Gospel Story Finder

Once while travelling from Egypt back to Jerusalem, we were at a border crossing in the middle of the desert. There was no mosque and we were waiting for a bus to come and take us along our journey home. We noticed a young Muslim man who was waiting with us leave our group and found a cardboard box that he flattened out. He picked it up and went a ways off the road into the desert and looked up into the sky to get his bearings and set the flattened box on the ground and then proceeded to pray towards Mecca. I was at first amused but then quickly rebuked as I admired this man's devotion towards God. He was living his religion despite the inconveniences and what others might think. I was deeply envious of this dear Son of God and his devotion to his God. A great lesson was taught and learned that day.

We of the Valley View Sixth Ward Aaronic Priesthood MIA would like to thank you for giving us a great idea for a service project. We built a dollhouse from the plans you published in the December 1972 New Era and donated it to the Festival of Trees, which is a charitable benefit. The house was sold for $500, and the money went to the Primary Children’s Hospital. We are enclosing a picture of the finished product. Thanks again.
Myrna Ure, Terrie Anderson, Helen Biesinger, Tina Waldram, Marianne Gronning, Ellen Cannon, Jan Currey, Kathy Clark, Helen Pergler, Lloyd BerentzenSalt Lake City, Utah

The summer I was 15, a new family with teenage daughters moved into the ward. While my family was considered “goody-goody,” this family, though they were active, was definitely not goody-goody. The teenage girls always seemed to be having fun, and I felt awkward and left out when I was around them. But when it was time for girls’ camp that summer, I, of all people, was assigned to their cabin. I was determined to prove that I was not as goody-two-shoes as I seemed.
The campground where we had girls’ camp was used by other groups throughout the summer. On the rafters of the cabins, some of them had written their names and the year they were at camp. We were on the top bunks, reading some of the names, when one of the girls said, “We should put our names up there too.”
“Sure!” I agreed.
“No way you would do that,” said the other girl.
“Sure, I would,” I said. I decided that one more name wouldn’t really be noticeable. I also noted that the other girls thought it would be something on the edge—a thing they might do, but not something a straight arrow like me would do.
We pulled out some markers and began. The other girls wrote their names in small letters and with little flourish. I, however, wrote my name, the date, and “Girls’ Camp” in 5-inch-high flowing script with a decorative flower finish. The other girls were impressed, and we went to bed. I thought no more of it.
Others did, however. During cabin inspections, our decorations were discovered, and we were given bleach, water, and sandpaper to try to repair the damage we had done. I couldn’t erase my ink, which had penetrated the rough wood beams. After the fruitless scrubbing, the other girls were dismissed, and I got a lecture.
I heard how my actions would hurt the Church’s reputation. I heard how disappointed the leaders were that I would do something like that. “We wouldn’t expect it of you,” I heard over and over. And every evening, my name glared at me from the rafter overhead, shaming me in brilliant blue.
I was allowed to stay at camp and eventually stopped hearing about my transgression. But I heard more once I got home. The camp staff had called my parents.
My mom didn’t get angry, but her disappointment was deep. She asked why I did it. I explained how I felt left out and how I wanted to do something to show I could walk on the edge.
After talking to my mom I realized that I had done to my family and to myself the same thing I had done to the Church. By plastering my name where it shouldn’t have been in an act of vandalism, I had demeaned my parents’ good name.
I also realized that when I pursue popularity at the expense of respect, I am in danger of dishonoring the name of Christ or giving others the impression that I don’t belong to His family.
Since this experience I have often thought what a blessing it will be if, at the end of this life, we can give a good report to our Savior when He asks what we have done with His name. None of us will want to admit that we sold our good name for social acceptance or that we gave it up for a questionable video, for a girlfriend or boyfriend, for a bottle of beer, or for the laughter of friends. I know we will want to say that we have preserved our name by standing for truth and righteousness at all times—when it’s easy and fun and even when it’s not.
What’s in a name? As I realized that summer at girls’ camp, it can be quite a lot. When I think of my name blaring bright blue to future generations of campers, I remember the blessing and responsibility of carrying a good name, both for my mortal family and for the Church and family of Christ.

I have seen that happen once in a care center when a deacon leaned forward to pass the tray to a white-haired lady. She looked at the bread as if it were precious. I have never forgotten her smile as she partook and then reached up to pat the deacon’s head, saying quite loudly, “Oh, thank you!”

That deacon was simply performing his priesthood duty. Yet the Lord then multiplied the deacon’s act. It was evident that the sister remembered the Savior as she expressed sincere gratitude for a deacon’s service. She was reassured as he served the sacrament to her that she would have the Spirit to be with her. She was not alone that day in the care center. Neither was the deacon alone in his modest service.

Jennifer twirled in front of her bedroom mirror in her sparkly red Christmas dress. She pictured herself standing center stage under the bright spotlights and giggled with excitement. She couldn’t wait to sing in the community Christmas program tonight!
Jennifer loved to sing. She especially loved singing Christmas songs! She had spent a lot of time practicing with her mom at the piano to get ready for her big solo. And now the day was finally here!
She hummed happily as she brushed her fingers through her curly hair. Then there was a quiet knock at the door.
“Come in!”
Mom opened it and stepped inside. Her eyes looked a little puffy. Jennifer could tell that she had been crying.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Jennifer asked.
Mom put her arm around Jennifer’s shoulder. They sat down on the bed.
“Grandma just called,” Mom said softly. “Grandpa Hoyt passed away.”
Jennifer couldn’t stop the tears that immediately came rolling down her cheeks. She loved Grandpa Hoyt! Jennifer had visited him nearly every day. They played his favorite games, watched old shows on TV, or just talked. He had been sick for a long time and used an oxygen machine to breathe. But she couldn’t believe that he was really gone.
Mom pulled Jennifer into a tight hug while Jennifer sobbed.
“You don’t have to sing tonight if you don’t want to,” Mom said in a quiet voice. She wiped away some of Jennifer’s tears.
Jennifer nodded. Maybe Mom was right. Jennifer missed Grandpa so much it made her heart hurt. Maybe she didn’t feel up to singing anymore.
Mom wiped away some tears of her own. “I guess this gives us a special chance to remember why we really celebrate Christmas,” she said. “The Savior was born to give us light and hope. Even when we are sad.”
Jennifer took a deep breath. “And because Jesus was resurrected, Grandpa Hoyt will be resurrected too,” she said bravely. “Because of Jesus, we’ll see him again.”
Mom gave Jennifer’s hand a squeeze. “That’s exactly right, sweetheart.”
Jennifer felt like a warm, fuzzy blanket had been wrapped around her. She knew it was the Holy Ghost testifying that what she said was true.
Suddenly Jennifer had an idea.
“I want to share the light and hope Jesus gives us,” Jennifer said. She was determined. “I’m going to sing for Grandpa.”
Mom smiled through her tears. “I’m sure that would make both Jesus and Grandpa Hoyt very happy.”
“Can we say a prayer?” Jennifer asked.
Mom nodded, and the two of them knelt down by the bed. Mom prayed for Jennifer to have comfort, strength, and courage to sing.
After saying “amen,” Jennifer wrapped her arms around Mom in a big hug. “Thanks, Mom.”
When it was time to go on stage, Jennifer squared her shoulders. She smiled as she walked up to the microphone under the bright lights. The music started playing. Jennifer felt peace. And in her best singing voice, she sang about Jesus—the One who made it possible for her to see Grandpa Hoyt again.

Natalie
Natalie, 20, has been a nanny for nearly three years. She has found some good families that she has enjoyed working for, but she has also found some difficult jobs and hard times.
“Girls have no concept of what they are coming out to. They think it’s going to be all wonderful.
“I left for my first job three days after I graduated from high school. The family was wonderful on the phone. They said they had a gorgeous home with a swimming pool in the backyard. They told me I would be up with the children in the morning to help them get ready for school. I would have minor housework, just picking up after the children, and be responsible for them when they got home.
“I found out they lied to me. There was nothing but a kiddy pool in the backyard. Besides getting the children off to school, I had to scrub down the house literally every day, including washing the cars, yard work, doing their laundry, changing sheets, cleaning bathrooms, cleaning out the cupboards every day—besides watching the children.
“I was not allowed to shower between 7:00 A.M. and 9:00 P.M. because that was my time to work for them. I was not allowed to do my laundry on their time. I was put downstairs in the basement and the door was locked so I couldn’t come upstairs during the night. I worked six days a week for $60.
“They fired me after three weeks. They said I disrupted the family. I found out later that they were having family problems. They fired me at 10:00 P.M. and were sending me home the next morning. I applied for another job and started a week later because I love children and I like being around them.
“There aren’t many Mormon guys out here, so you start getting involved with nonmembers. You try to be an example, but you get caught up in a different lifestyle. We would stay out until three in the morning, and we wouldn’t want to get up for Sunday. We would think, it’s our only day off, so let’s go have fun.
“I dated a guy for over a year. I got caught up in how he lived. I broke up with him because there was something missing in my life. It occurred to me to go to church. I felt the Spirit, and I felt good, but it’s so hard to come back. I’ve seen nannies slip right into what I was in. I want to stand up and warn them, ‘Don’t be stupid like I was.’ But you can’t really tell them. It might take them 20 years to come back.
“I’ve lived in six homes out here. Four of them haven’t worked, and two have. A lot of employers expect to treat you as their employee. That attitude can’t work because you live in their house. They need to treat you as one of the family. If they don’t, you’re not happy. It’s got to be give and take on both sides.”

Tina was pretending to be a queen. She had on a foil crown and a purple cape, and all her dolls and stuffed animals sat before her.
“Read me a story!” she commanded. “Sing me a song!”
“Tina,” her mother called, “where are you? I need you.”
Tina ran into the kitchen, where her mother was stirring something on the stove. It smelled delicious.
“Did you need me to taste something, Mother?” she asked.
Her mother smiled. “No, your Majesty. I need you to feed Joey, please, while I finish stirring this pudding.”
Tina sighed as she sat down next to the high chair. Joey smiled at her as he got some applesauce on his chin. This was too messy a job for a queen! “Off with his head!” Tina ordered, waving the spoon. Joey giggled and clapped his hands, so Tina waved the spoon some more. “Arrest that baby!” she demanded. Joey laughed with delight.
Mother wiped Joey’s chin with a napkin and set a small bowl of pudding in front of Tina.
“Thank you so much for being my helper, Tina,” she said. “It makes me happy, and it makes Joey happy too.”
“It was fun,” Tina admitted. “But I’m not supposed to be a helper today. I’m a queen.”
“You are always a queen,” her mother said. “You are the best kind of queen, a helper queen.”
Tina gave Joey a spoonful of her pudding. “I’ve never heard of a helper queen before.”
Her mother looked surprised. “Helper queens are the most beautiful ones. They are loved by their subjects, and they always live happily ever after.” Mother gave Tina a quick hug, then carried Joey upstairs for his nap.
Tina ate her pudding slowly and listened to the soft lullaby her mother sang. “Bring me more pudding,” Tina whispered to nobody when her bowl was empty. “I’m the queen, and I can have all the pudding I want.” She carried her bowl and spoon over to the sink.
Mother came downstairs and asked, “Tina, would you like to help me put the pudding in dessert glasses for dinner?”
“OK.” Tina nodded. “Can we put marshmallows on top to surprise everyone?”
“That’s a great idea.”
Mother got a phone call, so Tina arranged marshmallows on the pudding by herself. She put four marshmallows around the outside and one in the middle so that they looked like a little white flower. She knew that her family would like that.
When the puddings were ready, Tina had to wait for her mother to help her put them into the refrigerator. She sat down by the window and spoke to herself in a low voice. “Get me a pony! The queen wishes to ride!”
When her mother got off the phone, she said, “Mrs. Owens had her baby. I’m going to take her dinner tonight, and I wish I had something special to take to her daughter, Lara. It’s hard sometimes for big sisters when a new baby comes home.”
Tina’s eyes lit up. “She can have my new purse with the mirror and comb, Mother. We can wrap it up really pretty.”
“That would be wonderful,” her mother said with a smile.
Tina rushed to her room to find the purse. Her dolls and stuffed animals still sat there, waiting for her commands. “Don’t just sit there,” she said in a deep voice. “There’s work to be done. Find my new purse, and wrap it up really pretty!” Tina took the present into the kitchen and set it on the table.
“You did a fine job of wrapping,” her mother said. “Or did your servants do that?”
“I had to help them,” Tina admitted.
“I thought so.” Mother nodded. “It looks like a queenly job to me.”
Tina smiled. “Mother, may I go to the Owens’s with you and give Lara the present?”
Later, when she went to Tina’s room to tell her that it was time to go, Mother was surprised to see all of Tina’s dolls and animals covered with blankets. Tina was sitting on the floor, quietly reading them a story.
“Are they going down for naps?” Mother whispered.
“No.” Tina showed her the nurse’s cap tucked around her crown. “All my subjects are sick, and I’m helping them get better.”
Tina’s mother smiled. “I’m proud of you, Tina. You are truly the greatest helper queen ever!”

Let me tell you about something I love. There is a fragment of a Dead Sea scroll from Cave 4 at Qumran that I had the privilege to work on several years ago. It is a piece of a hymn called Barkhi Nafshi— “Bless, O My Soul.” One cold winter day I was in the workroom at the Shrine of the Book in Jerusalem examining this fragment. It had not yet been mounted in a protective frame, and a gust of wind came through the window and blew the fragile fragment onto the floor. Horrified, I quickly got a large piece of paper and knelt down to scoop it up. As I stood to put it back onto the table, I was overcome with emotion—holding in my hands this precious piece of the past, a piece of leather that contained the hymn of praise from a Jewish author two thousand years ago. In this fragment of text the ancient hymnist expressed the mystery of acquiring the attributes of God: “Bless, O my soul, the Lord. . . . He has been gracious to the needy, and he has opened their eyes to see his ways, and their ears to hear his teaching. And he has circumcised the foreskins of their heart” (4Q434 1.i.1–4).14 Paraphrasing from Deuteronomy (10:16–17; 30:6), another sacred text that I love, the ancient author of this poem acknowledges that it is only God who can, through His grace, open our eyes and ears and change our hearts.

The story is called The Dot and the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics, by Norton Juster, who is also the author of The Phantom Tollbooth. The book tells of a love triangle between a dot, a line, and a squiggle. Much of the humor and wit of the story is packed in the pictures. So, with the publisher’s permission, I will show the illustrations as I read. So, sit back and enjoy; it’s story time.
The Dot & the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics.
Once upon a time there was a sensible straight line who was hopelessly in love with a dot.
“You’re beginning and the end, the hub, the core and the quintessence,” he told her tenderly, but the frivolous dot wasn’t a bit interested, for she only had eyes for a wild and unkempt squiggle who never seemed to have anything on his mind at all.
They were everywhere together, singing and dancing and frolicking and laughing and laughing and [who] knows what else. “He is so gay and free, so uninhibited and full of joy,” she informed the line coolly,
“and you are as stiff as a stick. Dull. Conventional and repressed. Tied and trammeled. Subdued, smothered and stifled. Squashed, squelched and quenched.”
“Come around when you get straightened out, kid,” the squiggle added with a rasping chuckle, as he chased her into the high grass.
“Why take chances,” replied the line without much conviction. “I’m dependable. I know where I’m going. I’ve got dignity!”
But this was small consolation for the miserable line. Each day he grew more and more morose. He stopped eating or sleeping and before long was completely on edge.
His worried friends noticed how terribly thin and drawn he had become and did their best to cheer him up.
“She’s not good enough for you.” “She lacks depth.” “They all look alike anyway. Why don’t you find a nice straight line and settle down?”
But he hardly heard a word they said. Any way he looked at her she was perfect.
He saw things in her that no one else could possibly imagine. “She is more beautiful than any straight line I’ve ever seen,” he sighed wistfully, and they all shook their heads. Even allowing for his feelings they felt this was stretching a point.
And so he spent his time dreaming of the inconstant dot and imagining himself as the forceful figure she was sure to admire.
The line as a celebrated daredevil.The line as a leader in world affairs.The line as a fearless law enforcement agent.The line as a potent force in the world of art.The line as an international sportsman.
But he soon grew tired of self-deception and decided that perhaps the squiggly line might have the answer after all.
“I lack spontaneity. I must learn to let go, to be free, to express the inner passionate me.”
But it just didn’t make any difference, for no matter how often, or how hard he tried, he always ended up the same way.
And yet he continued trying and failing and trying again. Until when he had all but given up, he discovered at last that with great concentration and self-control he was able to change direction and bend wherever he chose. So he did, and made an angle.
And then again and made anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then another
“Hot stuff,” he shouted, much impressed with his efforts. Then in a wild burst of enthusiasm he sat up for half the night putting on an outrageous display of sides, bends and angles. “Freedom is not a license for chaos,” he observed the next morning. “Ooh, what a head.” There and then he decided not to squander his talents in cheap exhibitionism.
For months, he practiced in secret. Soon he was making squares and triangles, hexagons, parallelograms, rhomboids, polyhedrons, trapezoids, parallelepipeds, decagons, tetragrams and an infinite number of other shapes so complex that he had to letter his sides and angles to keep his place.
Before long he had learned to carefully control ellipses, circles and complex curves and to express himself in any shape he wished–
“You name it, I’ll play it.”
But all his successes meant nothing to him alone and so off he went to seek the dot once again. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” muttered the squiggle in a voice that sounded like bad plumbing. But the line, who was bursting with old love and new confidence, was not to be denied. Throughout the evening he was by turns.
Mysterious.Clever. Dazzling.Profound.Complex. Erudite.Eloquent.Versatile. Enigmatic.Compelling.
The dot was overwhelmed. She giggled like a schoolgirl and didn’t know what to do with her hands. Then she turned slowly to the squiggle, who had suddenly developed a severe cramp.
“Well?” she inquired, trying to give him every chance. The squiggle, taken by surprise did the best he could.
“Is that all?” she demanded.
“I guess so,” replied the miserable squiggle. “That is, I suppose so. What I mean is I never know how it’s going to turn out. Hey, have you heard the one about the two guys who– “
The dot wondered why she had never noticed how hairy and coarse he was, and how untidy and graceless, and how he mispronounced his L’s and picked his ear.
And suddenly she realized that what she had thought was freedom and joy was nothing but anarchy and sloth.
“You are as meaningless as a melon,” she said coldly. “Undisciplined, unkempt and unaccountable, insignificant, indeterminate and inadvertent, out of shape, out of order, out of place and out of luck.”
With that she turned to the line and shyly took his arm. “Do the one with all the funny curves again, honey,” she cooed softly as they strolled away.
And he did. And soon they did, and lived–if not happily ever after, at least reasonably so.
Moral: To the vector belong the spoils.

“Not Ivy! She’s a girl,” Braden whispered behind Adam.
But Adam was team captain for dodgeball for the day, and he had made his choice. “I pick Ivy,” he repeated a little louder. Tyler, the other team captain, smirked. Even Coach Garcia looked surprised at Adam’s second pick.
Ivy looked surprised too and then shyly stepped forward. Braden groaned.
Ivy wasn’t just any girl. She was the smallest girl in the class. She didn’t look very fast, and the ball seemed bigger than she was. “She probably can’t even lift the ball,” Braden said as Ivy walked over.
“Maybe she’ll be our secret weapon,” Adam said, trying to sound sure. But that’s not why he had picked her. Ivy had once told Adam she didn’t like it when they played sports because she was always picked last. The other boys teased Ivy, but Mom and Dad had told Adam that boys should show respect for girls. So he picked Ivy. As he watched Tyler pick the biggest boy in class, Adam gulped. What would this game be like?
After everyone was on a team, Coach Garcia blew the whistle, and the teams ran to opposite ends of the court. Coach Garcia handed Tyler the ball, and Tyler scanned Adam’s team before he focused on Ivy. He pulled back his arm and let the ball fly.
Bam! The ball smacked the ground and bounced without hitting anyone. Adam blinked. Ivy had moved just in time. Everyone around him seemed surprised, but Adam just smiled. Maybe picking Ivy had been a good idea after all.
The game continued. Tyler kept trying to hit Ivy with the ball, but she kept dodging and diving out of the way. No one could hit her with a ball. Tyler and some of his teammates were so busy trying to get Ivy out that they didn’t spend much time aiming for anyone else. Adam grinned—Ivy’s size actually made her better at dodgeball because being small and fast made her harder to hit.
At last Adam’s team won the game. “Secret weapon was right,” Braden said. “Ivy’s pretty good.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Next time, she’s on my team. We’ll win for sure!” Ivy smiled as she walked back to class, surrounded by teammates.
Adam couldn’t stop smiling as he followed the group. He had been nice to Ivy, and he had helped the other boys respect girls a little more. The greatest secret weapon wasn’t a secret at all—it was just being kind.

I would like to tell you an event in my life which I think typifies what is going through my mind and has gone through my mind the last few weeks. The event started with a phone call from a Mr. Marion T. Romney. My secretary came to me in a meeting, and she said, “A Marion T. Romney wants to talk to you.”
I said, “I think that’s Marion G. Romney.”
“He said you would leave this meeting if I told you that he was calling you.”
I said, “He’s right.”
I think my secretary would like to have told his secretary that I would call back. But I went to the phone, and Brother Romney asked me five questions. He asked me if I would go on a mission; he asked me if I was worthy; he was concerned about my 17-year-old son, my finances, and my health.
I will tell you this, something I learned long ago: It is a question of free agency. On any one of those five questions, had I had to give a no I would have lost my free agency. I was financially able, I was morally able, and I knew the law of consecration and what it meant; and I appreciated the opportunity.
I called my wife immediately afterward and then went home. I talked with my wife, as Elder L. Tom Perry talked with his wife. We have married similar spirits. She has followed me all over the world. We have moved 15 times. She has learned two languages, brought up our children, and has always supported me.
I remember one time after coming back from an international trip. I had been gone for some time. My wife sat down on the arm of the chair, and I put my head on her shoulder. It was near the end of the month, and she asked me if I had completed my home teaching. I will be honest; I had other things in mind. But I went and did my home teaching. That is her training. So it was; I was beginning to learn the law of consecration.
A few weeks later the phone rang again. This time it was a man whom I have greatly admired—Brother Arthur Haycock. I spoke to him briefly; and then, the prophet’s voice—distinctive, clear, the clarion call.
“Brother Hales, do you mind if we change your mission?”
I had thought I was going to the London England Mission. But I figured someone else would have that call, and I said, “I will be glad to go to whatever place you send me.”
He said, “Do you mind if we change it to Salt Lake City?”
And I said, “No, that will be fine, President.”
“Do you mind if it is little bit longer than three years?”
“However long you want it, President.”
“We would like a lifetime of service.”
The past 20 years swept before me. I felt like the man who had fallen off a precipice, who was grabbing on to a limb which was giving way slowly, and who cried fervently in a prayer, “Save me!” And as he looked down to the rocks far below, a voice came clear and strong: “Let go, and you will be protected.” At that, the man looked up in the air again and said, “Is somebody else up there?”
The call was clear. I had to let go of everything that I had known and what I had been striving for in my life to become an Assistant to the Twelve.
I have learned from Joseph Fielding Smith, and have talked to young people, about the law of consecration. It is not one particular event; it is a lifetime, day by day, in which we all strive to do our best that we might live honorable lives, that we might live the best we can in the service of others, as President Joseph Fielding Smith talked about—not as his grandfather, Hyrum Smith, gave his life when he was with the Prophet, but giving our lives each day.
With that, the prophet talked to my wife. We held each other in our arms and said nothing, and we knew that we had and that we would dedicate and consecrate our lives to that mission, whatever it might be, in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We asked our questions which Elder Ashton taught us: “Why me?” And that is past us.
I will say this: It is not in death or in one event that we give our lives, but in every day as we are asked to do it.
In the Regional Representative work, I have been able, over the past five years, to have the hardening of the steel—to watch and work with these men who have been called as special witnesses of God, that they might know and teach and train the priesthood holders with whom they deal.
Do you realize that these men have revelation every Sunday when a stake is formed? As a Regional Representative assisting and kneeling in prayer with them as they give voice through the Spirit, one is able to participate in knowing that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that we have a prophet of God who is here this day, and that we have special witnesses who will lead and guide us, if we will but listen to their voice.
I ask the Lord in prayer that I might be able to be an example to help lift others, as these men have been over the years. My 17-year-old son said to me, “Dad, do you think, really, you will ever be like them?”
He said it in a little nicer way, but I thought of my life which I dedicate and give and consecrate, that I might be an instrument in His hand, working under the direction of all the General Authorities and asking their help that we might work as one.
I dedicate my life and service, and as Paul declared in First Corinthians, “And my speech and preaching was not with enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power:
“That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.” (1 Cor. 2:4–5.)
I ask the Lord’s blessings upon all those who have made this day possible for me: my Primary and Sunday School teachers; a mother and father who are truly “goodly parents,” who have taught me and who have been an example for my whole life; my brother and sister have always been examples for me to follow with their faith and service in the Church; my wife and my boys—my son on a mission, Stephen, and David, who is here in Salt Lake with me now. They are a great strength to me.
I ask the Lord’s blessings, that I might be one in purpose with the Twelve and with all the General Authorities, and with you, my brothers and sisters; and I say to the priesthood holders that any one of you could be here this day. One cannot ask the question “Why me?” and dwell on it. But I will do as the prophet has said, to put behind me my past life and dedicate and consecrate all my time, talents, and efforts to His work. And I say this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

The first is to stand in holy places. I recently participated in the Tokyo Japan Temple open house. The response to formal invitations sent to both media and VIP guests far exceeded expectations. Hundreds joined in these guided temple tours. Guests were deeply touched by the beauty of the temple, including patterns and motifs with deep, traditional Japanese connections. More poignant yet was the reverent and respectful reaction elicited from guests as ancestral ordinances were described in rooms where they would occur. But most heartwarming were stirrings of the Spirit.

One such moment with a prominent government official remains etched in my mind. Following a moment of meditative silence in the celestial room, emotional and deeply touched he whispered in my ear, “Even the air that I breathe in this room feels different.” I recognized he was trying to describe the presence of the Holy Spirit, which, indeed, dwells in sacred spaces. If you hope to feel the Spirit, be in a place where the Spirit can easily dwell.

My legs felt shaky and there was an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my companion told me that this was “my” door.
No, I wasn’t a new missionary. I was a fifteen-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in our ward. Don Gabbott, my high priest companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about caring for those too sick or too old to be engaged in Church activity.
Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us. I was prepared with some notes on a paper, but I was frightened and inexperienced. I was not sure how a young priesthood holder behaved in the presence of a high priest.
We knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. I was about to suggest that no one was home when the door slowly opened. From behind it appeared the frail figure of an aged sister, uncertain of what she’d find at her door. She smiled as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited in and asked to take a seat.
After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, “Okay, Robert, it’s time to give our message.” The feeling in my stomach got worse as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said, but as I looked up from my notes, I saw the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her home.
I was speechless. What had I done? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott helped me by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.
Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion that the request numbed me. I was surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.
Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in Sister Rice’s home, and she has long since died. But I cannot pass that house without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.

One of young Sister Amussen’s mission duties was working part-time in the Hawaiian Temple. One night, as she was getting ready to leave, she discovered everyone else was gone. Her walk to the mission home was through a dense forest and by a camp where some dangerous incidents had occurred. She feared for her safety.
Before leaving the temple, Flora prayed for the Lord’s protection. As she stepped outside, a circle of light appeared and surrounded her. That radiance shone around and ahead of her as she walked through the forest, past the camp, and to the steps of the mission home, disappearing as she slipped safely inside. She has since felt encircled with security and guidance many times as she has trusted in the Lord, though never as literally as that night in a land far from home.

Last year, as I was battling cancer for the fourth time and going through treatment, the women’s soccer team came up with the “Carolyn Can” campaign, believing that if anyone could beat cancer, it was me. Coach Jennifer Rockwood purchased shirts for everyone to wear.
Words cannot express how inspiring this act was for me. Every day was a struggle for me to get out of bed and choose to fight. I would dread going to radiation. But often it was in those moments of discouragement that I would receive a text reminding me that “Carolyn can” or that I would see the girls wearing their shirts and their yellow wristbands. Their hope, faith, and energy, which was so contagious, would provide the strength I needed to continue to fight.
Not every day was this simple. There were many days when I didn’t have a bounce in my step or when it was hard to smile or laugh, and I found on those days that my victory was simply just to endure the day. But because the women’s soccer team lifted and served me, I found the energy to make it through each day and to stay yoked with my Savior, who carried enough of my load so I could continue to press forward.

The other day I was talking to an enthusiastic returned missionary who had been a member of the Church for only five years, and this is the story he told me, which I found most interesting.
He said he was raised in a good home by fine parents with high ideals; but he had never thought of, let alone been told, many of the things which the Church teaches, such as a prophet of God being on the earth today, of a literal resurrection where the body and soul will be reunited after death and continue on throughout eternity, and particularly of the beautiful and most important concept that he was literally a spirit child of God. He had never been taught of the restoration of the gospel, that there was a living personal God, and that Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world, lives; that he was literally the Son of God in the flesh.
While working at a summer resort where a number of young people were employed, and where all seemed to be having a good time, this boy’s attention was drawn to three young men who seemed to be living apart from the others and not participating in the smoking, drinking of alcoholic beverages, and using drugs, etc. They were living very high standards in every way and seemed to be morally clean.
He said, “I became attracted to them and engaged in conversation with them to find out why they were different. They told me they were Mormons, that they observed a Word of Wisdom, which they explained to me, and that the Lord had said, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ (Ex. 20:14), and that sexual transgression was considered by the Church as one of the most grievous sins.”
He said further, “I became very close to these young men and liked what they taught and the way they lived. They were very free in telling me about the Church. They seemed to be proud of it and were not ashamed of the fact that they were not living as other young men were living. They did point out, however, that some of the young men who were members of the Church and living in the camp were not living the principles of the gospel.”
I thought how sad it was that these other members were not living as they should, had succumbed to temptation, and were not strong enough to stand up for what they knew was right. If they had been converted and not ashamed of the gospel of Christ and its teachings, they too could have been influencing some others for good and changing their lives in preparation for ultimate blessings promised to the faithful.
My friend continued, “One of the three young men was a returned missionary, and as I became more interested, he taught me the gospel as he had taught it in the mission field. I corresponded with my parents and told them what I had found. They were very disappointed and unhappy; but when I returned home and told them all about it, and they saw the good effect all this had on my life and the change in habits, they gave me permission to be baptized, for which I was most thankful.”
He was just 19 when he joined the Church. He went on to say what a great privilege it was when he was given the Aaronic Priesthood and he was able to administer and pass the sacrament in remembrance of the Lord’s crucifixion. He said it made him very humble as he felt the sacredness of this ordinance, and he always tried to be worthy and well-groomed and to act as the Lord would have him do were he standing by his side.
He felt greatly blessed when as a priest he was given the privilege of baptizing new members, realizing that this gave him the same privilege and authority that was given to John the Baptist who baptized the Savior. And as he talked, I wished that every young man could feel and realize just how important that is and what a great privilege it is to be able to perform these ordinances and know that the Lord depends on all of us to live worthy of and magnify the priesthood which we hold.
Then this young man said how pleased he was a year later as he was interviewed to go on a mission to be able to tell his bishop and stake president that he was keeping the Word of Wisdom strictly, keeping the Sabbath day holy, paying his tithes and offerings, and keeping himself morally clean in every way, and that he really honored womanhood and had never treated a girl friend differently from the way he would want a young man to treat his sister. He felt so good about this and was so very glad that he could go into the mission field as an ambassador of the Lord, feeling that the Lord would approve his going as his representative. He told of the glorious feeling he had as he baptized and confirmed his first convert.
These were humbling experiences for him, he said, as was also his being called upon to confer the Melchizedek Priesthood upon a man and ordain him an elder. He realized how important it is that a man be worthy of these privileges to act in the name of the Lord and that the man he ordained was just as much an elder as if the president of the Church had ordained him. He felt most humble and grateful to the Lord.
He concluded by telling me that he was going to be married soon, and his countenance beamed as he expressed his gratitude and happiness that he and his sweetheart were clean and worthy to go to the temple where they could be sealed for time and all eternity.
Then I said to him: “No greater privilege or responsibility can be placed upon any young man than for him to be given the priesthood of God, which is the power of God to act in his name. And now you will enjoy all the added blessings and privileges that will come from being sealed by the holy priesthood in the temple of God.”

We love the Friend and read from it almost every morning. After reading “Conference Reverence Tent” in the October 2008 issue, we decided to make our own conference reverence tent for the next conference. We decorated the inside of the tent with pillows, blankets, and a picture of Jesus. We were happy we were listening when President Monson announced there was going to be a temple built in Calgary—that’s where we live!

I was at my baseball coach’s house for a party, and I went into the basement with some other kids. They were watching a cartoon that I knew my mom didn’t want me to watch. I watched it for a minute, and it looked like it wasn’t bad. But I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to watch it, so I went outside to play. Later, one of the other moms went to the basement and made the other kids turn off the TV because the cartoon was talking about bad things. On the way home, my mom said she was proud of me. I felt good that I chose the right and was obedient to my mom.

When our oldest children were still small, we lived on a busy street here in Salt Lake City. My wife, Verla, and I were concerned about the danger that street presented to our children. We used every opportunity to reinforce the importance of staying away from the street. In addition, this was a time in our children’s lives when they were learning about temples and eternal families. So our children’s prayers regularly included this request: “Please help us to be married in the temple and stay out of the street.”
One day after some of our neighbor’s children had gone home after playing at our house, my wife received a call from their mother. One of her children had heard a prayer while he was visiting us and had offered this variation when he said his own prayer at home: “Please help us stay out of the temple and get married in the street.”
I trust that that particular prayer was not received exactly the way it was phrased, but I do have a strong testimony of the importance of prayer in shaping our lives.

The Prophet Joseph Smith was totally committed to the Lord and was willing to serve him at all times, at all costs, and at all hazards. He was willing to serve the Lord even when it was not convenient. When Joseph was living in the Johnson’s home at Hiram, Ohio, his wife, Emma, gave birth to twins who died the day of their birth. The wife of John Murdock also gave birth to a set of twins on that same day, but Mrs. Murdock died in childbirth. Joseph and Emma asked Brother Murdock if they might adopt his twins, and he readily accepted that offer.

When the twins were 11 months old, they became very ill with measles, causing many sleepless nights in the Smith household. One night the Prophet told his wife to go into the back bedroom and try to get some rest while he sat up in the living room with the sicker of the two children. As the night passed, Joseph lay down upon a trundle bed and dozed off. The next thing he knew, he was being carried bodily through the front door by an angry mob who were shouting among themselves, “Don’t let his feet touch the floor, or he will take us all.” They realized what a tremendously powerful man he was physically as well as spiritually.

They carried him out through the orchard, and as they did so, he saw Sidney Rigdon lying on the ground, presumably dead. The mob had also dragged Brother Rigdon from his house by the heels, bumping his head on the frozen ground until it had knocked him insensible.

After coming to a halt, the mob deliberated as to whether or not they should kill the Prophet but decided against it. Finally one of them said, “Let’s tar up his mouth.” With that they tried to force the tar paddle into his mouth. Next they tried to force a phial of poison between his teeth, but he kept them clenched so tightly that the bottle broke, along with the corner of one of his front teeth. Failing to tar up his mouth or poison him, one of the members of the mob fell on him, and after the others had torn off all Joseph’s clothes except his shirt collar, began scratching him like a mad cat, muttering: “… that’s the way the Holy Ghost falls on folks.” They then poured hot tar on his body, rolled him in a feather tick and left him for dead.

After regaining consciousness the Prophet made his way to the house. When his wife, Emma, saw him coming to the door with his body covered with tar and feathers, she fainted. The rest of the night was spent removing the tar from his body. The tender hands of Dr. Frederick G. Williams, a physician and also a counselor to the Prophet in the First Presidency, performed the heartbreaking task. Sometimes large pieces of skin came off with the tar. The next day was the Sabbath, and the Prophet, in great discomfort, was at the service where he spoke.

It is hard to study the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith without remembering that he learned to serve the Lord fully, at all times, and at all costs.