Gospel Story Finder

My blood was boiling. These people clearly know nothing on this topic, I thought, peering down at the virtual shouting match playing out on my smartphone’s Twitter feed. I quickly crafted a perfect response to join the throng—certain that everyone would see how uninformed their opinions were when my tweet pointed out their ignorance. I was about to press send, thought clouds of contempt churning, when a still, small voice managed to pop into my head:
Would Christ say that?
My thumb paused, hovering over the “Tweet” button. My stomach sank.
No. No, He wouldn’t.
Then why would you?
I sighed, took a few deep breaths, and deleted the tweet. I felt awful. What had just come over me?

Not only do we lose the Spirit when choosing anger, but we lose the ability to see situations clearly. We can even lose the ability to act with reason. “[Intemperate anger] destroys wisdom and sound judgment. When we become upset, reason is suppressed, and anger rushes in. To make decisions while infuriated is as unwise and foolish as it is for a captain to put out to sea in a raging storm. Only injury and wreckage result from wrathful moments.”2 Just as I was on the verge of sending a tweet I wasn’t proud of, we can lose sight of who we truly are and who we’re trying to be when angry. It can become a vicious cycle if it isn’t curbed.

I’m so thankful for the whisperings of the Holy Ghost not to send my angry tweet that day. It may seem like an inconsequential example of restraint, but it taught me a lesson that I’ll never forget.

One airman who ventured to our prayer meeting just listened at first. When it came time for him to pray, he asked to be passed over. But a few weeks later, he joined in, praying one evening that his family would be helped with problems at home and that he would be strengthened during the final weeks of training. He told us he was going to miss our meetings when the training ended and that he planned to say a personal prayer each night before going to bed.
While praying with our group soon thereafter, he expressed gratitude that his prayers for his family had been answered. In addition, he said he had been strengthened, which gave him confidence to continue with basic training.
The night before we departed to our assigned technical schools, this same airman explained that before coming to basic training, he had been taught little about God and did not believe in Him. But after reading scriptures with us and seeing the example set by the other airmen who prayed, he had started to develop faith. He confided that the first prayer he had said with the group was the first prayer he had ever said.

Prayer was a very important part of my life. As a child, I was taught to pray. I remember one time when I was riding out to the ranch with my father. As he drove, he started humming or singing, “‘Ere you left your room this morning, Did you think to pray?’”* Then he glanced at me and asked, “Son, did you pray this morning?”
“No.”
“Don’t you pray in the mornings?”
“I pray at night,” I replied.
At that moment, he took the time to explain to me the importance of praying in the morning and at night. From that time on, it became part of my life to pray both morning and night. In 2 Nephi 26:15 [2 Ne. 26:15], we are told that “the prayers of the faithful shall be heard.” We often experienced that scripture. I learned in my youth that as we were faithful and did our part, the Lord blessed us.

When I went on my first mission back in 1905, my cousin and I traveled together to Liverpool; he was sent up into Norway and I was sent to Holland. After we had been in the mission field a few months, I received a letter from him, addressing me by name, and he said: “I met a man the other day who knows more about religion than I ever dreamed of. I told him that if he had something better than I had, I would join his church.”
I wrote him back, addressing him by name, and I said: “You told him just the right thing. If he has something better than you have, you ought to join his church.” Then I quoted some of the experiences that Brother Fyans related to us this morning. I said: “Does he have something better than a personal visitation of God the Father, and his Son, Jesus Christ, in a pillar of light, after centuries of spiritual darkness, to open the dispensation of the fulness of times and to reveal the true personality of the Godhead—that they are glorified personages?”
I said: “Does he have something better than the coming of Moroni with the plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated? Does he have something better than the coming of John the Baptist with the Aaronic Priesthood, the power and authority to baptize by immersion for the remission of sins? Does he have something better than the coming of Peter, James, and John—Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ—with the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, the holy Apostleship, the authority to organize the church and kingdom of God for the last time to prepare the way for the coming of the Son of Man and to convey the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands?
“Does he have something better than the coming of Moses with the keys of the latter-day gathering of Israel that has brought us here into these valleys of the mountains? Does he have something better than the coming of Elijah of whose coming Malachi bore testimony that if it were not for his coming, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord, the whole earth would be utterly wasted at his coming? Think of the consequences. Now,” I said, “if he has something better than that, you join his church.”
I can’t think of anything that we as parents and as leaders in Israel can plant into the hearts of our youth that will help them to avoid the evils and pitfalls and temptations of this world and the false philosophies of men and enable them to live in the world and yet not be a part of the world like having planted in their hearts through the power of the Holy Ghost a testimony of the truth of this restored gospel.
I like the words of the Apostle Peter. He said: “We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place, until the … day star arise in your hearts:
“Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the scripture is of any private interpretation.
“For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.” (2 Pet. 1:19–21.)
That is what brings testimony.
And then Peter said to those who had put to death the Christ following the day of Pentecost: “Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord;
“And he shall send Jesus Christ, which before was preached unto you:
“Whom the heaven must receive until the times of restitution of all things, which God hath spoken by the mouth of all his holy prophets since the world began.” (Acts 3:19–21.)
No man can believe that Peter was a prophet of the living God and look for the coming of the Lord except there be a restitution of all things spoken by the mouths of all the holy prophets since the world began. And a restitution is not a reformation. All the churches of the world today have attempted to correct the mistakes of history until there are hundreds of churches because they can’t agree. And if they had the truth, they would all be alike; and so there had to be a restitution. That means that those holy prophets had to come back to this earth, and that is what you have been told here in this conference.
And if they came back to this earth, they had to come to somebody, and that somebody could be none other than a prophet of God. Like Amos said, “Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7). And that prophet was Joseph Smith.
We bear testimony of this restitution of all things—the coming of these holy prophets as has been pointed out here during this conference today.
I like the prophecies of the scriptures. Jesus walked along the way toward Emmaus with two of his disciples following his resurrection, and when he heard what they had to say regarding him and his crucifixion, he knew that they did not understand and comprehend what the prophets had said; so he said, “O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken” (Luke 24:25), and commencing with Moses and the prophets, He showed them how that in all things the prophets had testified of him.
I love the prophecies of Isaiah. It seems to me that he almost lived more in our day than when he was actually upon the earth. He saw so much of what would transpire in our day. He saw us settled here in these valleys of the mountains. He saw this desert, where we were once a thousand miles from transportation and supplies, made to blossom as a rose (see Isa. 35:1). He saw the rivers flow in the desert where we have built these great irrigation canals (see Isa. 43:19). He saw the water flow down from the high places where we have reservoired it in these mountain fastnesses for summer’s use (see Isa. 41:18). He saw the redeemed of the Lord come up and sing in the heights of Zion (see Isa. 51:11). And where do you find anything in the world to fulfill that like the singing of the Tabernacle Choir for over fifty years without a break?
He saw the mountain of the Lord’s house established in the top of the mountains in the latter days when all nations would flow unto it, and they would say, “Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths” (Isa. 2:3).
Now in the scriptures there are many, many prophecies of the regathering of the Jews back to Jerusalem, but this prophecy said, “And all nations shall flow unto it.
“… and say … let us go up to the mountain of the Lord[’s house].” (Isa. 2:2–3.)
I think this beautiful temple on this block is the house of the God of Jacob that Isaiah saw.
Jeremiah saw the day when it should no longer be said, “The Lord liveth, which brought up the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt;
“But, The Lord liveth, which brought up and which led the seed of the house of Israel out of … all countries whither I had driven them” (Jer. 23:7–8).
He said that he would send for many fishers and many hunters and they would fish them and hunt them from the hills and the mountains and the holes in the rocks (see Jer. 16:16). They are the thirty-one thousand Mormon missionaries scattered all over the world gathering in the seed of Israel and bringing them to Zion.
He saw how they would be gathered one of a city and two of a family, and the Lord would bring them to Zion, and he would give them pastors after his own heart who should feed them with knowledge and with understanding (see Jer. 3:14–15). Could anybody sit through sessions of this conference and listen to these prophets of the living God and not realize that Jeremiah saw this day when we would come here, gathered one of a city and two of a family, and that He would give us pastors after His own heart?
I love the prophecies of Isaiah. I like the twenty-ninth chapter where he said: “Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men:
“Therefore, behold, I will proceed to do a marvellous work among this people, even a marvellous work and a wonder: for the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid.” (Isa. 29:13–14.)
There are no wise men in this world today nor prudent men who can understand all of the prophecies like we Latter-day Saints can because of the restoration of this gospel and the receiving of some of the prophecies that I have already referred to and which have been referred to in this conference.
And then Isaiah in that very same twenty-ninth chapter starts out like this: He said, “Woe to Ariel, to Ariel, the city where David dwelt [that was Jerusalem—that is where David dwelt]! add ye year to year [meaning coming generations]; let them kill sacrifices. And it shall be camped about and it shall be unto me as Ariel” (see Isa. 29:1–3). In other words, not only did Isaiah see the destruction of the great city of Jerusalem, but he also saw the destruction of another great center here in America eleven hundred years after he made that prophecy. We read of that destruction in 2 Nephi 26 and 27, just like when he described the destruction of Babylon a hundred and seventy years before it was destroyed when he said it should never be rebuilt (see Jer. 50:9–13).
Now he said in that chapter that the wisdom of their wise men shall perish and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid. There are so many things that have transpired in this day that the wise men of this world cannot understand. I haven’t time here today to enumerate any more to you, but my heart is full of gratitude to my Heavenly Father and full of testimony by the Holy Spirit of the divinity of this work, and I bear that testimony to you in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Sister Ana Marie Karganilla, Committee Coordinator, was worried because the shoe covers she ordered overseas well in advance were not delivered, a month into the open house.
Her anxiety increased when the items had not yet arrived a week before the event.
Then a day before the open house, the shoe covers miraculously came, all 200,000 of them!
Ana Marie learned to trust and rely on the Lord more and that He will not let anything hinder the progress of His Works.

In addition to so many other responsibilities, the President of the Church receives a great deal of correspondence each day. I am reminded of one such letter and share it with you. I have changed the name of the young man who wrote the letter. It begins:
“Dear President,
“Hi. My name is David Smith. I live in an area where the starlings are very bad, and they are making nests in my step-grandpa’s boat and in my dad’s barn and all over the place. My step-grandpa and my dad both think I should shoot them, but my mom doesn’t. I know the law says it is okay, but I am not asking your opinion as a hunter. I am asking your opinion as a Church leader.
“Sincerely, David Smith
“P.S. A starling is a black bird that eats other bird’s eggs and other bad things.”
Each letter which comes in is answered. A response to this particular letter was sent by the secretary to the First Presidency, F. Michael Watson.
“Dear David:
“I have been asked to acknowledge your letter of April 30 addressed to the President of the Church about the problems you have been having with starlings.
“The Church does not have an official policy on this matter. The Brethren feel it should be left up to your parents to give you appropriate guidance.
“I hope this information is helpful to you.
“Sincerely yours, F. Michael Watson”

About 150 years ago, 402 Latter-day Saints left their homeland in Europe to come to America. A Sister Jackson recorded a spiritual experience in her journal. She wrote that one night during the voyage, when the ship was near the shores of Cuba, it was particularly pitch dark and no one could see anything. The captain was afraid that the ship might be wrecked as he knew that land was near. Suddenly, a heavenly light illuminated the surroundings for a few seconds, revealing to the captain that a large rock rose boldly out of the ocean right in front of the ship only a short distance away. The captain quickly turned the ship just in time to avoid hitting the rocks. A terrible disaster was avoided because of the Lord's help. All 402 Latter-day Saints arrived safely in New Orleans.

When I enrolled in a philosophy class in high school, my dad was a little concerned. In philosophy, everything is questioned, including the existence of God. My teacher taught us things that go against religion and deny God’s existence.
One philosophy test asked, “Why have we come to the earth?” The answer I was supposed to give was so that we could become self-actualized and take our place in the circle of life. I didn’t write that answer because it’s not what I believe.
Instead, I wrote, “We have come to the earth to be tested and to return to live with our Father in Heaven for eternity with our families.”
Afterward, the teacher called me up and asked me if I knew the correct answer to the question. I told him I did but that I wasn’t going to write something I knew was untrue.
He asked me if I was religious and which church I belonged to. I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He told me that he had never known any religious student who was courageous enough to stand up for his beliefs and write such an answer.
“I did not give you full credit because your answer wasn’t the correct one,” he said. “But I gave you points for having the courage to write what you believe.”
I was happy because I had answered according to my convictions and according to the gospel truths I know and am trying to live.
Benjamin M., Chile

When John was seventeen, he began work as an apprentice blacksmith to Captain Benjamin Lawrence of Middlebury, Vermont. During the next four years the tall youth became a skilled craftsman.
By the time John was thirty years old, he was married and owned his own blacksmith shop. Twice his shop was destroyed by fire, but each time he quickly rebuilt it, and he worked longer hours to make up for his losses.
Besides his regular work, John designed pitchforks, hay and manure forks, hoes, and shovels. The tools he made were sturdier and easier to handle than the ones the farmers had been using.
In 1836, John Deere decided to move west to Grand Detour, Illinois. There he opened a blacksmith shop and sent for his family. The farmers recognized John’s skills and kept him busy. The iron plows that the farmers were using, which worked satisfactorily in the east, quickly caked with the clayey prairie soil and constantly had to be cleaned. In order to grow crops and feed their families, the farmers needed a plow that would clean itself as it made the furrows. Otherwise, they would be forced to leave their farms and return to the east.
John began experimenting on a design for a better plow. One day when he visited a local sawmill, he saw a shiny circular saw blade that had been thrown away because it was broken. John wondered if the prairie soil would cling to a moldboard and plowshare made of polished steel. He took the broken steel blade back to his blacksmith shop and put his idea to work.
The news spread throughout the village that he was making an improved plow. And when the tall, rugged blacksmith carried it on his broad shoulders to Lewis Crandall’s field, farmers from the surrounding area were there, waiting anxiously to see if it would work.
John hitched the light but sturdy steel plow to Crandall’s horse, grasped the polished hardwood handles, and slapped the reins. As the horse moved forward, the plowshare bit into the soil. The soil curled away from the moldboard! The crowd pressed closer with growing excitement.
“By cracky, it’s clean!”
The blacksmith plowed another furrow. “It moves right along and polishes itself as it goes!” an old-timer cried excitedly.
One by one each farmer took a turn behind the plow. At last everyone was satisfied. John Deere had invented the first successful steel plow.
The “Self-Polisher” became so popular that John Deere and his friend Leonard Andrus became partners. During the next year they produced three new plows. The business continued to prosper, but in 1846 John and his family moved to Moline, Illinois, to start a new company. At first he used high quality steel from England for his plows. Later a mill in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, made the steel for the John Deere plows.
John continued to improve his plows, and he always used only the best materials in their manufacture. It was a proud moment for John Deere when one of his plows won an international award in France. Soon his plows were being ordered from all over the world. John Deere’s son, Charles, became a partner in the business in 1858, and five years later a son-in-law joined the company.
John Deere had become one of the world’s greatest plow makers. Today farm implements bearing his name are recognized everywhere for their fine quality.
During a visit to Vermont before his death at eighty-two, John Deere saw some of the farm tools that he’d made there as a young man. They were still in use and highly prized. He was deeply touched, for above all things, John was proud of being a good blacksmith.

That was the way he looked when I reached the summit of Snowdon for the first time. As the highest mountain in England or Wales, Snowdon, for a six-year-old, seemed as inconquerable as Everest does to me now. The old miner’s track was surfaced with rough shingle that shifted unnervingly as we walked. The craggy gray rocks and scattered boulders were a stark contrast to the sailor-blue sky and white scudding clouds above. Occasionally, we would pass a stray sheep searching for an area to graze. These hardy animals were so used to human invaders that they barely noticed us passing.
It wasn’t long before my short legs were failing, and with them my spirits. The gray path seemed endless. “Come on, Sian. You can do it,” Dad coaxed as he heaved me onto his back. It made the climb more difficult for him but helped revive me. We trudged past crumbling stonewalls that had been built by a now forgotten shepherd long before the era of cement. From a distance they looked like huge scars on the face of the mountain.
At last we reached the final scree. Dad held my hand tightly as we scrambled up. When we reached the plateau on the top, we sat down breathlessly. I looked around. Far below I could see moving people like multicolored ants. As far as the eye could see there were mountain ridges, deep valleys, and in the distance the glint of blue from the North Sea. I gazed around in wonder, then laughed excitedly. “We made it, Dad. We reached the very top!” I looked up to see that the expression in my father’s eyes at that moment was a reflection of my own. It said, I love you, I have faith in you, and I know that you can do what you set your mind to do.

During recess, my friends asked me to swear. It was hard to say no because they’re my friends, and I wondered if they would tease me. But I still said no because I knew it wasn’t right. When I was eight, I was baptized, and I made promises to Heavenly Father to be obedient. When we obey the commandments, we are following Jesus. I know next time it will be easier to choose the right because I’ve done the right thing already.
Jayden B., age 8, Queensland, Australia

“A door was opened for me, and I will return,” wrote Jan Bishop at the bottom of her contest letter. And she did return to Czechoslovakia, not once, but twice.
Jan made the first of her three trips to the eastern European country back in 1971 as a member of her Montclair, New Jersey, high school choir. The choir toured and sang concerts in Prague, Bratislava, and other cities and villages in Czechoslovakia.
Shortly after her return to the United States, Jan learned about a letter-writing contest being sponsored for the students who had participated in the tour. First prize was a free return trip to Czechoslovakia as an “Ambassador for Friendship.” She entered the competition and won.
During her second visit Jan stayed in Prague with the family of a young man with whom she had been corresponding.
“This time, instead of being a tourist living in hotels, I was able to participate in Czech family life,” said Jan. “The family I stayed with had two children and lived, as many Czech families do, in a large apartment complex. Their apartment contained three rooms for living, dining, and sleeping, plus a small kitchen and bathroom. Both parents worked in fairly prominent government and business positions and lived very well by Czech standards.
This second trip awakened in Jan an interest in Slavic culture, particularly music. And so it was no great shock to her family and friends when Jan made plans last year as a European studies major at BYU to return to Prague once again to research an independent project on Czech music.
After many days of burrowing in libraries and museums and many evenings at concert halls, Jan returned with more than enough material to compile a report. The young man of the family she had stayed with immigrated to the United States, and Jan was able to help him establish himself here.
“As a result of my travels,” said Jan, “I’ve become acquainted with the Slavic people and their culture. I feel a special love for them and a renewed love and deeper appreciation for my own country.”

I grew up with the same friends for the first 12 years of my life. We were neighbors. We went to the same schools and attended each other’s birthday parties. I sometimes ate at their homes, they came to mine, and we had fun together. But when we became teenagers, things began to change. They were not members of the Church, and they swore, they smoked, and they drank alcohol. They had a completely different view of the law of chastity than I did.
I thought about the problem carefully, and then I talked to my father about what to do. He said, “You have to decide. These good friends are different from you. Before you couldn’t tell, but now there’s a very big difference.”
I trusted my father’s counsel. My friends knew I was a member of the Church, so when I decided not to always go everywhere they went, they understood. Eventually, we spent less and less time together even though we were still friendly.
It was a trial for me to leave my friends, but I knew that it was important to maintain the principles of the gospel in my life. I thought about Alma’s counsel to his sons when he taught them to have faith in God. He said, “Whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials” (Alma 36:3).
One of the things that helped me get through this hard time was going every week to Church activities, including Mutual. I also kept myself busy with dancing, sports, and youth conferences.
I made a new friend who was not a member of the Church, and he sometimes invited me to go to parties. These parties were the same day as Mutual, so I told him, “I’m sorry. I would like to go, but I have other plans.”
He asked what I was doing. I told him, “I’m going to Mutual.”
“What’s Mutual?” he asked.
I explained that we had a lot of fun activities at Mutual and that I was serving as a counselor in the presidency. After I turned down three invitations to his parties, he said, “Invite me to Mutual.”
So he came with me, the missionaries taught him, and he was eventually baptized.
I invite you to make decisions now so that you can be a light to your friends. One thing you can do is attend seminary. Your seminary teachers do their part; they put forth a lot of effort in preparing lessons for you. Seminary will be even more of a blessing to you when you do your part: read the assignments, pray and fast, receive and accept the teachings. Learning takes place when both parties do what they need to do.
When I was in high school, one of my friends invited me to a party and said, “Let’s go ask my father if we can borrow his car.” His father did not want to let him borrow the car. Then, when his father saw me, he said, “OK, I’ll let you borrow the car, but only if Benjamín will drive.”
This man knew that my family and I were members of the Church, that we didn’t drink alcohol, and that I would be a safe driver.
The reaction of my friend’s father helped me appreciate my parents’ teachings and the example they set. At home we had family home evening and family prayer. Sunday was a day of rest for us. These types of things were the gospel in action for us, and we enjoyed it a lot. My father often invited other members of the Church to come to our house to talk about the gospel on Sunday afternoons. We ate together, we talked about the gospel, and we shared a close friendship.
Prepare now to build your own strong future families. You do that when you are active in learning about the gospel. Remember that if you will put your trust in God; have daily, fervent prayer; read the scriptures; keep yourselves clean; and work on your Duty to God or Personal Progress, you will be protected from harm, will be a light to your friends, and will find joy in your life.

In the summer of 1979, I was surprised to learn that some of my mother’s books and papers were stored in a backyard shed of ward members in my hometown of London, Ontario. In salvaging what I could from several moldering cardboard boxes, I discovered partially completed pedigree charts on my family, some family group records, and a few research notes. The real treasure was a four-page personal history written by my mother, who died when I was 11. This wonderful handwritten history describes her childhood in England during the 1930s and her life through World War II. Finding these records stimulated my initial interest in family history and turned my heart to my ancestors.

When I was a young boy, my Grandfather Ignacio gave my brother, David, and me a used bicycle as a gift. We quickly thanked him and sped off to give the gift a test ride. When we returned from our ride, my mother asked us to go to a nearby phone booth and telephone our grandfather to thank him for the bike.
We arrived at the booth and waited several minutes to make the call. Realizing that the woman using the phone would not leave anytime soon, we decided that it would be best to go to another pay telephone. As we got on the bike to leave, a police officer arrived in his patrol car. The woman who had delayed us immediately left the booth and protested loudly and emphatically, “That is my child’s bicycle. It was stolen several months ago.”
The police officer asked where we had gotten the bicycle, and we answered that we had just received it as a gift from our grandfather. The officer loaded us and the bicycle into the patrol car and took us home, where he asked that my mother produce some proof of purchase for the bike. After my mother called my grandfather from a neighbor’s phone, my grandfather arrived and presented a receipt for the bike’s purchase. The receipt showed that he had purchased the bike that very morning at the police station auction, where unclaimed and recovered property was sold.
The officer had a dilemma to resolve. Give the bike to the pleading mother or give the bike to us, the recent purchasers. I am sure you have come to your own conclusions based on what you perceive to have been the fairest course of action.
The officer returned the bicycle to the woman who had claimed it to be rightfully her child’s. Of course my brother and I were devastated. At the time I felt it was a serious injustice for the officer to have taken the bicycle and given it to this stranger. As time passed, my legal education here at the BYU Law School only reinforced my feelings about our loss.
After law school I returned to work in the city where this bike episode had occurred, and I became one of its city attorneys. Ironically, I remember analyzing and applying the very law that should have prevented the officer from taking my first bike had the law been applied correctly.
It is only in more recent years that I have come to understand the lasting lesson that my grandfather taught me on that day—one that lives longer in my heart than the bicycle ever could. In my mind’s eye I have come to understand that he must have seen something in that mother’s face, a tired yearning for compassion, that caused him to allow the bicycle to be returned to its rightful owner.
That day my grandfather taught me a higher law, the second great commandment: how to love your neighbor. My grandfather demonstrated and exercised the gift of charity for another human being.

These words reminded me of the story of the famous American heavyweight boxer Joe Louis Barrow. Known to the world as Joe Louis or the Brown Bomber, he is one of the most storied champions in heavyweight boxing history. Even early in his career, his rise to becoming the heavyweight champion looked inevitable. But, after a streak of wins against top contenders, Louis became complacent and began to stray from the daily routine that made him excellent. In 1936, in New York City, he faced a fighter named Max Schmeling. The stakes were high, as the fight represented the conflict between American democracy and German fascism. Schmeling won the fight in the twelfth round by knockout. The loss devastated Joe Louis and many in the United States. One attendee noted the reaction,
“I walked down Seventh Avenue and saw grown men weeping like children, and women sitting in the curbs with their heads in their hands. All across the country that night when the news came that Joe was knocked out, people cried.” [1]
Sadly, Louis was “unprepared or unqualified for what could have been his finest hour.”
He regrouped, rededicated himself to a productive daily routine, and set out for redemption. The following year, he became the heavyweight champion. And a year later, he beat Schmeling with a first-round knockout. He remained the champion for nearly 12 years and had a streak of 25 successful defenses of his title. Louis’s later life was difficult and tragic, but he is credited with a quote that has great meaning.
He said, “A champion doesn't become a champion in the ring, he's merely recognized in the ring. His ‘becoming’ happens during his daily routine.”

The two eagles gulped altitude with their broad, golden wings until the cliff line was far below them. Then they closed their wings and dropped out of the sky, spinning downward at a wind-warping speed of almost 200 miles per hour. Just as the juniper and sagebrush rushed up to crush them, they spun the world on end with a flick of their seven-foot wings and shot upward again. Spiraling up on a thermal, they banked away from each other and were soon a valley apart. Then, pivoting in midair, they rushed together like two warring biplanes, their wingbeats cracking echoes off the cliff face. Just inches short of disaster they casually palmed the air aside and brushed feathers as they blasted past each other. They flashed together again, flipping on their backs and displaying their talons in mock combat. They soared and dived, playing the wind like a violin, spinning gravity like a yo-yo. One moment they were sailing ships, running with the breeze or tacking against it. The next they were jet fighters, dive-bombing their shadows. They were more free in their ocean of air than any fish in water or any man on land.
But one man on the land watched them—with his eyes hardly comprehending, with his camera clicking like a telegraph, and long afterward with a notebook and pencil, remembering. Kent Keller, of Orem, Utah, had seen golden eagle courtship flights before, but like any reasonable person, he could only fully believe it when he was seeing it.

Not even a week until Christmas and still no sign of snow. But that was the least of my worries. My mom and dad had separated, and divorce was looming in the wings. I suspected they would announce it as soon as the tinsel was put away so as not to put a damper on the holidays.
Too late.
And now my mom had informed me that I would have to make some heavy revisions to my Christmas wish list. My brothers and sister and I would get only a few presents.
I was sulking over my list when Mrs. Rollins [names have been changed] and her four children appeared on our doorstep. Why were they standing on our porch? They were in our ward but had never been to church. We were mere acquaintances.
The oldest boy, Gary, and I were in the same grade, but I carefully avoided him and his tough-guy buddies. He didn’t look so tough now as he stared at his shoelaces. Brett and Allison, both in elementary school, didn’t make eye contact with me either. But Robbie, four, looked straight at me with wide, clear eyes.
“We ran away,” he said.
I ushered them in, and the suspense and drama unfolded right in my living room. Mrs. Rollins had snatched up her kids and left her husband, vowing she’d never let him lay a hand on them again. Her firm jaw testified of her resolve, though her eyes brimmed with tears.
By this time, my mom and brothers and sister were standing at attention in the living room. Mrs. Rollins told my mom that she didn’t know where else to go and didn’t think her husband would find her and the children at our house. She pleaded with my mom to let her stay for a few days until she could figure something out, but her pleading was unnecessary because already we were caught up in something much bigger than ourselves.
While we played games and ate popcorn with the kids, my mom made some phone calls. She contacted the bishop and the Relief Society president. Meals were brought in, and a deposit and first month’s rent were paid on a small rental house in our ward boundaries. The only catch was that the house needed some work.
“Some work!” I gasped, when I saw the house a few days later with my brothers. The whole place was grimy and filthy. For three days my mom loaded us up with cleansers, disinfectants, and scrubbing brushes. Together with Mrs. Rollins’s four children, we scrubbed toilets, floors, windows, and walls. But we also laughed as we worked. And we marveled as ward members poured in bearing food and secondhand furniture and clothing.
On December 23, we were just finishing our cleaning when we heard screams of delight from the living room. We all rushed in to find Allison’s nose pressed against the living room window. Outside three men were lifting a Christmas tree from the back of a truck. Their wives followed them into the house with decorations for the tree.
“I didn’t think we were going to get a Christmas tree this year,” Allison beamed.
Back at our house that night we spread sleeping bags and pillows all around the lighted Christmas tree in the family room. For our last night together, we watched the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. Mrs. Rollins’s family had never seen it.
Mrs. Rollins kept thanking my mom for all we had done and saying the Lord must have sent her to us. I remember thinking that we hadn’t done much. It was the whole ward who had given of their time and money and belongings. And then I thought of what Mrs. Rollins and her children had given all of us. A purpose. A sense of unity and usefulness. They had helped us forget our own problems and focus outside ourselves. Maybe the Lord had sent them to us.
Before we dropped off to sleep, my mom gathered us together and asked if we would be willing to give up half our Christmas money so Mrs. Rollins and her children would have gifts to open on Christmas morning. None of us had to think twice. We gave Mom our re-revised lists and set out shopping with her the next day. My mom wandered off looking for our gifts, while my siblings and I scattered throughout the store to find just the right presents for our new friends. It was amazing to witness my younger brothers and sister hunting down gifts and comparing prices, asking each other for opinions. How had this happened? Weren’t we supposed to be complaining and moping about how unfortunate we were?
That night was Christmas Eve. With our ward, we filled small paper bags with sand and lighted candles and placed them along the sidewalks of our neighborhood, illuminating the dark, nippy night with a toasty glow. To me that Christmas was outlined with that same warm glow. It should have been impossible. My parents were on the verge of divorce, and I received so few gifts. And yet it didn’t bother me at all when I returned to school after Christmas vacation wearing the same old clothes. I’ll always remember what I received for Christmas that year. It’s something I now put on my Christmas wish list every year—the spirit of Christmas.

A few months after I received my endowment, I was driving in a blazing hot car with a friend when he pointed out that the shorts I was wearing were really long.
“Aren’t you hot?” he asked.
“I sure am,” I answered cheerfully.
We both laughed.
“But knowing you, you wouldn’t wear shorter shorts even if you weren’t wearing garments now. You’ve always been super modest,” he said teasingly.
I considered that statement.
“You’re correct,” I said, laughing.
But truthfully, I found his statement a bit unsettling. What did he mean by “super” modest? Had I been taking modesty to an extreme? Did he think I was weird?
And beneath that question were more questions that I had been considering for a while but had been too afraid to ask: Why was I so committed to dressing modestly? Did it really help me become a better disciple of Christ? Did it even matter?
Some of us may have questions about modesty, especially about what it has to do with our discipleship. But as we seek guidance through the Spirit, we can begin to understand the why behind this commandment.
When I had questions about modesty and was feeling pressure from the world to lower my standards, I took my questions to Heavenly Father. Little by little, I remembered many instances where choosing to be modest—in both appearance and behavior—blessed my life immensely.
Here are just a few of the blessings that I have experienced from embracing the principle of modesty.
Our bodies are sacred vessels for our spiritual selves and serve as tangible reminders of how perfectly we are loved by our Heavenly Father. It is a true privilege to have a body, as it allows us to become like Him. When we consider that miraculous and incomprehensible truth, why wouldn’t we be confident in who we are?
If you take a moment to look around, you’ll notice that, because of the adversary, the world showcases bodies differently than Heavenly Father intended. They are criticized and compared, and immodesty is often glorified. The world wants to convince us that behaving and dressing a certain way will help us fit in and feel more self-assured than ever before. But the confidence that stems from this is fleeting.
Lasting confidence comes from understanding our divine identities—realizing that our bodies are sacred instruments through which we get to experience life, not ornaments to be adorned by the world.1
In Doctrine and Covenants 121:45, the Lord teaches, “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God.”
And it’s true! When we have modest, virtuous thoughts, they are reflected in our behavior, language, and appearance, and we can experience true self-assurance.
At times, my temporal desires have been at odds with modesty, like wanting to wear certain clothes to feel attractive or longing to fit in by acting a certain way. But as I came to truly comprehend my divine identity, I wanted to represent that truth, and behaving and dressing modestly eventually became second nature to me. And my self-confidence grew as well—after all, true confidence has little to do with our appearance and more to do with living in a way that reflects our divine identity.
When seen as rules, the commandments of the gospel can seem restricting. But when we focus on Heavenly Father’s eternal perspective and love for us, we can build our testimony on the truth that His commandments are meant to protect and bless us. They stem from His perfect love.2
In pondering how modesty had blessed my life, I once considered the question President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, asked regarding our love for God versus the things of the world. He said, “How would we answer the question ‘Lovest thou me more than these?’”3
I realized that the world may be filled with temptations, but when I consider what Heavenly Father and the Savior have done for me out of love, choosing to be modest is one thing I can do to show Them love in return. Modesty is a reflection of my inner commitment to Them, and as I continue to show my devotion, I feel myself deepening my relationship with Them, which is a blessing on its own.
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “His commandments are not grievous—just the opposite. They mark the path of healing, happiness, peace, and joy. … And in obeying Their commandments, we feel Their perfect love more fully and more profoundly.”4
And we read in 1 Nephi that God’s love is “most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:23; see also verse 22). When we choose to follow the commandments, including modesty, we are able to feel His love and partake of the fruits of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is the source of true joy.
Dressing or behaving like the majority of the world might allow me to feel happiness for a moment, and I’ve felt that temptation at times. But I am most joyful when I strive to keep the commandments and my covenants, because doing so allows me to feel Heavenly Father’s perfect love.
During that conversation with my friend, I assumed he thought I was a bit of a prude. But several years later, this friend actually became my husband, and he explained that he always appreciated how my commitment to Christ was reflected in my appearance, language, and actions.
Choosing modesty won’t always be easy, because “the voices and pressures of the world are engaging and numerous.”5 But I know the blessings and joy I receive when I embrace modesty are worth so much more than anything the world can offer me.
If you have questions about modesty, I invite you to seek personal revelation and consider how it has blessed your life. And remember, let’s not judge others’ worthiness according to their choices regarding modesty. As we choose to embrace modesty, let’s offer compassion to others—the same compassion the Savior offers us.
Modesty is one of the greatest ways we can learn to treasure our true identities, come closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and feel joy in our lives. It has been for me, and I know it can be for you too.

The week I stayed with Uncle Alex and Aunt Cindy was the week their garden cranked out a year’s supply of zucchini. Uncle Alex called it the “Zucchini Explosion.”
Uncle Alex is a lot like me, only grown up. We even have the same name, sort of. You see, my name is Elliot Alexander Cranton. His name is Alexander Elliot Cranton. Aunt Cindy says we’re quite a pair.
We ate supper on the patio the first night, and there it was on my plate—zucchini. Uncle Alex is a lot of fun, and I like Aunt Cindy too. But zucchini and I don’t get along at all. They look like giant cucumbers, and they just mush around in your mouth.
I ate as much as I could stand, then spread the rest around on my plate. I didn’t want to hurt Aunt Cindy’s feelings, but I didn’t want to eat the zucchini, either.
After supper three of Aunt Cindy’s friends stopped by to visit.
“Would you like to take home some zucchini?” she asked them.
“My family won’t eat them,” said the tall one.
“My family won’t touch them,” said the short one.
“My family won’t even look at them,” said the one in between.
I wasn’t surprised.
Uncle Alex and I excused ourselves and went to catch lightning bugs.
We caught about twenty-five and put them into a jar. I thought the breathing holes in the lid were small enough when I took the jar into the kitchen, but I guess they weren’t.
I don’t know why Aunt Cindy was so upset. Only one got on her foot. The rest were on the ceiling. And the walls. And the floor.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” she shouted, “get these bugs out of my kitchen!”
“If you insist, but we sure could have saved on the electric bill,” Uncle Alex joked.
The next night we ate in the kitchen. We had a zucchini casserole. I offered to scrape the dishes so that Aunt Cindy wouldn’t see how much I’d left on my plate.
After dinner, Uncle Alex and I hunted for fishing worms. We put them into a paper cup with some dirt, then put the cup into the refrigerator to keep the worms fresh.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” shouted Aunt Cindy when she looked in the refrigerator, “what’s this next to the zucchini?”
She looked into the cup. “Get these worms out of my kitchen!”
Aunt Cindy did not even want to understand about keeping worms fresh.
We ate in the dining room the next night. We had zucchini with some kind of sauce on them. I’d swallowed more zucchini that week than I’d eaten before in my whole life. But it wasn’t enough for Aunt Cindy.
She looked at our plates and shook her head. “I’ve already put away more zucchini than we’ll need for the winter.”
“Leave the zucchini to us,” said Uncle Alex.
“Sure,” said Aunt Cindy, smiling a little. “You two are just like those zucchini. I don’t know what to do with them, and I don’t know what to do with you!”
After supper I helped Uncle Alex move the picnic table out by the road. We put the zucchini on the table. I made a sign that said ZUCCHINI—20¢ EACH.
Eight cars went by. I changed the price to ten cents.
Fourteen more cars went by. No luck.
I made a new sign that said ZUCCHINI—FREE TO A GOODHOME. Sixteen cars later, we gave up.
“Let’s look in Aunt Cindy’s cookbook,” I suggested. “Maybe we can find a recipe for chocolate-covered zucchini.”
“I’ll try anything,” said Uncle Alex.
We went into the kitchen and got out the cookbook.
“Uncle Alex,” I asked, “why doesn’t Aunt Cindy ever make zucchini bread? It sounds kind of good.”
“It is,” Uncle Alex said. “You don’t even know you’re eating zucchini. Aunt Cindy says it’s fattening.”
“Let’s make some.”
That was when I found out that Uncle Alex is not very handy in the kitchen, especially with messy things like flour and eggs. After we put the bread in the oven and were just starting to clean up, Aunt Cindy came in with her three friends.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” she shouted, “what have you done to my kitchen?”
I don’t know why she was so upset. There was just a little flour on the counter. And on the floor. And on Uncle Alex.
“What is that wonderful smell?” asked Aunt Cindy’s tall friend.
“It’s zucchini bread,” I told her.
“How delightful!” said the short one.
“It does smell delicious,” said the one in between.
When the bread was done, Uncle Alex cut a slice for each of us, even Aunt Cindy.
It was really good, and it didn’t mush around in my mouth.
Uncle Alex gave each lady the recipe and a big sack full of zucchini.
“Oh, thank you,” said the tall one.
“How thoughtful of you,” said the short one.
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep some for yourselves?” asked the one in between.
The next day, Uncle Alex and I picked three zucchini from the garden. We took them in to Aunt Cindy.
“Alexander Elliot and Elliot Alexander,” she shouted, “get those zucchini out of my kitchen!”