Gospel Story Finder

The best solution to shortness: Don’t fret about being short. I quit worrying about my lack of height before I was ever graduated from high school. In my Latin class, three of the four boys registered were named Paul. One was so tall he had a perpetual cloud at his hairline, one was just a shade shorter than that, and then there was me. One day our wise old teacher sized us up as we left the room after class.
“When I see two of you three Pauls, it’s hard to believe,” she said, “that paulus means ‘little’ in Latin.” Then she dropped one of those little bombs that made her a memorable teacher. “As a matter of fact,” she went on, “a name doesn’t mean much in any language until or unless you make something of it.” She looked right at me as she spoke, and for a few minutes I thought I might bump my head on the ceiling.

Elder de la Cruz retired from his job early in order to serve. He and his wife had attended a meeting in Mexico City and heard Elder Lino Álvarez of the Seventy encourage couples to serve full-time missions. Facing the loss of some retirement benefits by retiring early, Elder and Sister de la Cruz nevertheless felt the Spirit telling them that now was the right time for them. “We did lose some benefits,” he says, “but our Heavenly Father has given us so much more. We decided to share with our brothers and sisters what we feel for Him.”
“For me it has been a great happiness and joy to come to know and teach these brothers and sisters in Palenque—and to even bring more members to the Church,” says Sister de la Cruz. “I feel greatly strengthened by being with them.”

Let us walk these clearly defined paths. To help us do so we can follow the shortest sermon in the world. It can be found on a common traffic sign. It reads, “Keep Right.”

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.

“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”

Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service. Some years ago I visited what was then called the California Mission, where I interviewed a young missionary from Georgia. I recall saying to him, “Do you send a letter home to your parents every week?”

He replied, “Yes, Brother Monson.”

Then I asked, “Do you enjoy receiving letters from home?”

He didn’t answer. At length I inquired, “When was the last time you had a letter from home?”

With a quavering voice, he responded, “I’ve never had a letter from home. Father’s just a deacon, and Mother’s not a member of the Church. They pleaded with me not to come. They said that if I left on a mission, they would not be writing to me. What shall I do, Brother Monson?”

I offered a silent prayer to my Heavenly Father: “What should I tell this young servant of Thine, who has sacrificed everything to serve Thee?” And the inspiration came. I said, “Elder, you send a letter home to your mother and father every week of your mission. Tell them what you are doing. Tell them how much you love them and then bear your testimony to them.”

He asked, “Will they then write to me?”

I responded, “Then they will write to you.”

We parted and I went on my way. Months later I was attending a stake conference in Southern California when a young missionary came up to me and said, “Brother Monson, do you remember me? I’m the missionary who had not received a letter from my mother or my father during my first nine months in the mission field. You told me, ‘Send a letter home every week, Elder, and your parents will write to you.’” Then he asked, “Do you remember that promise, Elder Monson?”

I remembered. I inquired, “Have you heard from your parents?”

He reached into his pocket and took out a sheaf of letters with an elastic band around them, took a letter from the top of the stack, and said, “Have I heard from my parents! Listen to this letter from my mother: ‘Son, we so much enjoy your letters. We’re proud of you, our missionary. Guess what? Dad has been ordained a priest. He’s preparing to baptize me. I’m meeting with the missionaries; and one year from now we want to come to California as you complete your mission, for we, with you, would like to become a forever family by entering the temple of the Lord.’” This young missionary asked, “Brother Monson, does Heavenly Father always answer prayers and fulfill Apostles’ promises?”

I replied, “When one has faith as you have demonstrated, our Heavenly Father hears such prayers and answers in His own way.”

Clean hands, a pure heart, and a willing mind had touched heaven. A blessing, heaven-sent, had answered the fervent prayer of a missionary’s humble heart.

Brother Kim represented Korea at a United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization meeting in India in August of 1959. Shortly after his return home, he met with Rhee Ho Nam, who noted that Brother Kim looked tired. Brother Kim replied that he had felt ill during the conference and was anxious to return home. Less than a month later, on August 31, he died of a stroke.
During Brother Kim’s funeral, “the presidents of nearly every university and college in Korea came around to pay their respects,” says F. Ray Hawkins, a missionary in Korea during the late 1950s who later became a mission president there. “Every single one of those men said that Brother Kim had personally, more than once, invited them out to church and had discussions about the gospel.” Brother Hawkins’s observation suggests a fitting epitaph: though he walked among the elite, Kim Ho Jik’s prestige was to him a mere tool for building the kingdom of God.

They also talk about another ingredient in their recipe for a happy home—family home evening. But that wasn’t always the case. “I remember when our family home evenings were mostly very long lessons,” says Christoffer, 18, with a playful glance in his mother’s direction.
“Sometimes I would get bored and fall asleep,” adds Andreas, who was only about five at that time. “But then I’d wake up, and there would be refreshments.”
Brother Ronndahl explains that when the children were quite young, Sister Ronndahl would regularly prepare lessons that were over an hour long. The lessons were difficult for the young children to sit through. Now the Ronndahls have eight children, ranging in age from 8 to 23 years old—the oldest, Rebecka, has served a full-time mission and is now attending college in the United States.
Brother and Sister Ronndahl decided to change their approach to family home evening. “We gathered the family together and said, ‘Hey, what do you like to do?’ ” says Sister Ronndahl. The parents weren’t too surprised to learn that the kids liked the food, the games, and singing hymns—they even liked the idea of a lesson, if it were only shorter. Brother Ronndahl sums it up well when he says the right ingredients were there but maybe not in the right amounts. “We discovered we should focus on the fun side of things too,” he says.
Sister Ronndahl decided to make an extra-nice dinner so Monday would start out as a special night. Then for family home evening they added a healthy measure of games and singing. They also shortened the lessons to about 10 minutes. The mixture worked well. “The children started to look forward to Monday nights,” says Kristina. “Everybody loved it.”
Now that the children are older, the lessons have lengthened and deepened. Rosanna, 20, says, “We actually can do very good lessons nowadays. We love to discuss the gospel and other things. It’s fun because we have so many opinions and ideas. Now it is more interesting because we’re talking about things that we want to talk about.” But the music, games, and refreshments are still part of the recipe.
“My favorite things are the refreshments and games,” says Josefin, 12.
“Refreshments and games of course,” echoes Christoffer.
“I think the songs and music are the best,” says Rosanna.
“The lessons,” Isabelle chimes in meekly. Her brothers and sisters immediately offer Isabelle some good-natured teasing. “No, really,” she adds earnestly.
“I think the whole family home evening is my favorite,” says Andreas. “The lesson, songs, games, refreshments—all of them together make it very fun. If we had a family home evening without a lesson or games or songs, it would feel like something was missing.”
“I love it when Brynolf and I don’t have to do anything for family home evening,” says Sister Ronndahl. “We can just sit aside, and the children lead and they have the lesson and they have the refreshments. They do everything. That’s my favorite.”

I moved away from home and went to college when I was 18 years old. I was not raised in the church. I felt like a stranger in the world. I felt the world was cruel and growing evermore increasingly wicked. I became anti-social and felt I could not trust anyone. I felt alone. I began to study4 at the university. It was there that I began to search5 diligently6 for answers about life: Where did we come from? Where are we going? Why are we here? I took classes in psychology, philosophy, science, and religion, looking for answers. I asked everyone I knew to explain the meaning of life. Some people would entertain my questions while others thought that I was strange for wanting to know, saying, "You think too much!"7

I was not satisfied with the answers I encountered among the philosophies of men.8 I wanted to know the truth9, and I began to look inside10 myself to find the answers. I began to trust the whisperings of my own conscience11even though it contradicted what the world12 had taught me. My father had taught me to trust my intuition and to listen inside13, that it would always guide me to truth. My father told me, as good fathers do, that I was unusual14, and that I was gifted15. My father told me that many people do not seek to know16 the meaning or the mysteries of life.

But, I also quickly became tempted by the adversary hearing him say things like "Surely there is no God17; that doesn't make any sense18; those are the things of a child19. You are not a child; you are a man20; men prosper by their own strength21, and when they die that is the end thereof22." And being deceived23, I decided not to believe in God24. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life25began to seduce me; and I was ignorant in unbelief26. Wherefore men are free to choose liberty and eternal life, or to choose captivity and death, according to the power and captivity of the devil27.

And I chose sin. And the wages of sin is death28. The great dark abyss29 of the adversary had blinded my mind30.

Thus we see how subtly31 and carefully32 the devil does lead away the hearts of the children of men. For behold, he shall rage in the hearts of the children of men, and stir them up to anger against that which is good. And others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security—and thus he cheats their souls, and leads them away carefully down to hell. And behold, others he flatters away, and tells them there is no hell; and he says unto them: I am no devil, for there is none—and thus he whispers in their ears, until he grasps them with his awful chains, from whence there is no deliverance.33

During that depressing period of my life I truly mourned34. My sorrow had made me meek35, humble, and teachable. As a result, I diligently hungered and thirsted after righteousness36. If I had never suffered, I would never have had the desire to find a better way. My trials prepared me to look for God. So, as it happened one day, as on many other occasions, I lay flat on my back and stared at the ceiling while considering my miserable state37. For so long, I had been buried under the oppressive weight of a guilty conscience. With no one to turn to, I poured out my whole soul to God38. I wept, and being in an agony, I prayed more earnestly. I begged God for forgiveness and pleaded with him over and over again to save my soul from hell40, saying, “God, save me¬—please God, save me.”

For a man sometimes, if he is compelled to be humble, seeks repentance. And whosoever repents shall find mercy; and he that finds mercy and endures to the end the same shall be saved.41

I was proselyted by many faiths. I briefly attended a number of different churches. I remember the pastor in a certain church was friendly and gave me a Bible. He outlined the passages of scripture that I should read to begin to establish a relationship with the Lord. The pastor invited me to read and pray on my own, privately, to know whether or not the things of the gospel were true42. The pastor explained the function of the Holy Spirit43, that it is a witness for the truth. He explained, "The Holy Spirit is like a light44 that is born at the very center of your heart45 ." I began to feel the burning sensations in my heart46 when we would discuss the gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt overwhelmed and inspired by the Holy Spirit47 as I read the scriptures. I prayed sincerely48 to ask God about Jesus Christ49. Is Jesus Christ the Savior of the world? “Never man spake like this man.”50 As I humbled myself to pray, I felt like a little child51 who was asking his father about the world for the first time. To whom shall we go?52 And Father in Heaven53 revealed54 the truth to me55. “Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leads unto life, and few there be that find it.”56

During that period while I was struggling to find my way in life, my father told me that the way he overcame his difficult times was through practicing the teachings of certain self-help books. My father had given me many of the same books to read in an attempt to help and inspire me. Out of all the books that my father had given me to read regarding self-help and success, one stood out above the rest: you guessed it,
"The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People." I read the book several times and also listened to it on tape and compact disc. The first time I read the book and finished it, something touched my heart.57 I knew it was true. There was something different about the book. It gave me hope that there were upright and honest people in the world who wanted good for others and lived by principles. I wanted to know more about Stephen Covey, who he was and where he got his information for his book. I would go to the Franklin Covey store to buy new books. While there, I inquired of the employees and manager about who Stephen Covey was, where he was from, and what he was like. I wanted to find the source58 of the information.

I discovered that Stephen Covey was from Utah and that he was an active member of the Mormon Church. I knew nothing about the Mormons. I had heard the word Mormon59 but didn't know what it meant. I figured that Stephen Covey must have gathered a lot of the information from his religion to write the book, even though the author makes no direct reference to the Church. Consequently, I thought that if Stephen Covey was any good representation of who a Mormon is, then I wanted to know more about the Mormon religion, deducing that it must teach similar values. Wherefore, by their fruits ye shall know them.60 All of the employees that worked in the Franklin Covey store were members of the Church, and I became friends with them. One day during a religious discussion in the Franklin Covey store, my new friends invited me to attend church. I said that I would consider it. After an hour of contemplation, I returned to accept the invitation to attend the Mormon church for the first time the coming Sunday. “Thus we see that by small and simple means great things are brought to pass.”61

On March 7, 1999, I attended the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time. One month later on April 4, I was baptized. I received the gift of the Holy Ghost and was confirmed a member of the Church. On May 8, 1999, I was ordained to the office of priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. On March 5, 2000, I was ordained to the office of elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood. One month later, I received my patriarchal blessing. I completed the yearlong membership requirement and submitted my mission papers. Three weeks later, I received my own temple endowments. And a week after that, I received my mission call to serve in the Panama City, Panama – Spanish-speaking Mission. On July 5, 2000, after one year and three months of membership in the church, I entered the MTC in Provo. In 2002, I returned home honorably from my mission. In 2005, I was sealed to my wife for time and all eternity in the San Diego Temple. On September 2, 2009, I became a father to my son Wyatt. On August 28, 2011, my wife gave birth to our daughter Saatchi, and we are expecting our third child in January. There is no greater joy in life than having your own children.

If Heavenly Father through his infinite mercy was willing to make something out of my life, he will certainly make something out of you. You are so much further ahead than I was at your age. “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”

The bridge was full of busy sailors rigging phone lines and relieving the at-sea watch. I would be helmsman for the at-sea cargo transfer. The supply ship was making its approach. The deck officer was barking more and more orders. “Helmsman, come right, steady up on course three five zero,” shouted the deck officer.
“Come right steady up on course three five zero—aye, aye, sir,” I acknowledged. As helmsman I had to tune in only on the deck officer’s voice. The helmsman must act on all rudder commands without hesitation and doubt. Only the deck officer was aware of all the possible dangers to the ship. He was kept informed from bow to stern as to the ship’s status. It was his job to dispatch orders for a successful transfer of cargo during this evolution.
Three five zero—I must keep her on course, I thought fervently. Why is it so difficult to steer? It was not this hard to steer when I practiced. The sea conditions are the same as before. I was puzzled. Why was it so difficult to concentrate? Later I realized that the surrounding noise and busyness were causing my difficulty. When I had practiced before, the bridge had been quiet and uncrowded. To steer accurately, I would have to center my thoughts on the compass and cut out all other distractions. The compass and the voice of the officer only will occupy my mind, I silently committed.
Finally the supply ship was alongside. The supply ship’s crewmen made ready to pass the lines to our ship. The supply ship was so close that I could hear orders given by its deck officer. I began to realize the seriousness of my duty. Just a degree off course would be disastrous. Finally the lines and pulleys were all rigged; the cargo transfer had begun.
My concentration was so intense that I did not notice the darkening of the sky. Suddenly the wind shifted and the seas began to boil. The rain beat down in tremendous volume, making it difficult to hear the deck officer’s voice. The ship began to pitch violently, riding up a swell slowly and then rushing down to meet the next wave with a loud clap. It became more difficult to steer. The ship was shifting off course more quickly. Each time the ship slammed through a swell, the hull would shudder from the added strain.
I became fearful. The ship seemed so vulnerable to the power of the sea. Can it take this kind of punishment? Will the rudder continue to meet the demand of the wheel’s turn? I questioned doubtfully. My confidence waning, I thought prayerfully. Surely someone can see my predicament and relieve me! My silent plea went unanswered. I knew that there was no one on board qualified to steer in these conditions. How can I get through this mess? What can I do? I wondered desperately. The pressure to stay on course was smashing me with each crash of the waves.
Suddenly I realized the compass would save me in this dilemma. I had to simply continue to concentrate on the compass and listen for orders. No storm would change the ability of the compass to point the way. Enlightened by this thought, I began to steer with all my might. I realized I could put all my trust in the compass. The compass is not given to mechanical failure. It has no power source to rely on. It points the way without ceasing. The compass would remain true. I could only hope the rudder and propeller would continue to function properly, but in the compass it was safe to put all of my trust. With new hope and confidence, I continued to steer beautifully straight.
The supply ship had finished unloading, and its crewmen were releasing the lines. Many of my shipmates were allowed to go below. I too wanted to relax and go below. Although the tension was over for most of the crew, it was not for me. The supply ship was still dangerously close alongside. My hands were beginning to shake with fatigue. I felt incredibly lonely now because there were only a few remaining crew members on the bridge.
Finally the order came, “Stand easy at the helm!” I thought I would faint. Slowly I stood up straight from my bent position. Looking around, I saw some of my best friends watching me. Their faces went from a deep concern to smiles of relief and joy. They knew it had been tough. Looking out, I saw the supply ship pulling away off the port bow. I noticed that the storm was not the gale I thought it was. The rain had stopped, and the clouds were breaking. The ship had passed through a stiff tropical squall. How could I have panicked so easily when everything I needed was right in front of me? I chastised myself. The captain put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Do you know there was not one time that I looked back at our ship’s wake and found a single bend in it? I had considered terminating the cargo transfer when the squall hit, but your course remained true. This enabled us to complete the transfer. Thanks!” A tremendous feeling of accomplishment filled me. Looking at the compass, I offered a silent thank-you.

For Aileen Akagi, 17, the word crèche doesn’t remind her of only one nativity scene—it reminds her of roughly 600 of them! As a member of the Midway Fourth Ward, Midway Utah Stake, she has volunteered at the Interfaith Crèche Exhibit for three years in a row.
“It’s interesting to see the different styles of nativity scenes,” Aileen says. Seeing how diverse cultures portray the Christ child’s birth reminds her of how well-known the Christmas story is.
Volunteers set up the exhibits, monitor them, and lead children’s activities. Although Aileen has done a little of each, she spends most of her time running the marionette show for children. She organizes young women into groups who perform scenes from the Nativity with puppets. The show runs every 20 minutes.
“The first year we did the marionette show, one little boy brought his grandma to see it four times in a row,” Aileen laughs.
Throughout the show, the young women and audience sing Christmas songs. “One year, we finished by singing ‘Silent Night’ (Hymns, no. 204), and all the children and their parents joined in. It sounded like more than the audience was there—like angels were singing.”

One Sunday when I was a deacon, I was in the foyer with a tray of water passing the sacrament when a woman walked into the building. Dutifully, I approached and handed her the tray. She nodded, smiled, and took a cup of water. She had arrived too late to receive the bread. Shortly after this experience, my home teacher, Ned Brimley, taught me that many aspects and blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ are given to us in sequential order.

Later that week, Ned and his companion came to our home with a memorable lesson. Ned reminded us that there was order to how God created the earth. The Lord took great care in explaining to Moses the order in which He created the earth. First, He started by dividing the light from the darkness, then water from dry land. He added plant life and animals before introducing to the newly formed planet His greatest creation: humankind, beginning with Adam and Eve.

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. …

“And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:27, 31).

The Lord was pleased. And He rested on the seventh day.

The sequential order in which the earth was created gives us a glimpse not only of what is most important to God but also why and for whom He created the earth.

Ned Brimley punctuated his inspired lesson with a simple statement: “Vai, God’s house is one of order. He expects you to live your life with order. In proper sequence. He wants you to serve a mission before you get married.” To this point, Church leaders currently teach that “the Lord expects each able young man to prepare to serve. … Young women … who desire to serve should also prepare” (General Handbook: Serving in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 24.0, ChurchofJesusChrist.org). Brother Brimley continued: “God wants you to get married before you have children. And He wants you to continually develop your talents as you earn an education.” If you choose to live your life out of sequence, you will find life more difficult and chaotic.

Brother Brimley also taught us that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior helps us to restore order to our lives made chaotic or out of sequence by our own or others’ poor choices.

From that time on, I’ve had a fascination with “sequential order.” I developed a habit of looking for sequential patterns in life and in the gospel.

Elder David A. Bednar taught this principle: “As we study, learn, and live the gospel of Jesus Christ, sequence often is instructive. Consider, for example, the lessons we learn about spiritual priorities from the order of the major events that occurred as the fulness of the Savior’s gospel was restored in these latter days.”

Elder Bednar listed the First Vision and Moroni’s initial appearance to Joseph Smith as teaching the boy prophet first, the nature and character of God, followed by the role the Book of Mormon and Elijah would play in gathering Israel on both sides of the veil in this last dispensation.

Elder Bednar concludes: “This inspiring sequence is instructive about the spiritual matters of highest priority to Deity” (“The Hearts of the Children Shall Turn,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2011, 24).

One observation I’ve made is that “sequential order” is a simple, natural, and effective way for the Lord to teach us, as His children, important principles.

We’ve come to earth to learn and gain experience we would not otherwise have. Our growth is unique to each of us individually and a vital component of Heavenly Father’s plan. Our physical and spiritual growth begins in stages and develops slowly as we gain experience sequentially.

Alma gives a powerful sermon on faith—drawing on the analogy of a seed, which, if tended and nourished properly, sprouts from a small sapling into a full-grown, mature tree that produces delicious fruit (see Alma 32:28–43). The lesson is that your faith will increase as you give place for and nourish the seed—or the word of God—in your hearts. Your faith will increase as the word of God begins “to swell within your breasts” (verse 28). That it “swelleth, and sprouteth, and beginneth to grow” (verse 30) is both visual and instructive. It is also sequential.

The Lord teaches us individually according to our capacity to learn and how we learn. Our growth is dependent on our willingness, natural curiosity, level of faith, and understanding.

Nephi was taught what Joseph Smith would learn in Kirtland, Ohio, over 2,300 years later: “For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom” (2 Nephi 28:30).

That we learn “line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little” is again sequential.

Consider the following statements we’ve heard most of our lives: “First things first” or “Feed them milk before meat.” How about “We have to walk before we run”? Each of these axioms describes something that is sequential.

Miracles operate according to sequential order. Miracles occur when we first exercise faith. Faith precedes the miracle.

Young men are also ordained to offices of the Aaronic Priesthood in sequence, according to the age of the one being ordained: deacon, teacher, and then priest.

The ordinances of salvation and exaltation are sequential in nature. We are baptized prior to receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. Temple ordinances are similarly sequential. Of course, as my friend Ned Brimley so wisely taught me, the sacrament is sequential—it begins with the bread, followed by the water.

“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.

“And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it;

“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins” (Matthew 26:26–28).

In Jerusalem and in the Americas, the Savior instituted the sacrament in the exact same order.

“Behold, mine house is a house of order, saith the Lord God, and not a house of confusion” (Doctrine and Covenants 132:8).

Repentance is sequential. It begins with faith in Jesus Christ, even if just a particle. Faith requires humility, which is an essential element of having a “broken heart and a contrite spirit” (2 Nephi 2:7).

Indeed, the first four principles of the gospel are sequential. “We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost” (Articles of Faith 1:4).

King Benjamin taught his people this important truth: “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order” (Mosiah 4:27).

May we live our lives with order and seek to follow the sequence the Lord has outlined for us. We will be blessed as we look for and follow the patterns and the sequence in which the Lord teaches what’s most important to Him. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

If you don't mind hearing a personal story, I'd like to share with you my BYU-Idaho experience. I do so not because I think my story is noteworthy but because it might help those of you who are looking at your next 40 years--or even your next semester--with trepidation.
Canada Trip, 1976
The day after I graduated from high school in 1976, I left with a friend for a weeklong road trip from Utah to Canada. We borrowed my grandma's car and packed it with the essentials: two sleeping bags, several cans of fruit cocktail, and a couple dozen frozen burritos.
The trip was great until the last few days, when we ran out of food and most of our money. Then, somewhere near Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, we noticed that we were almost out of gas. We found a gas station, but the price of gas was 20 percent higher than we had paid in a previous town. Thoroughly offended by this literal example of highway robbery, we kept right on driving, thinking to ourselves, "We'll show them who's smart." Well, 15 miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, we ran out of gas. We hitched a ride back to the town and humbly begged for the use of a gas can. Two hours later we were back on the road, a little humbler, a little poorer, and hopefully a little wiser.
First Semester at Ricks College
I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.
Spiritual Milestones
But I don't want you to think that all of my learning experiences were misadventures with planes and automobiles. I also made some wise decisions. For example, it was during my first semester at Ricks that I decided to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Somehow, I had never done that before. I'd read from the Book of Mormon--I had even taught lessons from it. I could tell you why we have the Book of Mormon and why it's important, and I could bear testimony that it is the word of God. But now a full-time mission was approaching, and I sensed that my conviction about the Book of Mormon was more in my head than in my heart. I knew that as a missionary, I needed more than just a working knowledge of the Book of Mormon--I wanted to teach from the heart!
So I set a goal to finish the Book of Mormon before the Thanksgiving break. I read every day after football practice. This was a life-changing experience. For the first time, the stories I had heard in pieces started flowing together. I could almost see Nephi, Alma, and Captain Moroni; visions of their experiences formed in my mind, and I can still see those images to this day. It was my first real experience "feasting upon the word of Christ,"[1] and it was "delicious to me."[2]
On the day before Thanksgiving, I was in Ether, so I stayed up all night and accomplished my goal. When I finished, I prayed, as Moroni suggests, to "ask God ... if these things are not true."[3] Did I receive a dramatic revelation? No. But I did receive a feeling of peace, consistent with the feelings I had while reading the book. I now had the ingredient that was missing, not just in my mission preparation but in my conversion to the Savior.
At the end of the semester came a rapid succession of spiritual milestones--I received the Melchizedek Priesthood, my patriarchal blessing, my endowment in the temple, and a call to serve in the Texas San Antonio Mission. By March 17, 1977, the young man who ran out of gas in the middle of Idaho and ran out onto the tarmac at the Idaho Falls airport was serving the Lord in the mission field.

My mother died when I was just a year and a half old. I was too young to remember much about her, and my father didn’t talk about her. I know from pictures of her, and from talking with my uncles, that she was a beautiful woman both physically and spiritually. I missed her every day of my young life.
After Mother died, I lived with my grandmother while my father taught school and moved from town to town. Then when I was eight years old, my father, who had remarried, wanted me returned to him. I found myself with a father I didn’t know, and a stepmother and two baby sisters that I didn’t know. Later two younger brothers were added to the family.
I had a difficult time adjusting to a new family. Part of it may have been my fault, but I never did feel accepted. What’s worse, my father was a very strict individual, given to almost insane rages. This did not contribute to family harmony or communication. I can’t say that our life was a very happy one.
It’s been many years since those childhood days. I’ve grown up and have spent my professional life as a pilot, in part providing emergency flights for infants that are seriously ill or injured. It’s a career that demands a practical approach to life. I don’t think anybody could call me over-imaginative or given to hallucinations. I’ve always figured a fact is a fact is a fact.
And the fact is, when I was 13, we were living in a small town, and my bedroom was a little lean-to that was built on the back of the house. I had been physically injured, hurt, and was very, very depressed. That night I lay in bed and cried and prayed. I wanted my mother.
In the quiet darkness, she visited me. I felt her influence. I saw her and she said, “Do not despair. You are deeply loved.” Then she was gone.
I will never forget those words. There was a calm. I felt better and went to sleep.
The next morning I didn’t dare tell anybody what had happened. I was afraid I’d be ridiculed or possibly even punished. I’ve never told anyone about this until today.
And yet this memory has stayed with me through my entire life. The mother I never knew penetrated the veil between our world and the other world. I know a mother’s love is strong enough to do this, because I have experienced it.

Let me speak of another experience where the heart of the widow was in full view. In Samoa, we labor with village councils to gain access for missionaries to preach the gospel. A few years ago, I had a conversation with a chief from a village where the missionaries had been prohibited for many, many years. My conversation occurred not too long after the paramount chief had opened the village to the Church, permitting our missionaries to teach those interested in learning about the gospel and its doctrines.

After so many years, to have this miraculous turn of events, I was curious to learn about what had happened to cause the paramount chief to take this action. I asked about this, and the chief with whom I was conversing replied, “A man can live in the dark for a period, but there will come a time when he will long to come into the light.”

The paramount chief, in opening the village, demonstrated the heart of the widow—a heart that softens when the warmth and light of the truth is revealed. This leader was willing to relinquish years of tradition, confront much opposition, and stand firm so that others might be blessed. This was a leader whose heart was focused on the welfare and happiness of his people rather than on considerations of tradition, culture, and personal power. He gave away those concerns in favor of what President Thomas S. Monson has taught us: “As we follow the example of the Savior, ours will be the opportunity to be a light in the lives of others.”3

The crowd erupts into cheers as Travis, wearing a classy suit, and Amanda, in a beautiful black dress, link arms at the archway decorated with white lights and streamers. Travis and Amanda, prom king and queen, proudly walk through and take their place on the dance floor, joining the rapidly growing circle of teens. Then another young man and young woman walk through, also joining arms. They are prom king and queen, too. In one big way, this dance is different. Everybody is prom queen and king for the evening.

Some years ago I listened intently as a man well beyond middle age told me of an experience in his family history. The widowed mother who had given birth to him and his brothers and sisters had gone to her eternal and well-earned reward. The family assembled at the home and surrounded the large dining room table. The small metal box in which Mother had kept her earthly treasures was opened reverently. One by one each keepsake was brought forth. There was the wedding certificate from the Salt Lake Temple. “Oh, now Mother could be with Dad.” Then there was the deed to the humble home where each child had in turn entered upon the stage of life. The appraised value of the house had little resemblance to the worth Mother had attached to it.

Then there was discovered a yellowed envelope which bore the marks of time. Carefully the flap was opened and from inside was taken a homemade valentine. Its simple message, in the handwriting of a child, read, “I love you, Mother.” Though she was gone, by what she held sacred, Mother taught yet another lesson. A silence permeated the room, and every member of the family made a pledge not only to remember, but also to honor mother.

I really haven’t had much to do with the military. I seemed to live in the in-between times when there wasn’t war. I was thirty-five years of age when the Second World War broke out. Back in Boston, while I was attending a wool auction, they called for all people who were under thirty-six years of age to register. I was thirty-five. I went into an old building, a historical building, called Faniel Hall, in Boston. It’s called the cradle of liberty because it is said that that’s where the meeting was held that resulted in the Boston Tea Party. I remember going to that building, and when I heard and found out what its reputation was, a thrill went down my spine as I thought back on the tremendous sacrifices that our forebears gave in connection with the establishment of this country.

I remember an experience I had in the United States Marine Corps when we came in after being on a long, heavy, forced march. We were tired, hungry, and thirsty. The cooks had prepared a chicken salad to tide us over until our evening meal, and boy, was it going to taste good! A friend and I always paused and blessed the food before we ate. We prayed while the others dived in. Within hours, the whole group was violently ill, except for two—the two of us who had stopped to thank the Lord.

While accompanying President Dieter F. Uchtdorf to Eastern Europe last year, I marveled at the faith and courage of the Saints. One priesthood leader in Ukraine told us of being called to the branch presidency in the spring of 1994, only six months after his baptism. This would require becoming public with his faith and helping to register the Church in the city of Dnipropetrovs’k. It was at a time of uncertainty in Ukraine, and openly showing faith in Christ and in the restored gospel could mean difficulty, including the possibility of losing his job as a pilot.

The priesthood leader told us, “I prayed and prayed. I had a testimony, and I had made a covenant. I knew what the Lord wanted me to do.”31 Courageously, he and his wife went forward with faith, unashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

We had a tough time getting a good photo of Peter Johnson on his bicycle for the cover. It was winter in Utah, and Peter lives in Park City, a ski town that is very snowy in the winter months. The photographer had to wait until there were a couple of warm days so that the snow melted off the pavement. Then he took the photo at an angle so that the snow would not be too obvious in the background. The designer had to fade out the background so it wouldn’t be so noticeable.

“I’m not going to Primary any more if I have to sit by Jimmy,” I told Mom as I got into our car.
“What does Jimmy do that bothers you?”
My sister, Christine, who is two years older than I am, cut in. “He’s a real pain. He’s always pulling someone’s hair or poking them in the side or untying their shoelace. I don’t blame Alan. I wouldn’t want to sit by him, either.”
I looked at her gratefully. It was nice to have an older sister, especially when she agreed with me.
Mom looked at me. “Is that why you don’t want to sit by Jimmy?”
“Yes,” I said. “He always gets me in trouble.”
“How does his being naughty get you in trouble?”
Christina came to my rescue again. “When someone keeps hitting you and pulling your hair, you finally hit him back. Then you’re in trouble too.”
“Is that what happened today, Alan?” Mom asked, looking me right in the eye.
“Well-l-l-l, I can’t just let him hit me for no reason, can I?”
“So you got into a fight in Primary?” Mom asked.
I knew she was disappointed in me. I hung my head and said, “Yes.”
“Did it make you feel better to fight with Jimmy?” she asked me.
“I thought it did then, but now I’m not so sure. You make me feel like I did something bad.”
“Are you sure it’s me that’s making you feel that way?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know. What am I supposed to do when he starts poking and hitting me? I don’t want the other kids to think I’m a wimp. Besides, he hits hard, and it hurts.”
Just then, Dad got in the car. I was thankful that Mom didn’t say anything about my fighting in Primary as Dad started the car and drove home.
Later in the afternoon, though, Dad came to my room. “Alan, Mom tells me that you had some problems in Primary today. I’d like you to tell me what happened.”
I felt hopeful because he didn’t seem angry. When I finished explaining, he said, “That sounds like a pretty difficult situation, all right. Do you think hitting Jimmy back will stop him from hitting you any more?”
“Well, I hope so,” I answered. “At least he knows I can hit just as hard as he can.”
“Yes, I suppose he knows that,” Dad agreed. “Do you think he likes you any better now?”
“Dad, you must be kidding! He hates me now.”
“Do you like him any better than you did before the fight?”
“How can I like him better after he made me get into trouble with everyone?”
“Alan,” Dad began, “one of the reasons we go to church is to learn to be more like Jesus Christ, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” I answered, “and Jesus would never have hit Jimmy. But, Dad, what would He have done?”
“That’s a good question. Let’s see if we can find an answer.” He opened my Bible to Matthew 18:21–22 [Matt. 18:21–22] and asked me to read it out loud.
“‘Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?
“‘Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.’”
I felt very discouraged. “There is no way I can stand to have Jimmy hit and poke me a zillion times before I can hit him back.”
Dad smiled. “The idea isn’t to wait until you can hit him back.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Let’s look in Matthew 5:43–44 [Matt. 5:43–44]. What does this say that we should do?”
I began reading out loud: “‘Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
“‘But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’”
“Do you understand what Christ is teaching us here?” Dad asked.
“It sounds too hard for me to do.”
“Well, let’s make sure we understand what He is saying. First, He tells us to love our enemies.”
“Maybe I’m bad,” I said looking up at Dad, “but I don’t love Jimmy, not after what he did today.”
“But that’s just it, Alan!” Dad said. “Don’t you think the Savior knew how hard it would be to love our enemies? That’s why He told us how. He said to bless, do good to, and pray for those who do harm to us. He knew that it is very difficult to hate someone you are praying for and doing nice things for. Those kinds of actions change feelings of hate and anger into love and concern.”
I had a hard time believing that and it must have shown on my face. Dad said that he wanted me to try an experiment. He said that it wouldn’t be easy but that I should pray for Jimmy and do good things for him. He said that while I prayed for Jimmy, I should also pray that my feelings toward him would be softened.
That night as I knelt to say my prayers, I prayed that Jimmy would be happy. I also asked Heavenly Father to help me like Jimmy. I did that all week long. This part wasn’t too hard. It was the doing-good-things part that I was worried about.
I saw Jimmy only on Sundays because he didn’t go to my school. I didn’t feel ready to sit by him in Primary yet, but I didn’t want him to think I hated him, either. As I thought about it, I really didn’t hate him. I almost felt sorry for him. Maybe Heavenly Father was softening my heart.
All week I tried to think of something I could do for Jimmy. I figured he’d throw anything I gave him back at me, or make fun of me if I tried to do something nice. It was Saturday before I decided what I could do for him—something secret!
I asked Mom for three cookies to give him. I put them into a bag and typed a note on our computer: “To Jimmy, from someone who likes you.”
On Sunday, I asked Sister Lamb, my Primary teacher, if she would give the cookies to Jimmy without telling him whom they were from. She smiled at me and said she’d give them to him at the end of class.
During opening exercises and class, Jimmy made it obvious to everyone that he didn’t want to sit by me. He made several remarks that were pretty rude, but I just bit my tongue and waited. Before the closing prayer, Sister Lamb told Jimmy to stay a minute after the prayer.
I walked out of the room, but I didn’t go far. I wanted to hear what Jimmy said when he got the cookies. “Why are you giving me these?” he asked.
“Oh, they aren’t from me,” Sister Lamb said.
“They must be from you—no one else likes me.”
“No,” Sister Lamb said again.
“Well, who are they from?”
“I promised not to tell,” Sister Lamb said. I heard her closing her books, so I hurried away. I must have been smiling, because when I got in the car, Mom said, “Things must have gone much better in Primary today.”
“Yeah,” I said casually, “everything was OK.” Everything was more than OK. I felt happier than I had in a long time.
For three more weeks, I gave something to Sister Lamb to give to Jimmy. He began telling our class that someone must really like him. I could tell that he liked what was happening. It even seemed to me that he wasn’t as mean and rude as he used to be.
Then Dad asked me how I was doing with my experiment. I told him what had been happening, and he smiled. “That’s great, Alan! It sounds like you’re ready to make him your friend now.”
I looked up at Dad in surprise. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”
“You can’t go on giving him treats forever, Alan. At some point, you know, you have to give yourself.”
“Huh?”
“It sounds to me like Jimmy needs a friend. Maybe you could invite him over to play.”
“But, Dad,” I answered, “Jimmy lives a long way from us. He doesn’t even go to my school.”
“Well, why don’t you see if he can come over next Saturday. I’ll pick him up and take him home.”
“I’m not sure he’d come. And what would we do? I don’t even know what he likes.”
The call was easier than I had thought it would be. Jimmy sounded surprised, but he accepted.
Saturday came. I rode with Dad to Jimmy’s house. I was a little bit nervous when I knocked on his door. He opened it and called to his mother that he was leaving.
On the way home, I asked Jimmy what he liked to do. We soon discovered that we both liked soccer and roller-blading. When we got to my house, I discovered that he was a computer whiz. We spent most the afternoon playing games, drawing pictures, and making up stories on the computer.
When it was time to go, we walked through the kitchen to the car. Mom was baking chocolate chip cookies, and she gave us some as we went out the back door. As he bit into one, Jimmy looked at me suspiciously. “Hey, these are just like the cookies my secret friend gave me at church.”
I laughed. “Maybe you’ll have to come here to get treats from your secret friend from now on.”
“It’s a deal! And you can get treats at my house.”