Gospel Story Finder

I love the following example, taken from an article entitled “A Day at the Beach” by Arthur Gordon. Said he:
“When I was around thirteen and my brother ten, Father had promised to take us to the circus. But at lunchtime there was a phone call; some urgent business required his attention downtown. We braced ourselves for disappointment. Then we heard him say, ‘No, I won’t be down. It’ll have to wait.’
“When he came back to the table, Mother smiled [and said,] ‘The circus keeps coming back, you know.’
“‘I know,’ said Father. ‘But childhood doesn’t.’”

My youngest son swallowed caustic poison when he was three (he is now 22). The hospital took X-rays of his lungs, and the doctor or technician said he was fine and was going to send us home. I said, “What is this cloud in the lower left lung?” Please understand I am not a medical professional in any capacity; I should not have known anything about X-rays except for what a doctor told me. Another doctor walking by heard me, stopped to look at the X-ray, and shortly, we were admitted with a team of doctors and nurses streaming in and out of the room. The gas from the poison was solidifying in Chase’s lungs. If they had sent us home, he would have died in the night. I could not have told you at the time that I received revelation to question the X-ray, but after acting on inspiration, learning how the Lord communicates with me, and listening to Elder Dushku’s examples, I now know I received revelation to save my child.

Taking the Living Legends to Native American reservations is always rewarding and inspiring and always an opportunity to reach out to impressionable youth who may not realize the possibility of a better life. On one such trip we found ourselves in a high school where the condition of the gym and the graffiti on the walls made it obvious that standards, values, and morals were not a high priority. As we set up for our assembly, we suspected these students might be a challenging audience. They entered the gym with revealing, suggestive clothing, and boisterous obscenities filled the air. Our suspicions were confirmed.
The assembly was about to begin when the principal rushed backstage with an urgent request. They were having a terrible epidemic of immorality and teenage pregnancies. Would one of our young ladies be willing to talk to the students, especially the girls, about this problem? The term being thrown to the lions crossed my mind. I couldn’t imagine one of my sweet girls being brave enough to face this group, yet I knew that Heavenly Father was giving us an opportunity to leave an important message.
I approached one of the Native American dancers—a tall, beautiful girl—with this request and in one instant saw an Indian become a “paleface.” With no time to prepare a talk or even think about her comments, Erin nevertheless consented to this daunting task. It was decided that she would speak to them just before our final number, “Go, My Son.”
At the appointed time Erin walked onto the floor dressed in her sparkling white buckskin. Immediately she was greeted with catcalls, whistling, foot stomping, and yelling. She asked for their attention but received little response.
Then, standing tall to her full 5’10” height, Erin commanded them to pay attention with a power and force that could be felt to the top of the bleachers. Astoundingly, a hushed silence began to fall across the gym. She began by specifically addressing the young girls in that audience. She said, “I know you’re up there with your boyfriends, but I want you to listen carefully to what I am going to say to you right now.” Then, speaking on a level that they understood, Erin began to ask them some serious questions: What were they going to do after school? Go out in back of the gym for a cheap bottle of beer with their boyfriends? Weren’t they worth more than that? And what about later on tonight? Were they going to spend the night with that boyfriend, and did they realize they had a choice? Did they think about the possible consequences?
As she continued, it suddenly occurred to me that in the midst of this most unlikely place and audience, Erin was teaching these girls Young Women Values: Divine Nature, Individual Worth, Choice and Accountability, Good Works, and Integrity. And she assured them they were worth more than that cheap bottle of beer or a night with their boyfriend, and she reminded them of their potential for good. Because of Erin’s preparation, knowledge, courage, faith, and ability to invite the Spirit to guide her, they listened, and the Spirit bore testimony of the truthfulness of her words. The principal told me later he believed that was the most important 10 minutes the students would spend in his school that year.

Kevin* always planned on continuing his education at a university. He knew he could make good grades if he studied hard, but in ninth grade he was having too much fun with his friends to get all his assignments turned in. His grades were low, embarrassingly low, but he thought he would just have to do well the next three years to make up.
Kevin decided that to make sure he got good grades, he would take the easiest classes he could in high school. His sophomore year he coasted through with as many elective classes as he was allowed and was happy with his Bs and Cs.
By his junior year, things were getting serious. Graduation was less than two years away. He worked hard that year, but he decided he didn’t have time for seminary and dropped out.
Then Kevin decided to postpone taking his ACT test until the beginning of his senior year. He didn’t feel really up-to-speed after being out of school all summer, but he hoped he did well enough on the test to meet the university’s requirements.
Kevin got everything together on his application to mail to the university admissions office. He knew when the deadline was, so he didn’t worry about getting it in early. He mailed his application two days before the deadline and assumed the mail would get it there on time.
Kevin was turned down for admission to the school he wanted to attend. He made several big mistakes that seriously hurt his chances. Here’s what Kevin should have done differently:
Take charge early. What many students like Kevin don’t realize is that all four years of high school count in their cumulative grade point average. Because Kevin’s ninth grade year was in a junior high, he thought he could have a good time, not do the work required, and that somehow it wouldn’t matter. It matters.
Take college prep classes. Kevin thought that he could help his grade point by getting good grades in less demanding classes. Many universities are paying particular attention to the type of classes students chose to take in high school. For example, BYU adjusts a student’s high school GPA to give more weight to the college prep classes. “We want students to take a more rigorous program in high school,” said Erland Peterson, dean of admissions and records at BYU. “We go through a process of recalculating or adjusting the grades according to the difficulty of the course.” Classes that are considered as college preparatory include advanced mathematics, laboratory sciences, history, English, literature and writing, and foreign language.
Stay ahead of the deadline. Kevin made the mistake of waiting until the deadline to get his application in. It is important to make sure your application is complete and mailed in early. This is especially important if there is an enrollment ceiling on the school you are interested in.
“We encourage students,” said Jeff Tanner, associate dean of admissions and records at BYU, “to apply as early in their senior year as possible. If the application is not complete and in our office by the deadline, it is shuffled into the late pile and is not considered in the first group. If our freshman class is filled out of the first group, the late applications may not be considered.”
Kevin decided to stay at home and attend a community college before going on his mission. He worked hard and earned nearly straight A’s his freshman year at his community college. Earning such a good grade point while doing college level work will make it possible for him to be considered as a transfer student to the university he wants to attend following his mission. But Kevin wishes he hadn’t had to find out the hard way what he needed to do to get into the school of his choice.

“I’m not afraid to go to bed,” Billy told the baby-sitter. Mrs. Jones smiled and tucked in the covers.
“But I like to see where I am sleeping,” Billy said.
Mrs. Jones turned on the small night-light.
“And my bear would be warmer if it was under the covers with me,” Billy said.
Mrs. Jones brought the teddy bear to Billy.
“If I had a glass of water near my bed,” Billy said, “I wouldn’t have to bother you in case I got thirsty.”
Mrs. Jones went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water.
“You must be tired,” Billy said. “Would you like me to read you a story?”
“That would be very nice,” Mrs. Jones said.
Billy read a picture story about Jesus Christ.
“I would read you another story,” Billy said, “but my eyes are getting sleepy.”
“You can read it to me the next time I come,” the baby-sitter said. She kissed him good night.
Billy nodded. He was very, very sleepy. He was also happy that Mrs. Jones knew that he was not afraid to go to bed.

I had a wakeup call regarding pride as a missionary in Belgium. We were teaching an elderly sister who said on one occasion, “Elder Sabin, I can tell that you have been here longer than Elder Ferguson.”

I thought to myself, “It must be because I speak the language better.” So, I asked her, “Oh? Why is that?”

I was quickly humbled as she replied, “Because your shirts are so much grayer than Elder Ferguson’s.” We didn’t have a washing machine so we washed our shirts in the bathtub and hung them up along the wall trim to dry. They became grayer and grayer over time with the repeated washings.

The irony of pride is that it makes us appear foolish which is the very opposite of the results we’re seeking. There is nothing less impressive than trying to impress. Be honest and genuine. Being ourselves is always the best and most likable course.

These are the squares. They enjoy living all by themselves in Square City.
These are the circles. They enjoy living all by themselves in Circle Center.
These are the triangles. They enjoy living all by themselves in Triangle Town.
Here are the rectangles. They enjoy living all by themselves in Rectangle Ranch.
Each group of shapes thought the other groups were very strange and not as good as themselves. After all, they thought, anyone who was different couldn’t possibly be as interesting and beautiful as themselves. The squares felt that in order for your shape to be the best, you had to have all four of your sides look just alike, the way all of the squares did. If you didn’t, you certainly couldn’t do as many wonderful things as a square could – or so thought all the squares in Square City.
The circles, however, felt that you must be perfectly round–like them–so you could roll all around. If you were pointy or square or only had straight lines, you were boring and certainly not as nice - looking as the circles were - or so thought the circles of Circle Center.
The rectangles felt that to be really important and nice looking, you must have two short sides exactly alike and two long sides exactly alike. If not, you must be most confusing to look at – or so thought the rectangles of Rectangle Ranch.
The triangles, on the other hand, felt that the only group to be a part of was one where everyone had nice sharp points and only three sides. After all, what could you possibly need four sides for – and rolling all around was just plain silly – or so thought the triangles of Triangle Town.
The squares didn’t like the circles. The circles did not like the triangles. The triangles certainly didn’t like the rectangles. And the rectangles didn’t like any of the squares. Each group of shapes didn’t want to play with any shapes that were different from themselves. In fact, if any other shape came near their group, they would make fun of it and chase it away!
One beautiful summer day, the little squares and the little circles and the little triangles and the little rectangles went outside to play – but NOT together! While they were playing a strange thing happened.
The little circles were playing on top of the hill. Some of them rolled a bit too far and before they could stop, they had rolled right down the hill and smack into the middle of the game that the little squares were playing. The little squares were very upset. Not only was their game ruined, but they were mad about having the circles come rolling into THEIR playground. The squares yelled and made faces at the circles trying to chase them away. The circles were very frightened and tried to roll away, but they became confused and kept bumping into the little squares.
The rectangles and triangles heard all the yelling and the crying. They all stopped their playing and hurried as fast as they could to see what was happening. Soon everyone was hollering at everyone else. It was a terrible commotion! Suddenly, a few of the little circles became so frightened, that they leaped up into the air and came right down on top of some of the little triangles! Oh, wonder of wonders! Everyone was absolutely quiet. No one moved, even an inch. They just looked and looked at what had happened. The little circles and the little triangles had made some ice cream cones – beautiful, big ice cream cones!
Some of the circles rushed over to get a closer look at the ice cream cones. They didn’t even notice that they had rolled right next to a big rectangle. But then everyone began to cheer and clap because the circles and the rectangle had made a very nice wagon! Then everyone became very excited about their new discovery. Because there were so many different shapes, they were able to make all kinds of new things. Everyone wanted to help, and they all had to work together to create the special shape pictures. The squares and the circles made a train. A little rectangle made the smokestack, and some tiny circles made the puffs of smoke. Soon they were all working together to make a sailboat and many other fun things. Everyone was happy and enjoyed working together. They had discovered that each shape, because it was different, added just what was needed to make special things they could all enjoy.
When playtime was over, all the shapes were very glad the little circles had accidentally rolled down the hill. It gave them all a chance to get to know each other, and to see how much more fun it can be to play with those who seem different from yourself. They worked together to make a lovely new house and many pretty things to go with it. Now that all the shapes had all become friends, they didn’t want to live apart from each other, so all of the shapes moved their little groups into their lovely new house where they could all live together, happily ever after. They often went sailing on their new sailing ship and even renamed their new home the Friendship Farm.

Ann:
“I love medicine so much, I’d practice it even if I didn’t get paid,” says Dr. Ann Osborn, a four-year convert who graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Stanford School of Medicine in California. She has a list of many accomplishments, including the fact that she was the Most Outstanding Woman in her 1970 graduation class, completing her studies one year ahead of the rest of the students. She graduated in psychology from Harvard, earned her M.D., and served her internship at the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. She recently returned to Stanford, where she’s a resident in diagnostic radiology and is fulfilling a National Institute of Health traineeship.
Ann tells of her conversion with gratitude, joy, and the warmest smile:
“Four years ago I was in medical school. I had a Latter-day Saint professor whom I admired very much. He won the teaching award, which was presented by the student body, year after year. At that time I was very disappointed with what I saw in the religious world. I was a Methodist and saw that religion itself had very little effect on people’s lives. One day I asked this professor, who was also my aquatic school instructor, why he was so happy. He told me it was because of his religion, and then he began to tell me the Joseph Smith story. I discredited the golden plates, not knowing what they were, but knew that there had to be something beneath a religion that influenced a Mormon’s life. He promised me that if I’d go to a Latter-day Saint service, I’d find a faith with wonderful depth. I did go and found a beautiful spirit there. I was moved in a way I couldn’t understand, and I lost my control. Feeling tears in my eyes made me angry because I didn’t have a handkerchief, but most of all, I didn’t want to feel that way. I walked out of the meeting, but something told me to go back. I was baptized two weeks later, after having the discussions. In eight months, my sister Lucy was also baptized, and my brother and his wife joined in February 1971. Incidentally, before my brother knew anything about the Church, he asked a Mormon bishop to officiate at his garden wedding because he respected him so much.
“I found myself studying Church history more than medicine. I felt like an infant with so much to learn. For what other reason do we learn as much as we can if not to help the Lord with his work? We need humility about our knowledge to admit that we really need him and can call on him.
“I enjoyed my internship at the LDS hospital very much. I was thrilled to work with physicians who were elders. They work in the intensive care unit with a bottle of consecrated oil. It creates such a different doctor-patient relationship. I chose radiology as my field because it’s an eight-to-five job; there’s very little weekend work, and it leaves plenty of time for family and Church. I look forward to a temple marriage and a family of my own someday.”

Because of COVID-19, our local hospitals needed more face masks for the care providers. The Relief Society needed help sewing elastics on the masks. I volunteered and sewed the elastics on more than 80 face masks in two days.
A lot of the service on the website JustServe.org is for people 11 and older. I am always disappointed that I can’t help, so I was excited that I was able to participate in our ward’s service project! I was grateful to be able to help the community.
You can find ways to serve too! Go to JustServe.org to find some ideas.

The air was bitterly cold at nearly 12,000 feet as the sun sank quickly across the valley behind the mountains, and the first stars appeared. Thousands of other lights twinkled more than 7,000 feet below me as the residents of Utah Valley began dinner in their warm homes.
I was comfortable in my sleeping bag but puzzled. How could I explain the strange urge that had brought me through snow and ice to the top of Mount Timpanogos in late October? The climb had been cold and difficult. Why had I come?
I was in my second year of law school and though I was an experienced hiker, I hadn’t been in the mountains for months. The first snows of autumn blanketed the upper slopes of the mountain range, but I suddenly had the inexplicable desire to spend the night on the summit of Mount Timpanogos.
It seemed a crazy idea, but at noon I threw my camping equipment into my pack and drove up the canyon to where the mountain trail began.
Was I looking for adventure? Did I simply need a change from the routine of law school? I wasn’t sure.
There were only a few hours of daylight left when I began hiking, so I hurried along the trail through scattered trees. Soon I was climbing the steep east side of the mountain.
After I’d traveled a few kilometers, I was shocked to see another climber on the trail ahead of me. When I moved closer, I could see the hiker wasn’t a typical mountaineer. She was a middle-aged woman laboriously plodding her way toward the summit. She carried only a small pack with no night-time survival equipment.
She said she had been on the trail since morning. She proudly told me it was her first hike ever, and she was determined to reach the top.
“Don’t let your perseverance get you in trouble,” I warned her. “You’re probably not going to reach the summit before nightfall. You’d better turn back soon or you’ll have to find your way down in the dark.”
I continued past her up the trail, certain she would turn back in a few minutes. After all, she didn’t even have a sleeping bag. She could freeze to death if she were trapped on the mountain overnight.
I climbed past a lake on the mountain’s eastern shoulder and began to trudge through fresh snow at 10,000 feet. After a harrowing and exhausting traverse along the steep north slope of the peak, I was faced with an even steeper 500-foot ascent over scattered patches of snow and ice. A fall here would have ended in an uncontrolled slide down thousands of meters.
I finally finished my climb on the knife-edged ridge that was the 11,750-foot summit of Mount Timpanogos. The mountain’s sheer western face fell away at my feet, giving me an incredible view of the Utah and Salt Lake valleys.
I unrolled my sleeping bag in the small, roofed shelter that stands at the summit. The stone floor wouldn’t be too comfortable, but at least the shelter’s waist-high metal walls would keep me from rolling off the mountain.
As the sun set, the temperature began to drop rapidly. I spent a few minutes enjoying the view, then retreated to my warm sleeping bag for the night ahead.
As I slept, I heard a voice in my dreams. The voice was crying for help. The cries continued until I suddenly sat upright in my sleeping bag and realized I wasn’t dreaming. The shouts drifted up from far below, but I heard them clearly through the clear night air.
It seemed impossible, but someone—and I knew who—was wandering the icy mountainside in the darkness and cold.
I pulled on my pants and jacket and followed my flickering flashlight in the direction of the cries. I found the middle-aged woman standing in total darkness on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff.
“I got stuck on the mountain when it got dark,” she explained. She tried to appear calm, but the nervous way she spoke told me she was very frightened. “I got lost. I didn’t think it was this far to the top! I lost both my flashlights off a cliff an hour ago.”
She shivered and chattered as we stumbled back up the ridge. Her name was Jane. Her husband would still be waiting for her, she said, in their car at the foot of the trail.
Back at the shelter, I gave her my sleeping bag and told her to stay in it. She resisted at first, but shivering wildly, finally agreed. I put on all my warm clothes, wrapped Jane’s spare sweater around me, and settled in for what I correctly assumed would be one of the longest and coldest nights of my life.
I was far too cold to sleep and Jane was too excited, so we stayed awake and talked. At one point during the night I was reminded of the famed naturalist John Muir, who had once survived a night trapped on an Alaskan glacier by dancing a Scottish jig until morning. I hoped it wouldn’t get so cold that I’d have to do that.
At 4:00 A.M., with the temperature at five degrees Farenheit, we saw the flashlights of a search and rescue team 1,500 feet below us. I signalled with my flashlight, and shouted the news that Jane was okay. “We’ll be down at first light,” I yelled. “Wait for us.”
Sound carried remarkably well in the still, mountain air. Their distant “Okay!” response was easy to hear.
When the first traces of light touched the mountain, we started down the steep, icy slope. Before we reached the rescue party, Jane and I knelt together in the snow to thank our Heavenly Father that tragedy had been averted. Our prayer at 10,000 feet convinced me that the biblical promise was true: Not even a sparrow could fall to the earth without our Father’s notice, much less my new friend.
When we were finally off the mountain, Jane’s husband cried with joy and relief. He had been sure she was dead until he had seen our light early that morning. The search and rescue volunteers were similarly relieved. They said they remove the bodies of less fortunate climbers from the mountain every year.
What was I doing sleeping on top of Mount Timpanogos so late in the season? It seemed obvious to me then, as it still does to me now, that I was led there to make sure Jane got off the summit safely. I had done something right, following that irresistible urge to climb the mountain. Even at ten thousand feet, the Lord does indeed move in mysterious ways.

“Nettie,” I hollered, picking up a pair of socks that were draped over my fishbowl like a lampshade.
“Oops,” giggled Nettie as she charged into our bedroom. She knocked over the stack of books on my nightstand as she tried to stop.
“That’ll be ten cents,” I ordered as I dropped the socks in her hand. Every time Nettie left her stuff on my side of our bedroom, I made her put ten cents in the big jar on my shelf. Mom told me I could do that if I thought it would help. Nettie was really sloppy, and I was the lucky one who had to share a room with her.
Nettie dropped a dime in the jar and jammed her socks into her jumbled-up drawer. She turned to run out, and I pointed to the books she’d scattered all over the floor.
“Good thing I don’t have to pay ten cents apiece for these,” she joked. “I’d owe you my allowance for two years.”
“Funny,” I said. “You wouldn’t have to pay anything if you kept your messes on your own side of the room.”
“I know,” Nettie sighed, trying to stack up my books. She knocked them over again with her elbow before she’d finished.
“Slow down a little,” I grumbled, grabbing my Birds of North America book before she ripped the pictures.
“Taylor is waiting for me to play baseball,” Nettie said. “I’m going to show her how to hit a home run.”
“Oh, just go,” I finally told her.
“Thanks,” she said. She dropped the books on my bed and raced off. Of course, the books bounced back onto the floor. Somehow everything Nettie touched seemed to end up on the floor.
That week, Nettie’s luck didn’t improve. She tossed her soccer uniform and shin pads on my bed, and that added up to sixty cents including the socks. Then she flooded Mom’s pot of violets when she watered them, and the water made puddles on the shelf and streaks down the wall. Next, she broke a plate when she tried to help dry the dishes, knocked her bike over and bent the pedal, and lost one orange tennis shoe.
“If you slowed down you wouldn’t be such a disaster,” I told Nettie. “And you would be able to find your stuff if you were neater.”
Nettie didn’t say anything. She knew I was right.
For one moment, Nettie’s luck changed—Taylor’s family invited her to go camping with them that Friday. But her luck didn’t last long. Friday morning, Nettie came down with the flu.
I went in our room to talk to her. She gave me the same look she’d made the day her pet worm Wiggles died.
“I’m sorry you can’t go camping,” I told her. I was sorry for me too. I had been looking forward to a break from sharing a room.
“That’s OK,” she said. “It’s probably good that I can’t go. I would have wrecked everything!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She sniffled, and not from the flu. “What if I knocked down the tent or broke the lantern or fell in the lake? I do everything wrong. I’m a big disaster. You said so yourself.”
I didn’t know what to do or say as the tears slipped down Nettie’s cheeks. I felt horrible. My heart thumped in my chest. What had I done? I’d never thought about how everything I said made Nettie feel bad about herself. I always told her how she messed up, but I never told her what she did right.
“Nettie, you are a good friend,” I said. “I’m sure Taylor wishes you were there right now. You try to help her. In fact, you try to help everyone.”
“Really?” Nettie asked, wiping her nose.
I nodded. “Yep. You’re always helping Mom with the chores. She appreciates that.”
“She does?”
“Of course,” I told her. “You’re the nicest helper I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“Thanks,” Nettie said. She was smiling and looking a little better.
When Nettie dozed off to sleep, I quietly took the big jar off my shelf and took it to Mom. I had an idea.
Later that day, Dad took me to the store. I returned with a brightly wrapped box just for Nettie.
“A present?” she asked. “Because I’m sick?”
I shook my head. “No. Because I love you.” I showed her the empty jar. “I never should have made you pay me. The present rightly belongs to you.”
Nettie squealed and hugged me so hard I almost dropped the jar. “You’re the greatest sister,” she said.
“You’re pretty great yourself,” I said.
I looked at the empty jar in my hands and thought about it. Then I opened my closet and put the jar on the top shelf. I didn’t want it anymore. Instead of filling the jar with dimes, I planned on filling Nettie up with good feelings about herself. I knew I could do it because Nettie had shown me how much power my words had. From now on, I would be much more careful about how I used them. I wasn’t the greatest sister yet, but maybe I could be a good one if I tried.

A few weeks ago my friend and her sister were getting ready to be baptized. My dad was the ward mission leader, so he was helping the missionaries with the baptism. My dad asked my sister and me if we wanted to sing with the sister missionaries at the baptism. My sister and I were both in choir, so of course we said yes. Later the missionaries came over and said the baptism was next week on Friday! I was so excited!
The next week on Wednesday the missionaries came over again. This time it was so they could practice singing. They asked if me and my sister could sing the first verse, and they would join in on the second and third. This was a little scarier than I thought, but after a while it started being really fun.
On the day of the baptism, I was a little nervous. I said a prayer to help me so I would be more calm. When it was our turn to sing I felt more calm. While we were singing, I felt the Spirit strongly. I think the other people who were there did too. I was so excited that I was able to sing with the missionaries and that I was able to make my friend happy.
I will never forget this baptism. I felt the Spirit on that day, and I will not forget that feeling. I’m sure it will come back again too.

Kari jerked her body away from her mother’s grasp. “With cancer, Mom, there are no promises. That’s what Dr. Walker said.”
“Oh, Kari,” her mother said, bringing her only daughter closer, “there is one promise I can make you. I’ll be with you every step of the way, whenever you need me. Remember when you were in grade school and the storms would come in the middle of the night? You were so scared of the lightning and thunder.”
“Yes,” Kari said as she brushed away tears that were quickly replaced by more tears. “I was so scared that I would hide under your blanket until you told me I could come out.”
“How I wanted to make the storms go away for you, Kari,” her mother said as she brushed away her own tears. “I really did. But I wasn’t God. I was just your mother. Eventually you overcame your fear of storms. You even began to understand a little why God made storms even though they scare little girls so much. What I’m trying to say, honey …”
Kari interrupted, “That I can hide under your blanket if the storm is more than I can handle?”
Kari’s mother nodded her head yes as the tears dropped one by one onto the seat. Many minutes passed before she was able to face the prospect of starting the car and beginning the long drive home to face reality.

When the missionaries came to Juan’s house to teach his family about Jesus, Juan listened carefully. Each time they talked about Heavenly Father and Jesus, Juan felt quiet inside.
Before the missionaries left, they said they would like to teach Juan’s family how to pray. They knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father. They told Juan’s family that prayer is a way of talking with Heavenly Father. Juan kept thinking about this. He thought about how much Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him. Each time Juan thought about these things, he had the same quiet, reverent feeling. He was happy that he could learn to pray as the missionaries did.
Juan and his family learned that they could pray anytime or in any place. They could pray silently in their hearts or out loud. They did not have to wait until they went to church on Sunday to pray.
The missionaries read scriptures to Juan’s family. In the Book of Mormon Jesus said: “Pray in your families unto the Father, always in my name, that your wives and your children may be blessed” (3 Ne. 18:21).
Juan’s family learned that they could pray quietly as they walked to market or when they were all alone. A Book of Mormon prophet said: “Ye must pour out your souls in your closets, and your secret places, and … let your hearts be full, drawn out in prayer unto him continually for your welfare, and also for the welfare of those who are around you” (Alma 34:26–27).
The missionaries taught Juan how to pray in the same way Jesus prayed: We begin by saying, “Our Heavenly Father.” Then we thank him for the blessings he sends. We ask him for the things we need. Then we always close in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Juan knew how to pray! He would pray each morning and night. He would pray with his family. He would pray in his heart whenever he wanted to.
That night when Juan knelt down, he began by saying, “Dear Heavenly Father.” Then Juan thanked Heavenly Father for sending the missionaries to his family. He thanked Heavenly Father for the quiet, reverent feelings he had in his heart.
Then he asked Heavenly Father to bless his family. Juan’s father needed a job and Juan’s little sister was sick. Juan asked Heavenly Father to help them. He asked Heavenly Father to help him know how he could help others.
Juan finished his prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
When Juan went to sleep that night, he had that same good, reverent feeling in his heart. At last, he knew how to talk with Heavenly Father. It is the way you can talk with Heavenly Father, too.

On a trip to a nearby city in Estonia, I saw a man begging for money. Amazingly, I recognized him from when I served as a missionary in that city 10 years earlier. He was carrying a big bag of plastic bottles, just as before, to collect for recycling money. I remembered he always asked for spare change, and if you gave him some he would ask if you had any more.
I was shocked to see him. And after 10 years he was still the same––a little more gray, but it looked like he had been living the same life begging for money day after day. I thought about the wonderful 10 years I had lived in the meantime, which included marrying in the temple, gaining an education, finding a good job, and enjoying good health.
I figured this might be the last time I saw him, and I felt like I should give him something. The problem was I only had a bill that was worth more than I was willing to give. I cringed at the choice I had––give him nothing or give him more than I wanted. I decided it wouldn’t really make a big difference for me and it would make his day, so I gave him the money.
Less than two days later I found myself in a similar situation, but this time I was the one begging for mercy. I had mixed up the date for an important scholarship application. I thought I had turned it in two weeks early, but I was horrified when I double-checked the date and saw that I had sent it in one day late.
The sum of the scholarship was exactly 100 times the amount I had given to the beggar, and the irony was not lost on me. I found myself begging for mercy, both in prayer to my Heavenly Father and via email to the university officials. They said they would include the application but note it was late.
My prayer was answered and I was blessed to receive the scholarship, which financially helped my wife and me a lot. But more importantly this experience taught me a valuable lesson: are we not all beggars before God? (see Mosiah 4:19).

Many years ago I was visiting London with my family. We stayed at a hotel in Sloane Square. There is a statue of Sir Hans Sloane in the center of the square. As a young man in the mid 1600s, Hans Sloane became a physician and then developed a strong interest in botany. The 17th century physician used herbal remedies. Prescriptions were primarily herbal and not based on chemistry as they are today.

In 1687 Sloane accompanied the Duke of Albemarle to Jamaica as his personal physician. He catalogued the flora and fauna of Jamaica and identified about 800 new species of plants. He collected specimens of animals as well and pickled them or embalmed them. During their stay, Lord Albemarle died; it necessitated Sloane returning to London. Sloane pickled the body of Lord Albemarle so Lord Albemarle could be buried in England. Upon Sloane’s return, he wrote an extensive two volume natural history of Jamaica.[20]

In Jamaica Sloane had noticed that the people drank cocoa which he found “nauseous.” Sloane experimented with making medicines acceptable to children by mixing them with milk and honey. He mixed the cocoa with milk and sugar and found that it was delicious. Sloane became very wealthy when he sold his recipe to Cadbury Brothers who manufactured chocolate using Sloane’s recipe.[21]

What is perhaps most interesting to me is that Sloane used most of that money to collect botanical and other specimens that he had become so intrigued with as a young physician. He bought people’s collected specimens from all over the world and he put together an enormous collection. When he died, he donated it to the British nation. That was the beginning of the British Museum.

The foundation collection of the natural history part of the entire British Museum came because of the great desire for knowledge of that incredible man, Hans Sloane.

Throughout my youth, I attended a lot of firesides. I admit, I don’t recall everything, but one talk has always stuck with me. One of my leaders, who was previously an Air Force pilot, shared his experience with hypoxia—the lack of oxygen to a person’s body, which impacts their brain.
One of my leaders, who was previously an Air Force pilot, shared his experience with hypoxia—the lack of oxygen to a person’s body, which impacts their brain.
The leader explained that Air Force pilots are at risk of becoming hypoxic, so they undergo training where they are exposed to it. In one training session, he was instructed to take his oxygen mask off and then to put it back on when he felt himself becoming hypoxic. But he never put his mask back on—his friends had to do it for him.
After the training, his friends explained that they watched him suffer all the signs of hypoxia—bad decision-making, incoherent speech, and confusion. He said he hadn’t felt any of those symptoms and thought he had been acting normal, even though his friends could see that he was in danger.
Sometimes in life, we may find ourselves heading down the wrong path without always recognizing that what we’re doing isn’t right. We may make bad decisions, act differently, and be completely confused with life—just like hypoxia. The path toward eternal life is a path you can easily stray from if everyone around you isn’t committed to it too (see 1 Nephi 8:23, 28; 3 Nephi 14:13–14). This is when having bad friends can be harmful to your already-hypoxic state. Of course, bad friends aren’t necessarily bad people—I’m talking about friends who won’t put your oxygen mask back on and who are even possibly the ones who could lead you into a state of spiritual danger.
Growing up in Australia, I’ve been exposed to a variety of friends, inside and outside the Church—some were not positive influences. I’ve experienced situations where I felt certain I could stay on the strait and narrow path, but because of the influence of a few bad friends, their actions became the norm for me and I started following them.
What helped me to come to my senses was listening to my parents and Church leaders. I knew they wanted the best for my life and that they could see better than I that I was falling into a state of spiritual hypoxia. I tried to always stand in holy places. I attended young adult activities and church. Even when I spent a lot of my time at university and work, I found good friends. I’ve made a lot of friends who aren’t members of the Church, but who choose the right and are great role models. For example, I met one of my greatest friends in high school. She was always striving to be a better person, and even though she isn’t a member, she helped me recognize when I wasn’t choosing the right path for myself. And that’s what a great friend does.
In Proverbs 13:20 it reads, “He that walketh with the wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.” I completely agree—the friends that you surround yourself with the most are the people who you will ultimately follow. Just as I didn’t realize, you may not recognize when you’re becoming spiritually hypoxic and following the wrong path or the wrong people. It’s important to listen to those who love you and to put yourself in places that are going to invite both good people and the Spirit. When I did these things, I found myself surrounded by better friends every day—friends who support me in my righteous decisions.
No matter where you are in the world, you can find friends who will always put your oxygen mask back on when you struggle to do it yourself. You can find friends who can help you out of the spiritually hypoxic state you may find yourself in. Your friends have so much more of an impact in your life than you may think, so find companionship with those who are choosing the right. I did, and it changed me and my future forever.

11. In 1956, after returning home from several years in Washington, D.C., and having declined several attractive offers there, I received an offer to work at the University of Utah. My wife said I should take it. She said presciently, “I feel if you go there, maybe you will have some influence on students.” I replied impatiently, “I’ll be typing news releases, not working with students.” The subsequent opportunities included being a bishop of a student ward, dean of students, and teaching hundreds of fine students in political science. It wasn’t status that mattered, of course, but being stretched and being given opportunities to serve.
Our wives are often inspired but sometimes in counterintuitive ways—a reality, young men, which your fathers may be brave enough to explain to you sometime.

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 laid 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.

In March 1939 the German army swiftly occupied Czechoslovakia. Regular missionary activity again ceased. In May, as the Prague Branch was meeting to celebrate Mother’s Day, a young German officer entered the room. The congregation froze, expecting the worst. But the officer explained that he was a member of the Church and had come to worship. He bore his testimony—not to enemies of his country, but to friends of his religion.