Gospel Story Finder

Years ago when my children were small, I took them with me to go shopping. While out, we found several inexpensive Nativity sets, one of them in a small box. This Nativity was crudely made, probably of ceramic, and had only five pieces—Mary, Joseph, a shepherd, a Wise Man, and a baby Jesus.
As my son opened the box, a piece popped out and fell to the floor, breaking into two. After consoling my son for his mistake, I thought to myself, “Well, I guess I’m going to buy that ugly Nativity set.” It was not a Nativity I would normally have displayed in my home, but because my son broke it, I bought it and took it home.
Once the children were in bed, I pulled out the little Nativity set and considered throwing it away. It was small and ugly in my eyes. The piece that had broken, however, was the baby Jesus. I couldn’t just throw baby Jesus away! So, I glued the piece together and made a little spot in our home each year afterward for that small Nativity.
Last year, as I was placing the Nativity pieces into bits of paper to protect them, I glanced again at the baby Jesus. Then I glanced at the box as I placed that piece inside it. I noticed that I had never removed the price tag: $1.25. That was the price I had paid to redeem my son’s mistake.
That thought made me stop and ponder on our Savior. Thoughts about Jesus Christ flooded my mind, and I thought of the price He had paid to redeem me from my sins. What a small price I had paid for my son’s mistake in comparison to His sacrifice for my sins. I paid the price of the Nativity for my son because I love him, and the Savior paid the price for us because He loves us (see 1 Corinthians 6:19–20).
Just as I had repaired the broken baby Jesus, He can repair our broken lives. I thought of the gratitude I have for Jesus Christ’s Atonement for me and for each of God’s children, and for the hope we can have in our Savior. That ugly Nativity isn’t so ugly to me anymore.

Some of the bricks in the tabernacle were damaged and needed to be replaced. N. J. Meacher, who is not a member of the Church, donated a beautiful old home whose bricks matched those of the tabernacle. Matt Foley was assigned to supervise tearing down the house and salvaging the bricks. His three grandsons, Greg (7), Corey (10), and Dallen (11), volunteered to help him. The bricks had to be removed one at a time and carefully cleaned and tested for strength. The Foleys, along with many other volunteers, were able to save sixteen thousand bricks, which are now in the temple walls and the walls enclosing the grounds.
When the temple was completed, Greg attended the open house. “The Spirit was so strong!” he said.
“I’m eager to go back to the temple when I’m twelve,” Dallen stated. “I can’t describe how good it feels to know that we actually helped to build a temple.”
Their cousin Corey agreed. “It was a great experience, preserving the bricks for a temple. It’s a very special building that will help people for a long time.”

“That old man’s a regular puzzlement, isn’t he?” Nathan blurted out to his six-year-old brother, B.J., who walked beside him down the dirt road toward home.
“What old man?” B. J. asked without looking up as he stomped his already muddy feet in the December rain puddles along the wagon-rutted road.
“You know,” Nathan returned, “the one who moved into the Kelsay place six months back. Josiah Potts. It’s less than three weeks until Christmas, and he’s just as bad tempered as ever.”
“You mean because he never smiles?” B. J. asked, jumping like a frog over a dirty puddle.
Nathan stopped to stare at the sod [turf] house nestled in a tangle of dogwood trees just off the road. He leaned against the rickety fence that bordered the little yard. “I guess so,” he said barely loud enough to hear. Thunder boomed and jagged flashes of lightning cut through the damp air like the sights and sounds of the war his father had gone to fight and had never come home from.
A very cold wind tugged at B.J., and he squinted up impatiently at his twelve-year-old brother. “Don’t worry about it, Nathan. Mr. Potts is just an irritable old man.”
Nathan nodded, still gazing intently at the house. “Maybe Mr. Potts lost somebody in the Civil War, too, B. J. Maybe that’s why—”
Nathan stopped abruptly as Josiah Potts appeared on the little warped porch in front of his house. His long, ghostly white beard whipped every which way in the stiff wind, and his deep-set eyes seemed every bit as dark and foreboding as the sky above. Nathan jumped back from the fence, his sleeve catching on a rotting picket and breaking it loose.
“Well,” the old man yelled, “just what are you staring at?”
Nathan swallowed hard. “Nothing in particular, sir.”
“Since when am I ‘nothing in particular,’ boy?”
“Didn’t mean to be rude, sir,” Nathan uttered meekly.
“Then get away from my fence,” Mr. Potts growled. “I lost enough during the war without some young mischief-maker coming by here and breaking my fence.”
Nathan couldn’t keep from asking, “Did you lose anything besides property, Mr. Potts? Family, maybe?”
Gray, wiry brows came together over Josiah’s eyes in tired pain. “My wife and boy, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t!”
Nathan fidgeted uneasily. “My brother and I lost our father in the war.”
“You two had best get on home before you get caught in the rain,” Mr. Potts muttered, adding, “The heavens have a way of dropping a heavy load on a fellow’s shoulders without warning and of leaving him staggering.”
Nathan sensed the old man’s despair. Maybe Mr. Potts doesn’t know what B. J. and I know, Nathan speculated, about how families can be forever. He doesn’t know about—
“Well?” Josiah’s voice interrupted Nathan’s thoughts. “What are you loitering for?”
As soon as Nathan had hauled wood and taken the lids off the rain barrels back under the roof to catch the runoff so his mother would have water for the next washday, he hurried into the house. He hid something under his arm and was on his way out the door when his mother stopped him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Son?” she asked.
“I just want to give something to Mr. Potts.” Nathan revealed a little worn Bible under his arm.
“Your Bible? What on earth for?” his mother asked.
“I’ve read it twice,” Nathan explained. “Maybe it will help Mr. Potts as much as it did me. Besides, I still have the Book of Mormon father gave me when he got home from his mission before the war, and we have our family Bible that I can use.” Nathan eyed the scriptures in his hands. “There’s something in here I want Mr. Potts to read. See, I marked the pages.”
B. J. looked skeptical. “He’ll probably just throw it away.”
Nathan sighed. “Maybe. But it’ll give me some peace of mind. I’ll be able to walk by that old man’s place and say that at least I tried to mend his hurt, and it won’t bother me so much any more.”
His mother looked at him a long moment, her eyes misting. “I’m seeing more and more of your father in you every day, Nathan. We could use another good Mormon missionary right here in our own town.”
When Nathan reached Mr. Potts’ house, he paused, talked himself into going up the steps, and almost knocked on the door. Instead he decided to write a note on the inside of the Bible’s cover. When he had finished, he placed the book on a chair on the porch and left as quietly as he had come.
Two days later, as Nathan was passing Josiah’s house, he heard Mr. Potts call, “Hey, boy!” The old man was standing just behind the screen door. “Why did you give me the Bible, boy?” He stepped out onto the porch for an answer.
Nathan took a deep breath. “It’s … it’s almost Christmas, Mr. Potts. It’s … a gift.”
The old man stared at Nathan, a ragged smile starting to push at the edges of his sadness. “Why would you want to give me a gift?”
“I thought you could use one,” Nathan answered.
Josiah’s knotty, leathery hand brushed a wad of unshorn hair from his unblinking gaze. “You marked a place in it that says, ‘He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’
“I take it that means that a body’s loved ones who have passed on are waiting somewhere for those still alive in the flesh?”
Nathan nodded. “That’s right, Mr. Potts.”
Tears spilled down the old man’s face. “I’d give anything in the world to believe like you do, boy. Anything.”
Nathan thought he would burst inside as he said, “Well, for starters, Mr. Potts, how about an hour of your time this Sunday? Would you come to church with us—with mother, B.J., and me?”
“I think I’d like that,” Josiah answered slowly. “Yes, I do believe I would.”
A few minutes later as Nathan continued on his way, rain started to fall. Unusual, Nathan thought as he walked along, it sure feels warm.
That year, on Christmas day, Josiah Potts was baptized in Cold Water Creek by Bishop Nephi Cole. When he came up out of the water, Nathan saw him gaze toward the heavens in a way he never had before.

Illustration by J. Beth Jepson
When I was 14, my physics teacher saw my talent in math and entered me in the Brazilian Mathematics Olympiad. There were three phases. The first and the second would be held on a Saturday. I was classified for the third phase and saw that it would be held on two days, Saturday and Sunday.
I then told my teacher and the director of the Olympiad that I would not take a test on Sunday because it is the Lord’s day. The director asked me to talk to my Church leaders so that I could be freed to take the test on Sunday, for if I did not take it, I would be disqualified. I said that I could forgo everything but not God.
I did not become sad, because I had the hope that God honors those who honor Him. I remembered Matthew 6:33: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”
Some weeks later we contacted the secretary of the Olympiad, who stated that I could not take the test any other day and that I would be disqualified. After much conversing, he suggested that I send him an email explaining my situation. After sending the email, I prayed to Heavenly Father and said that I would do His will.
The following night, I received an email from the coordinator stating that I could take the Sunday test on Monday at the most convenient time for me, and he even offered to administer the test in my own city so that I would not miss the morning class at school.
After receiving this good news, I prayed to thank the Lord because He had helped me. My parents went to the temple to express thanks.
When the test results came out, I received the gold medal. The Lord honors those who honor Him.

Understanding the Atonement. Sister Bayelita Carmen Ituza Casa of Perú, attending the Perú MTC: “In our class, we had an assignment to sketch an outline explaining the Atonement. But I had never clearly understood the Atonement, so I couldn’t do it—and I wasn’t the only one. When our outlines were due, our teachers helped us. I could tell we were more important than the assignment. We studied D&C 19:16–19, and I was able to understand the great love Jesus Christ has for us.”

I think of an amazing example.
I was in a meeting with some professional colleagues. One of them is a highly accomplished woman. She told us that she kept a gratitude journal for 18 months. We were impressed. Then she told us that she stopped. We expressed disappointment. She picked up the implicit message and told us she quit because she no longer needed to keep the journal. We were curious. She told us that her father was a very critical man and she grew up with the same negative orientation. If she heard a wonderful concert, but the soloist missed a note, she remembered the mistake, not the beautiful music. She related to people in a similar fashion. Rather than celebrating their gifts and the things they did right, she looked for their flaws. She constantly corrected people and they were often angry. She lived in a world of negativity. It was a world she created. Keeping the gratitude journal changed all that. In fact, she felt she no longer needed to write because she said she was now "living in a continuous state of gratitude." 

This woman was proactive. She chose to live in gratitude. By doing so, she actually rewired her brain. Think of it, by proactively cultivating one of the attributes of Christ, she transformed herself and was blessed to live a constant, positive state.

Three years after Daniel was born he was followed by his brother, Austin. For me as a dad, it’s been great to watch both boys become best friends. And Austin has been just as fun as Daniel in his own way. He enjoys building and destroying block towers, and one of his favorite activities is to fearlessly wrestle me as if I stand no chance against his four-year-old powers. Of course, I give in and let him win—so I guess I reinforce his belief. But it’s so much fun. I know he’ll be a great wrestler, but what I want most is for him to wrestle “against the rulers of the darkness of this world” and “against spiritual wickedness” like it says in the scriptures (Ephesians 6:12). And I hope I’m helping to prepare him to do that.

Our little granddaughter (I’ll call her Heather) grew up a happy, bubbly child. She always had a smile on her face. But when she turned 12, all that changed. She experienced anxiety, sometimes felt panic, and began to harm herself. She stayed home from school and hid in her room.
Her parents called me, feeling very concerned. I listened and empathized. But it was not my place to tell them what to do. This was under their role as parents. My job as a grandparent was to listen and offer ideas as they figured out what to do.
They found medical help and therapy for Heather. Over the following months, her progress seemed slow. Her mother arranged for online learning because Heather missed so much school. Heather continued to confine herself to her room and her art.
What could I do?
I knelt daily in prayer for Heather. We prayed as an extended family, but Heather still isolated herself. I wanted God to fix her back to the happy little girl she was.
As I continued to pray, the Spirit reminded me of a teaching by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “Never forget that these little ones are the sons and daughters of God and that yours is a custodial relationship to them, that He was a parent before you were parents and that He has not relinquished His parental rights or interest in these His little ones.”1
I began to pray for God’s will, His timing, and His direction, not mine. I needed to respect that He was Heather’s Father in Heaven. I sought to listen to the Spirit, not just pray in panic for my will to be done. I knew He would take care of Heather. I read and reread 3 Nephi 18:20: “Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.” Heavenly Father promised, so I decided I would trust Him.
The Spirit reminded me that I was the grandparent and could love Heather in a different way than her parents. I just needed to show I enjoyed her company. We texted back and forth. We talked about both of us being daughters of God, and we had gospel conversations. She made several pieces of art just for me. I hugged her every chance I got. We cooked together, shopped together, and watched her favorite movies together.
As the months went by, she improved a little. With the help of her mom, she taught a Come, Follow Me lesson in our family videoconference. Other times she shared a scripture. She made cookies with her aunt and played games with her cousins.
Slowly, Heather’s life began to change. She made friends with a girl in the neighborhood while walking her dog. Her parents encouraged her to stay for Young Women class on Sunday, not just attend sacrament meeting. She met a new friend at a youth activity. As Heather felt stronger, she decided she would try to go back to in-person school. She is now doing well at school and enjoys seminary.
With each step Heather took, I felt immense gratitude. I am thankful for her parents, her extended family, the young women and their leaders, and a devoted seminary teacher. I express my gratitude for these angels on earth in my daily prayers.
Heather’s life isn’t perfect, but she has gained wisdom, strength, and courage through this trial. She can again share her happy, bubbly smile with those around her. She is growing into a productive, solution-focused teen. God is Heather’s Heavenly Father and will help her become her best self. Her earthly parents are receptive to the Spirit and seek to guide her life with His help. I still listen when they need to talk, and I always show love.

Not long ago I attended a dance at a stake that was not my own. The friend who invited me began introducing me to a group of girls standing near the door as we entered. Since I didn’t know anyone, I was anxious to make some points with the ladies, so I said, “Wow. There sure are a lot of beautiful girls in your stake.” My friend looked around the group and, trying to be funny, said loudly, “Where? Where? I don’t see any.” Needless to say, we were not the most popular guys at the dance that night.
If the above experience had been a scene on a TV show, my friend’s “clever” comment would have been followed by laughter. In real life, the girls were offended and avoided us the rest of the evening. What many don’t realize is that those producing TV shows use a laugh track—prerecorded laughter that can be turned on and off at the touch of a button. That’s why laughter always follows sarcastic put-downs or mean jokes. It sounds like everyone enjoys the negative humor. In real life, there is no laugh track. People might put up with put-downs and manage a chuckle for the sake of saving face, but deep down, negative humor hurts. No matter how perfect the timing or how smoothly executed the joke, usually the only ones laughing are those who are afraid they may be your next targets.

Recently, during a hospital visit to a dear friend, she asked me to read the scriptures to her. You see, she was full of fear. Well, I planned to spend the evening in final review of materials for a test the next day at school. However, I knew that my friend had not been very close to the Lord lately; so I decided to stay and read to her.
I left the hospital much later than I had planned, and I was worried about my test. Still, I felt I had made the right decision in staying and helping my friend become closer to the Lord by reading the scriptures to her. That night I prayed that the Holy Ghost would bring back into my mind those things which I had previously read in my textbook and studied in class, for now there was no time for further study. A warm and comforting spirit came over me. I had no fear during the examination the next day, and I was blessed with the ability to remember information that otherwise might not have come back into my mind. I believe that if we truly seek God and try to live worthily, we will be blessed with the ability to accomplish all our goals and we will have the power to be what we should.

Later that summer, Nate attended a large scout camp. The final event of the camp was an obstacle course several miles long.

I was so excited to watch him run because now he was fast. I kept watching and watching, but I never saw him, and another boy won. The winner happened to be a good friend of my son. His friend was fast, but my son was really fast.

When I caught up with Nate, he said, "Sorry pops, I got so stressed before the race that I simply chose NOT to run." I told him, "It's alright. It happens."

Does this sound like any of us? Perhaps we hear about a great professor, but they are a hard grader, so we choose not to take their class. The only one that really loses is us.

My son's lack of participation was a great learning experience for both of us. We have had many discussions about that moment. We concluded to never let fear influence our decisions. You never know until you try, and if you don't try, you will never know.

Here's my boy gearing up to jump off a cliff in Africa. His mom was NOT happy. Perhaps, we had taken the fear discussion a little too far.

I have had that happen to me recently. I was sitting in my home ward in the presence of a teacher who said something, and I felt a very faint prompting from the Spirit to act that day. I bear you my testimony that the scriptures are not being poetic when they describe the Holy Ghost as the still, small voice. It is so quiet that if you are noisy inside, you won’t hear it. It is real. I felt also that if I didn’t do it promptly, I would not again, at least not soon, feel that gentle instruction. So I did it. It is already changing my life and the lives of my children, some of whom are here tonight. I am confident that because I went and did the small thing that I felt impressed by the quiet voice to do, I made it more likely that I could receive a spiritual nudge again.

“I will go first,” says Irinka every first Sunday of the month. With hands holding tight to the chair and eyes full of excitement, she works up the courage. Irinka is only nine years old, but it seems like she’s the bravest of all eight members who come to church regularly in her branch in Bulgaria.
Before she stands up, Irinka usually waits to see if someone else wants to bear testimony first. Everyone secretly gives her a glance and waits for her to go up front. Finally, with a big smile, she walks to the pulpit. The branch president gets her a stool to step on so she can see the members. Irinka, the only child in Primary, looks at the small congregation and starts talking.
She doesn’t appear nervous that everyone is looking at her. The members listen to her sweet voice. As she speaks of Christ, the scriptures, and the truthfulness of the Church, she is influencing the testimony of everyone else.
When she sits down, everything is quiet and it seems that the Spirit has touched other hearts. Then one of the members stands up to bear testimony, and then another and another …

We were nearly halfway through the journey from Utah to our homestead in New Mexico. For several days we had found no water, and our barrels were low. The men were becoming anxious. We knew from the map that we were coming into Indian territory.
When we reached the edge of the reservation the wagons stopped for our leaders to consult. Because of his experience with Indians, Papa was chosen to go ahead and see what arrangements he could make. As we slowly drove on, we had a feeling that we were being watched.
“I hope the village ahead has plenty of water,” Papa said.
“I hope they are friendly,” Mama replied.
“I’m prepared to take care of that even if they’re not,” Papa assured her.
“How?” Mama asked.
“I have a trick up my sleeve,” he answered, but he would tell her no more.
In a few moments we saw a cluster of huts up ahead. And about the same time two little girls with black braids ran from the shadows toward the village.
“Messengers,” Papa observed.
“What do we do now?” Ed asked.
“Wait,” Papa said and pulled the horses to a stop. He jumped down, climbed in the back of the wagon, and came out carrying his unfinished basket and a hank of straw.
“You children stay in the wagon,” he instructed firmly. And we settled in a spot where we could watch what was going on.
Papa sat down on the ground and began weaving. It seemed to me like a silly time and place to finish his basket, but I had learned that patience answers many questions, so I watched and waited.
Before long five or six braves came riding up on their ponies and formed a circle around Papa.
“You cannot cross Indian land,” one insisted.
Papa said nothing but kept on with his work.
“Go back,” another brave said, pointing in the direction we’d come from. “Do not cross Indian land.”
Papa nodded to acknowledge he had heard but he stayed where he was. Nothing moved but his hands. I had watched him make many baskets, and I knew that his fingers could fly as fast as frightened quail. Now he was weaving slowly, exaggerating the in and out movements as he laced the wide strips between the twisted upright ribs.
The belligerent expression on the Indians’ faces changed to curiosity. One by one they slid off their ponies and came closer. After they had watched awhile, Papa handed the basket to one of the braves, who copied the motions he had been watching. The Indian smiled at his handiwork. Then the basket was passed around the circle, with each brave taking a turn at the weaving and all of them becoming excited and pleased.
Papa began a new basket and handed some straw to one of the Indians to start one too. Before long each brave was sitting cross-legged on the ground, busy on a basket. Papa had motioned to Ed and me to climb down from the wagon, and we slipped out quietly and stood by his side. Other Indians came one by one and soon quite a crowd was watching the activity.
I turned to look toward the village and saw a large squaw coming toward me with a loop stretched open between her hands. Smiling, she came closer and closer, holding the noose high as if to place it over my head and around my neck. To choke me, I thought, and began to shake with fear. Please, Heavenly Father, save me, I silently prayed. My hands tightened on Papa’s arm, and he sensed my fright.
“It’s all right, Dora,” he assured me. “She won’t hurt you.”
By now the squaw was close enough so that I could see she was holding a beautiful necklace of dried berries and seeds. She placed it over my head saying, “Pretty, pretty.” I guess she had never seen yellow hair before.
All of a sudden I felt that she was a special person, and I wanted to do something for her. I climbed into the wagon and found the mirror I had brought rolled up in my sweater so it wouldn’t break. It was a round one with a handle. I handed it to the squaw and when she looked at it and saw her face reflected back, she was delighted. She showed it around with great pride, pointing to her image and laughing.
While the braves worked and the others watched, Papa spoke to them in gentle tones. “We want to be friends and will do you no harm. We are moving to New Mexico and would like to cross your land. We have our food and supplies with us. We need to stop tonight to rest our horses and fill our water barrels. We will leave tomorrow. Other wagons are behind waiting to hear your answer.”
At this point, five more braves and the chief rode up at a gallop. They began to talk rapidly in their own language with the weavers, who jumped up, showing off their baskets. After some discussion the chief turned to Papa and asked, “What are you teaching?”
“Basketmaking,” Papa said. “How to make baskets.”
“Basket,” one brave repeated, pointing to what he had done.
“You are good,” the chief said. “You can camp here tonight. There is plenty of water.” Then he motioned for Papa to mount one of the ponies, and they rode back together to get the rest of the camp to join us.
Soon after we left the Indian reservation, Sister Owens in the next wagon became ill, and we camped for several days.
Some of the braves rode over from the reservation to get help with their baskets. Papa didn’t have much straw left to give them, but they had already decided that bear grass would do just as well. Papa showed them how to do a braided edge around the top of their baskets. He took out a pocketknife to trim the ends, and a little Indian boy who had come with his father looked so pleased with the knife that Papa let him keep it. Later that day the boy’s father returned with a strange-looking three-pronged stick that he gave to Papa, explaining how he could use it to find water for digging a well.
“I can probably use this later,” Papa said as he fastened it securely to the wagon.
After we left this place the weather became hotter and the land drier. We had one more stop for supplies before we came to a stretch of desert, and Papa was able to replenish our ice supply. We had left Salt Lake City with a hundred-pound block of ice in a tub to keep our meat cool. Since it was wrapped in newspapers and burlap bags, it melted slowly and lasted quite a while. Ice was harvested from frozen streams and lakes just before the spring thaw and packed in sawdust in dirt-covered sheds. Most towns had a supply that lasted until the next winter, so we were able to buy it as we needed it along the way. That day we were very glad we had some.
The desert sun was hot. Heat waves curled up in ghostly spirals. We choked on the dust stirred up by the wagons and animals. Papa chipped off pieces of ice for us to suck on. They tasted so good that soon all the other children were coming to our wagon for ice chips.
“You’ll give it all away and then we won’t have any,” Caroline complained to Papa.
“Now, now,” he replied. “They don’t have any, and we can share.”

On another occasion, when Governor Carlin of Illinois sent Sheriff Thomas King of Adams County and several others as a posse to apprehend the Prophet and deliver him to the emissaries of Governor Boggs of Missouri, Sheriff King became deathly ill. At Nauvoo the Prophet took the sheriff to his home and nursed him like a brother for four days (Cannon, p. 372). Small, kind, and yet significant acts of service were not occasional for the Prophet.

Nine years later Annie married Soren Hansen. They had eight children. When Soren died, Annie sold sawdust to the butcher shops to support her family. Every day she hitched her yellow pony to a little cart and carried a load of sawdust to nearby Oslo.
One day as Annie neared the open-air market, she heard a strange commotion. Two young men were speaking to a crowd gathered near the vegetable market. Annie was curious and stopped to listen. They spoke about a prophet and the Book of Mormon.
Their message stirred Annie’s heart. On 2 March 1857 she was baptized as one of the first converts in Norway.

Brad Lau doesn’t swear. He wouldn’t think of watching an inappropriate movie. While other guys listen to heavy metal in the locker room, Brad sings hymns he’s learned in ward choir. He never drinks or smokes, and he always minds his mother.
Oh, and he also happens to be a six-foot, 240-pound, all-state fullback who benches 350 and rushed for over 2,000 yards and scored 49 touchdowns during his high school career in Boise, Idaho.
Of all Brad’s statistics, perhaps the most noteworthy is “0.” That’s the number of times he’s used profanity since he started playing football.
A football player who never swears? It may be hard to believe, but Brad’s teammates say it’s true.
“When Brad gets mad on the field, he just shakes his head,” says quarterback Mitch Rasmussen. “He just turns red—beet red,” says tight end Mike Kelley. “He might look like he’s close to swearing, but he never lets it go,” says offensive lineman Nate Black. “He just unleashes a huge hit,” says strong safety Terry Deeble with a knowing grin.
And when Brad takes a hit? “I just say ‘ouch,’” says Brad, shrugging his enormous shoulders.
How does Brad refrain from swearing even in a high-tension sport in which cussing is so common?
For one thing, he avoids profanity in the music, television, and movies he chooses. “Obviously, I can’t go around and control what people say, but I can control what I watch and listen to.”
Although he doesn’t control others, Brad does try to have a positive influence in whatever environment he is in. “In the weight room, kids’ll play trashy CDs. I’ll turn it to something else, and some guys’ll say, ‘Why can’t we listen to this?’ If I ask nicely, ‘Can we listen to something else for a while?’ then they will.”
“When Brad picks the music, they’ll always give him a hard time, but it’s all in good fun,” says Terry.
And in the locker room, especially notorious for filthy talk and music, Brad says he likes to sing hymns.
A football player who sings hymns in the locker room? “Not only that, when Brad starts singing, other guys join in,” says Mitch.
Laughing, Brad recalls, “I remember once after practice I was singing, ‘How Great Thou Art.’ I guess other religions know it too, because all of a sudden even all the non-LDS guys started joining in. I was really surprised!”
So don’t people think Brad’s a little … well, strange?
“Actually, everyone looks up to Brad,” says Steve Warren, a Catholic teammate from high school. “He sets a good example. Everybody just considers him a friend.”
“Guys will tease him a lot, but then they’ll say, ‘Man, I wish I could be like that,’” says Mitch. “They respect him because they see someone who doesn’t back down.”
“And he’s nice to everyone,” says Terry. “I’ve never heard him say a mean thing.”
Perhaps that’s another key to Brad’s abstaining from profanity. He’s won people’s respect, so people respect his standards when they’re around him.
Says Steve, “When I’m around other people, every once in a while a swear word slips out. But when I’m around Brad, I just don’t do it.”
Mike nods his head in agreement. “There were even a couple of times when the coaches were swearing and just started apologizing right away. They weren’t even looking at Brad; they just knew he was around somewhere!”
Brad says when people do swear around him, he uses good-natured humor to encourage them to stop. “I’ll just jokingly say, ‘Heeeeey. Use substitute words!’ I have a good time with everybody.”
“During football season he started telling other players he was going to charge them money for every swear word they said. Some words were worth a quarter, some a dime, and some five cents,” says Steve.
“I didn’t keep track, so I never made any money,” Brad says with a smile.
The answer to why Brad strives to be such an example is probably the biggest key to his success. “I know the Church is true,” he says. “If I have that knowledge, then there’s no reason for me to back down and be timid.
“Why not stand up and support something you know is true? Why not choose the right no matter what anyone else is doing? I’ve set my standards high, and I’m going to live up to them no matter what.”
Maybe you’re thinking, Sure, it’s easy for a star football player to be a strong influence for good. But what about me? Brad has signed on to play for Boise State University after his mission. What will he do when he’s just an unknown freshman?
“It’s going to be harder, obviously, because nobody knows me there yet.” But Brad says he’ll follow the same pattern he did in high school. Brad says this pattern can work for anyone who wants to set an example of using clean language:
Choose music, television, and movies that are free from inappropriate language. “You can control what you watch and listen to.”
Surround yourself with friends who don’t use profanity. “Choose the right friends, and it won’t be a problem.”
Be an example. “If people see that you’re firm in your standards, they’ll respect you. They’ll even help you keep your standards. If you’re easily tempted or overcome, you won’t be as well respected.”
If people around you swear, encourage them to stop. Use humor and kindness. “Stand up and say something. Don’t worry about what people might think. You might even help someone quit.”

Of course, among the greatest of gifts is the gift of love. When I was called to the holy apostleship, President Kimball gave me a kiss on the cheek. I felt his whiskers. It caused a flood of wonderful little boyhood memories of being held by strong arms and feeling Grandfather’s whiskers as he kissed me on the cheek. President Gordon B. Hinckley has characterized President Spencer W. Kimball as follows:
“Who can measure the influence of this man upon others? I suppose if we were to seek for just one word to characterize him, it would be love.
“I read from my notebook a statement he made on October 23, 1980, to a large assembly of Chinese brethren and sisters in Taipei, Taiwan. He said on that occasion:
“‘Somehow the Lord gave me from the time of my birth a spirit of love. I loved my companions in the mission field. I loved those against whom I played basketball as a boy. I loved people in all the world. I love you’” (Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 5).
Some, like Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens’s Christmas Carol, have a hard time loving anyone, even themselves, because of their selfishness. Love seeks to give rather than to get. Charity towards and compassion for others is a way to overcome too much self-love.
He whose birth we celebrate has told us that all of the law and the prophets is contained in loving God and our fellowmen. James called this the “royal law” (James 2:8). In the first epistle of John we are told: “Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God” (1 Jn. 4:7).
Anciently the three wise men came from afar to bring gifts to the baby Jesus. Would it not be marvelous this Christmas if we could personally give gifts to the Savior? I believe this is possible to do. Said Jesus:
“When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory: …
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?”
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:31, 34–40).
So as we help the sick and clothe the naked and attend to the stranger, we personally give gifts to our Savior.
Among these true gifts are some our family shared on that boyhood Christmas I told you about: the gift of peace, the gift of love, the gift of service, the gift of self, and the gift of faith.
All of us enjoy wonderful gifts from God which, if developed, can be enjoyed by others. At this Christmas, so many of us have enjoyed the musical and literary gifts of Handel, Dickens, and many others. The sharing of these natural gifts blesses both the giver and the receiver.
So this Christmas and every Christmas will be richer by sharing and enjoying gifts that cannot be held but can be felt.
A few weeks ago I went to the hospital to give a blessing to a young man named Nick and his sister Michelle. Nick is a friend of mine and former home teaching companion, and his young life was threatened by diseased kidneys. Nick had not been well for a long time. Nick’s older sister Michelle had offered to give him a precious gift to preserve his life: she offered one of her own kidneys.
The operation was successfully performed, but still in question was whether or not Nick’s body would accept this priceless gift from Michelle. You see Michelle had given the gift, not knowing if it would be accepted. Fortunately it was accepted. In like manner, our Heavenly Father has given us many wonderful gifts, not knowing if they would be accepted. He has offered us his peace, his comfort, his love. All we have to do to accept his gifts is to be obedient and follow Him.
There are many problems facing us individually and collectively. Yet I have the simple faith that many, if not all, of the questions and answers can be measured against Paul’s sublime message to the Galatians: “Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20).
The answer in this season and throughout the year lies not in the receiving of earthly presents and treasures, but in the forsaking of selfishness and greed and in going forward, seeking and enjoying the gifts of the Spirit which Paul said are: “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance” (Gal. 5:22–23).
With gifts such as these, I am sure everyone could feel as I did that wonderful Christmas so long ago when we had no presents to hold and play with. I would not have wanted to trade places with any prince of the world with his room full of toys. The gifts of love, peace, service. self, and faith so generously given made me feel fulfilled. It made me feel that I must be somebody special to be part of so much love. I wanted nothing else than more of these wonderful gifts that couldn’t be handled or touched but only felt.
Two days before Christmas we also honor the birthday of Joseph Smith, who is second only to Jesus in importance in our faith. To Joseph we owe the knowledge of the appearance of God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, the priesthood, and the keys of the Restoration in its fulness.
As one of the special witnesses of Jesus and of the gospel restored to earth by God working through the Prophet Joseph, I testify that the greatest gift of this or any other Christmas is the atonement of Jesus as the Redeemer, the Son of God. Paul said this was a free gift (Rom. 5:15). It is a gift we cannot handle or touch, but we can feel the immeasurable love of the Giver.
Through this gift we can all find the pathway to eternal life. My testimony of this is sure, real, and absolute, as is my sacred testimony of Him. I invoke the blessings of God upon us all at this special time and always in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Let me tell you about the special prayer experiences of two of our students to illustrate Moroni's point that we pray for strength to resist temptation and to serve the true and living God in the way we love and serve each other. Meilani Smith Kongaika told this experience recently.

She went on the choir tour to the South Pacific a few years ago and was very concerned about the fact that she hated fish but knew that fish was the main diet in the islands of the Pacific. Fish was repulsive to her. Staying with members meant that she would probably have to refuse the fish and run the likelihood of offending her hosts. So she prayed earnestly about it and asked Heavenly Father to somehow rescue her somehow from this inevitable situation in which she might bring harm and insult to someone. In one island, she was assigned to stay with a very humble family. When Meilani entered the house the hostess asked if she would like to accompany her to the market to get some food. Meilani was glad to go. When they got to the market the hostess asked "What kind of food would you like to eat?" Thinking that this was the Lord's answer to her prayers, to give her a chance to tell the hostess what she could or couldn't eat without bringing it up in the first place, Meilani said, "Chicken, I love chicken."

The sweet islander hostess, looking crestfallen and very embarrassed, said to her, "Oh I humbly apologize, chicken is too expensive for us. How about some nice fish?" Meilani could only say, "Great." And all she could do was to pray to make the best out of the meal of fish the lady bought. She determined to do her best. Meilani even helped cook the fish. When she sat down with the family to eat, she very tentatively took a tiny bit of fish. To her amazement it tasted delicious. She felt nothing of her former revulsion. She finished her portion and asked for some more. Of course the family was delighted that she loved the food. Then came Meilani's profound observation. "In our prayers we get so used to telling the Lord how we want Him to bless us that we don't allow Him to work the miracle that He wants to give us for our own good, not just because it's comfortable."

Moroni would nod his head at this fundamental truth about prayer.

Accepting a calling. Just before legal papers were filed for divorce, our Relief Society presidency was reorganized, and I was called to be secretary. Our new president later told me that my name came to her while she was meditating in the temple. Looking back, I see that Heavenly Father put me in a position to receive loving help, kindness, and concern from my sisters in the presidency during those stressful days during and after the divorce.
My Relief Society job required me to prepare weekly bulletins and a number of monthly reports. I began acquiring computer skills. As I carried out my other duties, I occasionally conducted meetings and found my leadership skills improving also. My self-confidence grew. When I had to go back to work again as a nurse after many years absent from the profession, I discovered the job required computer skills, and I was grateful for all I had learned through my calling. My improved skills helped me step more confidently back into the workforce.