Gospel Story Finder

The following story is shared with permission. In the year 2001, the same year Ricks College became BYU-Idaho, terrorist attacks were made in New York City at the World Trade Center and in Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon. 9/11 was a staggering day. Those in the administration building watched events unfold as we gathered around the television in the Public Relations Office. The destruction and devastation seemed surreal and yet distant from our safe Idaho locale—that is, until the next morning. As I got to work, I was greeted by a worried co-worker, “Have you heard from the Howells? They can’t find Brady.” Ken Howell was our former director of public relations. He had retired and was just returning from serving a mission with his wife, Jeanette. Their son Brady was an intern and civil officer for the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C., assigned to work in the Pentagon.

Soon others became aware of the situation and reached out to me as well. People on campus recognized as Ken’s assistant for some ten years, I had developed a sense of family with all of the Howells. I had even helped Brady with a mail merge for his and Liz’s wedding invitations. As he hand-fed envelopes into the printer, we talked about his ambitions, his love for Liz, their upcoming temple wedding, and the great future they would have together.

Assigned by then-President David A. Bednar and in behalf of the university, I was able to make contact with Ken; and he confirmed Brady was listed as “unaccounted for.” All flights were grounded, and they were not sure how to get to D.C. to be with Liz. Ken asked if I would field all calls and be their family spokesman so they could focus on their immediate situation.

How could I have known the emergency public information course Ken had encouraged me to take some three years prior would now play such a significant role? I hope you are considering how each element of education and training you are accumulating along with the rapport you are building with others may contribute to unfolding events in your future.

I felt the Lord’s strengthening hand through the next week as I fielded calls and made lists to report to the Howells of the growing concern expressed from friends and neighbors, the media, government officials, and Church leaders both locally and from headquarters in Salt Lake City. The uncertainty lingered on. Nearly a week later, it seemed a tender mercy when the first Pentagon victim identified was Brady, a verification made possible by his temple recommend.

Blessed power, peace, and comfort can come even in times of great turmoil. I personally witnessed a grieving family at a time of national upheaval and fears; and yet their response was calm, controlled, and with a gospel-centered perspective. As Brady’s plight became evident, one of his brothers who knew his eternally positive personality best commented something like this: “You know there are about 3,000 people whose lives were changed in an instant and who are probably pretty confused by it all. I can just see Brady enthusiastically waving them forward toward the pearly gates saying, ‘Come on, I’ll show you the way!’” What a reassuring outlook of eternal life with ongoing purpose!

A year later, Ken wrote, “I’ve learned I can’t do all things alone. I have to get together with those around me, those with whom I share love and confidence, and sometimes those I haven’t known before and say, ‘Together we can do this,’ and we do. . . . I have learned that people without belief are often people without hope. God, family, and a caring community is the balm that heals our wounds.”

I remember a time while serving my mission in the Samoan Islands that I received an assignment that I wanted to refuse because of my lack of faith in my mission president and in the Lord. If I could have found a ship heading to Tarshish, I would have probably booked passage. I had been serving on the big Island of Savai'i in Samoa, a beautiful island in the South Pacific. If you have seen the movie The Other Side of Heaven, then you probably can get a mental image of the island I was serving on in what I considered a very challenging and difficult assignment. The village was full of wonderful people; however, they belonged to the predominant local religion, not of our belief. They worshiped in a large cathedral right across the street from where my companion and I lived. We lived in a single room in the back of an abandoned store that was in the shadow cast by this cathedral until; it seemed, well into each day. That shadow seemed to somewhat represent the spirit of this location. We had a difficult time in our proselyting efforts within the village. To make matters more challenging for me, I was asked to be the branch president because the members were fighting and the branch had divided into two factions. My companion and I had the assignment from the mission president to try to bring order to the branch until the local priesthood could again provide the necessary leadership. After serving several months in this location in an effort to ready the branch for local leadership, and as I said before, doing an assignment that I felt had been the most difficult challenge of my mission, I knew that I was going to be transferred. There were about 70 locations that I was aware of that I could be transferred to, and I remember distinctly telling my companion I was more than willing to go to any location but one. The one location that I didn't want to be transferred to was another village that, to me, was almost identical to the one I was leaving. It was a community with the same predominant religion, complete with a large cathedral and a leader who held his flock under a fairly tight rein, making proselyting difficult. To complicate things, it was the only other branch left in the whole mission that needed a missionary to serve as a branch president as it had similar problems to the branch where I had been serving. Well, the time for the transfer came and I was instructed to take a small diesel commercial boat to the island where the mission home was to meet with the mission president. You can imagine my excitement in anticipation of where the next assignment would be. That excitement quickly diminished when I received my assignment. I'll let you guess where I was going. You are right! Ninevah!! Then to compound the assignment the mission president told me he was putting me with an elder who he was going to send home but had decided to give one more chance. I had the responsibility to do what I could to turn this elder around. Let me assure you, I was looking for a way to book passage to Tarshish and run from what I thought was a burden I did not want to assume. Besides, it would be my last assignment of my mission and I had in my mind that there were many other assignments that would have been much more pleasing to Elder Bird. Lacking funds for a ticket to anywhere but to what I was sure was Ninevah, I took passage to PagoPago, Western Samoa, to take on Nivevah with little faith and even less enthusiasm. To my surprise, I found the next seven months to be the most rewarding experience of my entire mission. The field was ripe and was ready to harvest as we baptized 27 people into that small branch. You will recall that Jonah had a similar experience as many people of Ninevah repented and turned to the Lord. The new converts in this branch added such a spirit that the branch truly took on a new optimism and before long was considered one of the strongest branches in America Samoa. My previous challenging assignment had prepared me well for this wonderful assignment. Furthermore, my wonderful companion, who became one of my closest friends not only served faithfully as my first counselor in the branch, he completed an honorable and successful mission, a decision he made on his own with very little need of my help other than some encouragement.

I was playing at a friend’s house when another boy came over to play. The other boy began using bad language and not being nice. My friend asked the boy to stop. He didn’t, so my friend told him to go home. The boy refused. My friend called the boy’s mom on the phone, explained what was going on, and handed the phone to the boy. He hung up on his mom. My friend called her again, and this time the boy listened to his mom and went home.
This was a brave thing for my friend to do. I am thankful for good friends who are not afraid to stand up for what is right. I know that friends like that help me to choose the right.

One of the touching stories from my time as a corrections officer is when I saw a mother reunite with her children. She hadn’t seen her children for four or five years. You could see in the eyes of the children the tears and the hurt from the years of being apart. The reunion was overwhelming, but as a corrections officer, you don’t show emotion. I found that really hard. I had to actually look away to compose myself and get myself together. Being a mother myself, I couldn’t imagine being away from my children for years and not be able to see them, talk to them, or even share how I’m feeling with them.

As the father of seven sons, I have always wanted them to love, honor, and respect their mother. As the older ones have gone through their teen years and beyond, it has been gratifying to watch them do special things for their mother.
My wife, Nicki, loves flowers. Over the years, it has not been uncommon for one of the boys to bring his mother a special bouquet of a dozen roses. These floral gifts haven’t necessarily come on Mother’s Day, her birthday, or some other special occasion, although they have come then too. More often than not, these timely gifts come spontaneously and unexpectedly just to say, “Thanks, Mom, for everything you do and for putting up with me.”
Such was the case when Jarom, our mission-bound son, surprised his mother. Over the years Jarom had found words and gestures of love and appreciation difficult to come by. He was a big, handsome, muscular young man who could bench-press 300 pounds but still struggled to refine the delicate art of telling his mother he loved her.
Of course, Nicki knew Jarom loved her, and she had accepted the fact that he would probably communicate his love and appreciation to her in other ways not associated with flowers, cards, or even spoken words.
But one afternoon he walked into the house and handed her a bouquet of yellow long-stemmed roses. Somewhat taken aback, Nicki caught her breath and exclaimed, “Jarom, how beautiful!” She instinctively breathed in their rich fragrance. “I love them. One dozen yellow roses!”
Jarom shrugged sheepishly and shook his head. “Actually, there are only 11,” he confessed. He cleared his throat and smiled bashfully. “I gave one of them away.”
He paused and then explained. “I picked up the roses and was on my way home when I passed this girl from our neighborhood. She was about nine or ten, just kind of dragging down the sidewalk, looking really sad.” He shrugged and grinned. “So I figured, why not. I stopped, took a rose from your bouquet and handed it to her. I told her to have a great day.”
“What did she do?” Nicki asked, curious.
Jarom laughed. “Well, she wasn’t sad anymore.” He took a deep breath and added, “So that’s why you’ve only got 11 roses.”
Nicki smiled for a moment and tried to picture in her mind that girl walking down the street, discouraged and perhaps crushed by some adolescent tragedy. In the midst of her sorrow she looks up and sees this big, handsome neighbor approach her with a single yellow rose, perhaps the first she has ever received in her life. He smiles at her, hands her the rose, and tells her to have a great day. She is probably flattered beyond words, and suddenly her gray day is brightened by the unexpected light from Jarom’s yellow rose.

Terry and Bruce came into my office shortly after Terry and their son, Seth, had a fight on the phone. Seth had been away at school for three years. He’d had a serious illness and had not yet been released from the doctor’s care. Because of his illness, he hadn’t served a mission. Terry and Bruce didn’t know where his testimony was or even if he attended church. They were worried that Jolyn, Seth’s new girlfriend, was not the kind of influence they wished for in Seth’s life. Both parents were distraught about the path he was following.
As we talked about what they could do, we discussed the parable of the lost sheep. The shepherd probably listened for the bleating of the lamb before he found it, loved it, and brought it back to the fold (see Luke 15:6). Terry and Bruce recognized that they couldn’t change Seth, but they decided to try listening to him, loving him, and inviting him home. They couldn’t choose his wife or his life path for him, but they could remind him of their family’s love for him and for the gospel.
Terry called Seth and apologized for the argument. She just listened as he told her he was embarrassed because he hadn’t served a mission. He wondered how he could date a girl from church. They invited Seth and Jolyn home during a school break.
Seth and Jolyn came. Seth’s sisters enveloped the couple. Both parents loved having Seth back home and told him so. Terry and Bruce connected more often with Seth. Terry texted several times a week. The family had a video conference each Sunday. Seth’s dad spent time golfing and fishing with him. It happened slowly, but Seth reassimilated into the family. Eventually, Seth decided Jolyn’s chosen path wasn’t right for him. He later married a wonderful woman whom he baptized.
Terry and Bruce found their lost lamb by listening, loving, and inviting him back into the fold.

The great messages of our presidency, President Kimball and his counselors, and those of the Twelve and others, have touched me deeply. I have reminisced and remembered at this great historic conference. My mind goes back just a week ago when I was privileged to attend a stake conference in Oregon. Lo and behold, in the audience was my very first bishop, a man of great faith and capacity. (I had never known a bishop until I was fifteen years old and had moved to Hollywood, California.) He stood over six feet tall, weighing well over 200 pounds, with a heart to match—and he has never let go since. I remember under his tutelage memorizing this little verse:
“Remember, Paul,” he said, “there is an odd little voice always speaking within, and it prompts you to duty and warns you from sin. And what is most strange, it makes itself heard, though it gives not a sound and says never a word. You follow it.” And last week he said, “Are you still following it?”
I remember a great, wise teacher who said, “Paul, always keep in mind that a strong man and a waterfall always channel their own paths.” And I remember a dad who said, “I gave you a great name; remember, a good name is better than a girdle of gold.”
I think every boy and girl ought to have in his or her life a great dad, a marvelous bishop, and wonderful teachers. Many do; some don’t. Thank God for a prophet, for leaders of the Church who add that dimension.
I thought of another great man in my life—a coach who has affected my life for eternity. I am pleased to announce that he and I are engaged together in learning more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ in a missionary effort.
I will never forget the day I walked into his office, scared to death as fifteen-year-olds are, trying to sign up for a varsity team. I stood outside his door for the better part of five minutes; and then, when I got the courage, I knocked timidly. The voice said, “Come in!” I opened the door and walked in.
He said, “What can I do for you, son?”
I said, “Where do you sign up for varsity baseball?”
He said, “Let me ask you a question—do you want to play ball or be a champion?”
I said, “I came to play ball.”
He said, “I’m sorry, we’re all filled up.”
With a broken heart, I turned and walked out. That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear! I stood in the hall for a minute (thank goodness my dad had taught me courage to keep trying), then plucked up my courage and again knocked on the door. The answer came as before, “Come in!” I walked in.
He said, “Oh, it’s you again.”
I said, “Yes, sir, maybe you didn’t understand my earlier question. I asked you where to sign up for varsity baseball.”
He said, “I asked you a question. Do you want to play ball or be a champion?”
Well, I knew the other answer hadn’t worked, so I said, “I want to be a champion.”
“Oh,” he said, “sign here.” And I did. He said, “We build champions.” Then he turned and said, “Have you ever signed a contract before?”
I said, “No, sir, I’m only fifteen.”
He said, “At this institution, we commit ourselves to principles.”
He took from the bottom drawer of his file a contract already typed, and on it were the standards that we have been listening to in this great conference. He said, “You take that home and read it over with your parents. If you can agree to the conditions, you sign it and bring it back tomorrow.” I did. Somehow, I made the team.
In the contractual agreement were promises to be the kind of a Latter-day Saint I knew I ought to be. We went through a great, great season. It ended in a tie with our arch-rival high school. The play-off game was to determine the state championship. As we assembled on the field in the last-minute preparation for the great event, the coach had us around the batting cage. As he was making his little pep talk, he stopped in front of me and said, “Oh, by the way, you will pitch the deciding game.” My heart dropped! He continued his counsel. And then he stopped in front of our excellent second baseman. Most of you would know him because he went on to play for the Chicago White Sox for a number of years. He said, as he looked, “Jimmy, is that a nicotine stain on your finger?” Jimmy, like the rest of us, had made a commitment to keep his body clean.
Jimmy, looking at his finger, quickly hid his hand and said, embarrassed, “Yes, sir.”
The coach said in front of the whole team, “Did you sign a contract with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you broke the contract?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the penalty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you turn in your uniform? You’re through.”
I wanted to say, “Coach, tomorrow’s the big game. (Jimmy was batting .385 and hadn’t made an error at second base all year.) But the coach was thinking of a boy, not a game. Jimmy turned in his uniform, but the coach kept close to him.
I drew the assignment the next day to pitch against Al Yalian, who later signed with the New York Yankees for a fabulous bonus. Thirteen innings we went, and he beat me in the thirteenth—1–0. The run came when a ground ball was hit to second where Jimmy normally played. The ball got through a nervous substitute’s legs onto the outfield grass and eventually scored an unearned run, which defeated us. And now, years later, I thank God for a great coach who taught me that principles are more important than games.
As I reflect upon these kinds of experiences and the influence that great men have had on my life, I think of the question that young people quite often ask those of us in these positions, “Why do we hold so many meetings in the Church?” The Lord understood and answered, speaking to you and me, young people, through a prophet: “And now, behold, I give unto you a commandment, that when ye are assembled together ye shall instruct and edify each other.” Why? “That ye may know how to act and direct my church.” (D&C 43:8.) And I thank God that in this great conference and others that have preceded it we are taught how to act. “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”
Like many of you, I am frequently before those who are not of our faith, and the challenge is great and wonderful. Not long ago I was given a little honor before a great group of non-Latter-day Saint athletes. In the proceedings of the convention, one of my great idols, a Hall of Famer, was to take the rostrum and speak to us. Being the great athlete that he was, respected by many, I was shocked to hear his language as he repeatedly took the name of the Lord in vain. As I sat there, I wondered, “What do you do as a Latter-day Saint in these kinds of social situations?” And then I remembered—again, a great influence in my life—the counsel from a prophet and an experience that he had had one time coming out of surgery. An orderly who was wheeling the prophet back to his hospital room on a little metal cart caught his hand between the door and the cart in the elevator and, not thinking, let go with a few adjectives, taking the name of the Lord in vain in the process. And a prophet, sick as he was physically but very well spiritually, lifted his head and said, “Please don’t talk that way—that’s my best friend.”
Those thoughts went through my mind as I listened to my idol. As he concluded and sat down, I put my hand on his knee and said to him, “You’re terrific! Did you know that when I was growing up I had you on a high pedestal? But, if I might level with you, tonight you fell off that pedestal.”
He said, “Didn’t you like my workshop?”
I said, “I loved it. But every time you opened your mouth, you offended me and a lot of other people out there. I’m going to challenge you tonight, as your friend, to clean up your language.”
I thought of the apostle Paul and Joseph Smith and particularly of a prophet today, Spencer W. Kimball; and I learned on that occasion, as I have on many others, that people really want what you and I have, if we have the courage to give it.
God grant us to have that courage and determination as we go forth, edified and fortified by the influences of great men in our lives, to be an example unto the world. I testify that I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that here sits his prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Get in the habit of taking advantage of every opportunity to learn and remember. You can learn much from those who love and teach you best—your family. Let me share with you part of a letter I wrote to my grandchildren while on our mission:
“The one ‘pearl of wisdom’ that I might impart to you is how valuable every experience in life is. We have been amazed at how many times, since we have been here, that we have grasped onto some idea or skill we learned along the way. Mom’s ‘basic’ cooking lessons have helped me to creatively use what we have here—carrots, cabbage, onions, potatoes, eggs, rice, and mutton—to prepare nourishing meals.”
The Church also gives us many learning opportunities. Remember, starting in Primary, you learned step-by-step how to remain calm and repeat the words you had practiced. As you grew you learned how to organize your thoughts, illustrate them with personal experiences, and gain the confidence to speak in front of a group. These kinds of experiences can lead to practical things like doing presentations in your classes, getting better job opportunities, and most importantly, being able to teach and speak comfortably in Church.
Opportunities to learn are all around you. Join the choir and learn to read music. You’ll be glad your whole life that you have this skill. When I visited young women in Colombia and Ecuador, the young women were the ones who conducted the music, making it possible for all of us to worship the Lord through song.
Take advantage by learning the skills taught at camp and in Scouting—first aid, different methods of cooking, and recreational safety. These skills can bless your families now and in the future.
Look for opportunities to learn to care for and teach children. Now is the time to prepare for your future roles as fathers and mothers. You can literally make a world of difference in the life of a child right now, let alone being a well-prepared parent in the future.
Most people want to know how to be happy. King Benjamin helps us understand that service is the secret to happiness. In Mosiah 2:17 he teaches:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
What can you do as a teenager to learn to serve others? Learn as many skills and gain as much education as you can. This knowledge will allow you to be “more fit for the kingdom, more used.” And by giving service, you will unlock the secret to happiness.
Let me finish telling you about the missionaries in Mongolia. Because all the elders were expected to teach English, I became something of a teaching supervisor to help them provide the best classes possible. I would visit them in class, observe their teaching, and then give suggestions.
I never expected to have to supervise teachers on a mission. But the Lord needed someone who could help these elders do the job they needed to do in order to introduce the gospel to Mongolia. From one class I had taken in college, I knew enough to talk about the positive things they had done instead of focusing on the negative. I knew I had to build their confidence. Having these young men do a good job was so important to introducing the gospel to the Mongolian people.
Much later, when we had returned from the mission field and the missionaries I helped were pursuing their own educations, one elder e-mailed me and thanked me for the day I came to their class to watch him and his companion. The first thing I had asked them that day was to list all the things they had done right. They made their list, but what he remembers is that I came up with a long list of things they had done well. It changed his attitude. It gave him confidence. He had not done well in school before his mission, but now, because he felt he was a good teacher of English, he thought he could return to school and succeed. It wasn’t until he had graduated from college that he wrote the e-mail to thank me. I had no idea that I was helping him. But the Lord knew how to use that bit of knowledge I had learned in college to help one of His missionaries while on his mission and afterwards in his own education.
That is the value of gaining and continuing to gain an education. Remember that being “more fit for the kingdom” will help you be a better mother or father, a better wife or husband, a better employee, a better servant of the Lord. Education of any and every type will help you become more useful to the Lord as we help each other return to live with Him.

Jesus taught us to love and help each other. One way to do this is by being a good friend. This is something that Carmen does well.
However, Carmen isn’t a normal friend. She is a goat. And she isn’t just a normal goat. Her ears are long and fluffy like other goats, she eats plants like other goats, and she baas like other goats. But unlike other goats, Carmen has a special gift.
When Carmen was born, she was unable to stand or walk. To help Carmen, her owners made her a special walker. She could lie on it with her legs hanging over it and her hooves on the floor to scoot herself around.
Soon Carmen started using her walker to go on walks with her owners. This is when her owners discovered Carmen’s talent for being a friend. One of Carmen’s first friends was a little boy who was afraid to talk. When he met Carmen, he smiled at her and said, “Hello, goat. I like you.” Carmen replied with a “Baa!” This made the little boy smile.
Carmen made other friends on her walks, and soon her owners realized she had a gift for making people happy. They took her to classes where she learned how to be an animal therapist. Carmen and her owners started visiting children in hospitals and people in nursing homes. Carmen helped people feel happier and less lonely. She helped people smile and made lots of new friends.
Carmen isn’t strong enough to walk on her own, but she has an important job to do—and that is to be a friend.

I had often heard that home teachers may receive inspiration for the families to which they are assigned. But how real that blessing is became evident to me through an experience we had a few years ago.
The semester at the university had ended, and I was spending my summer hours at a part-time job painting homes. I was also teaching an evening class at the Institute of Religion. Our family had recently purchased a new car big enough to comfortably seat our family of seven—just the kind of automobile we had always wanted.
One evening as I was preparing to go to class, our two little daughters, then about three and five years old, came running into the house with white all over their arms. Not suspecting what they had been up to, I thought they had been playing with the flour. But suddenly I noticed that the white on their arms was dripping! In an instant I knew what had happened. I had left an unopened gallon of white oil-base paint out in the car—and a wide paintbrush conveniently next to it. Our little girls had pried open the can and painted the inside of the car. And they had been thorough! The ceiling, the floor, the seats. …
As I stood there looking at the horrible sight before me, one of my little daughters said with a smile on her face, “See Daddy, pretty car.” I picked up the two girls, trying with all my heart to control my emotions, carried them into the bathroom, and put them into the bathtub. I then called for my wife to come and help clean them up while I tried to take care of the car.
At that very moment our telephone rang. I picked up the phone and with some impatience said, “Hello.” A voice at the other end said, “Brother McIntosh, this is Brother Wilde, your home teacher. I was just sitting here wondering how you and your family were getting along.”
“Brother Wilde, you will not believe what our two little daughters have just done,” I moaned. “They have painted the inside of our new car—and I don’t even have an ounce of turpentine to clean it up with!”
My home teacher then gave a response which, to this day, is an inspiration to me: “Brother McIntosh, you may not believe this, but about a half an hour ago, I was walking through a department store. Something said to me, ‘Buy a gallon of turpentine.’ I bought it, not knowing why. It’s still sitting out in the car. I’ll be right over to help you clean up the mess.”
Within minutes, he arrived. About twenty minutes later, we had the entire mess in hand, and I was able to make it to my class on time.
As I walked in the door of the building, I looked up into the sky and said a short prayer: “Thank thee, Father, for a home teacher who cares, who thinks about my family, and who seeks inspiration about us.”

Like Boyembé, Léonce L’or Tsiba felt prompted to sign up for the self-reliance class when it was announced. Her father had refused to support her after her conversion, and she’d gone without food and shelter for a time before getting help from her bishop. Through the course, Tsiba gained greater temporal and spiritual autonomy. “I learned to put God first in my life,” Tsiba reflected later. “I also committed to pay my tithing, to serve my family, friends, and my community.”
Near the end of the course, one of Tsiba’s friends told her about a job posting and suggested that she apply. Fear and personal doubts made Tsiba hesitant. Nevertheless, with the help of her self-reliance instructor, her bishop, and other class members, Tsiba revised her résumé, practiced interviewing, and slowly gained confidence. When she submitted her application, she learned the job opening had already been closed, but she insisted on leaving her application and résumé anyway. Two weeks later, Tsiba was called in for an interview and then hired for the job. She later said, “That experience taught me that God will provide for us; He knows our need. He only asks us to have faith in Him.”

When I was 11 years old, I won my first state cross-country title and vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness and determined to conquer mediocrity, I stormed the gates of excellence as I began a routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from three to ten miles. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to deter me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto. I even learned to like healthy foods.
By the time I was 14, things could not have been going better. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by our local newspaper as the fastest freshman in the state of Oregon. I felt good and knew I was ready.
Three teammates and I had been invited to participate in the prestigious Meet of Champions in Portland. Full of confident chatter, we piled into the team van with our coach on our way to the meet.
As we pulled onto the highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously decided to fasten my seat belt. Everyone began joking about the seat belt law. In the midst of the teasing, I casually looked up and noticed a car flying over the top of a hill approximately 200 yards ahead of us. Completely out of control, it was coming directly toward us in our lane. It began swerving back and forth between the borrow pit and the road, barely avoiding several cars ahead of us. Crippled by a sense of sickening helplessness, the occupants of our van were seized by an ominous silence as we focused on the inescapable disaster that surely would occur.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radio lingo, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by a policeman. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt buckled, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. A dozen policemen dotted the hillside and roadway. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances whirled in beside our crushed van, and I was very carefully extracted from the totaled vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one medic say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
It turned out my back wasn’t broken—just my nose. However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my timetable for being in top form for nationals was once again interrupted.
After regaining my strength I began to work out. But as I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and smooth strides, like I used to. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. Even though I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him, and how the luck that had thwarted my progress favored him.
I watched Tyler take state, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A horde of excited fans swarmed around him as I stood back. In spite of myself, an uncanny sense of pride swelled inside of me, and as Tyler’s blue eyes shot past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the warmth was so intense that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. His need for my approval drew from me a depth of response that shredded my resentment. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to nationals equipped with all I knew and the might of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of drills to improve his reflexes, surges, and kick. We talked racing whenever we could. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both took first in the Northwest Regional Championships that qualified us for the national meet in North Carolina. Because of the break in my training caused by the accident, I realistically hoped to place in the top 25. I achieved that by taking 21st out of 300 runners. I reached my goal and earned all-American status.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. As we sought out his place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I could sense his apprehension as if it was my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy.
“Be tough, Ty. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can take The Kid,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a flawless race as I sprinted from place to place on the course cheering him on and hoping he could feel my support. Could he hear me above the crowd? Could he sense how I was pulling for him to find the strength? He came out of the trees in second place. “Stay on his shoulder, Ty!” I screeched. “Use your arms! Breathe deep!”
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters we had run over and over together. It was a moment we had planned. “Pull, Tyler! Give it all you’ve got! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish as the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me I had won something too. Shaken and jubilant, I was consumed by a riot of emotions. I had given myself away and felt something far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Breathless and filled with fatigue, Tyler again sought my eyes over the crowd. As he came to my side, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way. I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”

Another wonderful thing happened during this crisis. We checked the MTC storage tank, and it was only half full. We didn’t want to advertise that we had this water because we thought we could save it for real emergencies if the crisis went on for days. But then a pickup truck with several large barrels in the back pulled into the compound. It was from the Tema General Hospital. They also had a large storage tank for emergencies, but it was already empty, and they had thirsty patients. So we let them back their truck up to the MTC tank and fill their barrels from our emergency supply. We told them to come back for more if needed. We would share until our cache was gone. They were grateful.

Some years ago I heard a story about a little boy in Primary class who was asked to say the opening prayer.
“Heavenly Father,” said the boy, “I thank thee for the letter A. I thank thee for the letter B. I thank thee for the letter C.”
The teacher realized this could be a very long prayer, but she restrained herself from stopping him.
He went on to give thanks for every letter of the alphabet through Z. Then he said, “And Heavenly Father, I thank thee for the number one. I thank thee for the number two.” And so on he went.
His teacher nearly panicked. She didn’t know how high the boy could count. She felt she had to stop him, but again something seemed to restrain her. The boy kept on praying until he reached the number twenty. And then he said, “And Heavenly Father, I thank thee for my Primary teacher, who is the only grown-up that ever let me finish my prayer.”

Leann liked preschool. She especially liked the days when her mommy was the parent-helper.
“Today we’re going to talk about our bodies,” the teacher, Mrs. Whitney, said after all the children had gathered in a circle on the floor. “What are some of the things that our bodies can do?”
Everyone took turns naming things.
“Run.”
“Eat.”
“Play.”
“Sing,” Leann said.
Mrs. Whitney smiled. “That’s right. Our bodies can do all those things and more. We’re going to make life-size pictures of ourselves.” She gave a long sheet of white paper to each child.
Leann lay down on the paper, and Mommy traced an outline of her. While Mommy helped the other children, Leann drew in hair, eyes, ears, a mouth, and a nose. She colored her shirt and jumper blue just like the ones she was wearing.
Leann looked at the picture of herself. Something was missing. “Where’s my spirit?” she whispered to Mommy.
“Your spirit is part of you,” Mommy said, “but it’s not something we can see.”
“But I want to draw my spirit so everyone will know that I have one.” Leann chose a yellow crayon and drew a circle around her picture.
After all the children had finished coloring, Mrs. Whitney asked them to show their pictures and to name the parts of their bodies.
Soon it was Leann’s turn. She held up the picture of herself so that the other children could see it. “And this yellow circle helps me remember that I have a spirit,” she said, pointing to the yellow circle.
She smiled at Mommy.
Mommy smiled back.
Leann knew that her spirit wasn’t really a circle, but the yellow color reminded her that her spirit was happy because she was a child of God.

Don’t just take our word for it. Last year in a small town in Utah, young men in a teachers quorum visited the youth activities website (lds.org/youth/activities) to find ideas for an activity. One in particular caught their attention: “Seven Days of Service.”
These young men decided to do something even bigger: they would provide service each day for an entire week to anyone in the ward who requested it. When 19 families signed up, the young men were a little surprised and perhaps even a little overwhelmed. How would they be able to do so much service in such a short time? But they had made a commitment, so they decided to serve all of the families.
In just one week, they gave over 250 hours of combined service, doing such projects as moving a huge pile of rocks, digging a sandbox, cleaning out gutters, and stacking wood. And it changed the young men too.
They felt awed by the strength they felt and the blessings they received. They described feeling united as a quorum and receiving divine help to do homework and other responsibilities. Now, when their ward needs service, the teachers quorum responds enthusiastically. They didn’t just serve for a week—they try to serve every day.

A few months before my eighth birthday, my mom and I were cleaning out my bedroom. We noticed how much stuff I had that I didn’t really use, and my mom asked me where I would put the new things I was going to get for my birthday. After talking about it, I said, “I don’t need gifts for my birthday. Let’s find someone who doesn’t have anything and give him or her the gifts.”
On my birthday, I invited my friends over for a party. I asked that instead of bringing a gift for me, they bring one for a seven-year-old girl who was living in a homeless shelter. A fire at the shelter had burned all of her belongings. During the party we took our gifts to the girl. Because of a death in the family, she wasn’t at the shelter, so we left the gifts on her bed. It was sad to see how little this family had. We all left feeling very grateful for what we have. When my mom asked me later how I thought the party had gone, I said, “It was fun. We did something good today.”

Scott learned about raising guide dogs at an assembly at school. “The speaker brought three dogs to give a demonstration. I thought it would be neat to raise one. I went home and asked Mom and Dad, and they said they would have to talk about it. Mom went to a guide dog meeting one day, and they decided to let me try it.”
Scott’s mother, Kay, had some reservations. “I was leery at first because it is such a commitment. The dog has to be in the house and sleep right beside the child’s bed at night. But we’ve loved the experience. We take the dog everywhere, to visit Grandma, to family reunions, to the grocery store, or whenever we come to town.”

Line upon line and precept upon precept, the Lord taught Joseph that the gospel was restored to unite families eternally. On the morning after Joseph had received a visitation from the angel Moroni, he was working in the field with his father and brother. Physically weary from his experiences the night before, Joseph found it hard to work. His father, supposing he was sick, sent him to the house. The weakened Joseph stopped to rest under an apple tree. Almost immediately he was visited again by the angel Moroni. The first thing the heavenly messenger said was, “Why did you not tell your father that which I commanded you to tell him?” Joseph answered, “I was afraid my father would not believe me.” The angel then promised Joseph, “He will believe every word you say to him” (History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, page 79).
Joseph was taught forcefully by Moroni to share his experiences and new knowledge with his parents; they were given for the purpose of blessing and exalting his own family as well as all other families. This experience undoubtedly strengthened Joseph’s love for his parents and his confidence in their support of him. When told of Moroni’s visit, Joseph’s father responded faithfully that what his son had experienced was “of God” (JS—H 1:50). This response characterized the faith and confidence of Joseph’s parents throughout the trials of the young prophet’s life.

I testify that one right decision can bring about a multitude of blessings. That has been my experience. Up until I was 18, good choices were hit and miss, mostly miss. At 20, while many small decisions led up to it, against all odds, I decided to serve a mission. That was the turning point for me. In His tender mercies, the Lord plucked me out of darkness and sent me on a mission to Korea. I left an entire family who was less than less active. You heard the story of my mother's return. The same happened to my entire family. They all came back to Church and entered the temple, partly because of my decision to serve a mission. Only the Lord could do that. I am eternally grateful. Now, I'm trying to keep my commitment to be and do whatever the Lord commands.