Gospel Story Finder

Dark, cold, and rainy. Sort of like my life right now. I am in my room, studying. It is almost 11:00 P.M. Mom and I went over each other’s notes in preparation for the final tomorrow in Family Relations 101. Then I came up here to hit the books. Downstairs, everything is quiet. The rain slashes against my window. It’s on nights like these that I most often think of my sister and wonder where she might be.
I hear a commotion on the porch. I get up from my desk, wondering what is going on. There is a loud knock on the door. Mom and Dad are at the bottom of the stairs, fumbling with bathrobes, turning on the entry lights. Dad opens the door a little and peers into the darkness. A figure steps into the light spilling from our home.
It is my sister, soaking wet, looking tired, looking very different than the skinny junior in high school I knew when I left on my mission.
“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“This is your home, Jan,” my dad says softly.
“Mom, Dad, I need to start over.”
“We’ll talk later,” Mom says. My sister throws her arms around Mother, and they both begin to cry.
I think my slump is history.

The Lord blessed my family too. While on my mission, I received an email from my parents telling me that my older brother went to church for the first time in 12 years. He later changed his work schedule so that he could go every Sunday, and he set a goal to read the Book of Mormon. Also my younger brother who had been struggling made some changes in his life and strengthened his faith. My cousin became active again and started going to the temple every week to do baptisms for the dead. We truly have been blessed.

Bowling also teaches you to “follow through and keep going.” How has this helped you to overcome challenges? Before I release my bowling ball, I must keep my body in proper alignment, especially my arm, hand, and wrist. Even a slight turn of the wrist can send the ball off course. This is also true for my spiritual and personal growth.
When I experienced ongoing bullying from a peer, I was troubled for a time. I sought advice and comfort from my parents and seminary teacher and through studying the prophet’s counsel and the scriptures. The bully eventually moved away, and I was able to “course correct” by remembering my divine worth.

I was asked to give a talk in sacrament meeting about the importance of the standard works in my life. I was happy to accept the assignment, even though I’m a bit shy and I get nervous in front of people. I was grateful to speak on this topic because I have a strong testimony of the scriptures.
For a long time I have studied the scriptures every day, just as our prophets have asked us to do. When I do this, I feel great joy. I know that what I read in the standard works is the word of God.
I also keep a personal journal. The missionaries taught me to do this, and I consider it to be a valuable work as well. Each day I record my experiences and any progress I have made. In accepting the assignment to speak, I felt comfortable knowing I might find something in my journal to use in my talk.
Because I was so nervous, I worked hard all week, preparing the talk and praying for guidance. I wanted my words to touch the hearts of my brothers and sisters.
Finally Sunday arrived. I shook a little as I went to the pulpit. As I spoke, I noticed the members were listening intently. I had never felt so calm or spoken with such ease. A beautiful spirit filled me, almost like a burning (see D&C 9:8). Giving my talk was a wonderful experience. I knew Heavenly Father had blessed me with His Spirit.
As I thought about the experience afterward, I realized I may have been blessed with the Spirit because I had prepared my talk so diligently and had sought the Lord’s guidance. Because I was prepared, there was no need to fear (see D&C 38:30).
I also realized that if we prepare confidently for something that seems to be as small as a talk, we can also prepare for greater things, secure in the knowledge that the Lord will sustain us.

In December 1967, Brother Ed Ka-mauoha was appointed to be the new headmaster at Sauniatu. For years, Sauniatu had been functioning as a school, but when he arrived, the future of Sauniatu was once again in question.
“There were real administrative questions about the efficiency and quality of the school,” he explained. Everyone in Samoa is required to take a standard government education test when they leave high school, and the Sauniatu scores were an average five points below the scores of students from the other Church schools in Samoa. In addition to the low test scores, it was costly to operate the remote school. Many of the students were from very poor families and could not afford to pay more tuition. Enthusiasm among students and teachers was low.
“I felt bad about the school,” he said. “As an administrator, I understood the problems, but I also understood what the tradition of Sauniatu means to the Saints in Samoa. I knew the place was not what it could be because it was not living up to President McKay’s 1921 blessing.”
Ed Kamauoha believed Sauniatu had a prophetic future yet to be fulfilled if each person living there cared. His mind remained restless and his wirey Polynesian body became charged with nervous energy as he began planning to meet the many requirements needed to make the students of Sauniatu self-sufficient and proud and to help the community of Sauniatu reap the promised blessings.
The projects he outlined for the betterment of Sauniatu were big projects. In many people’s minds, they were too big for a handful of teachers and a few dozen school children to handle. Yet Brother Kamauoha felt they could do it.
“Getting everyone to work on big projects is like starting a large machine. You just can’t let it idle; you have to really rev it up and keep it going,” said Brother Kamauoha.
He also felt that the students’ performance in school would improve and the morale among the teachers would also improve if they knew they had some control over their own future. “We had been waiting for others to help us at Sauniatu,” explained Brother Kamauoha. “I tried to teach the people that they had depended too much on outside help and assistance from others. I told them the Lord gives us brains and a pair of hands but they won’t help us unless we use them. And so we started building roads, and we did it by hand.”

Many years ago I was introduced to an idea which at first seemed only an exercise in imagination, or perhaps a peg on which to hang a story. But I have thought of it occasionally since as I have traveled the earth, often separated from family and other loved ones.

Suppose that everyone in the world received simultaneously the word that the inconceivable was about to occur: civilization as we know it was about to end.

What would happen?

Well, for one thing, the streets would be a maelstrom of frantic people trying to get to a telephone to talk with someone. Every line would be jammed and every telephone booth besieged by people trying to reach someone to say “I love you.” There would be other messages also. “I’m so sorry,” would be one of them, or “How foolish I have been.”

The condition of the world about us assures us that the unthinkable could happen; but it is not of such a cataclysm that I am thinking, but of our daily walk and our everyday relationships. They who love should manifest their love while there is a chance to do so. If we are waiting for some later time, some period when all imperfections are corrected and when all frustrations pass away, we are not wise. Resentment or pride or selfishness or impatience can lead us to miss what life is meant to be, and can be, and is for those who love and serve. To postpone loving and giving until some time of perfect freedom from distress or discomfort is a great mistake; it will not happen. It is not for this world.

But we should be earnestly seeking and striving to correct and improve our own attitude and our own behavior. God has so ordained it. He loves us and believes in us and has done and will do anything he can to help us, but he will not impose on our free agency. “We love him,” says the scripture, “because he first loved us.” (1 Jn. 4:19.) He does not love us because we love him; he loves us unconditionally. But his love does not take the course of negating or smothering our privilege to choose, or our responsibility to account for what we choose and to experience the consequences. Indeed, it is written that he weeps for the bad judgment of some of his willful and disobedient children:
“Behold these thy brethren … are the workmanship of mine own hands, and I gave unto them their knowledge, in the day I created them; and in the Garden of Eden, gave I unto man his agency.” (Moses 7:32.)
“And … the God of heaven looked upon the residue of the people, and he wept.” (Moses 7:28.)
We had that agency with God before this world was. In the heavenly council of which the scriptures teach, there was another plan than God’s presented: Lucifer was permitted to offer his program. It is vital for us in our leadership and our relationships to remember that God so loved that he would not shield us from the perils of freedom, from the right and responsibility to choose. So deep is his love and so precious that principle that he, who was conscious of the consequences, required that we choose. Lucifer had no love in his heart, no real concept of freedom or respect for it. He had no confidence in the principle or in us. He argued for forced salvation, for imposed survival, for an agencyless round trip to the earth and back again. None would be lost, he insisted. But he seemed not to understand that none would be any wiser, either, or any stronger or more compassionate or humble or grateful or more creative, under his plan.
We understood before we left that premortal state that freedom is precarious, difficult. We knew that to love would make us vulnerable to heartbreak and pain and disappointment. But we had learned that the alternatives to love and freedom of choice cannot provide the climate for growth and creative capacity that can eventually lead us to a stewardship like our Father’s. The unselfish love of our Father’s Firstborn in the spirit helped us understand when he, knowing the personal cost ahead for him but also the eternal significance for all of us, volunteered for his role of redemption.
We chose then, and we are, in consequence, on this earth still choosing.
Recently I listened to a lovely young lady just leaving her teens as she spoke in a stake conference, her first address ever. She had never known a true family of her own. She had experienced many temporary homes, made many mistakes, had much heartache and hopelessness. Then an older Church couple found her, and loved her, and taught her. Her prepared talk was witty and interesting, but when she laid it down and bore witness through tears, it became magic:
“No one ever helped me to understand that I was worth anything,” she said, “that I was special in any way. And then the missionaries taught me about Jesus Christ and his love and the God who sent him. They taught me that Jesus died for me—for me. I am valuable! I am valuable! He died for me.”
The lesson of God’s great love and wisdom seems lost on many who are on this earth because of their choice but we do not understand. Our responsibility is to help them. But we must ourselves pray and strive earnestly that we do not obscure its meaning. If we do not really love and really believe in free agency, we may be inclined to impose our will on others for what we think is their best good. If we love enough, we will not do that, even at the risk of failure. Instruction and rules and training and discipline are essential, of course. From our Father’s example of godly love and patience, we should be motivated to stretch to any lengths to teach, to persuade, to encourage, to help.
But in matters of conscience and faith, if we truly love we will never seek to impose our will and deprive others of their agency. That is, after all, Satan’s way. He is still permitted in this world to pursue his own rebellious approach. Since his encounter with earth’s first family, he has waged war unceasingly upon God’s children.
A scene to give us pause is portrayed in the Book of Moses:
“Satan … had a great chain in his hand, and it veiled the whole face of the earth with darkness; and he looked up and laughed, and his angels rejoiced.”
But it is written also:
“And … angels descend[ed] out of heaven, bearing testimony of the Father and Son; and the Holy Ghost fell on many.” (Moses 7:26–27.)
The contest for the souls of men continues. We go on choosing.
The loving Father who at such great cost has preserved our agency in and out of this world has made every effort to help us use it well, but he has made it plain where the responsibility now lies:
“I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil;
“In that I command thee this day to love the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commandments and his statutes and his judgments, that thou mayest live and multiply. …
“I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.” (Deut. 30:15–16, 19.)
It is written that “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16.) That holy Son died for us and gave us the wonderful example of his life, and nothing in that life touches my heart with greater impact than the manner in which he chose to live among us:
“Forasmuch,” it is written, “as the children [that is, we] are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same. …
“For verily he took not on him the nature of angels; but … took on him the seed of Abraham.
“Wherefore in all things it behoved him to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God, to make reconciliation for the sins of the people.
“For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted.” (Heb. 2:14, 16–18.)
Through that love it now is that “we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” (Heb. 4:15.)
He has the feeling of our infirmities; he understands our temptations. He came not as an angel but in flesh and blood that he might be a merciful and faithful advocate for us with the Father.
Would we improve our individual performance in relationship with others if we truly had the “feeling of their infirmities” and truly sought to be a faithful and merciful high priest, or Relief Society teacher, or friend, or wife, or husband?
The intensity and integrity of God’s love and Christ’s love are beyond our comprehension, but we are here to learn, and we must try.
Only Christ was sinless in this world, and this is why repentance must always company with faith as first principles. God’s plan and Christ’s sacred gift prepared the way for us to improve, to grow, to change, to learn wisdom and mercy and forgiveness. Out of the wise use of our free agency proceeds every other wholesome quality and every blessing.
It is my deep conviction that any act or program or rule planned or performed without love at its heart, love as the spirit of it, or which curtails the agency of our Heavenly Father’s children, is not worthy of God’s kingdom or of his leaders or people.
Repeatedly He has protected our eternal agency, thus helping us to qualify through opposition and in the face of alternatives for the sweet blessing of eternal creative service. But we must choose—and be held accountable.
All of this came together for me in a very personal way a year or so ago in Manila in the Philippines when a telephone call from my wife reached me in the middle of the night in a hotel room telling me that our only son had suffered a severe accident that threatened his mobility and perhaps his life. He was being flown home to be operated on.
About the time of his anticipated arrival home, I telephoned. There was a brief delay, then the sound of my wife’s voice, quiet and subdued. “Your four sons-in-law are standing around your son administering to him,” she said. “Paul has anointed him, and John is about to give him a blessing. He was worried because you’re not here. This will be the first administration he’s had from anyone but his father—but he’s comforted now.” I joined them in that prayer of blessing on my knees in a lonely hotel room half a world away, a room suddenly made sweet and warm.
Whether or not that day ever occurs in our lifetime when the telephone lines may be especially busy, we should be thinking of the love we have and should express, and manifest it for those nearest us and for those round about, and for all others, and for our holy Savior and his father.
Well may we sing, “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A few months ago I had the opportunity of attending a ward fast and testimony meeting. One who stood to bear his testimony was an Aaronic Priesthood adviser. His testimony provided me with a new appreciation of what it means for an Aaronic Priesthood bearer to hold the keys of the ministering of angels.
This adviser described some of his experiences with the ward Aaronic Priesthood that morning. As he was walking to church, he noticed two young deacons with fast-offering envelopes going to the homes of the members. He was impressed with the way they were dressed in their Sunday best and how they approached their assignment with quiet dignity. He then accompanied two priests to administer the sacrament in a residential home for physically and mentally disabled men. This was the first opportunity for these two young men to visit this home, and their adviser noted the respectful and caring way in which they approached their priesthood assignment.
Then the adviser shared a brief experience that deeply touched his heart, because one of the priests reminded him of what it really means to be a true minister of Jesus Christ—literally a ministering angel. The young priest who was passing the water to the congregation came to a man who appeared to have Down syndrome. The man’s condition prevented him from taking the cup from the tray to drink from it. This young priest immediately assessed the situation. He placed his left hand behind the man’s head so he would be in a position to drink, and with the right hand he took a cup from the tray and gently and slowly lifted it to the man’s lips. An expression of appreciation came to the man’s face—the expression of someone to whom someone else has ministered. This wonderful young priest then continued his assignment to pass the blessed water to the other members of the congregation.
The adviser expressed in his testimony the feelings he had at that tender moment. He said he wept silently with joy, and he knew the Church was in good hands with these young, caring, obedient bearers of the Aaronic Priesthood.

Hiking into the foothills and onto the mountain east of Manti, Utah, was a favorite activity for me when I was growing up. One crisp fall day when I was about 10 years old, my friend and I decided to go for a hike.
My mother carefully wrapped two peanut butter and jam sandwiches and two pieces of raisin pie in waxed paper and put them and an apple apiece in brown paper bags for us to take for our lunches.
I enjoyed the cool, fresh air and the smell of the fields and orchards as we made our way past the outskirts of town, past one neighbor’s farm, and through another’s apple orchard. The trees were loaded with delicious red apples.
We were each carrying a large burlap sack, as we hoped to find pine nuts. As we took the narrow trail through the sagebrush and into the junipers, we found a piñion pine tree here and there and a few pinecones.
We put the cones, sticky with fresh pine gum, into our burlap sacks, knowing that each hard, green cone held a number of pine nuts locked tightly inside it. I loved pine nuts then; I still do. The Indians liked them, too, but they gathered them for survival. They made a pine nut bread that was half pine nuts and half grasshoppers. I preferred my pine nuts without grasshoppers.
My friend and I climbed higher until we came to a maze of flat, white rocks laid out so that they formed a huge letter M (for “Manti,” the name of our town). This huge letter could be seen from the valley below. We picked out one of the large, flat rocks and sat down on it to rest. Taking our shoes off to cool our feet on the smooth rock, we enjoyed looking down on Manti, out across the fields and valleys, and beyond. There was a soft breeze in the clean, clear air, and we could smell the mixture of sage, juniper, and pine. It felt so good to be alive!
We gathered dry brush and limbs so that we could make a fire to roast some of our pine nuts. We lit the brush, and soon it was blazing quite high—too high!
The flames caught onto one nearby clump of sagebrush, then another and another. It looked as if our little fire would soon spread to the whole mountainside and become a forest fire. We had no water to put out the fire with, so we tried to beat it out with our burlap sacks. But every time we beat at the fire, it seemed to fan out and spread more. In desperation my friend said, “I’ll go for help.” He pulled his shoes on and took off running down the mountain.
I was alone! I went to my knees in prayer. “Father in Heaven, help me put this fire out.” This is all I remember saying. I don’t know what I expected. There was not a cloud in the sky, and it didn’t suddenly start to rain. I didn’t hear a voice telling me what to do, but Heavenly Father did answer my prayer.
Before I’d even gotten off my knees, I was impressed to start throwing dirt on the nearest burning bush, and then on the next one. I threw dirt on another and another until I had encircled the entire fire and had it under control. Soon only smoke was left blowing up on the mountain where the fire had been. I had not heard a voice saying, “Throw dirt on the fire,” but I had felt strongly impressed to do it. In some way Heavenly Father had conveyed that idea to my mind.
I am grateful for the way Heavenly Father answered my prayer. He did not put the fire out. Instead, he allowed me the dignity of putting the fire out, which boosted my self-confidence and helped me realize that I could solve difficult problems with his help.
I learned many important lessons from this experience. The first lesson I learned was to not start a fire next to brush with a breeze blowing. More important, I learned that the prayer of a small boy on a mountain would be heard and answered. I also learned that Heavenly Father will generally not do for us what we can do for ourselves, but will prompt us to use our own intelligence, our own strength, and the materials at hand, such as the dirt under our feet.

Recently a California family, driving through St. George, Utah, on vacation, was attracted by the unusual architecture of the St. George Temple. They walked around the building, admiring its beauty.
Having a little time to spare, the parents entered the information center; their two young children crossed the street to sit under the shade of a tree near our meetinghouse.
A teacher, calling the children in to Primary and seeing the two young visitors, said, “Come on in to Primary.” They went in.
The parents, now finished at the information center, started looking for the children. After searching for nearly an hour, they saw them come out of the chapel.
The father said, “We’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”
They replied, “We’ve been to Primary.”
“Primary! What’s Primary?”
“Primary is where you learn about Jesus; and, besides, Daddy, you shouldn’t be smoking!” Their father just about swallowed his cigar.
He remarked, “Let’s get on our way. We’re way behind schedule.”
The children said, “We can’t go.”
“Can’t go! Why not?”
“We are in a play.”
“A play?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, “and the play isn’t until next week, and we have to stay all week for rehearsals.”
The family stayed in St. George for a week!
The children rehearsed; the parents were taught the gospel; and the whole family was baptized.

I can remember many occasions when my perception has crumbled and additional knowledge has wiped away judgment. During my college years I looked at a fellow student, whom I will call Roy, in amazement. Why was he so conceited? His need to be recognized and praised was never ending. Every conversation he had with anyone always centered on his recent achievements and the projects he was now involved in that would ensure his fame. He was underappreciated and let everyone know it. His name became a joke. We came to the conclusion that he was an obnoxious egomaniac who sounded his own praise from morning until night.
One day I learned that one of my friends knew his family. She began to tell me some things. “Roy’s father was an alcoholic. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. He made their life just miserable. He was a crazy man. Once, when Roy was about five, he walked in the kitchen and saw his father attempting to kill his mother. It was a terrible scene and Roy was there to watch it all.”
The impact of this information on my conscience was instant. All my perceptions, all my judgment shattered, and I saw past the facade into the reality. I saw past the obnoxious adult to the traumatized little boy that I wanted to take in my arms and comfort. I never looked at Roy the same again. I knew his secret, one of his secrets, and I understood.

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.
The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.
This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.
When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

The first thing you notice about David Brown is his great big smile. Because of it, he makes friends wherever he goes. And David goes lots of places! David (10) has three older sisters and a younger sister, Kara.
Like most boys his age, he enjoys pizza and hot dogs. He likes to bake cookies with his mom. And he loves baseball. But David has some challenges in his life. He was born with spina bifida, a defect in which part of one (or more) vertebrae fails to develop, leaving a portion of the spinal cord exposed. Because of this, he is partially paralyzed from the waist down.
David sometimes uses a wheelchair. But he can also walk using crutches and braces. Unlike most children, David can remember learning to walk. His mom started working with him two hours a day when he was eighteen months old. Eleven months later, he could walk on his own. David and one of his parents make a four-hour drive to Shreveport, Louisiana, each time his braces need to be adjusted or repaired. Since David is very active, they usually have to make the trip more than once a month.
David always seems to find a way to do the things he wants to do. He enjoys swimming and playing Ping-Pong. And he likes bouncing on his trampoline. His sister Kara helps him climb the tree in their front yard, and he and his dad practice catching and hitting a baseball. This year David hopes to see a dream come true. He wants to play baseball in a real league.
David is a good helper at home. His regular chores are making his bed, picking up his toys, and making his school lunch every morning. Each evening he comes into the kitchen and asks, “How may I be of assistance to you, Mom?” He helps her by unloading the silverware from the dishwasher, putting the vegetables in the saucepan, or setting the table.
David is a poster child for a national charity for children with birth defects. He visits with lots of people and helps them to understand more about spina bifida. Sometimes he gets to meet famous athletes and have his picture taken with them.
The Browns are a traveling family. Each summer they take a big trip. They camp along the way, and they always take David’s hand-powered tricycle. David has ridden his trike in many wonderful places: the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol in Washington, D.C.; the Grand Canyon; Niagara Falls; Disney World; and even across the Royal Gorge Bridge. But David and his family agree that the best trips they have ever taken are the two trips they made to the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Every member of the family had a costume and a part in the pageant. David’s dad even played the part of Lehi one year.
David has many friends in Primary. His favorite Primary song is “I Want to Be a Missionary Now.” He hopes to go on a mission to Germany one day because his dad went there on his mission. David’s big smiles and hugs make Sunday a special day for lots of people.
David says, “I just want to be treated like any other kid.” But his happiness and his love for others make him one of a kind.

In a certain village in China there lived three lazy brothers who were well known for telling strange stories.

One day a rich merchant came to the village. He wanted to hire some men to carry his merchandise to the next village, but there was no one available except the three lazy brothers.

The merchant told the three brothers, “I will give you all of my merchandise if you can tell me stories so strange that I cannot believe them.” Then he added, “But if I can tell you a story so strange that you don’t believe it, you must become my servants.”

The three brothers were delighted at the merchant’s proposal. They thought it would be easy to win his merchandise with their own stories that nobody had ever believed.

The whole village was invited to the unusual story-telling contest, and the village headman was appointed to be chief judge.

The eldest brother told his story first. “When I was young,” he began, “I loved climbing trees. One day I climbed a tree so tall that I could not get down. I called, but no one came to my rescue. At last I jumped down and borrowed a ladder from my neighbor and climbed down from the tree safely.”

The three brothers expected the merchant to say the story could not be true, but he just nodded his head.

The second brother told his story. “One day I was fishing in a river, and for many hours there was not a single bite. I knew something was wrong. So I dove into the river, and to my surprise I found a large fish eating up all the other fishes. I was so angry that I caught the large fish. Then I made a fire under the water and had a delicious meal before coming up to the surface of the river.”

Again the merchant just nodded his head but said nothing.

The third brother began his story. “I was such a good runner that I could outrun any animal in the forest. If I wanted a deer for dinner, I had only to chase one until it was too tired to run anymore. One day I was chasing a fox up a hill when suddenly it ran into a bush and changed itself into a tiger. It turned to attack me, but before it could lift up its paws, I had run home.”

The merchant nodded his head again, which meant he believed all the stories to be true. Turning to the three brothers, he asked, “Do you still promise to be my servants if you don’t believe the story I’m going to tell?”

“Yes, we do,” they replied.

Then the merchant told his story. “I was once a farmer and had a strange tree on my farm. The tree had only a few barren branches but no leaves. One day I noticed that three fruits appeared on the branches. The fruits grew bigger and bigger until each was about the size of a barrel. I cut the fruits open and found a young man in each of them. I made them all work for me on the farm. But one day the young men ran away because they didn’t like the hard work.”

At this point the merchant pointed his finger at the three brothers and said, “I know you are the ones who ran away from my farm. I’m taking you back to the farm today.”

At once the three lazy brothers jumped up and cried, “No, no, we are not from your farm! We don’t believe your story!”

The merchant looked at them and smiled. “Have you forgotten your promise? You don’t believe my story; therefore you shall be my servants.”

The chief judge declared that the merchant had won the contest, and the three lazy brothers became servants of the merchant.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

Because my mother was raised in Southern California and that was where we lived, I knew my mother’s side of the family much better than my father’s side in Utah, simply because of proximity. My dad felt strongly about my getting to know the Utah side of the family and getting to know the people in Salt Lake. He thought there was experience to be gained and strongly encouraged me to go to the University of Utah, which I did.
When I arrived, I joined a fraternity. A majority of the fraternity were also Church members, some of whom were returned missionaries. After a while I began to notice that the returned missionaries just seemed to “have their act together” in a way that the others, in my opinion, didn’t. I had not been raised with the notion of serving a mission, although as I got to be an older teenager my parents began to mention it. My father had not served a mission because of World War II. His medical school training went right through the war.
As I spent more and more time in Salt Lake and got to know the returned missionaries, somehow I was able to perceive that these missionaries had gotten more out of life and were further down the road in a very positive way than others of the same age. They were directed. They had goals. They had a feeling for who they were that others didn’t seem to have. In my view, they had social skills that I thought were an advantage. That was what got me started thinking about a mission. At first, it was entirely for the wrong reasons, for selfish reasons.
Even within this group there were some returned missionaries whose stories about their missions made me feel hesitant about service. Their stories were about how hard it was or how cold it was or how primitive the circumstances were. I was basically reluctant to do anything cold or difficult. But other returned missionaries took me aside and said, “Whit, let me tell you what it is really like, how wonderful it is.”
Nobody who was a returned missionary said, “Don’t go.” They all told me to go, but a few of them delighted in telling me the hard parts. I decided to listen to these others who said, “That’s just the way he talks. He had a great experience, and look what he became. You’ll have a great experience too.”
At the same time I had an experience that was very important to me. I used to go down to a local gym to work out. One time when I was down there in the late morning, I noticed Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy. We were the only two in the gym, and he struck up a conversation with me.
After a little small talk, I asked him if I could ask a question.
“Sure, please go ahead,” he said. He was very friendly, very warm.
“I’m trying to decide whether to go on a mission.”
He said, “What are the things that you are thinking about? What are the considerations?”
I said, “Really just one, and it is a question about the amount of time it would take.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
At this point in time I thought I wanted to be a doctor. My father was a doctor, and I wanted to be a doctor. This was before I knew much about organic chemistry.
I said, “I’m 19 now and still have three years of college and then time as an intern and a resident. I expect to be drafted into the military (it was during the Vietnam conflict) plus a mission. You add all of these things up, I’ve got 14 or 15 years to go before I get to real life. If I do all of these things, I won’t get to real life until I’m 33 or 34 years old. That seems like a very late start.”
He said, “Well, that’s an interesting question. You should know that I did not serve a mission. I was in the military during World War II and was not able to serve a mission, but I’ll tell you how I think you should answer the question.”
He asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you don’t do any of those things?”
I answered, “I’ll be 33.”
He again asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you do all of those things?”
I said, “I’ll be 33.”
Then he asked me. “When you are 33, what would you rather have done? None of those things, half of those things, or all of those things?”
I saw immediately the wisdom of his response, and it just penetrated me. I saw how it fit with what I had seen in the returned missionaries on campus. I decided then and there I was going to serve a mission.
That was the best decision I have ever made, because everything good in my life has come from that decision. I don’t believe my wife would ever have been willing to consider marrying me if I had not been a returned missionary. I think her decision to marry me was the best thing that has happened in my life. Our experience together across the years, raising a family and being involved in Church service, our community involvement, my professional involvement, all of those things have been influenced by that mission.
I am so grateful for the example of returned missionaries—for the way they dressed, for the way they talked, the way they worked, for the light in their lives, which was immediately evident to me. I could see the difference in the way they dressed, spoke, and carried themselves, in the way they behaved. It was discernible. I could see it, and I wasn’t looking for it. It was simply that I began to perceive something that I hadn’t noticed before, and I learned that the Lord blesses those who do the things He asks them to do. He blessed me, and He blesses everyone who goes on a mission and then stays in essentially a modified missionary lifestyle after that. I’m grateful for that.
Those two experiences—watching returned missionaries and having a chance (well, maybe not a chance) meeting with Elder Hanks. That was the turning point in my life. My parents wanted me to go on a mission and were delighted when I did. And I think it helped my younger brothers to see me go.
Young men, look forward to serving a mission. It is hard; it is work, but there is nothing about it that you can’t do. You’ll love the experience. Doing hard things is good for us, and missions aren’t so hard that you can’t do them. They just require something of you. You have to grow up a little, and I promise you that if you will prepare yourself for a mission in every way—intellectually, physically, and spiritually—keeping yourself clean and ready to go, you’ll have a tremendous experience, and you’ll be grateful.

It started when I lost the Book of Mormon “my” missionary, Sister High, had given me more than five years earlier. I knew I could obtain another one, but my copy was full of my own markings and cross-references. Tucked between its pages were cherished quotes, a heartwarming note from a friend, and a copy of my patriarchal blessing. Although I looked and looked, the book was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless.
Shortly after this incident, I was let go from one of my jobs. My income was now cut in half. I had promised my parents I would pay my own way through college. How was I going to afford to keep going to school?
I had been keeping the commandments to the best of my ability; why were things going so badly? Friends at school didn’t pass on the chance to rub it in. One said, “You should cut back on how often you attend church. You can save bus fare.” Another said, “Why don’t you take a break from church for a month or two? You might find out that you don’t notice much of a difference.”
For a moment, their comments made sense. I started to wonder if my life would be better without the Church.
I went back to my dorm room, where I saw a picture of my family taken during Chinese New Year. I thought about how much I love them and how happy they make me. And I thought about my Heavenly Father, whom I love and who loves me. I realized maybe I needed to focus on what I had rather than what I lacked. Still, I wondered how I was going to get through these trials.
A short time later, I confided my feelings to my institute teacher, Sister Ou, who said, “Many members have experienced a phase when the ‘all is well’ period of being a new convert ends and you begin to face the trials of faith. The scriptures say, ‘Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith’ (Mosiah 23:21).”
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“Study the scriptures even more diligently, and pray even more earnestly,” she said. “True faith comes when you have trials and pain. Your faith will grow, you will progress, and your testimony will be strengthened.”
I decided to follow her advice and put my faith in God. I tried to do as Alma 38:5 teaches: “As much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”
As it turned out, I found another job—one that was better than my previous one. Better yet, I found my copy of the Book of Mormon.
I learned that our disappointments, sorrows, and dark hours are to help us grow. They can lead us to much joy if, as Sister Ou taught me, we put our faith and trust in a loving Heavenly Father. How grateful I am to have a reaffirmed testimony that the Church and gospel are true.

I saw that same happiness in the faces of people who helped for the Lord in Idaho years ago. The Teton Dam burst on Saturday, June 5, 1976. Eleven people were killed. Thousands had to leave their homes in a few hours. Some homes were washed away. And hundreds of dwellings could be made habitable only through effort and means far beyond that of the owners.
One couple returned to Rexburg from a vacation just after the flood. They didn’t go to see their own house. Instead, they found their bishop to ask where they could help. He directed them to a family in need.
After a few days they went to check on their home. It was gone, swept away in the flood. They simply walked back to the bishop and asked, “Now what would you like us to do?”
Wherever you live, you have seen that miracle of sympathy turned to unselfish action. It may not have been in the wake of a great natural disaster. I have seen it in a priesthood quorum where a brother rises to describe the needs of a man or a woman who seeks an opportunity to work to support himself or herself and his or her family. I could feel sympathy in the room, but some suggested names of people who might employ the person who needed work.
What happened in that priesthood quorum and what happened in the flooded houses in Idaho is a manifestation of the Lord’s way to help those in great need become self-reliant. We feel compassion, and we know how to act in the Lord’s way to help.

Three years later I went to Rome, Italy, to visit my uncle. He kept telling me about this church he went to. One Sunday, he took me with him. I will always remember walking toward the church’s doors for the first time and feeling the love of Heavenly Father when I went in. It felt like home.

I started going to church every single Sunday and to every activity during the week. I loved being with the youth of the Church. They made me happier. They thought and believed in the same things that I did. Then, after three months, my summer holiday finished and I had to go back to Albania.

When I returned home, I told my dad about the feelings I had had and how happy I had felt during all that time. He didn’t like it. He told me he wouldn’t allow me to continue to go to church or learn more about it. So I would have to be patient for the next three years until I turned 18 years old. Then I could decide for myself and get baptized.

During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She had been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.

Even though we had never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.

Finally, after years of being patient, I was baptized just two days after my 18th birthday. And soon I will share with my mother the happiness I felt that day, because I will be baptized for her. I know she will be proud of the life I have chosen.

I feel blessed by Heavenly Father because He was with me during my entire journey in so many ways. I just had to wait and be patient because He had a plan for me. He’s the one who gave me strength to go through all the challenges I faced. He was always there, helping me be happier.

When the Kaysville Utah East Stake youth committee decided to stage a musical in honor of the Bicentennial, they didn’t expect the play’s nonmember author to fly from New York for the production. But nothing could have given them any more cause for enthusiasm and potential stage fright.
The young people voted to put on Tall Tom Jefferson, complete with youth orchestra. After writing to request the musical score, they were told there was no complete orchestration available to them. One of the adult leaders decided to call the New York publishing company. She soon found out she was talking to the play’s author, Ruth Roberts. Mrs. Roberts was told the production would be staged by a Church group, and her interest in Mormons and Utah increased. Of course, she was invited to attend the Kaysville performances and see Utah. Mrs. Roberts offered to lend the group the score used by a professional orchestra in England, but added she thought the arrangement much too difficult for high school-age players.
Within days, over 1,000 pages of music—23 pounds—reached Kaysville, and with them came a letter from Mrs. Roberts accepting the group’s invitation to attend their production. The young people would get the opportunity to show her their acting and musical finesse.
Meanwhile the cast was getting ready to introduce Jefferson and his friends to their friends. With more than 150 cast members, making the costumes kept wives, mothers, and sisters busy with their needles. The chorus found the orchestration and choral books to be in different keys with syncopated tempos. A major transposition overhaul put the two in step with each other and the cast.
On opening night Mrs. Roberts was there; and the local high school gym was full of hoop skirts, three-corner hats, waistcoats, and frilly petticoats, along with anxious moms and dads and restless little brothers. But it didn’t take very long before everyone settled down to enjoy an evening of early American history a lot less painful than anyone could recall it ever having been before.

Most of the youth in Abby’s ward in Oklahoma have known her since Primary, and one of her fellow Laurels in the ward, Shelby, is especially close to her because she has been working with Abby in her special education class at school. You see, Abby is autistic, and she has been changing the lives of the youth in her ward for the better in a big way.
The young women of the ward had a great time as they banded together to help Abby earn her Young Womanhood Recognition. And the spirit of helping became contagious as many of the young men joined with the young women to help with Abby’s Special Olympics basketball team. From practicing to cheering the team on, the experience was a blessing and a missionary experience for the youth of the ward. Several nonmember parents of these special-needs youth expressed their appreciation and admiration for the help given to the basketball team.
Abby’s friend Shelby says, “By helping Abby and her team, I learned more about myself than anything. Abby’s teammates are all very unselfish and kind to one another, and that makes me want to be more like them.”
“I have grown up with Abby, and she is so sweet,” adds Jourdon, a priest in the ward. “She is always happy and brings a smile to my face every time I see her. As I was working with Abby and her team, I learned that while we are all different, in Heavenly Father’s eyes we are the same. We’re all His children.”