don’t want trials; I don’t want to hear this.”

It was just a few weeks later that her father woke up on Easter Sunday extremely ill. Kate said: “My father was a very healthy person; he was a marathon runner. My mother was so alarmed by how sick he was that she took him to the hospital. Within 36 hours he had a massive stroke that shut down most of his body. He could blink, but the rest of his body was not working. I remember seeing him and thinking, ‘Oh no, it’s happening. My seminary teacher was right. I am having a trial.’” Within a few days Kate’s father passed away.

Continuing, Kate said: “It was so hard. You never want to lose the hero of your life. I knew I could make it a springboard for growth or allow it to be a roadblock. I didn’t want to let it ruin my life, because I was only 14 years old. I tried to be as close to the Lord as possible. I read my scriptures a lot. Alma chapter 40 assured me that the resurrection is real and through Christ’s Atonement, I could be with my father again. I prayed a lot. I wrote in my journal as often as I could. I kept my testimony vibrant by writing it down. I went to church and to Young Women every week. I surrounded myself with good friends. I kept close to caring relatives and especially to my mom, who was the anchor in our family. I sought out priesthood blessings from my grandfather and other priesthood holders.”

These consistent choices, like those of the wise virgin, added oil to Kate’s lamp. She was motivated by her desire to be with her father again. Kate knew her father was aware of her choices, and she did not want to disappoint him. She wanted an eternal relationship with him, and she understood that staying on her covenant path would keep her life woven tightly with his.

The trials didn’t end, however. When Kate was 21 and submitting her mission papers, her mother was diagnosed with cancer. Kate had to make an important decision in her life. Should she stay home and support her mother or go on her mission? Her mother was given a priesthood blessing promising that she would survive the illness. Assured by this blessing, Kate went forward with faith and continued her plans to serve a mission.

Kate said: “It was taking a step in the dark, but while I was on my mission, the light eventually came and I received news that my mother’s blessing was realized. I was so glad that I didn’t put off serving the Lord. When hard things come, I think it’s easy to become stagnant and not really want to move forward, but if you put the Lord first, the adversities can lead to beautiful blessings. You can see His hand and witness miracles.” Kate experienced the reality of President Thomas S. Monson’s words: “Our most significant opportunities will be found in times of greatest difficulty.”

Kate had this kind of faith because she understood the plan of salvation. She knew we lived before, that earth is a time of testing, and that we will live again. She had faith that her mother would be blessed, but from her experience with her father, she knew that if her mother were to pass away, it would be all right. She said: “I didn’t just survive my dad’s death; it became part of my identity for good, and had my mom been taken away, it would have done the same thing. It would have woven a greater testimony into my life.”

Kate was seeking a holy place the night I met her in the temple. Desiring to weave tightly the eternal relationships that come through temple service, she followed the pattern set by her parents of regular temple attendance.

Not much happened the night I introduced Kate to Chris, but in seeking another holy place the following Sunday, Kate saw Chris amid hundreds of young single adults at an institute devotional. There they found out more about each other. A few weeks later, Chris invited her to watch general conference with him. They continued seeking places that invited the Spirit throughout their courtship and were eventually sealed in the temple, the holy place where they were introduced. Both are now fulfilling the sacred responsibility of parenthood, weaving their testimonies of the plan of salvation into the lives of three little boys, showing them the way on the covenant path.

First may I tell you about Arthur. He had blond, curly hair and a smile as big as all outdoors. He stood taller than any boy in the class. I suppose this is how, in 1940, as the great conflict which became World War II was overtaking much of Europe, Arthur was able to fool the recruiting officers and enlist in the navy at the tender age of 15. To Arthur and most of the boys, the war was a great adventure. I remember how striking he appeared in his navy uniform. How we wished we were older or at least taller so we too could enlist.
Youth is a very special time of life. As Longfellow wrote:
How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams
With its illusions, aspirations, dreams!
Book of Beginnings, Story without End,
Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!
Arthur’s mother was so proud of the blue star which graced her living room window. It represented to every passerby that her son wore the uniform of his country and was actively serving. When I would pass the house, she often opened the door and invited me in to read the latest letter from Arthur. Her eyes would fill with tears; I would then be asked to read aloud. Arthur meant everything to his widowed mother.
I can still picture Mrs. Patton’s coarse hands as she would carefully replace the letter in its envelope. These were hardworking hands; Mrs. Patton was a cleaning woman for a downtown office building. Each day of her life except Sundays she could be seen walking along the sidewalk, pail and brush in hand, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bob, her shoulders weary from work and stooped with age.
In March 1944, with the war now raging, Arthur was transferred from the USS Dorsey, a destroyer, to the USS White Plains, an aircraft carrier. While at Saipan in the South Pacific, the ship was attacked. Arthur was one of those on board who was lost at sea.
The blue star was taken from its hallowed spot in the front window of the Patton home. It was replaced by one of gold, indicating that he whom the blue star represented had been killed in battle. A light went out in the life of Mrs. Patton. She groped in utter darkness and deep despair.
With a prayer in my heart, I approached the familiar walkway to the Patton home, wondering what words of comfort could come from the lips of a mere boy.
The door opened, and Mrs. Patton embraced me as she would her own son. Home became a chapel as a grief-stricken mother and a less-than-adequate boy knelt in prayer.
As we arose from our knees, Mrs. Patton gazed into my eyes and spoke: “Tommy, I belong to no church, but you do. Tell me, will Arthur live again?” To the best of my ability, I testified to her that Arthur would indeed live again.
In general conference those long years ago, as I related this account, I mentioned that I had lost track of Mrs. Patton but that I wanted to once more answer her question “Will Arthur live again?”
I referred to the Savior of the world, who walked the dusty paths of villages we now reverently call the Holy Land; who caused the blind to see, the deaf to hear, the lame to walk, and the dead to live; to Him who tenderly and lovingly assured us, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
I explained that the plan of life and an explanation of its eternal course come to us from the Master of heaven and earth, even Jesus Christ the Lord. To understand the meaning of death, we must appreciate the purpose of life.
I indicated that in this dispensation the Lord declared: “And now, verily I say unto you, I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.” “Man was also in the beginning with God.”
Jeremiah the prophet recorded:
“The word of the Lord came unto me, saying,
“Before I formed thee … I knew thee; and before thou camest forth … I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.”
From that majestic world of spirits we enter the grand stage of life to prove ourselves obedient to all things commanded of God. During mortality we grow from helpless infancy to inquiring childhood and then to reflective maturity. We experience joy and sorrow, fulfillment and disappointment, success and failure. We taste the sweet, yet sample the bitter. This is mortality.
Then to each life comes the experience known as death. None is exempt. All must pass its portals.
To most, there is something sinister and mysterious about this unwelcome visitor called death. Perhaps it is a fear of the unknown which causes many to dread its coming.
Arthur Patton died quickly. Others linger. We know, through the revealed word of God, that “the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life.”
I assured Mrs. Patton and all others who were listening that God would never forsake them—that He sent His Only Begotten Son into the world to teach us by example the life we should live. His Son died upon the cross to redeem all mankind. His words to the grieving Martha and to His disciples today bring comfort to us:
“I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.
“… I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”
I reiterated the testimonies of John the Revelator and Paul the Apostle. John recorded:
“I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; …
“And the sea gave up the dead which were in it.”
Paul declared, “As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”
I explained that until the glorious Resurrection morning, we walk by faith. “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.”
I reassured Mrs. Patton that Jesus invited her and all others:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”
As part of my message, I explained to Mrs. Patton that such knowledge would sustain her in her heartache—that she would never be in the tragic situation of the disbeliever who, having lost a son, was heard to say as she watched the casket lowered into mother earth, “Good-bye, my boy. Good-bye forever.” Rather, with head erect, courage undaunted, and faith unwavering, she could lift her eyes as she looked beyond the gently breaking waves of the blue Pacific and whisper, “Good-bye, Arthur, my precious son. Good-bye—until we meet again.”
I quoted the words of Tennyson, as though spoken to her by Arthur:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea, …
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
As I concluded my message those long years ago, I expressed to Mrs. Patton my personal testimony as a special witness, telling her that God our Father was mindful of her—that through sincere prayer she could communicate with Him; that He too had a Son who died, even Jesus Christ the Lord; that Christ is our advocate with the Father, the Prince of Peace, our Savior and divine Redeemer; and that one day we would see Him face-to-face.
I hoped that my message to Mrs. Patton would reach and touch others who had lost a loved one.
And now, my brothers and sisters, I share with you the rest of this account. I delivered my message on April 6, 1969. Again, I had little or no hope that Mrs. Patton would actually hear the talk. I had no reason to think she would listen to general conference. As I have mentioned, she was not a member of the Church. And then I learned that something akin to a miracle had taken place. Having no idea whatsoever who would be speaking at conference or what subjects they might speak about, Latter-day Saint neighbors of Mrs. Terese Patton in California, where she had moved, invited her to their home to listen to a session of conference with them. She accepted their invitation and thus was listening to the very session where I directed my remarks to her personally.
During the first week of May 1969, to my astonishment and joy, I received a letter postmarked Pomona, California, and dated April 29, 1969. It was from Mrs. Terese Patton. I share with you a part of that letter:
“Dear Tommy,
“I hope you don’t mind my calling you Tommy, as I always think of you that way. I don’t know how to thank you for the comforting talk you gave.
“Arthur was 15 years old when he enlisted in the navy. He was killed one month before his 19th birthday on July 5, 1944.
“It was wonderful of you to think of us. I don’t know how to thank you for your comforting words, both when Arthur died and again in your talk. I have had many questions over the years, and you have answered them. I am now at peace concerning Arthur. … God bless and keep you always.
“Love,
“Terese Patton”
My brothers and sisters, I do not believe it was a coincidence that I was impressed to give that particular message at the April 1969 general conference. Nor do I believe it was a coincidence that Mrs. Terese Patton was invited by neighbors to join them in their home for that particular session of conference. I am certain our Heavenly Father was mindful of her needs and wanted her to hear the comforting truths of the gospel.
Although Mrs. Patton has long since left mortality, I have felt a strong impression to share with you the manner in which our Heavenly Father blessed and provided for her, a widow, in her need. With all the strength of my soul I testify that our Heavenly Father loves each one of us. He hears the prayers of humble hearts; He hears our cries for help, as He heard Mrs. Patton. His Son, our Savior and Redeemer, speaks to each of us today: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him.”
Will we listen for that knock? Will we hear that voice? Will we open that door to the Lord, that we may receive the help He is so ready to provide? I pray that we will, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

José’s lovely young wife had died while he was away. José took their little daughter, Mercedes, and went with her into exile in Europe. She became the joy of his life. He planned what he must teach her, just as he had always planned his battles. On a chart he wrote his ideals for her:
To make her kind and gentle.
To make her love truth and hate lies.
To inspire her with a feeling of confidence and friendship.
To arouse in her a charity toward the poor and unfortunate.
To arouse in her respect for other people’s property.
To accustom her to keep a secret.
To inspire in her a respect toward all religions.
To teach her to speak little and to speak accurately.
Her father was Mercedes’ great example.
During his lifetime José de San Martín refused salaries, promotions, prizes, and honors. The government of Chile once gave him money that he immediately returned for a public library. A farm he was given was used as a hospital for women. He died in Boulogne, France, a poor and almost unknown man. He knew that others with whom he had fought were enjoying fame and fortune, but he cared only for the freedom of the people of South America.
In the past few years the world has come to know José de San Martín and to honor him as one of the great men of all time. Statues have been raised to his memory and many public buildings have been named for him. With special love and gratitude the people of the countries of South America that he helped to free refer to him as the “Saint of the Sword.”

When Nathan and his family moved from a small town to a big city, he noticed that many things were different. For instance, he lived in an apartment building in the city. It was July, and he hadn’t met any other children yet. He’d probably have to wait and make new friends when school started in the fall. Everyone seemed too busy now.
In the small town where Nathan used to live, the flag was a special part of the Fourth of July celebration. His dad ran a flag up the pole in their front yard that morning and took it down that evening. Flags flew from tall poles, porches, and store fronts all up and down the street. There had always been a parade, too, and Nathan usually rode his bike in it. One year he had led the parade, marching and twirling his baton, instead.
But it seemed to him that everyone here in the big city was in a hurry. There were going to be fireworks in a nearby park that night, he knew, and there was a big Fourth of July parade downtown, but no one was doing anything in his neighborhood that he could see.
Nathan looked out the window and watched a city bus stop at the corner and people climb on and off at the same time. He watched the cars rushing by, people hurrying on their way to somewhere. No one seemed to care about the holiday.
As he twisted the stick that held a small flag between his fingers, he asked, “Dad, can one person and a dog be a parade?”
His dad looked thoughtful. “I suppose so.”
Patting his dog, Nathan thought a while and then laughed. “Come on, Scruffy, this is the Fourth of July, and we’re going to have a parade. Just the two of us.”
He asked his mom if she had any ribbon. She found some in her sewing box.
“Red, blue, and white—the perfect colors!” he declared. “Just what I need. Now, Scruffy, you hold still while I tie some streamers on your collar and put on your leash.”
Nathan found his baton, took hold of Scruffy’s leash, and went out the door. The dog looked at Nathan, woofed, then trotted beside him. “I won’t cross the street, Scruffy. That’s not safe in the big city. But we can still have a parade.”
Nathan marched boldly down the sidewalk, holding his flag and Scruffy’s leash in one hand and twirling his baton with the other. When they turned the corner, he looked in the drugstore window and saw lots of flags on display. A boy coming out of the drugstore bumped into him.
“Whoops! Sorry,” the boy said. He laughed when he saw Scruffy with his fancy streamers. “Where’d you get the flag and baton?”
“From the parade I was in last year. Have you ever been in a parade?”
“No.”
“Want to be in mine?”
“I sure do! Let’s go to my house so I can get my drum for it.”
Soon the boys were marching down the street. Nathan waved his flag and twirled his baton. The other boy tramped along behind, beating his drum, and Scruffy pranced along with his streamers fluttering in the breeze.
When they reached the corner, Nathan explained, “I’m not allowed to cross the street.”
They turned the corner. The boy did a rat-a-tat-tat on the drum.
“What’s your name?” Nathan asked.
“Simon. What’s yours?”
Nathan told him, then asked, “Who else can be in our parade?”
Simon said, “We’ll get Jenny—she lives here.” He ran up the steps, rang the bell, and waited. A girl opened the door. “We’re having a parade. If you want to be in it, bring your horn.”
“OK!”
Nathan, Simon, and Jenny marched—left, right, left, right. Nathan waved his flag and twirled his baton, Simon beat his drum, and Jenny blew her horn. Scruffy now led the way, tail held high.
Mr. Swartz, the grocer, stood in the door of his market. “Hey!” he shouted. “What’s all the racket?”
“We’re having a parade.”
“Come in a minute,” the grocer said. “I’ll make you hats.”
Scruffy waited outside while the children went with the grocer to the back of the store, where he made hats from folded white butcher paper. They marched out of the store, wearing their hats, and waved the flag, twirled the baton, beat the drum, and tooted the horn.
The people in the store clapped their hands and smiled.
When the children were on the sidewalk again, they noticed three girls and two boys coming toward them.
“Hey!” Simon called. “Do you want to join our parade?”
“What can we do?” one girl asked. “We don’t have drums or horns or even a flag.”
“You can whistle,” Nathan said.
“All right!” they cheered, and they joined the parade.
Scruffy barked as Nathan turned the corner. He looked back. “Wow!”
Most of the people from the market had joined the parade!
A man in a wheelchair did wheelies.
A young mother carried a baby who clapped its hands.
An older woman with a feather in her hat clapped too.
A man with a soda pop whistled.
A woman with two little girls skipped and waved flags.
A boy on a skateboard zipped back and forth.
“Look,” Nathan shouted, “they’ve all joined the parade! The big city isn’t too busy to have a parade after all. And now I have lots of new friends too!”

Samantha Mellors was saddened, along with her classmates, when a popular teacher at her school died of cancer. Many of the students were deeply affected by the death of their teacher. Even grief counseling didn’t seem to help. So a school adviser asked Samantha, a Mia Maid in the Penrith Ward, Sydney Australia Hebersham Stake, to share her beliefs about life after death with small groups of students.
“Some of the questions that were asked were really hard to answer, but after some thought I was able to answer the questions with ease. A number of girls came up to me after the discussions and told me how happy they were to know they could see other family members and our teacher again,” says Samantha.

In Brother Oldham's Heredity class on the first day he said, "I can pretty much give you all your final grade today, but we'll go through the semester and by the end you will learn that I know most of you. The people here on the first two rows will get the A's. The people just above them will get the B's. All you people up there in the middle will get the C's and you people way up at the top, you will get the D's and F's." Of course, you can guess where I was sitting. I knew from my high school experience what kind of a student I was. I was sitting way up at the top but I said to myself that day, "He doesn't know me. He can't determine my grade on the first day. I'll show him." I worked my heart out to prove him wrong and got an A in the class from the back of the room.

It was hard, but I learned a lesson. I had never really realized how many distractions there are in a classroom between the back and the front. After that, I never chose to sit at the back of any college classroom. My GPA started to climb.

I’d like to tell you another experience about a carpenter my father used to hire. He was a very fine man, a very sharp and astute individual. He collected quotations. I still have two or three of the books that he pulled together on the sayings of the Brethren on different subjects. He was a tremendous gospel scholar. This man not only served a good mission, but he had gained to a tremendous extent and ability in gospel scholarship. He knew the scriptures; he knew the gospel. He would go to Sunday School class and priesthood class, and he would disrupt everything because he was constantly correcting the teachers on the little issues or bringing up gospel dimensions of which the teachers were not aware. When he would get in a sort of cross fire with the teachers, he would usually win; he was usually right. It was not only frustrating to the teachers; it was disruptive to the class.

This friend of ours changed his way one day. He shared with us what happened to him. He said, “I suppose you could say that I had a revelation. For one thing, I heard heavenly choirs. Never in my entire life had I heard music like that. Oh, how I want to be there! It was a beautiful experience.” Then he said, “Someone talked to me and scolded me. I was told that I must not disrupt the Sunday School and priesthood classes. ‘You must not do it because you bring contention and that brings the spirit of the devil. You must not do it.’” So he became cooperative and helpful in his classes from that time forward. The lesson I learned from that is that a man who uses his knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ to contend, to demonstrate that he knows a bit more than someone else, a man who feeds controversy by virtue of his background or his understanding of an issue, is a man who will introduce the spirit of the adversary into a gathering where the Spirit of the Lord is expected to be. It not only damages him, but it damages the faith and the testimony of the people around him long, long after the issues are forgotten.

Over the years I’ve remembered the experience of the carpenter, and I’ve seen that upholding the priesthood is greater, far greater, in working out our own individual salvation than any point of controversy or doctrine that we could make that causes contention and brings feelings of contrariness. Those kinds of things cause the influence of the adversary to affect a person’s heart, and they are not according to the will and inspiration of the Lord. It’s better that we keep the spirit of controversy out of our discussions, out of our teaching, than to feel that we are enlightening people when in reality all we’re doing is destroying the faith and testimony of those who may not be as well founded as we are.

I believe that, as teachers and members of the Church, and as children of our Father in Heaven, we need to remember the lesson that my friend the carpenter learned when somebody spoke to him from the heavens and told him not to be so controversial because it introduced a spirit that was from the adversary. While it might not have affected him too much, it affected those who were listening and caused him to be in a position where he was not a builder, where he was not an example of the believer.

Photographs courtesy of the author except where noted
There is peace in Christ
When we learn of Him.
Feel the love He felt for us
When He bore our sins.1
Those are a few of the lyrics from the song “Peace in Christ,” which I played consistently in my home for a full year after my divorce.
My kids may have tired of me playing the same song over and over, but it helped bring me peace through the trials that the four of them and I have endured recently.
“Divorced single mother” is a title I never wished to receive. But life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect, even when you are trying to keep the commandments.
After 16 years of marriage, my husband and I got divorced. I was completely distraught and had to push away thoughts of devastation and worthlessness every morning as I awoke to my new reality. I often wondered if I could have done something differently to avoid this overwhelming course my life had taken.
Because we had moved from Arizona to Idaho several years ago, I had no family nearby to love and support us. I often felt completely and utterly alone in my sorrow.
But I wasn’t alone. The Savior Jesus Christ was with me, even in my darkest days and nights. His face showed through the faces of my ward family. My bishop and his sweet wife met with me and were there the night I realized my husband and I would be getting divorced. They were heartbroken for me and for my children.
My bishop continued to call and check on me in the difficult months that followed that night.
Brother and Sister John ministered to me and my children in so many ways. They have been an example of Christlike love.
My ministering brother had been with us since we first moved to Idaho. He made many efforts to befriend my then-husband. Not only did this good brother visit us monthly, but he also called or texted to offer his assistance when I stubbornly told him I didn’t need anything.
After my separation, he and his wife became ministering partners, and they lovingly, and without judgment, met with me often. They invited us to sit with them at the local Independence Day parade and to join their extended family at a barbecue.
Our ministering brother found out my children’s favorite characters and carved them into plastic pumpkins for Halloween. They have helped us string Christmas lights, prepare our home for winter, spray our weeds, answer the children’s questions about electronics, and dig my van out of the snow. They brought me the softest blanket as a Christmas gift, which has comforted me many nights when I’ve been lonely and uncertain of what life would bring.
But the most important act of service was the many priesthood blessings this kind brother bestowed upon me and my children. He truly was an example of the scripture, “They did watch over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness” (Mosiah 23:18). So many times, when my anxiety felt like it had reached its peak, he and his wife would come over to talk with me, and the conversation would end with my receiving a priesthood blessing.
He gave my children priesthood blessings before the school year started. He participated in my daughter’s confirmation. This loving couple’s generosity has been an example of Christ’s love for me and my kids.
My friendship with my Relief Society president (second from right) and other sisters in Relief Society has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
I also saw Christ in the face of my angelic Relief Society president. As soon as she heard I was struggling, she took me to lunch and let me spill my emotions and found ways to relate to me with her own life experiences. She texts me often to make sure my children and I are OK. She and two other women in my ward began inviting me to dinner, to go on walks, and to attend the temple with them. They’ve helped steam-clean my carpets and paint rooms. One of them taught me to dye and cut my own hair so that I could be more self-sufficient. The four of us have created a bond and friendship I never knew was possible during such a difficult trial. Their friendship has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
As Sister Elaine S. Dalton, former Young Women General President, said, “Your righteous influence and friendship can have an eternal effect not only on the lives of your associates but also on generations to come.”2 These ladies have made a profound impact not only on my life but on the lives of my children as well; they buoy me up and give me the strength to remain the mother my children need me to be.
Our bishop regularly checked on me and my children.
Though the bishop, ministering couple, and Relief Society president were called to serve our family, it never felt like we were an assignment. And so many others, who had no obligation whatsoever, have shown love to our family.
Two anonymous parties delivered gifts to my children at Christmas. The young men have done yard work, a ward member changed the locks on my doors, and a few others helped with my computer. We’ve received coupons to the pool, been treated to fun at a local water park, and been invited to numerous dinners and movie nights where we could relax with friends and be ourselves.
One sister, while babysitting my children, took them to the store to choose birthday presents to give to me. Another sister did the same with my children at Christmastime.
We’ve also received flowers or treats from people even when there hasn’t been a special occasion; they just wanted me to know I’m loved, thought about, and cared for.
I can testify that what President Jean Bingham, Relief Society General President, says is true: “Sometimes we think we have to do something grand and heroic to ‘count’ as serving our neighbors. Yet simple acts of service can have profound effects on others.”3
Even a small gesture helps me know that Christ hasn’t left me alone to deal with the unpredictability my life has become.
Photograph of simulated Bible scene by Welden C. Andersen
There is peace in Christ. When we sincerely and selflessly care for those around us who are struggling with major life challenges, we really can help them feel the unwavering love and peace of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
I know my Heavenly Father has blessed me and my little family as we made the trek away from family in Arizona to live among strangers in Idaho. Those strangers have become like family. Their Christlike love and examples have helped to keep us strong and where we need to be.
My children and I are eager to serve after seeing how much service impacted our lives. We are living testimonies of what can happen when disciples of Christ follow the pattern of ministering taught in Moroni 6:4: “Their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of their faith.”
I am grateful for my ward family, who remembered and nourished us so that we could keep our hearts turned to the Savior.

I understand now why I had those feelings. It is not because we worship the prophet. We don’t. It is because he is the mouthpiece of the Lord. The prophet is a channel, and through him the Savior’s love is projected to the whole world. That channel is open today. After I was called to be a General Authority, I came early to one of the special meetings in the upper room of the temple. President Ezra Taft Benson was sitting in his place, and as I walked into the room, I looked at him and he looked at me. I wanted to take him in my arms and tell him how much I loved him, because I could feel his love. It was the same kind of love I had felt from President Smith as a twelve-year-old boy. That is why the Saints in South America embrace me and tell me to please give their love to the prophet. They can feel his love even far away. It transcends, or goes beyond, mere miles.

Jacquie Simonet of Nancy returned home one evening in 1969 and found his wife, Suzanne, weeping. A copy of L’Etoile, the Church’s French magazine, was in her lap. “I have been reading about eternal marriage,” she said softly to him. “We can never have these blessings unless you are baptized.”

Jacquie had attended church with his wife for four years and had listened to the missionary discussions twice. “I had not been baptized because I smoked,” he says. “My heart was touched as I talked to my wife that night, and I realized that I already knew the gospel was true. I love my wife, and I knew that I wanted to be with her for eternity. So I threw away my cigarettes and never smoked again.” Jacquie was baptized, and the following year the Simonets were sealed in the Swiss Temple. Today he serves as the president of the Bordeaux France Stake.

The Simonets reared five sons, a niece, and a nephew. Now grown, these children live in Paris, Thoiry, Bordeaux, and the United States, and nearly all are rearing a third generation in the gospel. The nephew, Christian Soulé, is a counselor in the Paris Stake presidency.

A cow helped provide necessary nourishment on the trail for the family of my great-grandmother Margaret McNeil as she came to Zion from Scotland. As a 12-year-old, it was Margaret’s task to arise early and get breakfast for the family and milk her cow. She would then drive the cow on ahead of the company to let it feed in the grassy places. She wrote:
“The cow furnished us with milk, our chief source of food. … Had it not been for the milk, we would have starved. …
“One night our cow ran away from [the] camp, and I was sent to bring her back. I was not watching where I was going and was barefooted. All of a sudden I began to feel I was walking on something soft. I looked down to see what it could be, and to my horror found that I was standing in a bed of snakes, large ones and small ones. At the sight of them I became so weak I could scarcely move; all I could think of was to pray, and in some way I jumped out of them. The Lord blessed and cared for me.
“We arrived in Ogden, Utah, on the fourth day of October [1859], after a journey of hardships and hunger. … I walked every step of the way across the plains.”

Some of the information about the Church, no matter how convincing, is just not true. In 1985, I remember a colleague walking into my business office in Florida. He had a Time magazine article entitled “Challenging Mormonism’s Roots.” It spoke of a recently discovered letter, supposedly written by Martin Harris, that conflicted with Joseph Smith’s account of finding the Book of Mormon plates.

My colleague asked if this new information would destroy the Mormon Church. The article quoted a man who said he was leaving the Church over the document. Later, others reportedly left the Church. I’m sure it was a trial of their faith.

A few months later, experts discovered (and the forger confessed) that the letter was a complete fraud. I remember really hoping that those who had left the Church because of this deception would find their way back.