Gospel Story Finder

I was perplexed. Who was this active French family, and why was the mother crediting me with being involved in her conversion? They were not among the individuals or families I remembered teaching or seeing baptized in France. With dim hopes, I consulted the little diary in which I had written a few sentences at the end of each day. Among my entries during the summer of 1964, I finally found mention of the Desmurs.
“July 8. Made return visits and gave good first lesson to Mme. Desmurs in Grand Chene.
“July 9. Gave first four points to M. Desmurs—a challenging man.
That entry stirred my memory. I could remember no faces but vaguely remembered the house. My new companion did not speak any French, and it had been challenging to teach alone. I had covered only four out of twelve points of the lesson, and the husband had challenged every statement I made. I recalled walking home, trying to explain to a discouraged companion that not everyone who asks us back to teach them is ready to accept our message.
“July 21. Did six hours of tracting. Met with the Desmurs family. She is sweet and believing. He is very stubborn.
“July 26. Missionary program at American Branch. Visited inactive family … and the Desmurs.
“July 29. Second lesson with Desmurs. We’re ready to give up.”
Frequently missionaries meet a family where one member is receptive, yet the resistance of others is such that there is no choice but to move on to those who are ready to accept the baptism challenge. So it was with the Desmurs.

Tui M., 12
When I perform, I don’t feel nervous. I feel a thrill. I’ve learned that even if I mess up, I can turn it into something beautiful. It’s almost like painting. When a painter makes a mistake, they might make it into something new. Sometimes I drop my fireknife, but I pick it back up and keep dancing.
Self-encouragement has helped me a lot with my fears. Instead of having thoughts like, “What if I mess up?” I try to have more thoughts like, “Well, what if I do good!”
It’s also become a routine for me to say a small prayer every time before a fireknife performance. Praying protects me and helps me have a good dance. When I pray, I feel confident that I’m going to do good.

I never talked with anyone about those feelings. Then, when I was 11, my parents took me to the home of my great uncle. He was a patriarch. He put his hands on my head and gave me my patriarchal blessing. He told me about the home where I would someday be the father. He described what I had been yearning for—my future home and family. I wondered, How can he know what is only in my heart? It was not secret, because God knew.

Now, just one final thought. I sat in a class in Sunday School in my own ward one day, and the teacher was the son of a patriarch. He said he used to take down the blessings of his father, and he noticed that his father gave what he called “iffy” blessings. He would give a blessing, but it was predicated on “if you will not do this” or “if you will cease doing that.” And he said, “I watched these men to whom my father gave the ‘iffy’ blessings, and I saw that many of them did not heed the warning that my father as a patriarch had given, and the blessings were never received because they did not comply.”
You know, this started me thinking. I went back into the Doctrine and Covenants and began to read the “iffy” revelations that have been given to the various brethren in the Church. If you want to have an exercise in something that will startle you, read some of the warnings that were given through the Prophet Joseph Smith to Thomas B. Marsh, Martin Harris, some of the Whitmer brothers, William E. McLellin—warnings which, had they heeded, some would not have fallen by the wayside. But because they did not heed, and they didn’t clear up their lives, they fell by the wayside, and some had to be dropped from membership in the Church.

Sister Haju Julloh of the Waterloo Branch is a nurse. Caring for the sick, she was exposed daily to the virus. As patient loads increased, protective gowns at the hospital where she worked were sometimes not thoroughly washed and cleaned. Shortly after she joined the Church in August 2014, Sister Julloh tested positive for Ebola and was quarantined in her home.

"I could not attend church, so branch members called and encouraged me," she said. "Confined to my room, I decided to concentrate on studying the Book of Mormon. I read about many spiritual experiences, including miracles that happened to ordinary people like me. I wanted a miracle but did not know if I should even ask. I kept reading and talking to friends on the phone about the things I was reading. After some weeks at home, I was retested for the virus and the test results came back negative. I had to remain quarantined for another week and was then retested. Again, the results were negative. So I was allowed to leave my house and attend church as well as return to work. That was a miracle to me."

Elder Christensen served a mission in Uruguay from 1959 to 1961, and it was there that he developed a strong testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. “Prior to that I could relate the story of the First Vision. But when I arrived in the mission field and prayerfully and sincerely taught it to others, I came to have a certain testimony of the Prophet Joseph and the restored gospel,” he says. “That testimony came in a vivid and sure way, and I knew what I was teaching was true.”

Logan had turned eight years old last week. Today was a special day—he was going to be baptized. He and his father dressed in white clothes and took their seats near the baptismal font.
Logan’s brother-in-law, Ryan, was asked to give a talk at the baptism. After the opening song and prayer, Ryan read the fourth article of faith: “We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Then Ryan placed a blue paper square on the floor at one side of the room and a white paper square at the other side. “Logan, come stand on this blue square,” he said. “Can you get from the blue square to the white square without stepping on the carpet?”
Logan looked across the room and shook his head. “It’s too far.”
Ryan nodded. “It’s too far for you to get there by yourself. And do you think you can return to Heavenly Father without help?”
Logan shook his head again.
Ryan placed six more squares on the floor, each square a different color. “Heavenly Father has given us steps to bring us back to Him. Do you know what they are?”
Logan thought of the article of faith Ryan had just read. “The first one is faith.” Ryan nodded as Logan stepped onto the red square. “And the second one is repentance.” Logan moved to the yellow square.
Ryan pointed to the green square. “This one represents one of the steps you’re taking today.”
Smiling, Logan stepped onto the green square. “Baptism,” he said. He was much closer to the white square now, but there were still three more in between.
“The orange square represents receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Ryan said, “another step you’ll take today.”
Logan stepped onto the orange square.
“What do you think the last two squares represent?” Ryan asked.
Logan thought for a moment. The fourth article of faith included only the first four principles and ordinances of the gospel. He had learned in Primary that baptism was the first of many covenants he would make. “Does the gray square stand for the temple?” he asked.
“Right!” Ryan beamed. “After your baptism and confirmation, you’ll prepare to receive the priesthood and temple ordinances. What do you think the last square stands for?”
Logan couldn’t remember any more steps. Then it dawned on him—it was the simple truth taught by prophets and scriptures. “Stay righteous,” he said.
“Exactly,” Ryan said. “After making all of these covenants, we must stay faithful.”
Logan sat down and Ryan finished his talk. Then Logan and his father entered the baptismal font. With the authority of the priesthood, Logan’s father baptized him. After they had changed into dry clothes, Logan was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Remember the Spirit you feel right now,” Ryan said afterward as he hugged Logan. “Try to keep it with you for the rest of your life.”
Logan knew he would never forget this special day—a day he had taken two important steps toward his heavenly home.

The Phelps presented an evening concert in a new chapel in Holland, where it was requested that there be no applause. Melissa remembered: “After the concert, everyone just rose, almost as a body. We could feel the whole room vibrating, and then the presiding officer told us, ‘This is a silent standing ovation.’ Afterwards every person in the audience came through the receiving line and spoke one or two words in English to us, even if it was just good or enjoy. I’ll never forget that.”

Many years after that experience, when I was approaching age nineteen, my bishop, A. Palmer Holt, asked me to serve a mission. I told him that I couldn’t go. When he asked me why, I said, “I can’t go out and teach the gospel because my testimony isn’t strong enough. I like what I hear at church, but I don’t think that I could tell people to join if I don’t know for myself that it’s true.”
Bishop Holt did not criticize my lack of faith. He simply asked, “How long are you going to stay in this condition? Are you just going to continue because of your parents’ or your friends’ testimonies, or are you going to find out for yourself? You have to pay the price. I suggest that you pray about it and spend time seriously studying the scriptures.
The bishop’s counsel gave me much to think about. I had been attending the University of Utah at the time, but I didn’t register for the next quarter of school. Instead, I stayed home and for the first time made an honest attempt to truly study the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Pearl of Great Price, and the Doctrine and Covenants. I prayed to Heavenly Father often, asking Him to bless me with a testimony.
About two months went by, and nothing happened. Then one Sunday I came late to testimony meeting and slipped quietly into the chapel to sit on the back row. As I listened to the ward members bearing their testimonies, I remember one sister in particular saying she knew that the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I thought, I wish I could say that.
Suddenly I found myself on my feet, expressing my feelings about the gospel and saying that I knew it was true. I felt as though I were on fire. There was no doubt in my mind about the gospel’s truthfulness.
That testimony meeting was a turning point for me. It was an overwhelming experience, and ever since that day, I have known that Jesus is the Christ and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His Church upon the earth today.
I know that the promise given in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] is true, that if you pay the price by spending time studying the scriptures and praying sincerely to Heavenly Father, you can receive a witness of the Holy Ghost. It happened to me, and my testimony has remained firm ever since.
Soon after that meeting, I was in Denmark, preaching the gospel as a missionary. It was wonderful to be able to promise people that if they would read the Book of Mormon and pray with sincere hearts, the Holy Ghost would witness to them of the truthfulness of the gospel. For me, that witness has returned again and again. I have learned that the Spirit comes in different ways. I had felt the Spirit before my experience in testimony meeting, but I simply hadn’t recognized it.

On one occasion Karl G. Maeser was going with a group of young missionaries across the alps. They were crossing a high mountain pass on foot. There were long sticks stuck into the snow of the glacier to mark the path so that travelers could find their way safely across the glacier and down the mountain on the other side.
When they reached the summit, Brother Maeser wanted to teach the young elders a lesson. He stopped at the pinnacle of the mountain and pointed to those sticks that they had followed. And he said, “Brethren, behold the priesthood of God. They are just common old sticks, but it’s the position that counts. Follow them and you will surely be safe. Stray from them and you will surely be lost.” And so it is in the Church. We are called to leadership positions and given the power of the priesthood. And we are just common old sticks, but the position we are given counts. It is separate and apart from us, but while we hold it, we hold it.

I didn’t notice her at first. She was merely a part of the sea of people milling about the reception hall. Then she stepped forward and, struggling for the right English words, pointed to her heart and said, “When you sing, you have a love.”

I looked into her red, tear-swollen eyes and smiled the warmest “Thank you” I could muster. I couldn’t speak. My heart was in my throat.

Looking around the hall, I could see that the other members of the BYU A Cappella Choir were having similar experiences. We were at Kibbutz Chatzerim in the middle of Israel’s Negev Desert. The love of the gospel of Jesus Christ expressed through song had bridged the gap of culture, language, and religion to touch the hearts of these people. It was our first concert in Israel and the beginning of a tour that, through music, would take the message of the Restoration to thousands of Jewish people.

It was only fitting that we should start in the Negev Desert, for it is in this parched and desolate region that the saga of the house of Israel began. This is the land that the Lord gave Abraham for his inheritance. It is the Wilderness of Zin where Moses and the Children of Israel wandered for 40 years to learn obedience to God. Today it is part of the area where the tribe of Judah is returning to build its homeland. Strangely enough, we were coming home too. Home?

How could anyone think this bleached, death-bone desert was home? The landscape is more reminiscent of a bleak and barren planet in another galaxy. But home it is. We are also of the house of Israel, and the realization of this common heritage made our tour seem like one great big family reunion. There were no strangers, only cousins we hadn’t met yet. It wasn’t long until we were engulfed in an overwhelming sense of love for Israel and her people.

This love penetrated deeper into our hearts as we struggled in the burning sun to scale a steep, desert pathway. Looming above us were the skeletal ruins of the winter palace and fortress of Herod the Great—Masada. This small plateau overlooking the Dead Sea is one of the most sacred and inspiring areas of the Negev. When the Roman armies marched on the Jews, a party of Jewish patriots captured the Roman garrison at Masada and resisted Roman conquest for three years after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. In this place centuries ago, 937 men, women and children chose death rather than captivity. Today it is an inspiration to Jewish nationalism. New recruits in the Israeli Army are brought to the top of Masada to take their oaths of service.

The memory of similar persecutions and dedication to principle in the lives of our pioneer forefathers strengthened the bonds we felt with the Jewish people. Alone, we half bowed, half kneeled, among the crumbling limestone columns of the northern palace and sang the “Hatikvah,” the Israeli national anthem. Like a careless beggar, the wind grabbed at our voices and scattered them over the edge to be lost in the wasteland below.

From our vantage point we envisioned how, for centuries, the Jews wandered, waiting for a time to build their own homeland, and how they still wander unknowingly in search of truth.

Turning northward, the power and magnitude of the mighty Negev Desert is quickly worn down to the calm, lush fields and orchards of the Jordan River Valley. In Israel, where there is water, there is life. No one knows that better than those who live on the kibbutzim (cooperative communities for farming and industry).

Struggling to survive in such a harsh climate, these people have learned to respect the land through hard work and industry. They are very emotional people and their appreciation for life is shown in their great love of music, art, and festivity. The majority of our concerts were on these kibbutzim, and we were received with great warmth and enthusiasm. We sang classical pieces ranging from Bach’s 97-page “Singet Dem Herrn,” to selections from Robert Cundick’s contemporary oratorio, “The Redeemer.” Especially popular were some Negro spirituals and Hebrew folksongs. Some members of the choir had expressed concern that the Jewish people would not like “Christian” songs. However, these fears were swiftly removed as we grew to understand the sincere appreciation the Israelis have for the arts, whether they be of Christian, Jewish, or any other origin.

If any of us thought we were the only “cultured” thing to hit Israel, we had another think coming. In an exchange with the Kibbutz Chamber Orchestra, we heard two pieces by Mozart, played as expertly as any orchestra we have come in contact with. These musicians are unusual in that they play not for money but for the sake of playing.

We also had an exchange with the Kibbutz Choir—40 vibrant singers whose sharp, crisp consonants danced in rhythm with their fervent enthusiasm. Their swaying shoulders and fiery eyes made them just as inspiring to watch as they were to hear. Though mostly farmers and small industry workers, both the members of the choir and the orchestra are exceptional artists.

The exchange was so successful and friendships became so strong that our conductor, Dr. Ralph Woodward, was invited to return next summer to conduct workshops with the music educators and musicians throughout Israel.

As hosts, the Israeli people are marvelous. After every concert we were given a reception so we could meet the people. There were apples, apricots, bananas, cake, milk, peanuts, and pretzels. We sang songs with them and learned many of their dances. It was at this time of friendship and association that the spirit of missionary work would really take hold. One evening I was talking with a man and his wife on a kibbutz when all of a sudden she said, “Now, tell us about the Mormons.”

I was a little taken back.

I’m a returned missionary and I thought, “What ever happened to the old, ‘What do you know about the Mormon Church, and would you like to know more’ bit?” This was like walking into a room full of golden investigators.

At first there were only the man and his wife, but in a few minutes about seven people were listening. I talked about Joseph Smith, the plan of salvation, the Book of Mormon, genealogy, the tribes of Israel and our connection through Joseph. I soon found that explaining the gospel to a Jew is a most challenging and rewarding experience. I had to search the very limits of my testimony to help them understand not only what the gospel is but why I believe it.

I was not alone. Charles Cranney and Marsha Paulson had an experience that was representative of many that occurred on the tour. Following a concert, two Israeli youth walked up to them and said, “You’re so peaceful and happy. You’re Mormons, aren’t you? What is it that makes you this way?” In the discussion that followed they were both given copies of the Book of Mormon. Reflecting on the experience, Marsha told Charles, “You know, that’s exactly what I saw before I joined the Church.” Charles summed up his experiences in Israel by saying, “The people came like children who were hungry.”

At Church activities I would ask myself, “Why don’t I have friends?” I felt sad and alone and went to God in prayer. I asked my Heavenly Father to send me good friends. It hasn’t been easy, but over time I’ve made many great friends. I’m not afraid to talk anymore and to get involved with groups of girls. I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayers and that I was never alone.
Daiana I., age 16, Corrientes, Argentina

Tavita started learning patience when he was a young boy. He needed a direction in his life, and when he was 13 a good friend got him into weight lifting. By the age of 14 Tavita could bench press 315 pounds and squat 500 pounds.
“People thought that I was 20 when I was only 14 because of the way I acted and the way I looked. I had the body of an adult. Even so, I still loved to play and watch cartoons.”
In the following years Tavita continued to grow in both strength and size. He entered and won weight lifting competitions around the country. At the age of 15 Tavita traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas, where he was recognized as the strongest 14–17-year-old in the United States, bench pressing 402 pounds and squatting 650 pounds. For five years he won national titles. By 18 he could bench press 525 pounds and squat 908 pounds.
In high school Tavita excelled at weight lifting and football. In his first season on the football field he made all-state and all-American. His list of awards goes on and on. “I excelled in football and weight lifting because they are the two sports I love the most,” he says.
But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 265 pound Samoan going to do there?’ But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had a tough time with the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. Unlike high school, where he thought he had to prove something, all he has to prove now is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.
Tavita continues to work out six days a week. “I take a lot of pride in building the body Heavenly Father gave to me—to keep it clean and to keep it physically as well as spiritually fit.”
Tavita also strives to be a good example to both his LDS and non-LDS friends. He wants to have a positive influence on those around him.
But first and foremost is his relationship with the Lord. “The relationship I have with my Heavenly Father is a little like the one I have with my own dad and mom. I try to do the best of my ability and serve Him and do what He wants me to do.”
Tavita’s father recently passed away and his mother is living in California, but every opportunity they have, the family gets together to have fun. Tavita especially enjoys working on cars with his brothers and cousins. “I love to fix cars. I love anything to do with hands and tools. I have a strong talent for being able to fix and repair things. In fact, my father was a mechanic, and my brothers are also mechanics.”
Tavita has enthusiastic advice for the young people of the Church. “Serve a mission. Especially the young men when they turn 19. Go now. It might not be the easiest, but it will be the best two years of your life.”
He also advises youth to learn the importance of the gospel in their lives.
“Stay close to the Church,” Tavita adds. “Have a close relationship with your Heavenly Father. It has helped me.”
And that’s the kind of attitude which, whether he’s standing or kneeling, makes Tavita Sagapolu a true spiritual giant.

On Scott’s 16th birthday, his father entered Scott’s room and, clearing off a stack of oboe music from a chair so he could sit down, said, “Okay, you’ve been asking us to let you date Pam. You’re 16 now. So go ahead and ask her out.”
“I’m not ready to date yet,” Scott said.
“But that’s all you’ve talked about for a solid year,” his father replied.
“I’m sorry, but a guy just can’t rush into something like that. I’ll date Pam when I’m ready.”
His father left, shaking his head, wishing he understood his son.
Scott tried to get ready to date Pam, but he had known her for four years and couldn’t remember when she hadn’t made him nervous. Even when he was 12 at a Scout-Beehive class breakfast, he’d dropped his pancakes when she asked him if he’d show her how to tie a square knot.
He spent hours thinking about how he’d ask her out. Every morning when he delivered a newspaper to her family’s porch, he looked to see if he might discover a fire in the house from which he could rescue her and the whole family. He imagined her saying, “Oh, how can I ever repay you?” and he would say, “Ma’am, if you’d go with me to the stake youth dance, that’d be repayment enough.”
Every night he’d take the hall phone with the long cord into his room and close the door. With great care he’d position the phone exactly in the center of the desk. Then he would stare at it. As a warm-up to phoning Pam, he’d dial the time-of-day number and talk to the recorded voice, concentrating on lowering his voice.
He’d become sensitive about his voice when he realized that most of the other guys in the priests group were singing bass and he was still singing the melody. In the morning when he delivered papers, he sometimes put pebbles in his mouth and yelled to the dogs who chased him along the route. He tried to imitate as much as possible what John Wayne, with pebbles in his mouth, would say to dogs chasing him if he delivered papers on a secondhand, one-speed bike.
Once he dialed Pam’s number completely. When Pam answered, he cleared his throat and hung up, his face covered with perspiration.
In order to earn money for a karate course, complete with illustrated instruction manual and phonograph records (the course was guaranteed to build confidence), he found a summer job at the Dairy Dip Drive-in. He worked from 10:00 in the morning to 5:00 in the afternoon.
He worked with Becky Williams. It was apparent from the first that they would be “just friends” because she was taller than Scott—his eyes came level with her chin—she was older than he—17 compared with 16—she had little interest in the oboe, and she had a hot-tempered steady named Joe Kruglak who had gained local fame as a fighter. Joe worked as a mechanic in a garage. It was rumored that he lifted automobile engine blocks for exercise.
During the first week, Scott learned from Becky the details of working in a drive-in. Becky worked hard. When business was slow, she launched out on a project of cleaning the grill or washing the windows. But even when they were working side by side, she would seem to withdraw from him, her blue eyes reflecting unhappiness. Scott didn’t say anything to her, and in a few minutes she’d return and they could talk again.
“Basically, what’s wrong with me?” Scott asked one morning while they cleaned out the grease trays on the grill.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, Becky, be honest. I can take it. Is it that my silver braces clash with the gold-rimmed glasses?”
“I’ve never noticed.”
“I’ve got so much metal on my face I’m afraid to get too close to a TV set. I ruin the reception. Is it that I’m only 160 centimeters tall?”
“Centimeters?” she asked.
“I think I sound taller in the metric system. Do people make fun about my playing the oboe in orchestra?”
“No.”
“The oboe hasn’t really made it in the popular market. But someday I’m going to have a group that plays for dances that will have an electronic oboe. I haven’t figured out the details yet.”
Becky never stopped working.
“Why can’t I get a date?” he asked.
“Beats me,” she answered. “Are you going to help me lift out this rack?”
“Sure.” He bent down and slid out the grease-laden rack.
“Do you try to get dates?” she asked.
“I phoned Pam once.”
“What’d she say?”
“Hello.”
“That’s all?” she asked.
“I’d rather not go into it. It’s personal.”
Everyday at noon Joe walked over from the garage to have lunch.
“C’mon out,” he’d order Becky.
While Scott cooked Joe’s hamburger, she’d sit for a few minutes with him. Joe spent his time complaining about his boss, the people who brought their cars into the garage, and her. Before he left, he’d say to Scott, “Put it on my tab,” which meant Becky would pay for it.
During the second week Scott worked there, Joe got angry at Becky for some reason. They began to argue about something. Scott tried to listen but he had a line of little league players waiting for super dips. Finally Joe stood up, banged his fist on the table, and walked off. Becky watched him go, came inside, paid for Joe’s meal, and helped Scott serve super dips. She remained quiet for the rest of the day.
After two days Joe came back. She hurried out to talk to him while he wolfed down a hamburger and fries. When she came back, she seemed happy.
A week later Scott asked her if she’d mind if he called her up at night to help him build his confidence.
“Becky, this is Scott.”
“Hello, Scott.”
“Hello, Becky,” he said confidently. “You don’t mind if I talk on the phone with you?”
“No, I don’t mind. Joe’s out at a party with some guys tonight.”
“I just want to get practice talking. Nothing serious, you understand. Like the weather. How do you like the weather?”
“Fine.”
“Me too. I’ve always liked weather,” Scott added, and then after a long pause asked, “Becky, what do girls look for in a guy?”
“That’s hard to say. It depends on the girl.”
“Well, what do you like? Somebody who treats you rotten?”
There was silence from the other end.
“He even swears in front of you, doesn’t he?” Scott asked.
“You don’t like him, do you?” she asked.
“What do I know? He’s the success, not me. Maybe it’s something I should try. Let’s say you and I were going steady. I’d go to your home after work, sit down in front of the TV, drink Fresca, and watch the baseball game. Say something to me.”
“How’s the game?”
“Don’t bother me when the White Sox are batting!” Scott roared into the phone. “Can’t you let me have five minutes in peace?
“How’d I do?” Scott asked, returning to his normal voice. “I really walked over you, didn’t I? It’s not as hard as I thought it’d be.”
“I don’t like it,” Becky said, her voice straining.
“But that’s what Joe does to you.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Sure. You’re not very serious about him, are you? I mean, you’d never do a dumb thing like get married to him, would you?”
“I don’t know. He’s asked me.”
“I think he’d probably treat you the same way after you were married. I’d never treat you that way, though, even if we were married.”
“Oh? How would you treat me?”
“Special. Like if we were married and had two cars, I’d trade cars with you once a month and take yours in to have the oil changed. You’d never have to worry. And I’d empty the bag on the vacuum cleaner.”
“I think we’d better hang up now,” she said, her voice melancholy.
“Sure. I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?”
“No. Goodbye.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he went to work the next day, she worked quietly.
“You’re not mad at me or anything, are you?” he finally asked.
“No. Just thinking.”
“I’m sorry if I said anything that hurt you—about you and Joe.”
“It’s okay. Maybe I needed to hear it.”
“I think you’re a fine person, Becky. Like the time you threw in four cents of your own money so that little kid could have enough for a cone.”
“I think you’re nice too.”
“You, a girl, think that?” Scott asked, wiping off the counter. “I wish I were. I feel like the friendly neighborhood zero.”
“You aren’t.”
“If I lettered in football, then I’d be somebody. I’d have a red R on my jacket. When I walked down the street, people would stop and say, ‘Look, he’s got a letter on his jacket.’ Then I’d be somebody, and Pam would go out with me.”
“You’re somebody now. You just haven’t realized it.”
“If I was just better at talking to people. My dad talks to people all the time. Even gas station attendants. He just walks up and starts talking. By the time the tank’s full, they’re old friends.”
“You can learn,” she said. “Talk to the customers.”
“Why not?” he answered.
A few minutes later a Volkswagen with three college girls from California stopped for burgers and fries and drinks. Becky cooked the burgers and fries while Scott got the drinks ready.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Scott leaned over the counter to talk to one of the girls.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, how’re things in California? Are the oranges doing well?”
“What?” the startled girl asked, upset by the intense manner with which Scott spoke to her.
“The oranges in California. How’re they doing?”
“I dunno.”
Scott leaned farther out, straining to catch some threads of sanity in the conversation. “I guess if they weren’t doing well, we’d have heard?”
Now almost shouting, Scott continued. “I mean, since we haven’t heard, we can assume we’ll have a good crop of oranges this year.” Almost as a command, he barked out, “Wouldn’t you say that?”
The girl slowly backed away.
“I see you are driving a Volkswagen. How is the gas mileage?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think that’s funny!” Scott yelled, his eyes open wide. “You got a small car so you’d get good gas mileage. And yet you don’t even know what gas mileage you’re getting. Don’t you think that’s funny? Well, don’t you?” Scott barked, his voice cracking.
“Please, could we have our food?” one of the girls pleaded.
As soon as the food and money exchanged hands, the girls ran to the car and drove off, missing the driveway and going over the curb.
Scott and Becky watched them speed off. “Now you see what I mean. I never say the right thing. That’s why I’m so afraid to call Pam. I’d mess the whole thing up.”
“Look, if you want, Scott, I’ll help you phone her after work.”
After work they crossed the street to the bowling alley where there was a phone booth. Becky sat Scott down and calmly discussed with him how to make the phone call to Pam.
Then she led him to the phone booth. Halfway there, he stopped and practiced saying hello in lower and lower tones. “Hello, hello, hello, hello.” A departing bowler stole a worried glance at him and then quickly hurried out the door.
Becky dialed the number and handed him the phone.
“Hello, hello, hello,” he said, finally reaching the desired pitch. “Pam, this is Scott. I’m your paper boy … Oh, I’m sorry about that. Tell your father I’ll try not to throw it on the roof anymore. Goodbye.
“Maybe I’ll call her a couple of times just to break the ice.” Scott told Becky as they left. “Was my voice low enough?”
Joe had been waiting for Becky, his late model sports car parked at the drive-in. When he saw Becky and Scott coming out of the bowling alley, he hurried over to them.
“What were you two doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“We were making a phone call,” Becky said.
Joe walked over to Scott, and stared at him angrily. Joe jabbed one finger at Scott’s chest.
“Don’t get ideas about spending time with Becky after work,” he said sharply.
Glancing over to Becky, he ordered, “C’mon. I’m in a hurry.”
A few days later Scott received the box containing an instruction book and record teaching karate, and an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of someone who claimed to be the king of karate.
That night Scott began his instruction. Over the next several days he spent hours looking in the full length mirror and shouting “Heaaah!” His parents grew to love and appreciate their backyard, spending much time there, as far away as they could get from the house.
“Becky, how come you sometimes don’t come to church?” he asked one morning while they cleaned up the wrappers left from the night before.
“Some Sundays I’m with Joe at the beach or else at the car races. Why?”
“Your parents don’t make you go?” he asked.
“My real parents are divorced. My stepfather isn’t a member, and my mom doesn’t want to make him mad. About the only time he’s home is on Sunday.”
They finished up outside and went in to make up some hamburger patties. “I thought it was going to be great at first when Mom remarried. The second week he took me and my sister out on Saturday. He took us to a fair and bought us cotton candy and hot dogs, took us on rides, and even bought us both a huge teddy bear. After he got us home, he quit paying any attention to us. It was as if his getting us the teddy bear proved what a loving stepdad he was. Now he doesn’t talk to us except to yell. Sometimes I wish I could leave home.”
“With Joe?”
“I don’t know. Him or somebody else. I seem to attract guys like Joe.”
Scott wiped his eyes and then continued to slice up some onions. “Becky, come with me Wednesday to church. Our Explorer post is having somebody come in to teach dancing. You’d have a good time. And you should see some of those guys. They’re all taller than me, and some of them have their own cars.”
“What about Joe?” she asked. “He gets very mad.”
“You leave Joe to me,” Scott said, looking at his karate-toughened, onion-juice-covered hand.
“What would I wear?” she asked.
“A dress if you have one.”
“I do, but I don’t wear dresses much because Joe never likes me to dress up. He says we’re never going any place where we need to worry about how we look.”
After work Scott and Becky walked over to phone Pam.
“What’re you going to say?” Becky asked.
“Don’t worry. You treat me like such a kid sometimes. I have it all figured out. A little light conversation to put her at ease. Then I just ask her if she’ll go with me to the movies Saturday.”
Becky got in the phone booth first, and he crowded in after her. With the door open they had more room in the booth, but the fan didn’t run.
Becky dialed the number for him.
“Hello, is this Pamela Robertson who lives at 345 Riverside Drive? … Pam, this is Scott McCovick who lives at 349 Riverside Drive.”
Scott cupped his hands over the phone and asked Becky, “Now what?”
“I told you we should’ve practiced,” she whispered. “A little light conversation, remember?”
He stood looking at the phone as if he’d never seen one before.
“Say something!” Becky said.
“Pam,” he continued, “I saw you spraying for dandelions a few days ago. What kind of weed killer do you use?”
Becky grimaced.
“No, that’s okay,” Scott added. “You don’t need to go all the way out to the garage to find out. I’ll ask your dad someday.”
In order to start the fan running so they could get some air, Scott crowded into the booth and closed the door. Becky could just barely breathe.
“You sure did a great job. I bet you killed off every dandelion in your yard. That’s what I like about you, Pam. You’re very thorough.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Becky whispered to Scott. He put the phone down, opened the door, and let her out. Then he grabbed the phone, and stepped inside the booth.
“Pam, are you still there? … No, nothing’s wrong. Pam, I’m planning on going on a mission … Yes, in about three years … Well, that’s kind of you to say. I just didn’t want you to think I was out to get married out of high school.”
“What are you doing?” Becky asked impatiently.
“I’m putting her at ease,” Scott defended.
“Pam, what did you say? … Yes, I guess it does sound like I’m talking to somebody else at the same time. Well, keep it up with your lawn. Goodbye.”
“You didn’t ask her out,” Becky said, trying to be kind.
“It didn’t come up in the conversation. Give me time. Pam is a wonderful girl. She pays attention in seminary class. I know because I sit behind her and watch her all the time. What if she says no?”
“Why should she say no?”
“Why? Who wants to go out with an oboe player who is also the oldest paper boy in town?”
“So what if she does say no?”
“Don’t say it. If she says no, it’s all over between me and girls. I’ll become an Olympic swimming champion.”
The next day at work, Scott gave Becky a karate demonstration. Resting a board between two bricks, he brought his hand down swiftly and broke the board neatly in two.
“Scott, that’s great!” Becky said.
“Well, it’s a start,” he said modestly.
“What do you mean? It’s terrific!”
“Actually it’s not as impressive as it looks. I took a board and cut about two-thirds of the way through and then filled it up with plastic wood. I’ve got another board here to show off when those little league players show up.”
During lunch Joe found out that Becky was going to activity night with Scott.
He walked up to the window and said, “Come out here.”
“Your hamburger’s almost ready,” Scott answered.
“Stay away from my girl!” Joe yelled at him.
“I just asked her if she’d like to go to church with me tonight.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you or anybody else!” Turning around to Becky, he asked, “Are you?”
“You don’t own me, Joe. I can go to church if I want to.”
Joe whirled around to talk to Scott.
“You come out here, or I’m going to come in and get you.”
“Yes, sir.” On his way out, Scott spotted the board and the two bricks. He picked them up and carried them out, setting them up on the picnic table.
“Ahhhhmmm,” Scott cleared his voice, “I should warn you,” he said, his voice still too high, “that although I may appear to the casual observer to be harmless, I’ve been trained in the martial arts.”
“Break your date with her,” Joe demanded.
“Why? So you can yell at her and make her feel crummy. She deserves better treatment.”
“I’m gonna break your head.” Joe started walking toward Scott.
“If you hit me in the mouth, you’re going to waste over a thousand dollars in dental care. There may be a law suit.”
“You asked for it, kid.”
“Wait, Joe. Don’t do anything hasty. See this board. Heeaaah!” Scott’s hand broke the board in two.
Joe stepped up to Scott and launched his right fist into Scott’s mid-section, doubling him over. Joe turned and left.
Scott lay down on the ground, gasping for breath, while Becky knelt down and tried to comfort him.
The first words he was able to speak were, “I want my money back.”
That night he met Becky at church. As she walked up to the door, one of the older guys in the post saw her and said, “Wow! Look at that! She’s beautiful! Who’s she gonna dance with?”
“That’s my friend. I invited her tonight. Of course, I had to fight her former boyfriend first. Joe Kruglak.”
“You fought Joe Kruglak?”
“Sure, I’ll tell you about it sometime. But you’ll excuse me now, won’t you?” Scott made a grandiose gesture of opening the door for Becky.
Thursday after work, Scott and Becky again called Pam.
“Pam, this is Scott … You found out what weed killer you were using? … Yes, I’m sure it’s very good. Pam, when do you get your braces off? … You know, we got braces about the same time and we’re going to get them off about the same time. I mean, it’s an experience we’ve shared, isn’t it? When I first got them, I got part of an apple peeling caught in them. Maybe you remember. That was when I spent a couple of days with my hand in front of my mouth.”
Becky closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No, Pam, Becky’s just a friend. Why? … Oh, really? He is? Look, you tell him that Becky is a fine girl … No, I think she broke up with Joe. Look, to give you an idea of what kind of girl Becky is, I hope she won’t mind me saying this. You know I work with her at the Dairy Dip. She is very good about cleaning the grease trays on the grill. Not just once a month, but at least once a week. You know what I mean? … Look, you tell Mike to come around tomorrow and I’ll introduce him to her.”
Scott turned to Becky and gave her a smile.
“Pam, if you come with him, I’ll let you have our 89 cent banana split for only 59 cents.”
Becky tapped him on the shoulder and shook her head, making a round O with her thumb and index finger.
“Pam, I’ll even do better than that. I will buy you a banana split. Just for you, though, not for Mike. Okay? Bye.”
He hung up the phone and grinned at Becky.
“Pam’s cousin is in the Explorer post at church, and he really likes you. He wants to take you to a fireside Sunday evening. You’ll say yes, won’t you? Because if you do, then I can ask Pam, and we can double, and Pam’s cousin can use his dad’s car.”
“Is he the tall one?” Becky said with interest.
“None other.”
He walked Becky home, wheeling his bike.
“Poor girl,” he finally muttered.
“What do you mean?” Becky asked.
“Pam. She’s really fallen for me.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but this morning when I was delivering papers, she was outside spraying for crabgrass.”
“So?” Becky asked.
“So? You don’t see what that means?”
“No.”
“Becky,” Scott said, placing his hand on her arm, “You’d better stick with me for awhile. When it comes to things like this, you’re such a child.”

My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his wife and four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.

Illustration by Melissa Manwill
When I was nine, my brother Leif got really sick. He went to the hospital. My mom told my sister and me that my brother had leukemia, a blood cancer. We prayed that my brother would be OK.
My dad stayed at the hospital with my brother. Two days later we drove to the hospital to see Leif. It was the first time I’d seen him since he was diagnosed. My grandma and grandpa were there helping. When I walked in, my brother was on a bed with many tubes and needles connected to his arms. I gave him a hug and began to cry. But I felt the Spirit with me. Heavenly Father was comforting me. He gave me love and support.
As we drove home from the hospital, the Spirit was still with me. I’m thankful that Heavenly Father blessed my family and my brother in many ways. The members of my ward helped our family. And my schoolteachers showed kindness to me. I felt the love of Heavenly Father through many people.
Leif has had a lot of struggles with his leukemia. Prayer and family and ward fasts have helped him so much. Leif has two years left of chemo treatment, but he has made it through the first and hardest year.
Heavenly Father sends the Holy Ghost to comfort you in times of need and inspires friends and family to help you.

When Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve was growing up, more than anything he wanted to be a basketball star. When he was young, he was the best basketball player among his friends. In fact, he taught one of his friends how to play. But as time went on, his friend grew very tall and he did not. One of the hardest experiences of his life was being cut from the school basketball team while his friend made it.

Let his life be an example to you. Not all of your prayers will be answered the way you’d like. But if you trust Heavenly Father, he will not betray that trust.

It was one year ago today, in a solemn assembly, that we had the privilege of raising our hands to sustain the authorities of the Church, much as we have done this morning. It was on that April morning that I heard my name read as one presented for your sustaining vote as a member of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles. It became my obligation to stand with those other living men who have been called as special witnesses of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the earth.
You must have wondered, as I did, why this call should come to me. It seemed accidental at times, that I was preserved in worthiness, yet there was always the constant, quiet, lingering feeling about being guided and being prepared.
It has been our privilege this morning to raise our hands to sustain the President of the Church. I count that a great privilege and special obligation, for I have a witness about him.
Some weeks before the meeting of last April, I left the office one Friday afternoon thinking of the weekend conference assignment. I waited for the elevator to come down from the fifth floor.
As the elevator doors quietly opened, there stood President Joseph Fielding Smith. There was a moment of surprise in seeing him, since his office is on a lower floor.
As I saw him framed in the doorway, there fell upon me a powerful witness—there stands the prophet of God. That sweet voice of Spirit that is akin to light, that has something to do with pure intelligence, affirmed to me that this was the prophet of God.
I need not try to define that experience to Latter-day Saints. That kind of witness is characteristic of this church. It is not something reserved to those in high office. It is a witness, not only available but vital, to every member.
As it is with the President, so it is with his counselors.
North of us in the Wasatch Range stand three mountain peaks. The poet would describe them as mighty pyramids of stone. The center one, the highest of the three, the map would tell you is Willard Peak. But the pioneers called them “The Presidency.” If you should go to Willard, look to the east, and up, way up, there stands “The Presidency.”
Thank God for the presidency. Like those peaks, they stand with nothing above them but the heavens. They need our sustaining vote. It is sometimes lonely in those lofty callings of leadership—for their calling is not to please man, but to please the Lord. God bless these three great and good men.
Occasionally during the past year I have been asked a question. Usually it comes as a curious, almost an idle, question about the qualifications to stand as a witness for Christ. The question they ask is, “Have you seen Him?”
That is a question that I have never asked of another. I have not asked that question of my brethren in the Quorum, thinking that it would be so sacred and so personal that one would have to have some special inspiration, indeed, some authorization, even to ask it.
There are some things just too sacred to discuss. We know that as it relates to the temples. In our temples, sacred ordinances are performed; sacred experiences are enjoyed. And yet we do not, because of the nature of them, discuss them outside those sacred walls.
It is not that they are secret, but they are sacred; not to be discussed, but to be harbored and to be protected and regarded with the deepest of reverence.
I have come to know what the prophet Alma meant:
“… It is given unto many to know the mysteries of God; nevertheless they are laid under a strict command that they shall not impart only according to the portion of his word which he doth grant unto the children of men, according to the heed and diligence which they give unto him.
“And therefore, he that will harden his heart, the same receiveth the lesser portion of the word; and he that will not harden his heart, to him is given the greater portion of the word, until it is given unto him to know the mysteries of God until he know them in full.” (Alma 12:9–10.)
There are those who hear testimonies borne in the Church, by those in high station and by members in the wards and branches, all using the same words—“I know that God lives; I know that Jesus is the Christ,” and come to question, “Why cannot it be said in plainer words? Why aren’t they more explicit and more descriptive? Cannot the apostles say more?”
How like the sacred experience in the temple becomes our personal testimony. It is sacred, and when we are wont to put it into words, we say it in the same way—all using the same words. The apostles declare it in the same phrases with the little Primary or Sunday School youngster. “I know that God lives and I know that Jesus is the Christ.”
We would do well not to disregard the testimonies of the prophets or of the children, for “he imparteth his words by angels unto men, yea, not only men but women also. Now this is not all; little children do have words given unto them many times which confound the wise and the learned.” (Alma 32:23.)
Some seek for a witness to be given in some new and dramatic and different way.
The bearing of a testimony is akin to a declaration of love. The romantics and poets and couples in love, from the beginning of time, have sought more impressive ways of saying it, or singing it, or writing it. They have used all of the adjectives, all of the superlatives, all manner of poetic expression. And when all is said and done, the declaration which is most powerful is the simple, three-word variety.
To one who is honestly seeking, the testimony borne in these simple phrases is enough, for it is the spirit that beareth record, not the words.
There is a power of communication as real and tangible as electricity. Man has devised the means to send images and sound through the air to be caught on an antenna and reproduced and heard and seen. This other communication may be likened to that, save it be a million times more powerful, and the witness it brings is always the truth.
There is a process by which pure intelligence can flow, by which we can come to know of a surety, nothing doubting.
I said there was a question that could not be taken lightly nor answered at all without the prompting of the Spirit. I have not asked that question of others, but I have heard them answer it—but not when they were asked. They have answered it under the prompting of the Spirit, on sacred occasions, when “the Spirit beareth record.” (D&C 1:39.)
I have heard one of my brethren declare: “I know from experiences, too sacred to relate, that Jesus is the Christ.”
I have heard another testify: “I know that God lives; I know that the Lord lives. And more than that, I know the Lord.”
It was not their words that held the meaning or the power. It was the Spirit. “… for when a man speaketh by the power of the Holy Ghost the power of the Holy Ghost carrieth it unto the hearts of the children of men.” (2 Ne. 33:1.)
I speak upon this subject in humility, with the constant feeling that I am the least in every way of those who are called to this holy office.
I have come to know that the witness does not come by seeking after signs. It comes through fasting and prayer, through activity and testing and obedience. It comes through sustaining the servants of the Lord and following them.
Karl G. Maeser was taking a group of missionaries across the Alps. As they reached a summit, he stopped. Gesturing back down the trail to some poles set in the snow to mark the way across the glacier, he said, “Brethren, there stands the Priesthood. They are just common sticks like the rest of us … but the position they hold makes them what they are to us. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.”
The witness depends upon sustaining his servants as we have done here in sign and as we should do in action.
Now, I wonder with you why one such as I should be called to the holy apostleship. There are so many qualifications that I lack. There is so much in my effort to serve that is wanting. As I have pondered on it, I have come to only one single thing, one qualification in which there may be cause, and that is, I have that witness.
I declare to you that I know that Jesus is the Christ. I know that he lives. He was born in the meridian of time. He taught his gospel, was tried, was crucified. He rose on the third day. He was the first fruits of the resurrection. He has a body of flesh and bone. Of this I bear testimony. Of him I am a witness. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I had a letter only a few days ago from a man in Edinburgh, Scotland. His name is George Stewart. He’ll be surprised at my mentioning this, but he wanted to thank me because when he was 15 years old (some 40 years ago), I was presiding over the mission in Scotland. He wanted to thank me for the missionaries’ coming to their home in Thornliebank, one of the areas of Glasgow. He had joined the Church along with his mother.
He said that as he developed a testimony of the Book of Mormon, as he started reading it and as he kept reading it, he couldn’t put it down because he knew it was true. He kept reading and reading and developing a testimony of the gospel as a young man. He told how he used to come over to the mission home and how we were kind to him and we would spend time with the young people because they were getting into Mutual, which we were starting in the branches.
Then he told of the blessings that had come into his life as a young man, that he had met his sweetheart in that little branch—his wife—and that they were married and that they had four children: a son who had finished a mission in the Washington D.C. Mission, a son who served in the England Leeds Mission, a daughter who was married in the temple, and one who is waiting for the return of a missionary. He voiced gratitude for all of the blessings that had come into his life and the lives of his sons who have been on missions and his daughters.
During the past 40 years, he has served as a bishop four times in four different units, and his wife has served as a Relief Society president on three occasions. He is currently serving as a counselor in the Edinburgh stake presidency. He said, “And I’m going to be retiring very shortly from the company I’m with. I’ve done very well, and we plan to go out on a mission together.”
Then he said these words to me: “This amazing Church has woven a pattern of miracles in our lives.” Let me say that again: “This amazing Church has woven a pattern of miracles in our lives.”
And he says the gospel came into his life, to his wife, to all of his children, and to their children. The grandchildren are active in the Church, and he and his wife now have a great desire to go out into the world when they retire from their profession.

“He’s a vigorous man who was raised in the tradition of hard work. His father taught him the value of money at an early age. At seventeen, Grandfather held five jobs.

“Grandfather likes to tell us about experiences he had when he was young. He recalls with a smile that once when he was attending school away from home, he wrote his father, telling him that he needed money for a new pair of shoes and hoping there might be a little left over to take out his girl friend. His father responded by sending him only the new shoes.”