Gospel Story Finder

It’s funny how you never really appreciate something until it’s gone. At least, that’s how I felt the day I realized that my reputation had become quite ugly. I guess I better back up a bit and tell you how I came to that point.
I’ve been LDS my whole life, and I was always a basically good kid. Then I entered ninth grade. Everything went downhill from there. I was so tired of being teased about being a goody-goody. I never intended to ever do anything really wrong. I just didn’t want to be hassled anymore. So I came up with what seemed like a great plan. Looking back I realize it was pretty stupid.
I decided I would lead a double life. When I was at church or with LDS friends, I would act the part of a perfect Mormon. When I was with my nonmember friends, I would go wherever they went, talk like them, and try to seem like one of them. I figured that as long as I didn’t drink their beer or smoke their pot I was still okay. Unfortunately, I was living a lie with both groups of friends. You can’t get away with a lie for very long. It wasn’t long before my LDS friends started to keep their distance. One girl told me that her mother had told her she couldn’t hang around with me anymore because I smoked pot and drank. She didn’t want her daughter being influenced by me. It just wasn’t true! But how do you convince someone of that when all of your actions point to a different conclusion?
My friends from school started seeing the lie too. My first kiss was in the backseat of a stranger’s car with a boy whose name I didn’t even know. He wanted to go farther than I was willing to. Later, his friend told me it was time I started following through on the life I was claiming to live. My partying friends decided that it was time to prove I was one of them, so they planned a little pot party in my honor for the last day of school. I didn’t go to school that day. It was the coward’s way out, but deep down inside I knew they weren’t really my friends.
That was when I realized how foolish I’d been. I had destroyed my reputation in six short months! My LDS friends didn’t believe a thing I said, and my nonmember friends thought I was a jerk—all talk and no play.
What took a short six months to destroy took years to rebuild. For the next full year I worked very hard to prove to the good kids that I was one of them. Every time I thought I had succeeded my past would come back to haunt me.
The summer after I was in tenth grade our girls’ church basketball team won the regional play-offs. We would be going to the area play-offs 1,000 miles away. We would be traveling with the boys’ team that won the regionals. I couldn’t believe what my coach said about me after that trip. She said that when we left home she had been sure she’d be sending me home early. After all she’d heard about me, she was just sure that I would get into some kind of trouble. She said she was surprised and pleased to discover that I was the best-behaved girl on the trip. I couldn’t believe it! I realized people were still judging me by the friends I’d had over a year ago. I’d never done any of the things people were saying I’d done in the past, but because of the people I’d associated with, the places I’d been seen, and the way I had dressed, everyone assumed I’d done the same awful things my friends had! I was guilty by association. Everywhere I went people were watching, testing me, judging me—all because of some choices I’d made in the past. It was so unfair, yet something I had to live with. You can’t fix a ruined reputation overnight.
Even in my senior year I had to defend my reputation! I met a boy that I really wanted to go out with. Finally, things clicked and we were really talking, the kind of talk where you feel so good and so close to someone. Then he shocked me into reality. I couldn’t believe I was actually sitting there hearing him tell me that he really liked me, but that he couldn’t date me because his standards were different than mine! He wouldn’t date someone who didn’t live the gospel. I was totally speechless. He had heard about things that I had supposedly done over three years ago. It took me several months to prove to him that the stories from my past were rumors and falsehoods. I am amazed to this day that a ruined reputation could have such far-reaching effects. You never know how the things you are doing—or even just pretending to be doing—are going to affect your tomorrows! It’s so much better to keep your reputation clean and intact than to play games with such a valuable possession.
I’d like to be able to say that the story ends there, that I went to college and left my blemished reputation behind me. But there is one more unfortunate chapter. What did my six months of spoiling my reputation do for me? Four years later, it nearly had disastrous consequences. A boy who knew me in ninth grade had moved away from our town to a different state just after ninth grade. He ended up at the same college I did, and when we bumped into each other one day, he introduced me to a friend. I’ll never know what he told him about me, but somehow his friend decided that he had found himself an “easy” pickup. One night, after going out with the friend I’d assumed was a good guy, I found myself trapped in a car with a person who was not prepared to take no for an answer. He actually had the gall to tell me that he “knew all about me” and he wasn’t going to let me go without “his share of the goodies”! I will forever be grateful to a loving Heavenly Father who inspired a campus policeman to patrol the stadium parking lot, “just one more time.”
Please, oh please, learn from my mistake. No number of “friends” or invitations to parties, no degree of “popularity” is worth the years of heartache a ruined reputation can cause you. However, if you find that your reputation is worse than you are, remember that Heavenly Father knows you very well and his judgment is always fair. If you sincerely try, you can eventually reclaim your good name. But how much richer and fuller your life can be if you never let your reputation slip. The value of the gospel in your life is far greater than the cheap, temporary thrill of a moment of being “in.”

There was something different about the group from Las Vegas in the St. George (Utah) Temple. All of them were there to do the ordinance work for their own deceased family members and ancestors. They had participated in a program in which ward members submitted ten times as many names for temple work as they had the year before.

Larry Halsey, bishop of the Las Vegas ward, had been wondering how to help the members of his ward respond more to the spirit of Elijah. Suddenly he realized that, though individuals can accomplish a little by themselves, a ward working together can do a lot more. So in December 1986, he challenged the ward members to each submit the name of one deceased family member or one ancestor for temple ordinance work in 1987. Bishop Halsey then turned to his priesthood executive committee and correlation council for ideas on how to help the members. He says, “I wanted to get rid of the idea that family history research was hard. I thought that few could be intimidated by submitting just one name. And I knew the total results on a ward level could be quite exciting.”

The bishop assigned the high priests group leader to coordinate efforts. The ward leaders began to make brief presentations before the priesthood quorums, the Relief Society, and the youth. In July, Bishop Halsey reemphasized the challenge through a ward newsletter. Though slowly at first, ward members started to take notice.

Because the challenge included all ward members, ward leaders also emphasized preparing members to go to the temple. A temple preparation seminar was started. Home teachers, visiting teachers, and friends also helped less-active members to prepare. The Sunday School contributed by beginning a family history class. The Relief Society called a family history consultant who gave two- to three-minute presentations every week to encourage progress.

By April 1988, enough names had cleared for the ward ancestral temple trip. Eighteen ward members participated that first time—usually only five or six went on the two-hour trip to the St. George Temple.

As news of the experience spread, interest in the project increased. A program on the stake level was initiated. Meanwhile, ward members who had not made the April trip began asking for help to get their records ready. Later, Brother Howard Weisman participated in more than 182 ordinances for his own family.

Brother Weisman and his wife, Terri, were called to be family history consultants and they began visiting with ward members, sitting beside them as the families researched family records, guiding them in what to do. Terri Weisman says, “Many have gathered information and just need to know how to submit or fill in unknown information. We look at our work as missionary work. We teach one on one—part-member and less-active families, young singles, widows and their children, ward and stake leaders—and we challenge them to pray about what they’re doing.”

Bishop Halsey noted that “once the ward members became involved, they learned how simple family history work is and how wonderful the rewards are. The program became self-motivating.”

By the end of 1988, ward members had submitted 1,018 names for work in the St. George Temple. As Sister Weisman points out, “When people do the work for those who are dear to them, they catch the vision.”

Hurricane Rita was no match for Jacob W. During the days immediately following the hurricane, Jacob spent as many as 12 hours each day helping in the bishops’ storehouse, stocking shelves with supplies for relief agencies and for people in need. Sometimes he worked with his father, sometimes with his mother. “I got so good at it that one man called me an expert,” Jacob says. “It felt good to help people get the food they needed.”

The steady buzz of the alarm clanged into my sweet repose.
“Night over again? Oh no!”
Finally its piercing lullaby ceased, and I reluctantly stirred.
“It’s Saturday. Who needs to get up today?”
Then I saw her, sleepily gathering her robe and slippers in the dim light of the morning bedroom, stretching and slowly slipping to the door.
“Maybe she’s sick; I’ll follow.” No, she passed the bathroom. “Maybe it’s a Saturday exam, and she didn’t study during the week.” No again. “What is she getting? A notebook, pencil, and the scriptures? Can this be? Is she ill? Is this any way to act on Saturday?”
I watched her kneel before the couch in prayer, then arise and curl up on the couch, draping a blanket over her. She began to read, then stopped, seemingly to think. (“Aha, getting sleepy! I knew it wouldn’t last.”) But she was writing in her notebook, pausing, reading, writing—she seemed very intent.
Who could this strange girl be? What had motivated this unusual behavior? Then I recognized her. Why, it was me! The new me. The one who is learning what it means to hunger for the gospel.
What can I gain from scriptures and notebooks and thinking before Saturday breakfast? Much, even eternal life. How great it is to hunger for the words of God, to be filled not with bread but with truth. Perhaps I can give you some background as to how I grew into this insight.
“During this time of great excitement my mind was called up to serious reflection.” (JS—H 1:8. Italics added.)
These are the words of Joseph Smith in his boyhood at the time of religious confusion before the Restoration. As I first read these words, I marveled at his youthful capacity to think and reason deeply.
Nephi as a young man also had this gift.
“As I sat pondering in mine heart I was caught away in the Spirit of the Lord.” (1 Ne. 11:1.)
What wisdom in youth! Can we gain that wisdom or is it a special gift to a few?
As I rushed through high school days, pushed by a seemingly full schedule, I felt it would be wonderful to be caught up in the Spirit as Nephi was or to know the Lord as Joseph Smith did, yet I failed to realize, as many do, the necessity of stopping and pondering. They stopped—I didn’t.
What is pondering?
I didn’t know because I hadn’t done any. I thought I was too busy, and you can’t ponder in a hurry.
As I used to read the scriptures (when I managed to take the time), I tried to read them as I read other things—quickly, scanning, in a hurry for story content and maybe a wee bit of wisdom. I didn’t understand that to digest the scriptures, one must go slowly and learn from scratch the forgotten art of pondering. There was too much “living” to do to spend time in quiet meditation, I mistakenly thought.
In the final year of my crowded college days, I was called to teach a Sunday School class. This was the Lord’s gift to me in the form of a challenge so that I could learn to think and to ponder the things of his kingdom. I had to read and reread the scriptures and slowly ferret out the meat of the gospel verse by verse so that I could present these truths to my students. I balked sometimes at the great amount of time I had to give, and yet this gift was precious. It was water for the tiny embryo seed of my soul that had thirsted so long. I learned to a small degree how all the holy men of God learn to know God and the gospel. It is not a gift to a select few, rather a blessing predicated on the law of obedience, long hours, and study.
As I read the scriptures in these early mornings, I learned some of the basics of pondering and searching.
1. Pray always before you begin to read the scriptures. Slow your mind down and be free from this world. Also, pray all the while you read—as certain concepts of the gospel illuminate your soul or as you have questions. Don’t hesitate to call upon your Father.
2. Keep a paper and pencil handy while you read. This is a stimulating activity, and often goals, exciting ideas, or original thoughts will creep into a stale mind.
3. Go slowly! This study is not a race. No longer do you have to finish a prescribed number of chapters before you go to bed. Spend several days with a single chapter or verse. Memorize scripture and it will bloom with hidden meanings you hadn’t been cognizant of, meanings pertinent to your life today.
4. Ask questions as you read the scriptures. As I read the sacrament prayers (“O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it; that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him, and keep his commandments which he hath given them, that they may always have his Spirit to be with them.” [Moro. 4:3; italics added]), I would ask myself these questions and try to answer them:
(a) What does it mean to be sanctified?
(b) Have I shown my Father that I want to take upon myself the name of his Son? How do I show him?
(c) How can I witness that I always remember him?
(d) Do I always remember him? How can I?
Through working out these questions and answering them, I found a deeper self than I had known. Question and then call upon the Lord. As I questioned, the doors of my heart unfolded and left room for the Holy Ghost to dwell in me.
5. Stop many times during the day and ponder the single thought that you have searched out in depth. For instance, consider the truth “love your neighbor as yourself.” Repeat the scripture, question your every action, and keep the thought with you on a small card.
All of this is a matter of making yourself take the time; it’s a daily renewal. You’ll be gratified as it refreshes your viewpoint. There will be a new direction in your life and even daily revelation.
All this pondering leads to the true and deep understanding of the gospel, our mission, and God’s glory. Many times as you ponder you pave the way for the sweet peace of the Holy Ghost to enter your heart and illuminate your entire being with truth. This is the glory of the gospel and the glory of intelligence. As I have experienced these things, I have been full of a burning and exultation beyond compare as my mortal understanding has progressed beyond my mortality even for a brief moment.
“Your bosom shall burn.” (D&C 9:8.)
“Through him who enlighteneth your eyes, which is the same light that quickeneth your understanding.” (D&C 88:11.)
Our beloved prophet Joseph Fielding Smith said, “All my life I have studied and pondered the principles of the gospel and sought to live the laws of the Lord. As a result there has come into my heart a great love for him and for his work and for all those who seek to further his purposes in the earth.” (Conference Report, Oct. 1971, p. 6.)
Take the time to ponder. It is a key to unbelievable joy and knowledge here in mortality.
“I leave these sayings with you to ponder in your hearts, with this commandment which I give unto you, that ye shall call upon me while I am near—
“Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you.” (D&C 88:62–63.)

Karate instructor Mark Tyson couldn’t believe it when a “skinny little blond-headed kid” entered his gym and began winning competitions. But Joshua Bosse, Australian junior middleweight full contact champ, could. The 16-year-old priest attributes his discipline and fitness to following Church standards.
“Keeping the Word of Wisdom gives me an edge over my opponents who don’t,” says Joshua, who is an active seminary student in Tamworth, New South Wales. “The Church is great!”

At the end of 1988 I was enjoying my calling as second counselor in the bishopric in Ciudad Ojeda, Venezuela, but I had a pressing concern. I had been a member of the Church for over a year, but I had not yet received my temple blessings.
One day a friend from the nearby city of Maracaibo came to visit. Before long we had struck up a conversation about spiritual matters.
Suddenly my friend was prompted to say, “Brother Troconiz, I believe that Heavenly Father wants you to go to the temple and receive the eternal blessings He has promised His children.”
“I cannot go,” I replied. “There is no temple here in Venezuela, and a trip out of the country is very expensive. I don’t have the money.”
He thought this over for a moment and then said, “If you really want to go to the temple, Heavenly Father will provide a way for you to go.”
I replied, “If Heavenly Father will provide that kind of help, I will go!”
From that moment on I was filled with faith and hope that I would be able to go to the temple. The next day I called the stake leaders and was told that a trip had been scheduled to the Lima Peru Temple, the closest temple at the time, in January. The trip would cost 16,500 bolivares and would cover the plane ticket, food, and lodging.
The days went by, and the deadline for turning in the money was fast approaching. I tried to earn the money, but I was no closer to having what I needed. My faith never faltered, however. I was that sure that Heavenly Father would provide a way.
Not long before the deadline, I received a telephone call from a former employer. The person calling addressed me by name and said, “You were employed by this petroleum company five years ago. When you left, your benefits were not calculated correctly. Please come in and pick up the check we have issued in your name.”
I went to get the check the next day. When I looked at the amount, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The check had been issued for exactly 16,500 bolivares!
On January 17, 1989, I entered the Lima Peru Temple and received my temple endowment. My friend was right. Heavenly Father had provided a way for me to go to the temple. As Nephi declared, “The Lord is able to do all things … for the children of men, if it so be that they exercise faith in him” (1 Nephi 7:12).

About halfway through my mission, my companion and I were struggling to work well with our ward mission leader. There had been various disagreements, so we decided to talk to the bishop to see what we should do. Deep down, I hoped that the bishop would just have a talk with him and fix our problems for us.
But instead, the bishop had told me that I was being prideful and overly critical of others. I went stomping home feeling misunderstood and frustrated—how could he say that about me? Did he even care about our struggles to share the gospel?
As we walked, I vented my feelings to my companion. But suddenly a phrase came into my head: “The guilty taketh the truth to be hard” (1 Nephi 16:2). It stopped me in my tracks. It was obvious to me that the thought came from the Spirit. My pride may have prevented me from accepting the bishop’s chastisement as truth—but could I really argue with the Holy Ghost?
I was guilty, and God was letting me know it.
In my case, I had convinced myself that I was complaining for the good of the missionary work in our area. And rather than accepting our ward mission leader’s faithful service—imperfect as it seemed to me—I suddenly saw that I was being ungrateful, impatient, and frankly, unkind. Because of the Spirit’s prompting, I could see my actions for what they truly were.
Receiving such direct chastisement from the Spirit was painful, but in the best way. It made me realize that I had to be honest with myself about my flaws.

“There was a guy in my quorum who would only come to activities that were more sports-based. Usually when we focused on Scouts or spiritual things, he wouldn’t come. But I just focused on being his friend and we became best friends. Now every Wednesday it doesn’t matter what we’re going to do. My friend is always asking me if I’m going to go, and as long as I’m going, he’s going to be there.” —Chase W., Georgia, USA

A picture forms on my monitor involving a father aboard an airplane. He has with him his five-year-old son and is almost wishing his son were not there because it is a very rough trip. There are downdrafts and updrafts and some passengers are feeling a bit queasy. Apprehensively, the father glances at his son and finds him grinning from ear to ear. “Dad,” he says, “do they do this just to make it fun for the kids?”
Good parents and family and leaders and friends do go to great lengths to make it fun for the kids, but the fun they are thinking of is wholesome fun; it hurts no one, and it lifts the spirit. It never detracts from the real, long-term joy we came into this world to experience.

“Are you girls excited to see the temple?” Mom asked as she, Natalie, and Stephanie drove to the Detroit Michigan Temple site.
“Yes!” the sisters said.
“Is it true they’re putting the marble on the walls right now?” Natalie asked.
“I think so,” Mom said.
“I can’t wait until it’s done,” Stephanie said. “It’s going to be so pretty.”
The girls were going to a special activity day. They were visiting the new temple while it was still under construction.
When they got to the temple site they met their group of girls and their leader, Sister Jones.
Walking around the construction site, Sister Jones told stories of the Kirtland and Nauvoo Temples and the early Latter-day Saints.
“They built temples and then were run out of their towns. They had to leave behind the beautiful buildings they had spent so long making,” Sister Jones said. “We are blessed to have the temples that we do today, and to now have a temple so close to us.”
Natalie looked at the temple and imagined what it would be like to have to leave it after working so hard to build it. It made her sad.
“Do any of you know what blessings the temple gives us?” Sister Jones asked.
Kelsy raised her hand. “My family was sealed in the temple.”
“That’s right! People are married and sealed together in the temple so their families can be together forever. What other blessings are there?”
“Baptisms for the dead,” Natalie said. “That’s when people are baptized for people who aren’t alive anymore so they can choose to be members of the Church if they want.”
“Very good,” Sister Jones said. “Those are just some of the blessings we can receive in the temple.”
Natalie was excited to do baptisms for the dead when she turned 12. On her own baptism day she had felt clean and peaceful, and she wanted to share that feeling with others. Natalie felt important knowing she could do something to help people who had passed away.
“I have a gift for each of you,” Sister Jones said. She opened a bag and pulled out a piece of white stone.
“This is a piece of the same marble they are using to make the temple. I got special permission to give each of you one piece.” Sister Jones handed out the pieces of marble. “I want you to keep your marble in a special place to remind you of the temple and the blessings that the temple gives us. Can you do that?”
“Yes!” the girls said.
“I also want to challenge you to make goals to be worthy to enter the temple to do baptisms when you are 12, and to be married in the temple when you are older. The temple is a special place, and I want each of you to be a part of it,” Sister Jones said.
Natalie held her piece of marble tightly. It was white and beautiful and reminded her of being clean. She knew she wanted to be worthy to go inside the temple someday.
“I promise to remember the temple. I will go inside someday,” she said to herself. As she held the marble close to her heart, it felt like she was holding a piece of the temple there as well.

One Christmas experience is especially poignant. After describing his destitute circumstances and his feeling that all about him seemed to have so much, he describes a trip he made to town one day before Christmas to buy “something for my chicks.”
“I wanted something to please them, and to mark the Christmas day from all other days—but not a cent to do it with! I walked up and down Main Street, looking into the shop windows … everywhere—and then slunk out of sight of humanity and sat down and wept like a child until my poured-out grief relieved my aching heart; and after awhile returned home, as empty as when I left, and played with my children, grateful and happy … for them.”

A few days before my final year of seminary was about to begin, Brother Fernández, our new teacher, came to my house. He asked my sister and me to join with him and his wife in singing a hymn about the First Vision in sacrament meeting. I had never sung in public before. I had always felt that my voice wasn’t good enough. But I felt I couldn’t refuse, so I agreed to try.
The hymn was unfamiliar to me. A few days before the performance, Brother Fernández loaned us a cassette so my sister and I could learn our parts.
On the Friday before we were to perform, my throat started hurting. I went to bed early that night, but I couldn’t sleep and had a hard time breathing. My body hurt all over.
I got up the next day complaining of the pain, and my mother advised me to see the doctor. The doctor gave me some medication and sent me home to rest.
I spent that day in bed. My family was frightened because my fever wasn’t going down. I prayed a great deal, asking Heavenly Father to help me get better.
When I woke up on Sunday, I felt much better and went to church. After I shared my testimony about how seminary has blessed me, it was time to sing. I didn’t feel well prepared, but I knew that Heavenly Father knew my situation and would help me.
My seminary teacher, his wife, my sister, and I sang about the Prophet Joseph Smith’s vision of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and how we are called to serve in Their work. Later the members complimented us, but my greatest satisfaction came from having sung to the Lord with all my strength.
I am so grateful for the gospel, because I know that when I pray, I’m talking to my Father in Heaven. He hears me. He loves me and knows my needs.

My family and I moved to Saudi Arabia when I was 16 and my younger brother, Scott, was 14. Because there are no English schools there for high school students, Scott and I went to a boarding school in the neighboring country of Bahrain, where we were the only dorm students who were Mormons. Although we also were the only dorm students who regularly attended church, and we didn’t smoke, drink, or put pinups in our closets, most people didn’t suspect that we were Mormons. And that was fine with me. If they asked about my beliefs, I would tell them; if not, fine. Who wants to be laughed at? I didn’t hide my candle under a bushel exactly, but I didn’t put it up on a hillside either.
Then came the second year—and an entirely different situation. It began when Scott was assigned to give a report on Brigham Young in his U.S. History class. I helped him gather his information on the persecution of the Saints, the move west, the building up of the Salt Lake Valley, and President Young’s accomplishments and how they affect the world today. Although I wanted Scott to give a good report, I was concerned that people would laugh at our “weird beliefs.”
I didn’t see my brother after that class or any time during the school day to ask him how it had gone. But after school a group approached me at the snack bar—the same group that went out drinking on weekends and sneaked out of the dorm at night.
“Hello, Wes. Is it really true that you are a Mormon?”
“Oh no, here it comes,” I thought. I just knew that they were going to ask me to sing some Tabernacle Choir songs for them. I answered, “Yes, it’s true.”
They responded with, “Far out!” Then they told me that they wished they had something to believe in, and they wondered how I could be so straight and yet still get along with everyone. As I listened to their comments, my surprise grew; I had never expected such a reaction!
From then on, my brother and I talked and talked about the Church. Friends came to us. Teachers at the school began reading the Book of Mormon and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. A few of my friends began attending Church with me. My best friend went from being an atheist to bearing his testimony in church. Although none were baptized at that time, I know that some were converted.
I have since graduated, and of all the classes I took and the things I saw while living in Bahrain, that was the most outstanding lesson I learned. I came to know how true it is that the people of the world are looking for the joy that the gospel brings. It is not enough to not hide your candle under a bushel, but as every member is a missionary, it is our duty to put it up on the hill for all to see.

I remember entering junior high. I was afraid no one would be my friend and it was scary. But then I became more assertive. When I walked down the hall, I walked tall with my head up and made eye contact with everyone I met. I said hello to everyone and eventually people started answering back. Many would stop to talk with me. Others sat by me at lunch. Gradually, I learned that when you look like you are having fun, people want to be around you because they want to have fun too.
Christa Marie Casper, 19,Chatsworth, California

That upward reach, drawn from a knowledge of divine doctrines, transforms souls! May I share an illustration with you? Once, Sister Nelson and I were invited to the humble home of Polynesian Saints who had relatively recently joined the Church. By walking carefully on wooden planks, we approached their house, built on wooden piles emerging from the floor of the sea. We climbed a ladder to enter their little one-room dwelling. As we were invited to be seated on freshly woven grass mats, we could peek through holes in the floor and view sea water below. That home was starkly devoid of furniture, except for a used sewing machine provided by sisters of the Relief Society. But the love and warmth of this special family were apparent as our visit continued.

“We would like to sing for you,” the father said through an interpreter. He put one arm about his wife and the other about the children, as did his wife. Five little ones, dressed in newly sewn clothing, joined their parents in singing songs the father had composed.

Concluding, he said: “These songs express our feelings of deep gratitude. Before we joined the Church, we had so little. Now we have so much!”

While wiping tears from our moistened cheeks, Sister Nelson and I looked at each other, comprehending that the gospel brings spiritual wealth which may bear little relation, at first, to tangible abundance. Conversely, people with plenty can be spiritually poor. Yet the Lord is concerned for them all!

“Officer Lansberg, re-e-port to the control room. It’s urgent!”
The sharp command, coming over the intercom, drew me from my scriptures. Turning on the microphone, I said, “Lansberg acknowledging. I’ll be right up.”
Leaving my quarters immediately, I started down the hall to the transit port. As I passed an external viewscreen, I couldn’t help but pause and look at it. There, on the screen, was the Milky Way spread out before me.
The words that I’d read from the book of Moses, just moments before, ran through my mind:
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten. … For behold, there are many worlds that have passed away by the word of my power. And there are many that now stand, and innumerable are they unto man; but all things are numbered unto me, for they are mine and I know them” (Moses 1:33, 35).
Those words, unlike some things, seemed to have grown more impressive with the continuing conquest of space.
“They’re waiting for you, Mike!”
Bishop Gentry’s jolly voice pulled me out of my reverie. He was a transport skid operator and had been dispatched to pick me up.
I hurried to the port and boarded the skid. It shot out of its port like a bullet, humming moderately as it clung gondola-like to the track that would carry it across the ceiling of the agricultural dome to the control room at the top.
I was the youngest officer in Delta Colony, but being a teenage prodigy with a flair for history and physics had made me a natural for my position.
Since I was the investigator of extragalactic phenomena I rarely had to respond to an emergency call. Most problems that arose did not involve me, and a majority of those that did could wait until my regular shift.
“You have any idea what’s up, Bishop?” I asked.
“None at all.”
Bishop Gentry, leader of our small ward, always gave direct and concise answers. After a short pause he picked up the conversation.
“I received a bulletin from Church headquarters today.”
Earth seemed almost nonexistent when one lived on a giant metal cylinder, four light-months outside the “edge” of the galaxy. I sometimes marveled that anything from Church headquarters could ever reach us.
“Anything new?” I said, adding, “Did the millennium begin yet?”
He chuckled heartily, “No, nothing like that. It was a statement from the First Presidency, reemphasizing the importance of serving a mission—which reminds me of something. You’ll be 19 in one more week and you haven’t begun to work on your papers yet. I know that you’ve been preparing, I know that you’re worthy, and up until now you’ve been eager. What’s the matter?”
Well, imagine how it feels. You’re in a swiftly sliding aluminum box, 200 feet above the floor, only your bishop with you, and he’s just asked you a question that jabs to the center of your conscience.
“Bishop,” I said, “I’ve seen more of the galaxy than anyone my age ever has, and more than most people ever see in their entire life. A mission would be somewhat anticlimactic.”
I was prepared for him to ask me how I could know that, but instead he asked, “How do you intend to spend the time that you would otherwise spend on a mission?”
“Bishop,” I answered in mock complacency, “with two more years at Antares Academy I could be appointed governor of this colony, or one like it.”
As we pulled into the port, Bishop Gentry responded, “Mike, I agree that to be a governor at 21 would be an unmatched achievement, and I’m confident that you can do it, but would it be that much worse to be a 23-year-old governor?”
I figured that if I made a hasty exit then I could get in the last word, but the door was jammed.
“It’s not just the time, Bishop,” I answered, poking the open button harder than before. “It’s the money, too. I only have so much, and mission and education costs have both become quite astronomical.”
By then I’d resorted to tugging on the door, to no avail. Disgusted, I turned away from the door and saw the cause of my minor dilemma. The bishop was holding his finger on the override lock.
“I just wanted to make sure that I clearly understood every word you had to say,” he commented, wearing one of those smiles that you just can’t get angry at.
As I stepped out of the skid he continued, “Pray about it. Some things, like what God expects of men, are absolute, and endure much longer than the stars.”
Then, much to my surprise, he added, “Remember, the Lord didn’t just tell Moses that he’d made everything. He also said, ‘They are mine,’ and that includes you and me.”
Flashing one last smile, he closed the door.
I stood speechless on the deck as the skid darted away. Did he know that I’d been reading Moses just five minutes before? Could he?
I didn’t have time to ponder those questions. I’d been summoned on an emergency call, and it would require my total attention.
The door to the control room slid open as I entered. Commander Jackson was waiting for me.
“Glad you could make it,” he said, in his stern, deep voice.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“We’re picking up an SOS.”
I stopped where I was. The gentle tapping of fingers against keyboards, and the rhythmic clicking and buzzing of 30 computer consoles bridged the momentary silence. I was puzzled.
“Commander,” I asked, “How am I supposed to help with that? What does that have to do with extragalactic phenomena?”
“The signal didn’t come from out there,” he said, indicating a screen that displayed the Milky Way. “It came from out there,” and he gestured to a screen showing a few clusters of stars, some scattered patches of light, and farthest away, little dots resembling stars.
Every object visible on the screen was a separate galaxy. The signal had come from deep space, much farther out than any official manned mission had ever been sent. No independently funded missions had been undertaken since the Space Bureau had instituted laws against them, one and a half centuries before.
“Who could it be?” I murmured.
“Well,” the commander answered, “it’s obviously not an alien. The transmission is in English. Besides that, there are no spacecraft at the signal’s point of origin.”
“An SOS signal that comes from nothing,” I remarked, “is definitely in my department.”
I thought a moment. There were just a few possible solutions, even including the most improbable ones.
Interrogating the control room staff, I asked, “Are there any malfunctions in the communications system?”
“Negative, sir,” a crewman responded. “We’ve already checked that out.”
“How about a mirage?” I continued. “Is there an ion cloud out there, or anything that the signal could be bouncing off of?”
“Negative, sir,” another crewman answered. “Sensors indicate no ion clouds, and no stray matter for at least a 50-mile radius of the signal’s origin.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I turned back to the commander. I could see just one possibility remaining, though it seemed unbelievable.
“Commander,” I said, “whether it’s a renegade independent from Earth or something more bizarre, I can’t say, but there’s only one place that the signal can be coming from. I’ll need three star scouts, one outfitted with a boarding mechanism, and I’ll need a salvage shuttle as well, with full crews in each craft. I don’t know if the broadcaster can receive a message, but transmit it anyway: ‘Received, awaiting arrival.’ I’ll be in the boarding star scout.”
As I turned to leave, the commander asked, “Where is it coming from, Lansberg?”
Well, when your commanding officer asks you a question, you can’t very well avoid it, however controversial you know the answer will be.
I looked right into Commander Jackson’s steely eyes and said confidently, “Hyperspace,” and quickly departed, certain that the commander thought me to be “space happy.”
Hyperspace was an old theory based more on conjecture than on fact. It had begun with the idea that the three dimensions—length, breadth, and depth—representing space, were not alone; everything had a fourth dimension—duration—representing time. From that a concept of a fifth dimension developed: hyperspace, a bridge or tunnel traversing space and time. If a person wanted to move from one place to another, in much less time than it would take to travel in space, he could travel in hyperspace. It was the long sought “northwest passage” of space travel. I had neither accepted the idea nor rejected it. Theory is theory; fact is fact.
As we waited in space, near the origin of the signals but as far away as caution dictated, I talked on the radio with Commander Jackson.
“Lansberg,” he said, “if you didn’t have such a good track record you’d be under psychiatric observation right now.”
I responded with respect, “Commander, I admit myself that it sounds insane, but frankly, it’s all I can think of. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“No way. This is your territory. Besides, if you’re right, it could revolutionize space travel. Your competence in the past gives me every reason to trust you now, incredible as your idea is.”
“Thank you, sir,” I answered.
An hour passed, and another as well, before anything happened. In the middle of the third hour the SOS signal stopped. Simultaneously, a bright light appeared at the exact point that had been the signal’s origin. It immediately widened and opened until it became the border of a great circle through which a delta-winged spacecraft was passing.
The craft, three times the size of a star scout, was dwarfed by the ring of light, as it came smoothly through the center of the circle. Twenty vessels just like it could have passed through side by side.
What a picture! A tiny spacecraft coming through a giant ring of light, the end of what seemed to be a conduit to another galaxy, for behind it stars blazed in glory! A closely knit cluster of at least 5,000 stars, seen through the ring, paraded before us in majesty, beckoning us to charge through after them.
When the mysterious craft had swiftly passed beyond the ring of light, the passage through hyperspace shut up tightly, just as it had opened.
As the vessel drifted in space near us, I unsuccessfully attempted to restore radio contact. I then instructed my pilot to maneuver our star scout to search for damage and identifying marks.
As we circled the craft, it seemed to be undamaged. If any of us still harbored any secret desires that we’d made contact with an extraterrestrial, they were quickly dissolved when we discovered an identifying mark on the nose of the craft. What appeared to be its name was written in neat bold letters: SPACE BEAGLE.
After a short search we located a hatch on the Space Beagle’s underside. A dull thud reverberated throughout our vessel as I sealed the boarding tube to the strange craft’s hull. When the gravity-free tube had been pressurized, a section of our star scout’s floor slid open, disclosing the entrance to the tube. When I looked in, I was surprised to see some colored light emanating from the opposite end. The hatch on the other craft had already been opened.
I was to board the Space Beagle solo for the initial investigation. I grasped some handles inside the boarding tube and pulled myself through the hole.
I floated effortlessly towards the opposite hatch. It was strangely different than floating in open space. In space I would have heard no sound, but there I heard the sounds of movement from my craft as they blended with the mystical, musical whisperings that ebbed and flowed from the curious vehicle that I was approaching.
As I entered the Space Beagle I twisted my body so that I wound up landing in a gentle squat on the floor next to the hatchway. While I sat there a strange rhapsody filled the air around me.
Standing up, I looked around the chamber that I was in. Lights on various consoles, reds, greens, and blues, flashed incessantly, creating a hypnotic strobe effect throughout the room.
The eerie music continued as my senses were subjected to a deluge of visual images. Video units lined each wall, alternately showing pictures of planets, stars, and galaxies. Flashing shots of ancient stone structures mingled with shots of desolate landscapes, as well as open meadows and green hills, not unlike those of Earth.
Some screens flashed pictures of chartreuse skies, and others of crimson snow.
Most fascinating of all, in the center of the room was a highly advanced holographic display that intermittently presented many of the images on the screens as three-dimensional moving objects, synchronized with the shifting musical tones that filled the air.
Indigo lions stalked on a lavender veldt. Dragons soared across distant horizons. Living cells seemed to grow larger and larger, until I saw DNA, the double helix, spinning before my eyes.
Elements mixed and changed. Continents slipped beneath seas. Planets broke up to dust, stars exploded in fury, and entire galaxies pulsated with light in front of me.
In no other place that came to my mind could such a comprehensive treasury of knowledge of the universe be found.
Then the words I’d read that morning once again occurred to me, “And worlds without number have I created … for mine own purpose … numbered unto me … they are mine and I know them.” As if that wasn’t enough, the phrase “they are mine” became stuck in my brain on a constant replay.
As I stood, awestruck at the scope of what I was experiencing, the music suddenly stopped, and I heard a deep and tired sounding voice, gentle to my ear, say, “Does my collection please you?”
Looking around I saw no one. I answered the question, “Yes,” adding, “Who are you?”
“I’m just a man like you,” the voice replied. “I’m in an adjacent chamber. When I lived on Earth I was called Desmond Jeffress.”
“Desmond Jeffress?”
“My, but that is sweet. That’s the first time I’ve heard my name spoken in more than 300 years.”
“You’ve been in space that long?” I asked, gasping at so profound a claim. Only the reality of hyperspace would allow such a thing.
The voice simply answered, “Yes.”
“You sent an SOS. What kind of help can I give you?”
A door at the other end of the room opened, revealing a brighter, more substantial light behind it.
“Come here, please,” the voice said.
Still somewhat mesmerized, I complied with the request.
The chamber that I entered was apparently a combination control room and observation deck. The Milky Way, Delta Colony, the salvage shuttle, and the other two star scouts were clearly visible on a wall-size screen that could easily have been mistaken for a window.
A circular console in the center of the room held dials and gauges that I was unfamiliar with, and seated in its center, in a large, well-cushioned chair, was the oldest looking man I’ve ever seen. Long silver hair flowed over his shoulders to the middle of his back, and a beard of the same color reached to his knees.
Looking directly at me with soft, brown eyes, he said, “I’m dying. I’ve lived more than 300 years, and I’ve barely an hour left.”
I almost felt hurt. I’d just met a man with a broader range of experience than anyone else I’d ever met, and he had less than an hour to share his knowledge with me.
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he responded. “That’s why I sent the SOS. I didn’t want to die alone, and, more important, I didn’t want to have lived in vain.”
“Three centuries before you were born I began my chronicle of the universe. Though there are countless planets, stars, and galaxies that I have never approached, I have nevertheless chronicled a total of 237 galaxies with 100 trillion stars and 600 trillion planets. I was able to visit exactly 200,000 of those planets, if only for a moment. If it sounds like I’ve been busy, I have. Never for an instant have I been idle. My last wish was to see all that I have learned safely delivered into another human’s hands. Since that is now assured, I should be able to die knowing that my life was not in vain. Still … still, something is not right.” He paused a moment, wheezing slightly. “I should feel at peace, but instead I’m more anxious than before.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“I believe,” he said, “that my mind is still troubled on one matter, on one foolish little matter.”
“What is that?”
“I had,” the old man recalled, “before I went into space, been somewhat of an atheist. I’ve always been analytic and cannot accept anything as true until it has been proven by experimentation. Not long after my voyages began, I found myself believing in God. I had become aware of a pattern, of a design in the universe, and observing mankind’s potential to control it, I felt a relationship, a descendency if you will, with some remarkably infinite power, maybe even a living, tangible being.
“From then on all of my experiments and voyages, of which my journals and chronicles became but by-products, were whole-hearted efforts to prove the existence and nature of God. All my knowledge was continually applied to this single purpose. I was determined to prove God, so that I could know, and not just feel, that he lives.
“However, despite all of my efforts, the most powerful evidence was nothing more than a strong indication of what I believed. It always left room for doubt.
“I’ve been almost everywhere and seen almost everything, and still have no proof that God exists. I’m a scientist believing something with no definite proof of its validity. That is my anxiety.”
I thought his method of research had been like someone trying to learn about a sculptor by studying his statues. He had been experimenting through the wrong medium.
“Have you ever asked God?” I inquired.
“How is that done?” he replied.
I then proceeded to bear my testimony to him. My testimony of God, that he is the Creator, that he is everyone’s Father in Heaven, of the premortal existence, of the plan of salvation, and of the atonement of Christ, and that Jesus is the Only Begotten Son of God; my testimony of all these things fell from my lips with more power than it ever had before.
We talked. In the short time available, our conversation must have touched upon nearly every principle of the gospel.
I told him that I did not just believe the things I’d said. I explained that I knew them by the power of the Holy Ghost, through prayer, that being the only way that anyone could know.
He then prayed one of the most fervent prayers that I’ve ever heard. He ignored my presence in the room as the words of supplication rolled smoothly off from his tongue, and when he ended his prayer, he knew! One quick glance at his tear-washed eyes and it was clear: he knew!
He looked up, right at me, and he said, “Young man, contained in this spacecraft is knowledge accumulated from more than three centuries of constant research, as I traveled from one galaxy to another, and never has it meant more to me than it does now.”
His eyes held mine in a firm stare as he continued, “The knowledge that you have shared with me for the last hour is more important than all the rest of the knowledge I’ve gathered put together. Thank you,” he said.
The moment that he finished uttering those words his final breath wheezed from his lungs. Silence permeated the air.
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, hoping that someplace his spirit could hear, and added, “Thank you, Desmond Jeffress.”
The entire procedure of impounding the Space Beagle seemed almost melancholy after that. Those who had wondered what had consumed so much of my time while I had been in the vessel were satisfied when they had seen the tremendous storehouse of knowledge within the craft.
The immense value of the Space Beagle to science was obvious. It would prove to open a new renaissance in space travel. No longer would it take years to cross the galaxy. The doors to other galaxies were wide open, and, with the charts provided by one who had been there before, no one would have to travel blindly.
As far as I’m concerned, the greatest results could not have been filed in a library. After I had received credit for the safe recovery of the Space Beagle and its priceless cargo, the League of Interstellar Earth Colonies granted me a full scholarship to Antares Academy.
I was very honored, but I politely and cheerfully declined. I already had a message to share that was more important than anything that the academy could teach me. Besides, the Lord expected me to serve a mission.

The reality of these situations must be seen to be believed. In winter I met, amongst many others, a pregnant woman from Syria in a refugee transit camp desperately seeking assurance that she would not need to deliver her baby on the cold floors of the vast hall where she was housed. Back in Syria she had been a university professor. And in Greece I spoke with a family still wet, shivering, and frightened from their crossing in a small rubber boat from Turkey. After looking into their eyes and hearing their stories, both of the terror they had fled and of their perilous journey to find refuge, I will never be the same.

My wife and I likewise wanted Jesus Christ’s miraculous compassion to heal our newborn daughter. Doctors had discovered a large mass in her abdominal cavity. They diagnosed her with infantile neuroblastoma. Because she was just two weeks old and the malignant (cancerous) mass was large, her prognosis was not hopeful.

Filled with faith in Christ’s ability to heal her, I gave her a priesthood blessing before we went to the children’s hospital. During that experience, no words came to my mind. It was blank. Seeking to muster any words possible, the only phrase I could utter was, “You are in God’s hands.”

Disheartened by that experience, we headed to the children’s hospital where the medical team would perform surgery to biopsy the mass, see how far it had spread, and determine what, if anything, they could do for our daughter. Before the surgery, I again gave my daughter a priesthood blessing and had the exact same experience as before; I could utter only the words, “you are in God’s hands.”

After handing our daughter to the surgeon, my wife and I wept bitterly. When our bodies were unable to produce any more tears, I sat in frustration. I began to wonder if the compassionate miracle we had sought was not given because my faith or worthiness was insufficient. Why had Christ performed so many amazing acts of compassion for others but would not do so for us?

I felt prompted to read the story of Lazarus found in John 11. The interaction between Christ and Martha stood out to me. It felt like Martha was hoping for the same thing I was hoping for, that it was not too late for my daughter to still be miraculously healed. In response to Martha’s request, Jesus Christ said, “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?” (John 11:25–26)

At this moment, it felt like Jesus Christ was talking to me. I felt that if I had eyes to see, Christ would have been sitting next to me waiting for my reply to His question. As I pondered my answer, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes, I do believe in the Son of God and all that He offers.”

Another question came to mind: “What has Jesus Christ made possible for children who die before the age of accountability?”

Again, in my mind, I replied, “That all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (Doctrine and Covenants 137:10).

“Do you believe this?” was the response. Again, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes.”

The thought came into my mind, “Then you understand that she will be with God and can still become like God. What more do you want for her? You can enjoy that life with her as well when you stay faithful to the temple covenants Jesus Christ has revealed.”

I concluded that the greatest miracle in my life would always be the Atonement of Jesus Christ. There was nothing I wanted more for my daughter than for her to receive all of the blessings Jesus Christ has made available through His atoning sacrifice and sacred temple ordinances. A compassionate miracle was given to us—the miracle that matters the most.

One Saturday evening after returning from an FSY conference, I decided to go check out a job opportunity in the outskirts of town—a long distance from where I live. As I was trying to get back home afterwards, I stood by the roadside waiting for a bus, but none going in my direction came.
As I waited, I noticed a man nearby who also seemed to be looking for transportation. Just then, a cab driver slowed down in front of me. At first, I was hesitant. From the way he approached, it seemed he was offering a “drop,” which is what we call a private ride—and I wasn’t prepared to pay that much. So I told him I wasn’t looking for a drop, just a ride to the next bus stop. To my surprise, he agreed as though that was fine. Feeling it was OK, I got into the car. At that moment, I thought I was the only passenger in the car.
The man I had seen earlier then walked quickly toward the cab. He got into the back seat in a way that made it seem like we were friends traveling together, even though we were complete strangers. Still, I thought it was just him at the back seat and me in the front with the driver.
As we started driving, I began to feel pressure on my back—someone’s knee was pushing against my seat. At first, I ignored it. But when it happened again and again, I grew uncomfortable, so I turned around to see who it was. To my shock, there was another man sitting directly behind me—someone I had not realized was in the car at all. This startled me deeply, because when I got into the car earlier on, it looked completely empty.
This realization quickly gave way to deeper concern. Why had the driver stopped for me and acted as though the car was empty if someone was already inside? And why was the unknown man sitting directly behind me—hidden from my view as I entered—instead of behind the driver where I would have easily seen that someone was already in the cab? To keep me unsuspecting, the second man who joined after did not enter through the back door behind me—which would have revealed the hidden passenger—but quickly went around to the other side and entered behind the driver, making it appear as though he was the only passenger in the back seat. This meant there were two people in the back, not one, and the situation immediately felt wrong.
At that point, an overwhelming sense of fear came over me. The driver’s expression and the suspicious seating arrangement made me feel strongly that the three men were working together and possibly planning something bad. I could almost see it on the driver’s face that there was something sinister about their intentions.
Despite my fear, I remained calm and firmly told the driver to stop the car, and then he pulled over. I quickly got out, paid the fare, and walked away. He drove off without saying anything.
Reflecting on the situation, it became clearer to me that I had narrowly escaped danger. Whether it was kidnapping or robbery, I believe their plan was to lure me into a false sense of security. I realized that the hidden passenger, who kept pressing his knee against my seat, was in a way testing me—checking to see whether I was alert and attentive enough to notice. If I had not reacted, they might have assumed I was distracted and moved forward with their plan to attack me.
That day, I learned an important lesson: always be alert and attentive to your surroundings, no matter how ordinary the situation seems. I also learned that God, who loves us more than we can comprehend, often gives us clues or signs when danger is ahead. If we remain alert and sensitive to the Spirit, we can discern these warnings that will help us escape the dangers ahead and be safe.

Now I add this does not represent the surrender of his free agency. Brother Maeser in spite of his obedience was very vigorous in the expression of his feelings. Another incident will illustrate.

During his labors in England he met a very wealthy and well-educated man who became very much interested and impressed with Brother Maeser and invited him to bring some of the missionaries to have dinner with him at the hotel. The table manners of the elders were so annoying to Brother Maeser that he said later: “I will go through poverty, I will suffer persecution, I will go to hell with the elders, but I will not go to dinner with them again.”