Gospel Story Finder

Brad’s approach to football illustrates this attitude. The summer before his sophomore year he had the man who makes his artificial legs throw together a makeshift kicking leg out of a wooden block on the end of an old “fishing leg,” a sort of plastic peg leg that Brad uses for swimming and showering. He then hit the practice field with an armful of footballs, his family, and half the neighborhood kids to help retrieve balls. Then he kicked and kicked and kicked and kicked, and when the kids had become tired of it and gone home, he kicked some more while his father held for him. He kicked, and learned to allow for wind, and kicked, and got his timing down, and kicked some more. Even with the ad-libbed leg, his aim was deadly.

That fall he was suited up and kicking field goals and PAT’s for the sophomore team, with a brand-new, made-to-order kicking leg. This year, as a junior, he was the starting place kicker for both the varsity and junior varsity teams.

“He’s a real competitor,” his football coach says. “He’s always emotionally ready to play. He’s a hard worker, and he has a good positive attitude. Those things are important for any position.”

Brad’s entry into the football scene wasn’t an easy one. He had to miss several games his sophomore year because of a rule dispute about artificial limbs, and he had to earn his assignment in the face of some talented competition.

“The kids on the team don’t look at Brad as someone who’s handicapped; they just think of him as a valuable player,” his coach emphasizes. “He’s the best kicker on the team. He had to compete with another very fine kicker for the position, and Brad just plain beat him out. He’s the best kicker I’ve had in my years of coaching. I’ve always made it clear to Brad that he’s got to make the team on his own. He’s not going to play just because he’s handicapped. He’s got to be the best, and he is the best.”

Several years ago, my husband asked our family to prepare for a special home evening. Our four-year-old daughter asked to sing “I Am a Child of God.” Our 10-year-old son said the opening prayer. We felt the strong and marvelous presence of the Spirit.
My husband shared a few thoughts from Church leaders and encouraged us to remain united in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He then gave our little daughter a father’s blessing. My mother and I were also given blessings, and last was our son. Before placing his hands on our son’s head, my husband spoke of his gratitude for the priesthood and encouraged him to be worthy of this authority.
Nearly a year and a half later, our daughter said, “Let’s do another family home evening like we did that one time.” Knowing what she meant, still I asked her which one. She replied, “The one when we cried a lot and were very happy!”
Marlúcia Souza de Jesus Costa, Bahia, Brazil

The Young Women of the Mountain Home Fourth Ward, Mountain Home Idaho Stake, undertook a special service project for the mothers in the ward. On Mother’s Day the Young Women took over the entire Primary to give the leaders and teachers a chance to attend Relief Society and Sunday School.

Each girl was assigned a position, from leading sharing time and the music to teaching a class. Some of the younger girls chose to team teach. The Young Women dedicated themselves to preparing excellent lessons for the children.

In preparation for the service project, the Young Women received instruction on teaching lessons. They were anxious to put into action the things they learned.

In addition to this service project, the Young Women also set up baby-sitting services for ward temple day.

I was called to the Ghana Accra Mission, speaking English instead of my native Portuguese. I was so nervous about learning English! I couldn’t believe I was going to have to speak such an impossible language.
But during our first class in the MTC, my teacher wrote the words “Believe it” on the board—meaning believe that we can do all things with Christ (see Philippians 4:13).
I believed this, but I didn’t think it extended to my ability to learn a new language in just six weeks. I had no idea how I was supposed to do something that seemed so impossible!
After that first day of class, I knelt in prayer in my room. I told Heavenly Father that I would trust Him, and even though I wasn’t positive about my ability to learn English, I would act in faith as much as I could. I told Him I would choose to believe that with the Savior’s help I could do this.
And as the weeks went by, I slowly but surely felt myself learning this impossible language.
It was a miracle.
Since learning about Jesus Christ, I have always believed in Him. But believing in what He and Heavenly Father can help us accomplish is something different and something I had to work on. Without faith, miracles can look like mere coincidences. But as I chose to have faith in Christ and combined that with my efforts to learn, I felt Him magnifying my abilities and capacity.

A pleasant young man in his early 20s sat across from me. He had an engaging smile, although he didn’t smile often during our talk. What drew me in was the pain in his eyes.
“I don’t know if I should remain a member of the Church,” he said. “I don’t think I’m worthy.”
“Why wouldn’t you be worthy?” I asked.
“I’m gay.”
I suppose he thought I would be startled. I wasn’t. “And … ?” I inquired.
A flicker of relief crossed his face as he sensed my continued interest. “I’m not attracted to women. I’m attracted to men. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings or change them, but …”
He sighed. “Why am I this way? The feelings are very real.”
I paused, then said, “I need a little more information before advising you. You see, same-gender attraction is not a sin, but acting on those feelings is—just as it would be with heterosexual feelings. Do you violate the law of chastity?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
This time I was relieved. “Thank you for wanting to deal with this,” I said. “It takes courage to talk about it, and I honor you for keeping yourself clean.
“As for why you feel as you do, I can’t answer that question. A number of factors may be involved, and they can be as different as people are different. Some things, including the cause of your feelings, we may never know in this life. But knowing why you feel as you do isn’t as important as knowing you have not transgressed. If your life is in harmony with the commandments, then you are worthy to serve in the Church, enjoy full fellowship with the members, attend the temple, and receive all the blessings of the Savior’s Atonement.”
He sat up a little straighter. I continued, “You serve yourself poorly when you identify yourself primarily by your sexual feelings. That isn’t your only characteristic, so don’t give it disproportionate attention. You are first and foremost a son of God, and He loves you.
“What’s more, I love you. My Brethren among the General Authorities love you. I’m reminded of a comment President Boyd K. Packer made in speaking to those with same-gender attraction. ‘We do not reject you,’ he said. ‘… We cannot reject you, for you are the sons and daughters of God. We will not reject you, because we love you.’”
We talked for another 30 minutes or so. Knowing I could not be a personal counselor to him, I directed him to his local priesthood leaders. Then we parted. I thought I detected a look of hope in his eyes that had not been there before. Although he yet faced challenges to work through—or simply endure—I had a feeling he would handle them well.

As the one-year anniversary of their baptism drew near, the ‘Akau‘ola family contemplated the wonderful blessings of the temple. Siope said, “If the blessings of the temple are so much greater than those we have received from being baptized, imagine how wonderful temple blessings must be.” Despite their desire to be sealed, the temple in Tonga was undergoing renovations, so they would have to wait over a year or make an expensive trip to New Zealand or Fiji to attend the temple.
The family thought hard and prayed about what to do. They eventually decided to take out a small loan. While waiting for approval, the bank processing their loan was destroyed in a fire. All loans would be delayed until the following year.
Siope and Liu were feeling discouraged. They sat together in their small living room and prayed for a miracle. As they prayed and counseled together, the answer came: “I saw in my mind’s eye the family van smiling at us and knew this was the answer to our prayers,” Siope said. They were able to sell the van the next day and purchase airline tickets to Fiji for their family of five.
They arrived very late into Nadi, Fiji, with three tired children and a long drive ahead of them to the temple in Suva. Liu said, “I learned that the more we try to get closer to the Lord’s house the more Satan tries to get us to give up before we get the blessing.”
While sitting in the airport trying to decide what their next step would be, a woman helped them arrange lodging and a ride to Suva the next day for a fraction of the usual rates. They felt that God had sent an angel to help them.
They arrived at the temple the next day. “As we entered the temple I felt a peace and calm in my heart,” Liu said. “I have never seen clean and white in my life like in the temple. A thought came to my mind: If the temple is a house made by man and it is so beautiful, then how wonderful must the home be that Heavenly Father has promised us!”
Their experiences in the temple were life-changing for the family. Liu said, “The whole time we were in Fiji, I experienced the love of our Heavenly Father for us. When we choose to follow Him, He really takes good care of us.”

If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame or jealousy or disappointment or envy, from self-recrimination or self-justification, consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. …
He grew up in a little community with a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He married his sweetheart, and presently everything was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. …
Finally the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
John’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife. He had no way to tend both the baby and his work.
As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
He thought of little else, and in his bitterness, he became threatening. …
One night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. …
This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from that wise servant was simply, “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.” …
He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. And finally, he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “… It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

I know a man, a dear friend, whose mortal service in the vineyard ended last night at 11:00. He had been treated for cancer for years. During those years of treatment and of terrible pain and difficulty, he accepted a call to hold meetings with and be responsible for members in his ward whose children were gone from their homes; some were widows. His calling was to help them find comfort in sociality and gospel learning.

When he got the final sobering prognosis that he had only a short time to live, his bishop was away for a business trip. Two days later, he sent a message to his bishop through his high priests group leader. He said this about his assignment: “I understand the bishop is out of town, so I’m in action. I’m thinking of a meeting for our group next Monday. Two members can take us for a tour of the Conference Center. We could use some members to drive them and some Scouts to push wheelchairs. Depending upon who signs up, we may have enough oldsters to do it ourselves, but it would be good to know we have backup if needed. It could also be a good family night for the helpers to bring their families as well. Anyway let me know before I post the plan. … Thanks.”

And then he surprised the bishop with a phone call. Without reference to his own condition or his valiant efforts in his assignment, he asked, “Bishop, is there anything I could do for you?” Only the Holy Ghost could have allowed him to feel the bishop’s load when his own load was so crushing. And only the Spirit could have made it possible for him to create a plan to serve his brothers and sisters with the same precision he used in planning Scouting events when he was young.

When I was in junior high school, I used money from a paper route to buy a small motorcycle. It wasn’t new or very powerful, but it was fast enough to kick up desert dust from the trails that snaked through the cactus east of our home in Tucson, Arizona, USA.
When my motorcycle ran out of gas, I would grab our gas can. When the can was empty, I would arrange a ride to fill it up at a gas station. One day my older brother had what I thought was a great idea.
“Just borrow some gas from Dad’s pickup,” he said.
He showed me how, with a small section of rubber garden hose, I could syphon gas from the pickup directly into my motorcycle. That solution worked great—until I got careless a few weeks later.
While I was syphoning gas, the hose slipped from my hand and slid into the pickup’s gas tank! I couldn’t see it or reach it. In a few weeks, I feared, the gasoline would dissolve the rubber, which would likely clog the pickup’s carburetor.
It was bad enough that I’d been taking gas without permission, but now I’d probably ruined Dad’s pickup. How could I tell him? He was kind of strict, and I was afraid of what he’d say.
I didn’t write my dad a note about the hose in the gas tank. In fact, since I’d probably be grounded for life, I decided not to tell him. A few months later, however, my conscience got the best of me and I prayed up enough courage to admit what had happened. Instead of grounding me, he shrugged his shoulders, gave me some fatherly advice, and said, “Be more careful next time.”
After that conversation, it was easier to talk to my dad—especially when I messed up. Those chats helped prepare me for bishop’s interviews.
As for our pickup truck, I’m happy to report that that hose didn’t ruin it. It still runs just fine.

A man came to Temple Square one day and stood outside the office door, wanting to come in. I knew as I saw him that he had a desperate need, and I’ll confess, to my sorrow, that my first thought was that the need probably was economic. We have many occasions there to be blessed with such opportunities. Well, I looked at him just a little bit suspiciously, and then, going to the door, I invited him in and saw immediately in his face that the need he had had little to do with economics. He had a kind of glaze over his eyes that comes with a deep, shattering shock.

He was a nonmember of the Church married to a fine Primary president. This lady and he were the parents of a beautiful daughter aged 11. This man’s parents lived in the eastern part of the country, and the family had decided in a little council a sweet and fine thing, as he discussed it, that the best Christmas present they could give his parents was to send Daddy to see them, because it had been so long, and, it being Christmastime, the best gift they could receive was a visit from their only son. So he had, although reluctantly, accepted this commission and had gone to see his parents. While there he had received word from people at home that his wife had been in an automobile accident. The little girl had been killed. Through fire that followed, her body had been destroyed.

This was, of course, a terrible shock to him. He was on his way home and had several hours layover in Salt Lake and had come to Temple Square trying to find peace. He sat across the desk from me, and I tried to teach him. I have seldom been more frustrated, because I didn’t get by that shock at all. I talked of eternity; I talked of resurrection; I talked of the faith we need, of the strength and sustaining influence of the Lord; and nothing registered—nothing at all. I began to get desperate. He sat ill at ease and getting ready to move, and I began to pray. My prayer (and I have repeated it so many times under similar circumstances) was, “Lord, help me now. Lord, help me now.” For a reason I am sure of, and you will accept, I suppose, I opened this book—perhaps I should have done it much sooner without the stimulus of the inspiration, but I hadn’t—to these words out of the 11th chapter of the book of Alma:

The spirit and the body shall be reunited again in its perfect form; both limb and joint shall be restored to its proper frame. [Alma 11:43]

I turned to Alma 40 and read a little more of the Resurrection, that “even a hair of the head shall not be lost” (Alma 40:23). For the first time I saw the break come. I found as we talked that the thing that disturbed him most was about this beautiful little girl. I have little girls; I know about how a father would feel—at least I think I can imagine. The thing that bothered him most was that he could not even see her again, that the beauty and perfection of her little life was gone, and he had no real hope for anything more. But he sat and listened, and the simple therapy was repeated. We read it as the word of the Lord. He accepted it as such. He sat in one of those little alcoves near the door and read it over and over for a long time. When I took him to the airport, the glaze in his eyes was gone. He had wept, perhaps for the first time. He had talked and seemed reachable, and we had discussed the principles I had tried to talk of before.

A few months later I heard his voice at the counter. I hadn’t heard a thing from him since our first meeting. He was standing there with two rather rough-looking men. They turned out to be his wife’s brothers, born in the Church. He had a copy of the Book of Mormon opened to Alma 11 and was reading to them those wonderful words, testifying of their truth, telling them that in his search through the record he had found it to be the word of God. He bought a book for them and sent them home to read—these men who had been born into the faith.

I must confess to you that, up until 24 years ago (I got married about 24 years ago), I had but one prayer in my heart. There was only one thing that I wanted to do. I prayed morning and night, unashamedly, that I could be the shortstop for the New York Yankees. That was my prayer. I don’t pray that anymore.

My prayer changed. It became, “I want to be the father of lovely and virtuous young ladies.” I’ve been blessed with four fine daughters. I’ve observed families that have done a great job with their children. I went to one couple, friends of ours, and asked, “How come your kids are so good? What is it you do with them?”

They said, “Oh, we do this, this, this, and we give them plenty of love.”

I asked some other friends, “How come your kids are so good? What is it you do?”

“Oh, we do this, this, this, and, oh, by the way, we give them plenty of love.” That seems to be the common denominator—give them plenty of love.

“Look at that stubborn pig over there! Betsy won’t act like that when you unload her!”
Kevin looked down at his sister, Susan, and answered, “I hope not, but you can never tell for sure.”
“But you have Betsy trained so that she does just what you want.”
“Yes, she does at home, but when you bring pigs here to the fair where everything is strange, you can’t tell. Anyway, it isn’t how she acts that worries me—it’s her ears.”
The big stake truck finally pulled away from the unloading chute, and Kevin and Susan watched as Dad backed up their smaller truck. When it stopped, Kevin let down the tailgate. He was nervous as he picked up the training stick and touched Betsy on the side. Betsy gave a snort and walked sedately down the gate and into the chute.
“Take her back to stall thirty-eight,” said the fair superintendent. “Here’s a card to fill out and put on the outside of her pen.”
Kevin was proud of Betsy’s behavior. She’s a good hog, in spite of her ears, he told himself. He was remembering last winter when he had decided on swine for his 4-H project.
“I wanted to get you a purebred gilt (young female pig),” Dad had said, “but we just can’t do it right now.”
Kevin had understood. After the years of drought, he was used to making do with what he could get. Then, when he had talked to his 4-H leader about taking Betsy to the fair, Mr. Roland had asked, “What class will you enter her in?”
“What about this class?” Kevin had replied, looking at the entry listing. “‘All Other Breeds’—that just about describes her.”
Mr. Roland had chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’m afraid she’ll have to have some particular breed name. She looks more like a Poland China than anything else, except that her ears stick up, while a Poland China’s should flop.”
So now as Kevin filled in his card, he wrote “Poland China” as the breed and “Kevin Jackson” as owner. “I’d better take her over and wash her now,” he said when he finished.
“More washing?” Mom asked in mock horror. “You’ve done nothing for the last week but scrub that pig!”
“I know, but there won’t be much time in the morning, and I still have to work on her feet some more.”
The next morning the Jacksons were at the fairgrounds early. Kevin had already given Betsy another bath when Mom and Susan came over from the home economics building.
“She looks wonderful,” Mom said. “Now you run and put these on.” She held out a clean pair of jeans and a clean plaid shirt.
“Aw, do I have to?” Kevin protested. “These jeans I have on are OK. None of the other guys are getting fixed up.”
“You have your prize exhibit all polished up,” Mom said, “and I want my prize exhibit polished up too.”
Kevin laughed and took the clothes. “Watch Betsy for me. Don’t let her get to rooting around and get her snout dirty,” he warned as he left.
It was exactly nine o’clock when Kevin came back. Mom, Dad, and Susan went in and sat down while Kevin waited with the other exhibitors. He took a deep breath and tried not to be afraid. I think her ears are great, he told himself. Ears that perk up can hear better, and they make her look more intelligent.
Still, he knew that she had to be judged according to the rules. I guess what counts is to do the best that I can, he thought. He knew that he had really worked hard on this 4-H project.
As the class before Betsy’s was called, Kevin went back to Betsy’s pen to put on the coat dressing, carefully working in just the right amount of oil. She does look pretty! he thought proudly.
“All other breeds, senior gilts,” called the judge. There were only three in the class: a Chester White, a Spotted Poland China, and Betsy.
As Kevin brought Betsy out, he could hear Susan “whispering” to Mom, “Betsy’s being real good, isn’t she?”
Kevin was careful not to touch Betsy’s tail so that she would take the curl out of it. He guided her carefully over in front of the judge, squatted beside her, and stretched his arms out to hold her still.
Once she shied slightly, but Kevin soon had her quiet again.
Betsy might be excited but not as excited as he was. Not only would a blue ribbon for first prize mean a lot, but the prize money would help with his school clothes.
“First prize,” said the judge, “goes to the Chester White. She is true to type, stands well on her feet, and has a well-arched back. Second place goes to the Spotted Poland China, another good gilt but a little heavy in the front quarter. Third goes to the … well, the owner says she’s a Poland China. She has a good back and stands well, but she isn’t quite true to type.”
Kevin gulped a little as he took the white ribbon and started Betsy back toward her pen. Of course he knew animals had to be judged according to their breed, but still it seemed unfair to put Betsy down because her ears perked up like a Berkshire’s. The judge had noticed that she had a good back. He could have noticed that she had a good curl in her tail too. And there wasn’t a better behaved hog there.
Kevin came slowly back to the judging ring, trying not to let his disappointment show. He’d done the best that he could.
Finally the last class was finished, and the judge was speaking. “We’ve had some good swine, and they’ve been well groomed. However, I couldn’t help noticing that in some cases the hogs were better groomed than the boys who showed them.”
Kevin glanced at his mother, and the twinkle in his eye matched hers. He looked back as the judge continued. “Now I’m happy to announce the winners for showmanship. In each division the showmanship award goes to the boy or girl who shows an animal to the best advantage.”
Kevin held his breath when the judge called, “All Other Breeds, Senior Gilts,” but the prize went to the owner of the Chester White.
“And now,” the judge continued, “first place for fitting and showing of swine—Kevin Jackson!”
So the judge had noticed how well Betsy behaved! Kevin exulted.
There was a burst of applause as Kevin went up to accept the purple championship ribbon. Better than that was the knowledge that Mom and Dad and Susan were proud of him.
Perhaps Betsy was proud too! At least, her ears perked up proudly when he told her.

I can see only 10 percent of what is around me—mostly objects that are big and that move slowly. But that changed for a few moments one afternoon.
No one seemed to be around as I sat on a shady hill. The grass beneath me covered the earth like a green carpet, and I savored the smell of nearby roses. I knelt to touch each flower, thankful that I could see a small part of God’s lovely world.
Suddenly, I sensed movement close to me. Then I heard a chirp about a foot away. It must be a bird, I thought, wishing I could see it. I had never seen a real bird, just pictures of them in books. But I never would: they were so small, and they flew so swiftly.
My pulse quickened as I caught a glimpse of something brown. I strained my eyes until I could tell that the object was a bird. I stared in awe as the bird spread his wings majestically before me. I held my breath, not wanting to scare him away.
He lingered only briefly. As he disappeared into the blue sky, I wept freely. I had seen something so exquisite that I wanted to see more.
But soon another thought passed through my mind. If I could fully see, I might not value every priceless image as I now did. I might not see inner beauty as easily, nor have the compassion I had learned from my own suffering. It was God’s gentle reminder of his will for me. I could serve him best as I was.
I dried my eyes. “Thank you, Lord,” I prayed, “for letting me see a bird.”

Inspiring is the missionary service rendered by Walter Krause, who lives in Prenzlau, Germany.
Homeless following World War II, like so many others at that time, Brother Krause and his family lived in a refugee camp in Cottbus and began to attend church there. He was immediately called to lead the Cottbus Branch. Four months later, in November of 1945, the country still in ruins, district president Richard Ranglack came to Brother Krause and asked him what he would think about going on a mission. Brother Krause’s answer reflects his commitment to the Church. Said he: “I don’t have to think about it at all. If the Lord needs me, I’ll go.”
He set out on December 1, 1945, with 20 German marks in his pocket and a piece of dry bread. One of the branch members had given him a winter coat left over from a son who had fallen in the war. Another member, who was a shoemaker, gave him a pair of shoes. With these and with two shirts, two handkerchiefs, and two pairs of stockings, he left on his mission.
Once, in the middle of winter, he walked from Prenzlau to Kammin, a little village in Mecklenburg, where 46 attended the meetings which were held. He arrived long after dark that night after a six-hour march over roads, paths, and finally across plowed fields. Just before he reached the village, he came to a large, white, flat area which made for easy walking, and he soon arrived at a member’s home to stay the night.
The next morning the game warden knocked on the door of the member’s house, asking, “Do you have a guest?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
The game warden continued, “Then come and take a look at his tracks.” The large, flat area on which Brother Krause had walked was actually a frozen lake, and some time earlier the warden had chopped a large hole in the middle of the lake for fishing. The wind had driven snow over the hole and covered it so that Brother Krause could not have seen his danger. His tracks went right next to the edge of the hole and straight to the house of the member, without his knowing anything about it. Weighed down by his backpack and his rubber boots, he would certainly have drowned had his pathway been one step closer to the hole he couldn’t see.

After Kay and I were married, we graduated and went off to piolet training, then to Vietnam, then back home to Hill Air Force Base. We had a daughter and three sons, and then Kay couldn’t have any more children. Her patriarchal blessing had told her that she would have sons and daughters, and mine told me that I would have a large posterity that which would call my name blessed. We worried a little about not having another daughter, but the Lord knew what was in store for us. In 1970 I was called as a Bishop. I was a young man in my early 30s. It was an awesome responsibility. I had a clerk named Don who was an outdoors man. He loved to hunt and fish, and on his 40th birthday he invited me, his bishop, to go fishing with him. I did and I loved it. It was a wonderful day, but at the end of the day, while we were hiking out, Don had a heart attack. We got him to the hospital, but he passed away. I was the last one with him when he told me “Please take care of my wife and children.” He had a wonderful wife and four little girls. Three months later, his wife found out she had colon cancer. It was operable, and so our little ward decided we would have a fast before she went in the hospital for the operation.

It was fast day the Sunday before the Monday she was due to go into the hospital and I was awakened that morning at 5:00 a.m. by my wife crying silently into her pillow. As I put my arm around her, I could feel tears and moisture on her pillow and I knew it was serious. I asked what she was crying about and she said, “I’m worried about those little girls.” She had taught two of them in primary and knew how precious they were. Surely the Lord wouldn’t take the second parent as well. As I held her in my arms, I knew that she was communicating with me through the power of the Spirit, and I said, “Are you suggesting we raise those little girls if Diane doesn’t make it?” And she nodded, yes. We decided to fast and pray about it that day and we did, and that night after we broke our fast we knew what our obligation was.

Promoted by the Spirit, we went to her home. The home teachers had been there and given her a wonderful blessing, her brother was there from Bountiful, her sister from Salt Lake, and her mother (who was 85 years old) who lived in Kaysville was there and they had a wonderful evening. We only stayed a few moments, and as we went to leave, at the doorway, Kay said, “Diane, we know you are going to make it, but just in case, we want you to know we’ll be happy to raise your children if you’d like us to, just like our own.” She said, “Thank you. You’re wonderful friends, but I have a brother who lives in Bountiful, and a sister in Salt Lake, and my mother lives down town, and they’ve all asked for them.”

We went home, and I felt guilty because I felt like phew, we dodged that bullet. But my wife was very quiet and reserved and didn’t say much. We put our children in bed, and she went to bed and I went to the other room to study in my den (I had a check ride on the 727 the next morning and so I was practicing my emergency procedures) when at 11:00 p.m. the phone rang. It was Sister Diane on the other line, and she asked if Kay was still up. I said she was awake. She said, “Put her on the other phone and you stay on this one. I want you to hear what we say.” Then, for the next 35 or 40 minutes, I listened while these two good sisters (who were not particularly close friends) talked about how these girls should be raised if Diane didn’t make it. My wife had it all figured out. You know how women are. President Packer said the inspiration of a righteous woman is pure revelation. We had just built a brand-new home, her dream home. She insisted on seven bedrooms. We only had four children. We used one of the extra bedrooms as my den and the two in the basement we didn’t even finish, just roughed them in. She explained to Diane that we would put all the girls up stairs where we had two bathrooms, and a sink in one of the master bedrooms, and we would put the boys downstairs where we would finish off two bedrooms. We lived on the main floor where our bedroom was. They’d have the same teachers, the same school, the same ward, the same bus stop, the same home teachers. It seemed to be the right thing.

At the end of the discussion, Diane said, “Well, I only have one more question. Have you prayed about this?” We said we had fasted and prayed that day. She said, “So have I, and if it’s all right I’d like to come over tonight with my attorney to sign the papers.” So at 12 o’clock that night, her attorney (who later became my first counselor in the stake presidency) and she came over and on an old broken down typewriter on our kitchen table, he typed out her last will and testament. In it we were to receive the children should she die.

Well, she didn’t die. The operation was a success, and she lived five more years, wonderful years. The children raised to five years older. The oldest one was 17, the youngest about eight, when their mother came down with cancer again and died, and we inherited four little girls. What a great blessing they have been to our lives. Sons and daughters.

Many years ago, I observed a heartbreak—which became a tragedy. A young couple was nearing the delivery of their first child. Their lives were filled with the anticipation and excitement of this monumental experience. During the delivery, complications arose and the baby died. Heartbreak turned to grief, grief turned to anger, anger turned to blame, and blame turned to revenge toward the doctor, whom they held fully responsible. Parents and other family members became heavily involved, together seeking to ruin the reputation and the career of the physician. As weeks and then months of acrimony consumed the family, their bitterness was extended to the Lord. “How could He allow this horrible thing to occur?” They rejected the repeated efforts of Church leaders and members to spiritually and emotionally comfort them and, in time, disassociated themselves from the Church. Four generations of the family have now been affected. Where once there were faith and devotion to the Lord and His Church, there has been no spiritual activity by any family member for decades.

I said I was speaking to the young. I still am. A 14-year-old boy recently said to me a little hesitantly, “Brother Holland, I can’t say yet that I know the Church is true, but I believe it is.” I hugged that boy until his eyes bulged out. I told him with all the fervor of my soul that belief is a precious word, an even more precious act, and he need never apologize for “only believing.” I told him that Christ Himself said, “Be not afraid, only believe,”12 a phrase which, by the way, carried young Gordon B. Hinckley into the mission field.13 I told this boy that belief was always the first step toward conviction and that the definitive articles of our collective faith forcefully reiterate the phrase “We believe.”14 And I told him how very proud I was of him for the honesty of his quest.

As soon as Samantha opened her eyes, she knew what day it was. She ran to the kitchen in her pajamas. “OK, Mom,” she said. “Let’s go to the beach. I’m ready.”
Her mom laughed when she saw Samantha. “You may feel ready,” she said, “but you don’t look ready. You’d better get dressed first and have some breakfast. Then we can get ready to go to the beach.”
Samantha ran upstairs, hopped out of her pajamas, jumped into her clothes, and skipped back downstairs again.
“Settle down,” said her mom. “You can’t eat properly when you’re a jumping bean.”
Samantha tried to drink her juice and eat her cereal slowly. She even tried to butter her toast slowly. But she was too excited.
After breakfast Samantha washed her face, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair. “Now can we go?” she asked.
“Pretty soon,” said her mom. “But first we have to decide what to take with us.”
“I know what to take,” said Samantha. She ran to her room and came back with a red bucket, a yellow spade, a swimsuit, a towel, and a beach ball. “OK,” Samantha said. “Let’s go.”
“What about lunch?” asked Mom with a smile.
“Oh,” said Samantha. “I forgot.”
They made the lunch together. Samantha washed carrots and celery, and her mom cut them up. Samantha made her favorite sandwich—peanut butter, lettuce, and tomato. Mom made some egg salad sandwiches.
They got the cooler and put the sandwiches inside with the vegetables, some fruit, and homemade cookies. Then they put ice packs on top, and Samantha shut the lid and fastened it. “Wow!” she said. “It’s cold in there now.”
“It has to be cold,” Mom explained, “or the food will spoil.”
They filled a thermos with milk, then took everything out to the car. The outside air was still cool, but Samantha knew that soon it would be very, very hot. She hopped up and down. “Come on, Mom,” she said. “Come on.”
“Samantha,” said Mom, “I want to go to the beach, too, but it’s important not to forget anything. Our day will be much more enjoyable if we prepare well. Preparation is important in just about everything we do. Now, there are still some things we need to take. Think how hot it will be. We can’t put ourselves in the cooler. But we can make our own shade.”
“The beach umbrella!” shouted Samantha.
“Right!” said Mom. “And we need little beach umbrellas for our heads.”
“Sun hats!” cried Samantha.
“Right!” said Mom again. “And when we’re in the sun, we need something creamy and smooth to spread on our skin so that the sun won’t burn us.”
“Suntan lotion!” shouted Samantha.
“You remembered!” said Mom. “And we need something for our feet in case there are sharp stones or glass on the beach.”
“Beach shoes!” shouted Samantha.
“You’re very smart,” said Mom.
They gathered all those things and put them into the car along with Mom’s bathing suit, beach coat, sunglasses, and a book. Mom also got extra towels, a change of clothes for Samantha, and a big blanket. Just before shutting the door, Mom called, “Let’s get going, Samantha.”
But Samantha didn’t answer.
Puzzled, Mom called again. Then she heard a giggle. Samantha was already in the car, waiting for her!

“Thank you, Mrs. Frame,” Elizabeth said as Mrs. Frame placed four shiny quarters in her hand.
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Frame said. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help watching Hannah these last five days.”
Elizabeth smiled and waved as she walked down the sidewalk toward town.
Four whole quarters! Elizabeth had never earned even one quarter before, and now she had four! She hugged the coins close to her, thinking of what she might buy. She loved to draw, so a new drawing pad and pencils would be nice. Or maybe she would buy the pretty blue hair ribbon she had seen in the store window.
Elizabeth came to the big wooden doors of the bank. She pulled on the large brass handle and slipped through the doors.
“May I help you, Miss?” a kindly-looking gentleman asked from behind the counter.
“Yes, please. I would like to make change for a quarter,” Elizabeth requested a bit timidly.
“Very well, Miss. I think we can do that.”
Elizabeth opened her hand and placed one quarter on the counter.
“It looks like you have a small fortune there, young lady,” the man said as he handed Elizabeth the change. “What are you going to do with all that money?”
Elizabeth tucked the dime she would need for tithing in one pocket of her apron and put the rest of the money in the other pocket. “I’m not sure yet,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you!” she called as she walked out into the sunshine and headed for the store.
Elizabeth stopped as she got to the store window and peered in. The pretty blue hair ribbon was still there. She also saw a drawing pad and colorful pencils. Elizabeth heard the tinkling of a bell as she pushed open the door.
She slowly walked down each aisle admiring the items for sale. Then a display of cake-making supplies caught her eye. Elizabeth loved to bake, but she had never made a cake. Papa’s birthday was tomorrow, and chocolate cake was his favorite! She used her money to buy the supplies to make Papa a chocolate cake.
The next morning Elizabeth awoke early. Papa had already left to do the morning chores, and she wanted to surprise him with the cake. She carefully sifted flour, sugar, and chocolate into a bowl. Next she whisked together eggs, butter, and buttermilk with a pinch of salt and poured them into the bowl. Elizabeth gently stirred the batter, poured it into a cake pan, and placed it in the oven.
It was hard for Elizabeth to concentrate on her chores, but soon she was finished, and the house was filled with a delicious smell. Placing thick cloths over her hands so she wouldn’t burn herself, Elizabeth carefully pulled the cake from the oven. While it cooled, she made frosting with the remaining sugar and chocolate and some fresh cream she had saved from milking the cows. The frosted cake looked perfect!
“Why, Elizabeth, what are you doing?” Papa asked as he came into the house.
“Happy birthday, Papa!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she held out the cake.
“It’s beautiful!” Papa said as he put his arm around her. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
At supper that evening Elizabeth thought about the drawing pad, the pencils, and the pretty blue hair ribbon. Those things were nice, but as she watched her father enjoy his chocolate cake she knew she had never felt better!

Our Code of Honor also commits us to help others to “fulfill their responsibilities under this Code.” There are many ways to do this. At a minimum it means that we should set a worthy example of observance ourselves. Also, we should discourage others from violating the Code. In more serious instances, it will be appropriate to seek the help of a bishop or other ecclesiastical officer. And where the violation poses a serious and immediate threat to members of the University community, it will even be necessary to report the conduct to responsible University officials. Such would be your obligation, for example, if you knew someone who was engaging in predatory sexual behavior or was using drugs, both of which offenses can involve others in serious moral transgressions. Already this semester we have had one such incident. Two days before classes began two young men who had come to BYU from another state were smoking marijuana in their room in one of our dormitories. Smelling something suspicious, an alert student notified Security and these prospective students were arrested, charged, dismissed from school, and sent home, all before classes began. I am grateful for the student who reported this serious incident. We are determined not to have any drug abuse at BYU, and with that kind of cooperation we never will.