Gospel Story Finder

I was the oldest in a family of five children, and I tried to set a good example for my younger brothers and sisters. But occasionally we got into trouble. One time, when I was about twelve or thirteen years old, my brothers and sisters and I were doing something our parents had told us not to do: play with matches. We were lighting long rye grass stems and holding them over the creek while we watched them burn. It was great fun—until some burning embers dropped on the other side of the creek and set the grass on fire. The fire burned about forty acres on our own and our neighbors’ farms. Hundreds of neighbors came to help put out the fire when they saw the clouds of smoke.
Late that night, after the fire was out, my father came home. He thanked the neighbors, and they all drove away, leaving us there alone—Dad, Mom, us children, and the blackened hillside as evidence of our folly. Dad didn’t yell at us. Instead, he invited us into the kitchen, got out the five-gallon washtub, filled it with water, set five chairs around it, and put a full box of matches on each chair.
“You like to start fires?” he said. “All right. I want you to light each match in your box, one by one. Let it burn down, and then drop it into the tub. I want you to get your fill of lighting matches.”
We sat there virtually all night, lighting matches and dropping them into the tub. From then on, I could never again see a fire on a farm or in the forest without a pain in the pit of my stomach. I gained a great respect for fire—and for my father—that day.

Last June, a terrible accident occurred in the country of Lesotho in southern Africa. A small bus carrying 20 young women of the Maputsoe Branch of the Church and seven of their leaders was headed to the capital city, Maseru, for a gathering of young women from their district. As they traveled the two-lane highway in the morning hours, a car coming in the opposite direction, attempting to pass another vehicle, came into the lane occupied by the bus. There was no space or time to avoid a head-on collision, and within seconds the vehicles hit, rolled off the road, and burst into flames.
In all, 15 people died in the accident, including six young women, two Young Women leaders, and the branch president and his wife. Survivors, family members, and friends have expressed a range of emotions, including moments of anger, depression, and even guilt. Despite these feelings and unanswered questions, they have comforted one another and turned to God through sacred music, the scriptures, and prayer, where they have found solace. Seventeen-year-old survivor Setso’ana Selebeli testified, “Jesus Christ loves us and is with us, even though our hearts hurt.”
A young woman and a leader who were hospitalized for burn treatments studied the Book of Mormon together. One said, “Lately we’ve been reading in Moroni, and Moroni says exactly what I’ve been feeling. … When he speaks, it’s like he’s saying, ‘You have to learn these words because they are written for you to help you pass through this.’”
At a joint funeral service for those who perished, Area Seventy Elder Siyabonga Mkhize counseled, “We should all turn to the Lord at this time and ask Him to comfort our hearts and … to soothe the pain that we feel.” The Young Women president from the neighboring Leribe Branch, Mampho Makura, urged: “Turn to the Lord, and find the strength to accept His will. Jesus Christ is ‘the author and finisher of our faith’ [Hebrews 12:2]. Don’t look away, but look to Him.”
Of course, the counsel “look to God and live” not only has meaning for us in eternity but also makes all the difference in the character and quality of our mortal lives. Remember the words of young Sister Selebeli in Lesotho already mentioned—“Jesus Christ loves us and is with us, even though our hearts hurt.”
Looking to God means that He is not just one of our priorities; it means, rather, that He is our one highest priority. I call to mind again that awful crash in Lesotho last June. From her hospital bed, one of the Young Women leaders who survived, who did not believe in God before joining the Church, said that her purpose is now to discover why her life was spared. “Constantly serving God is how I will come to an answer, if I come to an answer,” she stated. “I used to think that I love God, but now I really, really, really, really, really love Him. Now He is the [number-one] priority in my life.”

When I graduated from college I was just like many other Chinese young men: I called myself a scientist. I did not really believe in God. I could not believe that the universe was created by God. I often accepted invitations to “Bai-Bai” (traditional Chinese family worship), but I mostly wanted to enjoy the company and the wonderful food offered to their gods as part of the ceremony, but eaten by the participants. I was not the only one with such feelings; sometimes neither the sponsor of “Bai-Bai” nor the guest knew which god or gods they were worshiping that day.
My family worshiped their ancestors only during Chinese festival days, but despite lack of a strong religious tradition in the family, Christianity was unthinkable as an alternative. We felt that accepting a “foreign” God would make us traitors to our ancestors. Furthermore, like many Chinese, I disliked Christian missionaries because their governments had, for the last two hundred years, invaded my country, selling opium to my countrymen, and almost destroying China just as they destroyed India, Egypt, and the Incas.
Nevertheless, one day a Latter-day Saint schoolmate, Young Ho Chin, told me he was going to visit two sister missionaries who lived close to his house. One was from Canada, he said. I went with him to see this Canadian because I had never seen one before. When I was introduced to Sister Moirg Blackmore, who was from Cardston, Alberta, and Sister E. Julia Smith from Salt Lake City, they began teaching me the gospel immediately, even before I could ask which one was from Canada.
For the first three lessons I did not fully understand the Christian terms they were using, and I had so many questions it was hard for the sisters to answer all of them. And many of these teachings seemed to contradict the “scientific” knowledge I had obtained in school. But not wishing to be rude, and touched by their enthusiasm, I continued to investigate the restored gospel. Eventually I was more interested in it than in anything I had ever studied before.
Then they asked me to be baptized. I knew this would be a turning point in my life. I knew the gospel was true, but the traditional Chinese concept of God was so deeply planted in my mind that I could neither get rid of it nor adjust it to the truth. I knew I must kneel down and pray, but when I started to, a strange force bound me and I could not utter one word. When I stopped praying, I was free from that force. After twelve unsuccessful attempts, I was finally able to pray. I was soaking wet with perspiration.
When I rose from my knees, it was 2:30 in the morning, but I had no doubts in my mind. My decision was made and I was baptized. My faith could not become complete in one day, and sometimes a doubt would flash over my mind. Nevertheless, the more I studied the scriptures the more I believed.
For instance, God told us to have our genealogy worked out, and the Chinese are a race that keeps genealogical records. My family’s record goes back to 1,000 B.C. I also found some parallels between Chinese tradition and Christian teachings. For example, Chinese lore preserves the story of Pan Ko Shi, who lived in heaven and died so his body could become the world. This legend has similarities to the mission of Christ, who was crucified so man could have eternal life. There are other examples: The Chinese character for ark can mean eight persons in a boat; Noah’s ark had eight persons on it. (See 1 Pet. 3:20.) We put red papers on the door frame to get luck and to cast out evils; the ancient Israelites put blood on their door frames to protect them from the destroying angel. (See Ex. 12:13.) Chinese records indicate that their ancient kings and emperors lived about eight hundred years; Genesis indicates very long lifespans for its early patriarchs. Chinese describe heaven and hell in multiples of three, each with a different glory or punishment. The Church teaches the three degrees of glory. Whenever we Chinese had a tyrannical leader, the people would say that a true heavenly son would descend, save the people, and become their new king. Chinese also know the definition and necessity of opposition.
When I found all these things, I knew that my people had once had the truth. Since those ancient times, Chinese have retained only a blurred idea of all these teachings. But they keep and honor them in their own way. I now know I am not a traitor to my ancestors in joining the Church, nor am I worshiping a “foreign” God.
In the many years since I was baptized, my parents and friends have finally accepted me as a Latter-day Saint: a funny man who drinks no wine, smokes no tobacco, has no mistress, and sometimes, incredibly, even eats no food. They think I have no pleasure in life. But I have gained pleasure and peace in my heart that is beyond their understanding.

Living the Young Women Values has helped Joanne Larsen of the Calgary Alberta 12th Ward introduce the Church to a friend. In Young Women meeting they talked about giving a copy of the Book of Mormon to a friend. This class goal got Joanne interested, and she gave a copy to her friend. She also invited her friend to girls’ camp and to ward activities. Now the friend is taking the discussions from missionaries in Joanne’s home.

The Lord has promised, “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.” I began to understand this as a young missionary in Scotch Plains, New Jersey. One hot July morning my companion and I felt prompted to look up a Temple Square referral. We knocked on the door of the Elwood Schaffer home. Mrs. Schaffer politely turned us away.

As she began to shut the door, I felt to do something I had never done before and have never done since! I stuck my foot in the door, and I asked, “Is there anyone else who might be interested in our message?” Her 16-year-old daughter, Marti, did have an interest and had fervently prayed for guidance just the day before. Marti met with us, and in time her mother participated in the discussions. Both of them joined the Church.

Resulting from Marti’s baptism, 136 people, including many of her own family, have been baptized and made gospel covenants. How grateful I am that I listened to the Spirit and stuck my foot in the door on that hot July day. Marti and a number of her dear family members are here today.

A young man returning from his mission shared his experience with faith. He acknowledged it as a miracle in his life. He said, “I was the first of six children born to my parents. My mother and father taught me when I was young the principles of the gospel. Faith was taught through the example of both my mother and father. When I was only 10 years old, my father, this great example of trusting the Lord, was killed in an accident. I was young and had many feelings to deal with that were new to me.” This young man said he realized that he had two choices available to him—“I could have become bitter towards the Lord and lost all that I now have, or I could trust the Lord. Because of the example of my parents, trust was the path I chose. Choosing faith has made all of the difference.”

When Jane was a tiny baby, she had a soft pink blanket. When she became old enough to sit in a playpen, she kept her pink blanket with her. And when Jane grew old enough to have a big bed, she took her “bata” with her to bed. Something happened to Jane’s blanket; it became smaller and smaller and had holes in it. Finally there wasn’t even one thread of the blanket left, but by then Jane didn’t need her blanket anymore.

Like Piero, Andrea Rondinelli of the Rome Italy Stake found the gospel after a life-changing event, the death of his father. “I realized it could not end like that,” he says. He sensed that there must be life beyond the grave and purpose to life and death. He had encountered the Church 15 years earlier when his sisters were baptized. After his father’s death he sought out the missionaries and was baptized 15 days later.
Soon he received his patriarchal blessing. In it the Lord promised him an eternal companion. “While I was looking for her, I prayed a lot,” he says. He wanted a wife who would share a common spiritual purpose with him, and he ended one engagement when his fiancée didn’t want to be sealed in the temple. “I did everything I could to be ready for the moment I would meet my wife,” he says. In answer to one of his prayers, Andrea had an impression that someday he would have a son. This experience helped him be patient until he met Mariela.
Mariela found the gospel in Colombia at age 11. After serving a mission in her native country, she visited Italy. She was surprised—and a little distressed—to feel the Spirit prompting her to stay permanently. “Everything was OK back in Colombia,” she says. “I had a job. I was involved in the Church. I had the opportunity to study. But I felt in my heart that I was here for a purpose, that my role was here.”
Andrea is grateful for that prompting. He and Mariela met two years after his baptism, and today they enjoy the kind of marriage they waited for—sealed in the temple, equally yoked in faith. They continue to build unity by “spending time together, like going on walks,” Mariela says.
Family home evening is also key. “Our son’s baptism involved the whole family,” Andrea says. For months they spent family home evening learning how to prepare for baptism and confirmation and “studying the principles that Daniele was going to embrace. We were all involved together, and we felt very much prepared for the occasion.” Whenever they hold family home evening, the children are involved. “Our daughter, Valentina, leads the music,” Andrea says. He smiles. “She’s very good.” Daniele chooses the hymns and sometimes helps prepare the lessons. “Every Monday is always a beautiful experience for all of our family members,” Andrea says. Such experiences strengthen the spiritual foundation upon which their children and grandchildren may build.

In the year 1968, when I was president of a stake in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I received a phone call from a young lady, a member of the Church, who wanted to talk with me as soon as possible. We made an appointment, and during the interview she said something to this effect, “President, as you know, I have a boyfriend who is not a member of the Church, but who is a very fine person. He loves me very much and I love him, and I tell him that often, but now I am confused because on our last date he asked me to prove my love to him.”
Well, you probably understand the test of love that the young man wanted. She continued, saying, “I am confused, President.”
I am sure you know what my counsel was to her, but that which worried me the most, what really concerned me, was her last statement, “I am confused, President.”
How could she be confused? How could she doubt, not knowing what to do or how to act? This type of decision, once made, constitutes the foundation on which we continue to build throughout life. Once you make the decision to live a clean life, once you decide to be chaste, you act accordingly, and you always live a pure life.
The changing circumstances of life are not important. Once the decision is made, on the basis of correct principles proceeding forth from an unchanging God, then that determines our course of action without the necessity of going through the entire process each time temptation or sin appears.

I have witnessed and been greatly impressed by the sacrifices many members endure to get to the temple. Let me share one such story.

In 1976, when we were living in Costa Rica, the mission president asked my husband to help organize the first trip from the mission to a temple. The Central America Mission then included Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua, and Honduras. The closest temple was the Mesa Arizona Temple. The trip required us to travel five days each way, crossing six borders. The financial sacrifice for most of those who went was great. They sold their television sets, bikes, skates, and anything else they could sell. We traveled in two uncomfortable buses day and night. Some of the members had used all their money to pay for the bus fare and had taken only crackers and margarine to eat on the way.

I have never forgotten the great outpouring of the Spirit we experienced during the three days we spent at the Mesa Temple. I was deeply touched as I watched family members embrace each other with tears streaming down their faces after being sealed for the eternities.

Twenty-four years later the temple in San José, Costa Rica, was dedicated. Among those present at the session I attended were many of the families who had gone on that first temple excursion. They had waited faithfully and worthily for this sacred moment. They all can now attend the temple often because a temple in Panama was recently dedicated, and a temple in Honduras has been announced.

School was even more wonderful than I had imagined. I got to see Lucy every day, and we could share secrets at recess or trade sandwiches and cookies during the lunch hour. The rest of the time there were plenty of girls for a game of hopscotch, jacks, or jump rope.
The school was only one room that could be divided into two when a big partition was let down from the ceiling. The first four grades met in one half of the room with the new teacher Miss Foster, and the older classes met in the other half with the principal Mr. Stern. Stern was a good name for him too. I seldom saw him smile, and he was very strict and sometimes cruel in his punishment. Although I was two grades behind Ed, I was in the same section of the room with him, and since we were seated alphabetically, I sat next to him.
I learned to read rather easily after my games with the ABC’s and that opened new doors of adventure. I found that if I studied and knew the answers, there were no cracked knuckles or no standing in the corner. Once I learned something, it stayed in my memory for a long time and that was very handy for examinations.
My favorite subject was grammar, and I especially liked to diagram sentences. It was fun to draw lines like shelves in the air for the words to be put away in just the right place, some sitting on top, others hanging down below, and some sliding down a slanty line to another word on a line below that. Sometimes the diagrams covered half a page and looked like a neat design, with the words all filed away where they belonged—subjects and predicates and modifiers of simple, complex, or compound sentences.
The boys thought it was fun to pull pranks on the teacher, so Miss Foster was in the habit of shaking out her handkerchief with a loud snap when she took it from the top drawer of her desk to make sure there were no stinkbugs or caterpillars hidden in it. One day when she opened the drawer, a kangaroo rat leaped out in front of her face. She was so startled she screamed and jumped back, upsetting her chair and knocking her off her feet. She fell over backward and sprawled on the floor.
Mr. Stern came in fuming from around the other side of the partition, demanding to know what on earth was going on. He tried his best to find out who was guilty of putting the rat in the drawer, but no one would tell, so he made the whole class practice penmanship during recess as a punishment. We wrote: “I will not play pranks on the teacher” over and over in our best handwriting.
One Saturday, soon after school started, Sister Williamsen left Lucy at our place to play while she and Mama went to the store. We were practicing for the circus we had been planning, and Lucy was learning how to ride standing on Bessie’s back so we could be twin riders. Ed was trying to do flips in the haystack, and Georgie was clowning around with Spot. Frank came out of the barn carrying his whip and a cat in each arm.
“Why don’t you do what I tell you?” he scolded. “I’m only going to give you one more chance!”
He put each kitten on one of the steps in his lion taming cage. “Now stay there!” he shouted and cracked his whip. Both cats streaked off through the fence and right in front of Bessie’s nose. The horse reared, and Lucy flew off and hit a fence pole.
“Now look what you’ve done,” I shouted at Frank and ran over to help Lucy get up.
She was lying there still and white, with a red stream of blood trickling down her face. Ed and Frank came running over to see. I was scared, but just then she opened her eyes. “You hit your head,” I told her. “But it’s going to be all right. Let me look at it.”
I found a deep cut on her scalp and tried to stop the bleeding by pushing it together. “It has to be sewed up,” I said. “Go get Papa, Ed. He’s down in the field somewhere. And hurry, she’s bleeding badly.”
Ed jumped on Bessie and galloped off to find Papa.
“Frank,” I said urgently, “go into the house and get the needle and thread and scissors, and a match.”
“You aren’t going to stitch it are you?” he asked fearfully.
“Of course not, but we need to have it all ready for Papa when he gets here.”
He came back with a darning needle and cotton thread.
“Not that kind, dummy! The curved needle and the black silk thread Papa uses on the animals.”
While he was gone I clipped the hair away from the cut. The blood was still oozing out though not as fast as at first. Lucy was pale and silent.
I pinched the wound together, and when Frank came back I instructed him how to sterilize the needle with the match and put the thread through it.
In a little while Ed galloped up. “I can’t find Papa anyplace,” he reported. “He’s not in the corn patch or the garden. Where else shall I look?”
“Maybe he’s fixing the fence. Keep looking, and hurry.”
He was gone a long time and my fingers were cramping from holding the cut together. But every time I released the pressure, it bled some more. Finally I decided I would have to sew it up myself.
“Will it hurt?” Lucy wanted to know.
“Don’t know,” I told her. “Haven’t ever been sewed up. Probably will sting a little.”
I was finishing the last stitch when Papa and Ed rode up. Papa jumped quickly from his horse. “What’s the trouble here?” he asked and took a look at Lucy’s head. “Why it’s stitched up already,” he marveled, examining my work.
“Couldn’t have done a better job myself. You’ll be as good as new,” he told Lucy. “Now why don’t you girls go over by the house and play something quiet until your mamas get home?”
We were sitting on the back steps, cutting out dancing paper dolls holding hands when Mama and Sister Williamsen drove up.
“Get your hat and come along, Lucy,” her mama called from the wagon. “We need to hurry home and get some supper for your daddy.”
“OK,” Lucy said, folding her dolls back together and standing up.
“What’s that white spot on your head?” Sister Williamsen asked.
“Oh, that’s just where I cut off some hair before I sewed her up,” I explained.
“See,” Lucy said and showed her mother the spot.
All the pink had gone out of Sister Williamsen’s face, and I could hear a little gasp and see her lean against Mama.
“Papa says she’ll be as good as new,” I assured her. “It won’t leave hardly any scar at all.”
“Run get Sister Williamsen a drink of water, please, Dora,” Mama directed. “She’s had a shock.” Then she helped her out of the wagon and into a chair on the porch. In a little while she quit shaking and took another look at Lucy’s head. “She could have bled to death if you hadn’t known what to do.”
“Papa would’ve done it, but we couldn’t find him,” I replied.
“You did just fine,” Sister Williamsen said. “And I’m mighty grateful.”
Lucy wore a wide ribbon around her head until her hair grew out. She always had one to match her dress, and I almost wished I had had my head stitched up so I could have pretty hair ribbons like that.
A few weeks later I thought I was going to have a chance to wear ribbons, but it didn’t work out that way after all.
One day I was having a quarrel with Caroline, and she screamed her usual taunt, “You make me sick! You think you’re so smart with that curly hair. I’ll fix you once and for all!” And she grabbed the scissors and cut off one of my long ringlets.
Mama was horrified, and she punished Caroline severely. I didn’t really care too much. Now, I thought, I’ll get to wear a ribbon like Lucy does. The only trouble was, the bare spot was right on the crown of my head. And there’s no way a ribbon will stay tied around there unless it goes under your chin, and that looks pretty silly. In the end, Mama had to cut all my hair short to match.
I was glad to have my hair cut, except when I thought about being a great circus lady riding my horse standing up. Then I was sorry I didn’t have long hair to fly out behind me.
(To be continued.)

Let me take you to my native Finland, known for her countless blue lakes and white snow; a beautiful land of light in the summer and darkness in the winter. With endless white summer nights and long dark winter days, coming home for supper, when the sun went down, was not a particularly useful rule for my mother to give us children. If we had followed that advice, we would have stayed home all day in the winter and outside all night during the summer. My mother was a chemist and her explanations had a scientific foundation. She taught us how to read different shades of light and darkness to tell time. She explained how to observe nature to know what time dinner was ready, or when we had to return home to sleep. Before we were given watches, we could tell time based on the sights and sounds of nature surrounding us.

We also learned to work while the days were light and get ready for the long period of darkness that always followed the pleasant summer days. Our storage of food and supplies, a safe home, and fun memories, gave us faith and peace. We knew that it didn't matter if the sun was behind clouds, because eventually, there would be a break. Moments of glorious sunlight made the darkness of winter bearable and kept hope alive that spring would surely come, followed by another summer with its long days of light.

Today Finns have a saying: "There is no cold weather, just poor clothing." However, when I was born, Finland was still paying war reparations to Russia and was rebuilding the country after three devastating wars. I can't remember lacking anything as a child, but there were times when I was cold, even though I had the very best and the prettiest clothing available. My mother will turn 86 years in two days, but when she was younger, she walked fast, held her head high, and scanned the sky above the treetops. She was always aware of her surroundings. She recently told me that she was looking for possible air attacks and other dangers. Fear of war was ever present in the minds of her generation, but she never showed that fear to me.

I only remember the beauty of the Northern Lights above trees, the sound of cold, crunchy snow under my feet, and joyful laughter as we watched nature's display of colors and movement. Running to imitate the dancing Northern Lights on the black sky soon left my body warm and my heart filled with delight. I learned to take "heart photographs" - to capture images and memories so vividly in my mind that when the dark days of life came with trials and disappointments later on, I could just close my eyes for a second and happiness filled my heart instantaneously.

Standing and waiting for a bus was a different story. If there were any signs that I was cold, Mother's instructions were short: "Turn Your Face and Feet to the Light."I obeyed and tried to find the sun. In the process, I turned my back to the bitter north wind to feel the sun's warm rays. Soon this behavior became automatic. I just watched adults who stood towards the light, moved to keep the circulation going, and I was never cold again.

Some years ago I was appointed chairman of the board of a music school in the city of Hanau, Germany. As part of my duties, I attended an exhibit of musical instruments. Although I am not a musician, I strolled through the thousands of instruments and tried to ask an intelligent question or two.
As I wandered around the main floor, I noted that each exhibit had a soundproof enclosure, supposedly so that those trying out trumpets, cornets, French horns, organs, drums, or tubas would not disturb those trying out violins, clarinets, pianos, flutes, oboes, or saxophones. Actually, “not quite soundproof” would be a more accurate description of those enclosures. A terrible noise filled the air, as if musicians from several orchestras were all tuning their instruments at once.
Then I saw a sign reading “Orchestral Instruments” with an arrow pointing upstairs. I’m saved, I thought, even though the sign was a bit unclear—the instruments on the main floor were orchestral instruments. But I headed up the stairs anyway, hoping to find a little peace and quiet.
Instead I found myself in another large room filled with even more musical instruments—most of them used for performing rock music. The air was filled with much louder and shriller noises than those I was trying to escape. I quickly scanned the room for the closest exit.
But suddenly I stopped. For just a fraction of a second, I thought I heard a beautiful melody among all those discordant sounds. Was it possible? Or was it an illusion?
Then I heard the melody again. What an unmistakably beautiful sound! It was definitely a strain of violin music—almost lost in the ocean of noise. I looked around to see where it was coming from. I noticed that two others had heard it as well and were also seeking it out.
Eventually, we found what we were looking for. In the smallest booth in the hall, a man was softly playing a beautiful violin while his wife stood nearby. He told us that he was a Swedish violin maker and that he was trying to market his product the best he could amid the electric guitars and synthesizers.
“I was deceived,” he told us sadly. “I rented this spot because it was supposed to be the site of the orchestral exhibits.” Then he turned again to his violin, and we listened entranced as he played a familiar masterpiece. We no longer heard the discord around us—just the beautiful notes of that violin.

The boy you are encouraging may seem too timid to be a powerful priesthood servant. Another one of my sons was so shy as a little boy that he wouldn’t walk into a store and talk to a clerk. He was too afraid. I worried as I prayed over his priesthood future. I thought of him in the mission field—that didn’t sound promising. I was led to a scripture in Proverbs: “The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”
I carved “Bold as a Lion” on his board, beneath an image of a large lion’s head roaring. On his mission and in the years that followed, he fulfilled the hope in my carving. My once-shy son preached the gospel with great conviction and faced dangers with bravery. He was magnified in his responsibilities to represent the Lord.
That can happen for the young man you are leading. You need to build his faith that the Lord can transform him into a servant braver than the timid boy you now see.

Some time ago I counseled a student who struggled with self-harm behavior. As I tried to understand why she felt compelled to cut herself she described to me that she felt unworthy as a person and that she felt that she needed to be punished for her unworthiness. She could not identify any specific reasons that she was unworthy; she could only convey a nebulous sense of not measuring up. This student expressed a belief in the atonement, but she felt that it didn’t really apply to her. I was struck by her lack of understanding of the personal nature of the atonement of Jesus Christ.

“Although the pageant was cancelled last year, we still had auditions and a workshop. I loved being part of the community of the pageant, it really felt as if we were one big family sharing love and faith. Living on the temple grounds was fantastic and I felt the Spirit very strongly. We camped on a site nearby, until one night we got flooded out and were blessed when local members asked us to come and stay with them.
“The directors are amazing; it’s not all about speaking with the perfect accent, flawless singing, absolutely perfect dancing—although it is all very professional—it’s more about the feeling. The people whom we depict in the pageant story knew what they were doing. The miracle was that ordinary people were transformed into a supportive community of faith and love, and that is what has been reproduced as the cast members come together to depict this awe-inspiring story. We too are ordinary people meeting together, often as strangers in the beginning, and creating a community of faith and trust.”
Lizzie will play the part of Sarah Ashton, the eldest daughter of the main character, Arthur Ashton. In the story he loses his wife, and the pageant tells of his journey of doubt, belief and faith. Lizzie explains that like many people, she has experienced grief in her family, but has been uplifted by focusing on the promises of the temple, finding comfort in the knowledge that families can be together forever, which Lizzie calls the linchpin of her faith.
“The story is about the hope that the temple gives, and it is wonderful to be a part of this special event; I can’t wait!”

To illustrate the next suggestion I would make today, I would share with you another story.
In 1967, when I was a very young controller at The University of Utah, still striving to follow the council of the Lord through Elder Packer, I was asked to meet with President Harold B. Lee in his office at Church headquarters. I had only met President Lee one brief time before that day. President Lee informed me that Brother Neal A. Maxwell, who had been appointed as the new commissioner of the Church Education System, had asked that I be called to be his new Associate Commissioner responsible for all finance, budgets, buildings, etc. in that world wide school system. President Lee asked me if I would accept the position. I told him that I would. He asked if I did not need to visit with Sister Andersen before making such a career change. I told him that I did not need to visit with Sister Andersen. We had decided together that we would always do whatever we were called to do in the Lord's kingdom. President Lee then asked if I needed to know how much the salary would be for that assignment. I told him no, I was sure that I would be satisfied with whatever arrangement he made in that regard. His response was very interesting. He said, "Well, since you feel that way about it, I have some other assignments that I would like you to accept." He then outlined several other tasks that he wanted me to work on with him to help accomplish what he had in mind for the Church. That was just the beginning of some wonderful experiences with President Lee.
Let me tell you about one such experience. One day, as I entered his office to ask him to sign some papers, he asked how things were going. The work that he had asked to be accomplished was not easy, in fact, in some cases, I wasn't sure I could get it done, and so I told him what I thought. Well ... his response was more interesting. He got up from his chair, went to the door of his office, told his secretary, whose name was Frances, to see that we were not disturbed and then closed the door. I could tell that Brother Andersen was going to the woodshed!
Brothers and sisters, you have read about the Brother of Jared being chastised by the Lord for three hours for not calling on Him in prayer as recorded in Ether 2:14. I hope you remember his experiences. He learned how much the Lord loved him and wanted to help him. Here I was, being chastised by the Prophet of the Lord and I was going to learn the same lessons. It was one of the sweetest occasions of my life.
President Lee had me sit in a chair and then he laid his hands on my head and by the power of his Priesthood taught me the things that he felt I needed to know to accomplish the work that was to be done. He would bless me and teach me out of the Doctrine and Covenants, and then bless me and teach me again, and then bless me and teach me again. He was a master teacher and a loving friend. When he was finished, he asked me if I thought I could do what needed to be done. I told him that with that kind of help and understanding I was sure that I could get it done, and if I did not, it would be my fault, not his or the Lord's.
Here is the council I would leave with you today.
Never refuse a call to build up the kingdom of God in the earth or to help establish Zion. Be prepared in advance with a determination to always serve the Lord and along with your wife and family, put His work first in your life. Please be willing to accept whatever calls the Lord sends your way.

I recently read a story about friends who loved each other so much that they were willing to sacrifice their lives for each other.

A young man whose name was Pythias had done something which the tyrant Dionysius did not like. For this offense he was dragged to prison, and a day was set when he should be put to death. His home was far away, and he wanted very much to see his father and mother and friends before he died.

“Only give me leave to go home and say good-bye to those whom I love,” he said, “and then I will come back and give up my life.”

The tyrant laughed at him. “How can I know that you will keep your promise?” he said. “You only want to cheat me, and save yourself.”

Then a young man whose name was Damon spoke and said,

“O king! Put me in prison in place of my friend Pythias, and let him go to his own country to put his affairs in order and to bid his friends farewell. I know that he will come back as he promised, for he is a man who has never broken his word. But if he is not here on the day which you have set, then I will die in his stead.”

The tyrant was surprised that anybody should make such an offer. He at last agreed to let Pythias go, and gave orders that the young man should be shut up in prison.

Time passed, and by and by the day drew near which had been set for Pythias to die; and he had not come back. The tyrant ordered the jailer to keep close watch upon Damon and not let him escape. But Damon did not try to escape. He still had faith in the truth and honor of his friend. He said, “If Pythias does not come back in time, it will not be his fault. It will be because he is hindered against his will.”

At last the day came, and then the very hour. Damon was ready to die. His trust in his friend was as firm as ever; and he said that he did not grieve at having to suffer for one whom he loved so much.

Then the jailer came to lead him to his death; but at the same moment, Pythias stood in the door. He had been delayed by storms and shipwreck, and he had feared that he was too late. He greeted Damon kindly, and then gave himself into the hands of the jailer. He was happy because he had come in time, even though it was at the last moment.

The tyrant was not so bad that he couldn’t see good in others. He felt that men who loved and trusted each other, as did Damon and Pythias, ought not to suffer unjustly. And so he set them both free.

“I would give all my wealth to have one such friend,” he said.

Many came to him bearing burdens of sin and pleaded for him to intervene for them, to help them. There were also those who came and pleaded for other kinds of help. It was as if he could not avoid being servant of all. How would it be, for example, to be sound asleep, the doorbell rings, and there stand before you two black women. They have traveled over eight hundred miles, mainly across the countryside, not daring to use the highways lest they be apprehended. They have escaped from some who have threatened their lives. They are both converts to the Church.52 What can they do? Where can they go? Joseph calls Emma down. “Emma, here is a girl that has no home. Haven’t you a home for her?” “Why, yes, if she wants one.” Jane, one of the two, stayed with them for the rest of the Prophet’s life. She records what it was like to be involved in the prayers of that family and that she was treated not as a slave and not as a servant but as one of the family.

WYNN: If she really wants to join the Church, the Lord will help prepare a way. One of my best friends was a nonmember. At first his dad wouldn’t even listen to him talk about the gospel. He wanted to be baptized, and we told him to pray about it and keep his spirits up, and the Lord would find a way. It was interesting to see how his dad changed his attitude toward the Church when he was given a little time to think about it. In about a year my friend was baptized. Just a year before, his dad had said, “There’s no way you are going to be baptized!”