Gospel Story Finder

One of the great blessings of my childhood was that my mother spent significant time reading to me and my younger brother Howard. She had a great sense of the importance of good books, and she used them to teach and entertain us. This all served to expand our limited young lives to matters far beyond our daily experience. The reading had begun when I was a runabout preschooler and Howard, who had been born with severe physical disabilities and could not run about, needed special attention. The blessing for me was that I got special attention too.
The books were wide-ranging and grew in sophistication as we grew. I remember nursery rhymes, poetry, folktales from Russia, the adventure in Thunder Cave—and the scriptures. Together we read parables, incidents such as the woman at the well, even the great abstractions.
One day Mother read: “Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. …
“Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
“Charity never faileth” (1 Cor. 13:4, 7–8; see also Moro. 7:45–46).
Howard interrupted the reading, as he often did, with a question: “What is charity?” He wanted to know the meaning of what we had just heard; I was still caught up in the way it sounded. I only wanted to go on with the reading, but I could tell Mother was pleased with his inquisitiveness. She taught us then, and later, that good questions can be important if we are truly searching to understand and that sometimes good answers that are good enough may take a lifetime of looking. Then she put down the New Testament and read from the Book of Mormon:
“But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him [or her]” (Moro. 7:47).
There it was in one verse—the concentrated essence of a much larger whole, a definition given for a profound yet available truth. What I heard that day was clearly beyond my childhood comprehension, but the spirit of love was there and was as real as any of the other details of my young life.

But even with this divine help, all of us face times of doubt and weakness. Sometimes we can feel inadequate and even mired in despair. That was true of me 25 years ago, when I was a young father of three children, each of them now BYU-Idaho graduates. As you may have heard me say before, the year 1996 was an emotionally and spiritually challenging time in my life. Frustrated in my professional ambitions, I let distress get the better of me. And I failed to hide that distress, as was manifested in my hair, which fell out from head to toe, including eyelashes and brows.

Blessedly, Sister Eyring came to my spiritual rescue. I asked her to seek Heaven’s guidance in coming out of my spiritual and physiological funk. I expected that she would return with a new career plan for me. However, several days later she privately said, “I have received a clear answer. I was told, ‘Henry should keep a journal.’”

That, of course, wasn’t the message I’d hoped for. I wanted a solution to my professional and personal struggles. But I knew that Kelly was speaking for Heaven when she said, “Henry should keep a journal.”

So, I resigned myself to obey. Here are a few paragraphs of my revived journal, dated July 24, a Pioneer Day:

It has been more than 12 years since I made a journal entry. The last time I wrote was the night before my mission ended; a Friday late in March of 1984. I had made an independent record of every day of the mission.

Kelly is entirely responsible for my beginning again. Yesterday, after Henry Christian and I returned from a night at an aquatic scout camp at Bear Lake, she informed me that inspiration had come to her about my professional and spiritual struggles. The answer, she said almost sheepishly, was journal writing.

Two things made me believe her. One was her tearful look; the wonderful, remarkable one she gets when the Spirit has touched her. The other was the ridiculousness of the suggestion. In my current state of morose malaise, journal writing seems nothing short of repugnant: unpleasant for me to write, unpleasant for others to read.

As it turned out, over many years, journal-writing became my emotional and spiritual salvation. In the beginning, the writing was sporadic and mostly woeful. Yet, if only to avoid digging myself further into a dark emotional hole, I began to recognize signs of hope and even small miracles in my daily activities. Life still seemed to be serving up more challenges and disappointments than victories, but the win-lose ratio began to shift.

Slowly but surely, as I tried to focus on the good experiences rather than the disappointing ones, my perception and attitude improved. I still felt a sense of falling and failing spiritually. However, the rate of falling was slower.

I faced a lot of challenges after my baptism. The changes I needed to make in my life were significant. On top of that, sometimes I felt that I had no friends in the Church, and it was tempting to go back to my old friends. But my desire to feel joy—and my understanding that we can be happy regardless of external circumstances—helped me keep coming back to church. I knew I couldn’t “lay aside [my] faith” (Alma 32:36). Over time I made friends within the Church who helped me during the transition. And as I continued to live the gospel, my testimony and my happiness grew (see Alma 32:37).

Anne, Lisa, Paula, Vicki, and Joanne* weren’t members of the Church, but they seemed to have high standards. And since there were no Latter-day Saint girls in my neighborhood when my family moved in, I was grateful they befriended me and took me into their group.
A few years later, we left our little elementary school and entered junior high. Right away, things started to change. Soon our conversations began to include fashions and boys. I noticed that my friends were treating me a little differently, too. I brushed it off, but then it got worse. Whispering ended abruptly when I joined the group, and the other girls paired up more. Joanne and Vicki seemed to splinter off, and Anne, Lisa, and Paula spent a lot of time together, often leaving me alone.
It hurt when I learned, one Monday morning, of Friday night’s party at Anne’s house. “We thought you were too busy” was supposed to be an explanation for not inviting me. Another day we were all to meet at the park, but when I got there one of the girls told me that another girl was mad at me, so I’d better leave.
Christmastime came, and our usual Christmas gift exchange was planned. Usually we drew one another’s names, but since I hadn’t been around, someone drew a name for me. I was to buy a gift for Paula. No one had drawn my name, and they were sure I’d be too busy to come to the party, so they asked me to drop off my gift at the door.
I don’t remember whether I was more hurt than angry, but I do remember trying to think of all the mean ways I could get back at them. After some thinking, it occurred to me that being mean wouldn’t be right.
Maybe the best thing to do would be nothing at all, I thought. For a while I settled on ignoring them and their party until I realized that if I didn’t give Paula a present, they might think they were justified in treating me unkindly. I decided, finally, to give Paula something beautiful to show I could rise above pettiness and forgive.
The prettiest wrapping paper I could find made a lovely lining and covering for a small shoe box. I carefully chose items to fill the treasure box: a dainty cut-glass perfume bottle, a miniature vase with tiny dried flowers in it, and other dried flowers in doll-sized bouquets, all tied with ribbons.
The most important part of the gift was the inspirational poems I copied in my best handwriting on pretty stationery. I rolled each like a scroll, tied them with ribbon, and carefully laid them in the box. Finally, I laid the covered lid on the box and tied it closed with a matching ribbon. I walked to Anne’s house, where the party was being held, gave someone my gift, and left. I felt good knowing that I had done the right thing. From that time on, although I never rejoined that group of girls, they were never unkind to me.
We graduated from junior high and went on to high school. If we happened to meet in the halls, we always acknowledged one another with a friendly hello but rarely stopped to talk. After high school graduation, I went away to college.
I came home to visit during a holiday that year, and I heard that the LDS students attending the local junior college had planned a get-together at the institute of religion. Everyone who had gone away to college and returned for the holiday was invited. When I arrived, I saw Paula. She was waiting for me with tears in her eyes.
She threw her arms around me, and after a few minutes she explained: “After high school the missionaries came to my house and taught me the gospel. I was baptized just a few weeks ago, and I’ve been attending institute classes.
“We were so mean to you in junior high, and I felt so bad. I’m so sorry! I loved the box you made for me, and I kept it. I love the poems. They’re spiritual and beautiful, and I reread them all the time.”
I sure had some exciting news to tell my parents when I got home that night! Sometimes rewards for doing right come immediately, but sometimes not for years. We may never learn of the good we’ve done, though the effects of our good deeds may span many lifetimes. I am relieved that I didn’t give in to my angry feelings those many years ago and do something unkind. I am glad that, during that Christmas season long ago, I chose a gift of love—a treasure that Paula now more fully shares.

I have just returned from one of the great nations of the world. We were so impressed with the people. How friendly and considerate they were to us. I would tell my wife, “If you want to have fun in this country, go out and get lost. Those people are so great at giving directions when you ask for assistance. They tell you where to go with such detail and then repeat it two or three times to be certain you understand.”

This country is in one of its most difficult periods. After suffering during World War II, the people went into a great rebuilding program. As they accomplished and things became easy again, they started to relax and wanted only to enjoy life. Their great interest became the pub and the television. If an industry was in difficulty, rather than attempting to solve the problem, it was much easier and more secure to turn it over to the government and nationalize it. One by one, the government found itself operating more and more businesses. To offset this great national power, the workers organized into national unions and union leadership had so much control that they could paralyze the nation anytime it was to their advantage to call a strike.

A strike was in progress while we were there. Public buildings were required to close down at 10:30 at night. Stores were only allowed to turn on their lights one half of each working day. Shopping in stores during the period without lights was interesting. There would be one light burning at the entrance to the store. As you would step into the selling departments to shop, a salesperson would carry coleman lanterns around to show you the merchandise. In one store we visited, the temperature was 45 degrees. The saleslady explained they had been without heat all winter. The work week was reduced to three days. In hotels, you would find each room equipped with a candle with a note stating the lights could be turned out at any time. The heat was on in the hotel only during the evening and the early morning hours. Having a haircut was an experience. The barbershop was cold and dark as you entered. The barber seated you in a chair and then ran downstairs to turn on a little handmade generator operated by his former Honda. One neon tube than came on and the barber commenced to cut your hair. I was greatly relieved to go outside after the haircut to see if my head was still in place. On top of all this, the people had to live with the realization that if the strike was allowed to continue two additional weeks, all power would be turned off.

The economic pressures caused the government to fall and a general election was called. This election was held while we were there. It was very interesting to see 85 percent of the voters turn out to cast their ballots. Unfortunately, the election just highlighted problems rather than solving them. There had been such lack of interest for so long that the elections failed to turn up new leadership. The vote was split between the two major parties. One received the popular-vote margin. The second received the greater number of seats in the governing body. Neither had the majority to rule. A small third party was now in control and could bargain for the best deal. The ability to organize the government rested in its hands. Radical leaders could now demand positions of importance and power in the new government far beyond what they were entitled to as representatives of the people.

This is a classic example, to me, of what occurs when complacency and the desire for security supersede the desire for freedom and the willingness to sacrifice for its preservation.

As was mentioned in my introduction, I came to Rexburg, Idaho, before I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Everyone then and everyone even now still asks me why on earth I would come to tiny Rexburg, Idaho.

Well, my story begins with the power of invitation. My best friend growing up was named Chantell. She came to Rexburg, Idaho, to attend what was then Ricks College. She wasn’t a member of the Church of Jesus Christ, but that didn’t last too long for her either. She loved her experience here. Every time we spoke on the phone, she would invite and encourage me to join her. Those invitations would end up changing my life forever.

For some reason, I came to Rexburg during the summer session without Chantell. I would take some classes, then we planned to come together for the fall semester. During that summer session, I lived in a house with 14 other girls, which I would not recommend to anyone.

However, there were two girls that noticed little things about me that indicated to them that I didn’t know much about the Church. I didn’t fast on fast Sundays. I didn’t go to ward prayer. And I didn’t have much interest in home evening activities. They kindly asked questions and could not have been more shocked to hear that I wasn’t a member of the Lord’s Church.

The next day came an invitation to read the Book of Mormon with them under the guise of preparing for a religion class I would have to take in the fall semester. I wasn’t very interested but agreed just to be gracious. They would ask me questions like, “How do you feel about the Book of Mormon?” I didn’t really know how I felt about it. But I would say things like, “Wow, that Laman and Lemuel need to get their acts together.” Then, with even more emphasis, the girls would say, “No, how do you really feel about the Book of Mormon?” My blank stare solicited the request to pray to know if the Book of Mormon was true. Again, I agreed just to be gracious. Night after night, I would pray to know if the Book of Mormon was true. Because I didn’t know any better, I would ask for a specific sign as an answer to that prayer. I would kneel there beside my bed and look around for the answer. Then, on about the seventh night of prayer, I felt the Spirit like a wave washing over me. Then I heard as clear as day, “Why do you keep asking me about something you already know is true?” I jumped up and pulled the covers over my head. I knew that I had received an answer to my prayer. It didn’t come in the way I was expecting. But it was clear and unmistakable. I knew in that moment that God was real. He hears and answers our prayers. And I knew that my life would literally be forever changed.

A massive hurricane is bearing down on you and your family. Winds exceed 150 miles per hour. Flooding and wind damage are certain. Survival may depend on how well you respond to two questions: What should I do before the hurricane arrives? What should I do after it passes?
For Latter-day Saint youth and their families who live along the Gulf Coast of the United States, dealing with both questions became a terrifying reality in August and September 2005. First, Hurricane Katrina slammed ashore, devastating the New Orleans area and the Mississippi coast. Just weeks later, Hurricane Rita ripped through southeastern Texas and western Louisiana. Both storms damaged homes and businesses for hundreds of miles and created the need for massive clean-up. Youth who had to deal with the devastation will remember it for a lifetime.
“No one ever believes it will happen to them, and neither did we,” says Kim Dohm, 17. Hurricane warnings come so often here they seem routine. “We evacuated, but we didn’t think much about what we took with us, because we expected to be back in a few days. We thought it was just another false alarm.” It wasn’t. The storm smashed through Kim’s hometown of Slidell, Louisiana. Winds tore roofs from buildings and snapped trees like toothpicks. Rapidly rising water flooded major portions of the city.
“The damage seemed so random,” Kim says. “In the same neighborhood some houses were torn apart, while others were mostly undamaged. The main thing I learned was to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. If you have to evacuate, leave early and plan to be gone for a while.” Her family had to stay away not just for days, but for weeks.
“No one can predict exactly where and when a hurricane will come ashore,” says Nolan Moore, 15, of Vidor, Texas. “But if officials say you should leave, then leave. And do it as soon as you can.” Nolan and his family caravanned with other Latter-day Saints and found shelter in an LDS meetinghouse a safe distance away.
Seventeen-year-old Brittany Crossley and her thirteen-year-old sister, Danielle, live in Vidor, Texas. Their father is an emergency room doctor at a hospital in Port Arthur, directly in the projected path of Hurricane Rita. Dr. Crossley prayed and felt impressed that if he would spend the day before the storm evacuating patients, he and his family would be all right. Since the Crossley’s home was in an area of potential danger, he obtained permission from his bishop for the family to stay in their ward building during the storm. “The ward is far enough north to be safe,” Brittany explains.
“When Dad said, ‘We’re going to the church and we’re going to be okay,’ I thought, ‘Trust the inspiration and follow him to higher ground,’” Danielle recalls. Soon they received calls that the mass evacuation had resulted in gridlock on the freeway. “It’s good that we listened to our father,” Brittany says. “Otherwise, we would have been stuck in traffic all through the storm.”
So they “hunkered down” at the church, in an inside room with no windows. “We had food and water. We played a board game to pass the time. At 11:00 p.m., the power went out, so we read scriptures by flashlight and had family prayer,” Danielle recalls. They listened to the wind rattling like a freight train. “At one point someone held a flashlight high so we could all see each other,” Brittany says. “I remember how grateful we were for the light. It made me think of the Savior, the Light of the World.”
Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”
Fifteen-year-old Ashley Clarke of Slidell remembers that reading the Book of Mormon calmed her nerves and brought relief from the uncertainty of living in an evacuation area. So did writing in her journal. “It gave me something productive to do instead of getting annoyed,” she says.
It was almost a month before Emily Smith, 17, who had stayed with relatives, was reunited with her immediate family in Slidell. “Even though we were together, dealing with the destruction was depressing,” she recalls. “All of the downed trees, water-soaked furniture, and ruined clothes piling up in people’s yards—it could get to you. Some of the places where we used to hang out had vanished like they never existed.” Now, 9 months after the storm, things are slowly getting back to normal. “Each day it seems a little better,” Emily says. She and her friends are back in school, back in seminary, and finding new places to have fun.
“We saw that designer clothes, furniture, and even nice houses can be ruined. Material things don’t matter much,” says Samantha Adams, 17. Following the hurricane, she spent a lot of time working in the bishops’ storehouse. “When I saw people come in who had lost practically everything, it didn’t seem important to worry about how my hair looked or if I had makeup on. I was just glad to help them.”
Samantha, along with Ashley Clarke, and her brother Thomas, 17, worked day after day in the storehouse. “They knew the landmarks and locations, and they understood computers,” explains Mike Dohm, field operations coordinator for the command center that was set up there. “We gave them responsibility for mapping out locations so work crews could get where they needed to go. They saw a need, recognized they could do it, and showed up every day to get it done. There’s just no way we could have done as much as we did without them.”
In anticipation of the hurricanes, the Church had moved food, bottled water, generators, chain saws, and other equipment to safe sites near the coast. As soon as the storms passed, supplies and equipment were quickly moved to locations like the storehouse for use and distribution. Stakes and wards in surrounding areas organized thousands of LDS volunteers into work groups that came each weekend from September to November to put tarps on roofs, cut up trees lying across roads, and pull up water-soaked carpets.
Ben Bradley, 13, was on one of these crews. He and his father, sister, and brother drove seven hours each way from Albany, Georgia, to Gulfport, Mississippi, making the trip several times. “We wanted to help,” Ben says. “I learned that all it takes is a willingness to pitch in, and Mormons are good at that.” Often crews would complete a work order at a member’s house and then perform similar tasks in other houses or yards in the neighborhood. The Church was widely recognized for its ability to help its own members and its willingness to help others, too.
Hurricanes Katrina and Rita left reminders of their fury that will endure for a decade or more. But they also left a memory in the minds of these teens who survived the storms. “Sometimes people ask if living through Katrina has made me worried about the future,” Ashley says. “I tell them just the opposite is true. Now I know I can handle emergencies. All I need to do is hold fast to gospel principles and rely on a little help from my family and friends.”
Natural disasters are a possibility no matter where we live. The best way to prepare is to have emergency plans in place, survival supplies prepared, and training completed where it is available. Here are some other lessons learned by those who survived the hurricanes:
Make sure you have fresh batteries and flashlights.
Refrigerators and freezers will provide food for a few days.
Store water, both for drinking and for bathing.
Have important papers in a place where you can easily grab them.
Get to know your neighbors, and have a contact list for emergencies.
Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women camping experience can prepare you for living in emergency conditions.
Remember, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear” (D&C 38:30).
“The time has come to get our houses in order. … There is a portent of stormy weather ahead to which we had better give heed.”—President Gordon B. Hinckley (“To the Boys and to the Men,” Ensign, Nov. 1998, 53).
To learn more about preparing for emergencies, go to www.lds.org and click on “Provident Living” and then on “Food Storage and Emergency Preparedness.” There you’ll find advice on topics such as how to prepare for the future, both spiritually and temporally; preparing for home emergencies and natural disasters; and a list of emergency preparation resources.

As I reference the Holy Ghost as a blessing for which we need to show gratitude, I am reminded of a conversation with a potential hire to our faculty. I was visiting about his preparation to teach. We were discussing some of the challenges in engaging students in the classroom. He teaches at a university in the eastern part of the United States. You could see that he works very hard in being a good teacher and excellent facilitator of learning. In our discussion, he shared that each day before he started teaching, he closed his office door, kneeled, and asked for our Father in Heaven’s help in having the companionship of the Holy Ghost in his teaching. The companionship of the Holy Ghost is a blessing for students and teachers, and when both merit and seek that help, a special climate of learning will bless the experience.

Joel was worried. He was almost sure he had started down the right canyon, but he should have been able to see smoke from their cabin long before now.
Mother was probably worrying because he was so late. She had reminded him when he left home that morning everything would look different if it should start to snow.
“I know you have to check the sheep today, Joel,” she said, “even if it is Thanksgiving. But with those black clouds building up behind Gap Mountain, there will be snow before noon.”
Joel tied a scarf around his neck and pulled on his gloves. “I’ll be careful,” he said, wishing his mother would remember he was eleven now and could take care of himself. “Besides, I’ve been up to the sheep range nearly every day this month. I won’t get lost.”
Mother still looked worried, though, when Joel opened the cabin door to leave. He turned to look back. The big room was bright and warm and already smelled good from the pies that were baking in the oven. On the sideboard three chickens were ready to be stuffed. Joel hoped Father would make it home from the settlement in time for the special dinner.
It was a long walk up winding Lost Canyon and across Nameless Ridge to the flat meadow where the sheep were kept. But Joel finally checked the sheep and then started home.
While he was walking home, he remembered how he and his father and mother had come to this valley three years before. Then they had only two horses, a few sheep, and no home. He had helped his father build the cabin. Now they had more than fifty sheep and four cows. Their garden grew well too.
Even the Ute Indians who lived in the valley on the other side of Nameless Ridge were friendly now. Joel remembered how Chief Kanosh had threatened them when they first moved to the valley. But that seemed a long time ago. Joel’s father and mother had done many things to help the Indians, and in return the Indians had helped them a great deal. Kanosh’s wife visited with Joel’s mother often, and Joel enjoyed watching them talk in sign language.
Joel stopped walking and bent his head back. If he only knew where the sun was, he would be able to tell whether he was going the right way, but dark weighted clouds filled the whole sky.
Which way was home? Joel looked in every direction. He knew he was going down a canyon, but how could he tell if it were the right one!
Before long big snowflakes began to strike his cheeks. Joel could scarcely see the nearby trees.
He remembered how his father always said, “Now don’t be nervous.” It helped Joel to remember Father’s calm voice.
Joel wiped snowflakes off his nose and began to walk very fast, looking to his left to be sure the slope of the hill was still there. If so, he was near Nameless Ridge and couldn’t be lost. Home was only half a mile east of where the ridge ended.
Joel began to wonder if he were really following Nameless Ridge. The pine-covered slopes looked alike through the thickly falling snow.
Joel walked steadily on. The swirling white snow that lit on the ground was beginning to pile up. Walking seemed to be harder with each step.
After what seemed a long time, Joel felt the ground under his feet begin to rise steeply. Although he couldn’t see ahead, he knew he should not be climbing. If anything, he should be going downhill to reach the clearing where the cabin stood.
Joel took a shaky breath. He stood still. Then he slowly turned around and around. The whole world was white. Everywhere he went looked exactly the same.
“I’m lost,” Joel said aloud. “I’m really lost.”
Blinking hard, Joel looked around once more, but it was no use. He didn’t know which way to go. But he couldn’t stop moving or he might freeze. The world was cold and silent. All he could hear was the crunch of wet snow beneath his boots.
Then Joel stopped as he heard another sound. Was something coming behind him? Or did something move to his left? He held his breath to listen, but the snow muffled sound and changed it.
Coming from the trees behind him, Joel caught sight of a dark moving figure and two others following behind. The frightened boy watched the figures plod steadily closer.
As they came closer, Joel saw it was Chief Kanosh and his wife and their little boy! Joel was so happy to see the big Ute chief and his family that he grinned from ear to ear.
“You go wrong way,” said Chief Kanosh when he reached Joel. He pointed to the right. “Cabin is over there. We go together.”
Joel didn’t say a word as he fell into step behind Chief Kanosh. The four people pushed through the snow. In a short time Joel saw a break in the trees. Dark smoke rose from the chimney of their cabin.
A wagon was behind the barn. Father was home too!
Later that night after everyone had eaten all the roast chicken and stuffing, creamed corn, and squash pie they could hold, Chief Kanosh and his wife pulled their chairs in front of the fireplace beside Joel’s mother and father. Joel sat on the floor by the Indian boy.
“Well, Joel,” said his father, smiling. “We certainly have lots to be thankful for today.”
“We surely do, Father,” Joel agreed. “And one of the things I’m most thankful for tonight is that Mother invited Chief Kanosh and his family here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

There was knocking at our door. I opened it to find two young men standing there. Tactlessly, I closed the door before they could say anything.

“Open the door again and say you are sorry,” my father’s voice commanded from the back of the house. “We did not teach you to treat people this way!”

Feeling a little ridiculous, I opened the door. “I’m sorry,” I mustered.

“I want to know about you, about your beliefs. Please come in,” my father invited. The young men introduced themselves as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Reluctantly, I listened to their message—at age 13, I had no choice but to participate.

For four months those missionaries visited my home, teaching the doctrines of the restored Church of Jesus Christ. “We respect and admire your courage, but we will never change our religion,” my father finally told them, and we never saw those elders again.

One of my favorite stories that illustrates God’s love for His children is told by President Hugh B. Brown, former counselor in the First Presidency. President Brown begins:
I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying . . . I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.” That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered . . . “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”
. . . Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I had made rather rapid progress as far as promotions are concerned, and I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. And I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. There was just one man between me and that which for ten years I had hoped to get, the office of general in the British Army . . . [When] this one man became a casualty . . . I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner in charge of all Canadian forces. I called in my valet, my personal servant. I told him to polish my buttons, to brush my hat and my boots, and to make me look like a general because that is what I was going to be. He did the best he could with what he had to work on, and I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the General, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer. Someone else will be made a general.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for ten years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.
Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and I took a soldier’s privilege of looking on his desk. I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it in bold, block-type letters was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. I already held the highest rank of any Mormon in the British Army. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly. I saluted out of duty and went out. I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure. You will be called a coward when you get home. You raised all those Mormon boys to join the army, then you sneak off home.” I knew what I was going to get, and when I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?”
And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have a Mutual Improvement Association. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their voices singing:
It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me.
But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.[2]
I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.”[3]

I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.

I once visited a charming town in Iceland. Right away, I noticed that the traffic lights were shaped like hearts! I asked about it and learned the story.
Years ago, people in Iceland were having a hard time. The town decided to do something to help people be happy again. They called it the “Smile with Your Heart” project. They changed the traffic lights and asked people to hang hearts from windows. The hearts helped everyone remember to love others and have hope.
One person told me the project was to help remind them to be kind to one another. They also said it helped them stop and think about what matters most in life.
This showed me that no act of kindness is too small. Something as simple as a heart-shaped traffic light can remind someone of their worth, give them hope, and help them get through another day.

When I was growing up, I had a special relationship with my grandfather. I was the oldest son in the family. I removed the snow from the walks in the winter and cared for the lawns in the summer for our home, Grandfather’s home, and the homes of my two aunts. Grandfather usually sat on the front porch as I mowed his lawn. When I had finished, I would sit on the front steps and visit with him. Those moments are treasured memories for me.
One day I asked my grandfather how I would know if I was always doing the right thing, given that life presents so many choices. As my grandfather usually did, he answered me with an experience from farm life.
He taught me about breaking in a team of horses so that they would work together. He explained that a team of horses must always know who is in charge. One of the keys to asserting control and directing a horse is a harness and bit. If a member of the team ever believes that it does not need to obey the will of the driver, the team will never pull and work together to maximize their ability.
Now let’s examine the lesson my grandfather taught me using this example. Who is the driver of the team of horses? My grandfather believed it is the Lord. He is the one who has a purpose and a plan. He is also the trainer and builder of the team of horses and, in turn, each individual horse. The driver knows best, and the only way for a horse to know it is always doing the right thing is to be obedient and follow the driver’s lead.
What was my grandfather likening to a harness and bit? I believed then, as I believe now, that my grandfather was teaching me to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. In his mind’s eye, the harness and bit were spiritual. An obedient horse which is part of a well-trained team of horses needs little more than a gentle tug from the driver to do exactly what he wants it to do. This gentle tug is equivalent to the still, small voice with which the Lord speaks to us. Out of respect for our agency, it is never a strong, forceful tug.
Men and women who ignore the gentle promptings of the Spirit will often learn, as the prodigal son learned, through the natural consequences of disobedience and riotous living. It was only after natural consequences humbled the prodigal son that “he came to himself” and heard the whisperings of the Spirit telling him to return to his father’s house (see Luke 15:11–32).
So the lesson my grandfather taught me was always to be ready to receive the gentle tug of the Spirit. He taught me that I would always receive such a prompting if I ever veered off course. And I would never be guilty of more serious wrongdoings if I allowed the Spirit to guide me in my decisions.
As James 3:3 states, “Behold, we put bits in the horses’ mouths, that they may obey us; and we turn about their whole body.”
We must be sensitive to our spiritual bits. Even with the slightest tug from the Master, we must be willing to completely alter our course. To succeed in life, we must teach our spirit and body to work together in obedience to God’s commandments. If we heed the gentle promptings of the Holy Ghost, it can unite our spirits and bodies in a purpose that will guide us back to our eternal home to live with our eternal Father in Heaven.
Our third article of faith teaches us about the importance of obedience: “We believe that through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.”
The kind of obedience my grandfather described in his example of a team of horses also requires a special trust—that is, an absolute faith in the driver of the team. The lesson my grandfather taught me, therefore, also alluded to the first principle of the gospel—faith in Jesus Christ.
The Apostle Paul taught, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Then Paul used the examples of Abel, Enoch, Noah, and Abraham to teach about faith. He dwelled on the story of Abraham, for Abraham is the father of the faithful:
“By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed; and he went out, not knowing whither he went.
“By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country. …
“Through faith also Sara herself received strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age, because she judged him faithful who had promised” (Hebrews 11:8–9, 11).
We know that through Abraham and Sarah’s son, Isaac, a promise was given to Abraham and Sarah—a promise of posterity “so many as the stars of the sky in multitude, and as the sand which is by the sea shore innumerable” (see verse 12; see also Genesis 17:15–16). And then Abraham’s faith was tested in a way that many of us would consider unimaginable.
I have contemplated on many occasions the story of Abraham and Isaac, and I still do not believe I fully comprehend Abraham’s faithfulness and obedience. Perhaps I can imagine him faithfully packing up to leave early one morning, but how did he take all those steps alongside his son Isaac over the three-day journey to the base of Mount Moriah? How did they carry the wood for the fire up the mountain? How did he build the altar? How did he bind Isaac and lay him on the altar? How did he explain to him that he would be the sacrifice? And how did he have the strength to lift the knife to slay his son? Abraham’s faith empowered him to follow God’s lead with exactness up until the miraculous moment when an angel called out from heaven, announcing to Abraham that he had passed his agonizing test. And then the angel of the Lord repeated the promise of the Abrahamic covenant.
I recognize that the challenges associated with having faith in Jesus Christ and obedience will be more difficult for some than others. I have had enough years of experience to know that the personalities of horses can be very different and, therefore, some horses can be easier or more difficult to train and that the variety of people is far greater. Each of us is a son or daughter of God, and we have a unique premortal and mortal story. Accordingly, there are very few one-size-fits-all solutions. And so I fully recognize the trial-and-error nature of life and, most importantly, the constant need of the second principle of the gospel, even repentance.
It is also true that the time during which my grandfather lived was a simpler time, especially regarding the choices between right and wrong. While some very intelligent and insightful people might believe our more complex time demands ever more complex solutions, I am far from convinced they are right. Rather, I am of the frame of mind that today’s complexity demands greater simplicity, like the answer my grandfather gave to my sincere question about how to know the difference between right and wrong. I know what I have to offer today is a simple formula, but I can testify about how well it works for me. I recommend it to you and even challenge you to experiment upon my words, and if you do, I promise that they will lead you to clarity of choice when you are bombarded with choices and that they will lead to simple answers to questions that confuse the learned and those who think they are wise.
Too often we think of obedience as the passive and thoughtless following of the orders or dictates of a higher authority. Actually, at its best, obedience is an emblem of our faith in the wisdom and power of the highest authority, even God. When Abraham demonstrated his unwavering faithfulness and obedience to God, even when commanded to sacrifice his son, God rescued him. Similarly, when we demonstrate our faithfulness through obedience, God will ultimately rescue us.
Those who rely solely on themselves and follow only their own desires and self-inclinations are so limited when compared to those who follow God and tap into His insight, power, and gifts. It has been said that someone who is all wrapped up in himself or herself makes a very small package. Strong, proactive obedience is anything but weak or passive. It is the means by which we declare our faith in God and qualify ourselves to receive the powers of heaven. Obedience is a choice. It is a choice between our own limited knowledge and power and God’s unlimited wisdom and omnipotence. According to the lesson my grandfather gave to me, it is a choice to sense the spiritual bit in our mouths and follow the driver’s lead.
May we become heirs to the covenant and the seed of Abraham through our faithfulness and by receiving the ordinances of the restored gospel. I promise you that the blessings of eternal life are available to everyone who is faithful and obedient. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

How, then, do we avoid and overcome the patterns of debt and addiction to temporal, worldly things? May I share with you two lessons in provident living that can help each of us. These lessons, along with many other important lessons of my life, were taught to me by my wife and eternal companion. These lessons were learned at two different times in our marriage—both on occasions when I wanted to buy her a special gift.
The first lesson was learned when we were newly married and had very little money. I was in the air force, and we had missed Christmas together. I was on assignment overseas. When I got home, I saw a beautiful dress in a store window and suggested to my wife that if she liked it, we would buy it. Mary went into the dressing room of the store. After a moment the salesclerk came out, brushed by me, and returned the dress to its place in the store window. As we left the store, I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “It was a beautiful dress, but we can’t afford it!” Those words went straight to my heart. I have learned that the three most loving words are “I love you,” and the four most caring words for those we love are “We can’t afford it.”
The second lesson was learned several years later when we were more financially secure. Our wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted to buy Mary a fancy coat to show my love and appreciation for our many happy years together. When I asked what she thought of the coat I had in mind, she replied with words that again penetrated my heart and mind. “Where would I wear it?” she asked. (At the time she was a ward Relief Society president helping to minister to needy families.)
Then she taught me an unforgettable lesson. She looked me in the eyes and sweetly asked, “Are you buying this for me or for you?” In other words, she was asking, “Is the purpose of this gift to show your love for me or to show me that you are a good provider or to prove something to the world?” I pondered her question and realized I was thinking less about her and our family and more about me.
After that, we had a serious, life-changing discussion about provident living, and both of us agreed that our money would be better spent in paying down our home mortgage and adding to our children’s education fund.
These two lessons are the essence of provident living. When faced with the choice to buy, consume, or engage in worldly things and activities, we all need to learn to say to one another, “We can’t afford it, even though we want it!” or “We can afford it, but we don’t need it—and we really don’t even want it!”
There is an equally important principle underlying these lessons: we can learn much from communicating with our husbands and wives. As we counsel and work together in family councils, we can help each other become provident providers and teach our children to live providently as well.

I was shopping with my mom when I found a $10 bill lying on the floor. I picked it up and thought I would go to the toy aisle and pick out a new toy. But then I remembered that I should choose the right and be honest. I knew that $10 was a lot of money to lose, especially for someone my age. I also thought about how sad I would feel if I was the one who lost the money. So I told my mom I was going to take it to the lost and found. The man at the service desk told me that someone had been looking for the money and that he would return it to him. I had a good feeling inside—better than if I had bought a new toy.

It was in China that Aleisha Cramer got the answer to her prayers. The answer was simple yet hard to do at the same time. She was supposed to give up her lifelong dreams, go home, and live the life of an average college student. The answer surprised her, but she was willing to do the things the Lord told her to do.
Aleisha Cramer, from Lakewood, Colorado, had made it to the top as a star soccer player. She had reached most of her goals, working her way up to become a member of the United States national women’s team, giving her a chance to play in the World Cup and the 2004 Olympics.
She had it made. But it wasn’t making her happy.
“I had everything,” said Aleisha. “I had a good family. I had friends. I was going to school at BYU. I was playing really well for the national team. But would I keep working towards making the World Cup team and still feel this emptiness?”
Then, while in China to play exhibition games, Aleisha woke up one night crying. She felt a wonderful warm, comfortable feeling. “I remember putting my hand on my heart, and then I just had all these thoughts: ‘You need to quit the national team. It’s not okay for you to break the Sabbath day. It’s okay for you to take a different path. Things will work out.’” She describes being filled with the Spirit and having the experience repeated several nights in a row.
Although she had been a member of the Church her whole life, Aleisha’s interest in the gospel had been increasing. She was reading her scriptures at least 30 minutes every day, and she had noticed that her prayers were changing. She was asking the Lord what He wanted her to do. And in China, she received her answer.
“I’ve never had those feelings before, the comfort and the warmth. I wish I could have those experiences every time I have questions. Everything seemed so clear. It made so much sense.”
Aleisha acted on the inspiration she received. She said, “When you get inspiration, you have to follow it right then. If I had said, ‘Yes, that’s right. But I really want to play in the World Cup, so I’ll do it after that,’ then things may not have worked out like they were supposed to.” So before she left China, she told the national team coach and her teammates that she would be quitting. Aleisha appreciated their response. “I told some of the players that this is what I believe and that I wanted a more balanced life,” said Aleisha. “They said it was awesome I could do that, and if it made me happy, they were happy for me.”
Giving up soccer on the highest levels was going to be a big change. Soccer had been part of Aleisha’s life practically since she was born. Her older sisters and brother had all played soccer and basketball. Aleisha was particularly interested in soccer because of her older sister Chrissie’s success in the game. Growing up, Aleisha had progressed until, while trying out for a regional team, she was selected for the U-16 (under 16 years old) national soccer team.
“I called my mom and told her I made the team. She said, ‘You did! I didn’t know you were that good.’ She was completely shocked. That was the first time I realized that I might be good.” Aleisha then progressed to the U-18 and U-21 national teams until she was selected for the women’s team. She also earned an athletic scholarship to BYU.
Playing soccer is fun for Aleisha. “It’s the best when you are in shape and you feel like you can go forever. Some games you have so much energy. You just run and feel like you’re floating.”
And competing in a sport has been a good chance to learn. Aleisha said, “It’s great to try to be good at something. I’m all for developing and becoming better at whatever you’re doing as long as there’s balance in your life. I’ve learned a lot of good things. Just learning how to work hard and learning to be unselfish and being excited when someone else scores. Playing your best and playing hard, that’s great.”
She also learned about the downside of competition. “I don’t like some of the feelings I get from being competitive. It’s okay to try to do your best, but sometimes when you’re focused on beating your opponent, you just get angry. I want to be my best, but I want to focus on working hard. Competitiveness to an extreme can be harmful.”
Aleisha plays center midfield. “That’s like the quarterback. Center midfield dictates the tempo of the game and creates opportunities for people to score. The center midfielder is known as the playmaker.” But after her experience in China, Aleisha was more than willing to execute some new plays in her life.
Not being on the national team gave Aleisha time to try some new things. Her grandmother taught her how to crochet. She had time to go snowboarding. She started learning to cook, and she wanted to learn to play the guitar. “A friend said, ‘Oh, I have a friend who can teach you how to play.’”
And that started the biggest change of all in Aleisha’s life. She met a musician, Chris Rose, who was not at all like the young men Aleisha had dated in the past. In fact, at first she looked right past him. But then they started hanging out together, then dating, and now they’ve been married in the temple for a little over a year. “I am sure that I was prepared for this change by what happened in China. I gave something up and got something way better,” Aleisha says.
Her goals for soccer have changed too. She’ll finish up her last year on the BYU team; then, one day, she hopes to teach her own children a few of the moves that got her to the highest levels of the sport. She still wants to work hard, but now it will be working hard for her own family.
The playmaker is listening to the greatest coach of all, her Heavenly Father, the one who can help guide her and give her direction and inspiration. As Aleisha said, “The Lord knows each of us. For me that’s so good to know and have a testimony of.”

Holiness to the Lord in everyday life includes tender moments when loved ones pass. Earlier this year, my dear mother, Jean Gong, slipped into the next life days before her 98th birthday.
If you asked my mother, “Would you like rocky road, white chocolate ginger, or strawberry ice cream?” Mom would say, “Yes, please, may I taste each one?” Who could say no to your mother, especially when she loved all of life’s flavors?
I once asked Mom which decisions had most shaped her life.
She said, “Being baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and moving from Hawaii to the mainland, where I met your father.”
Baptized as a 15-year-old, the only member of her large family to join our Church, my mother had covenant faith and trust in the Lord that blessed her life and all our family generations. I miss my mother, as you miss members in your family. But I know my mother is not gone. She is just not here now. I honor her and all who pass as valiant examples of everyday holiness to the Lord.

A young Fijian brother approached me the first day I checked into my dorm room at Hale 6. He introduced himself and we visited for a few minutes. He was smiling, joyful, and encouraging. He asked me if I could assist him in the Elders Quorum, but we soon learned that my dorm room was not in his ward boundaries. He smiled and simply welcomed me to school. The next day our dorm parent approached me and asked if I would change rooms. She said there was a young man from Hong Kong who was also new and she felt I could help him acclimate to college life. I was then in an 8-man unit (there were 8-man units back then). He was assigned to a semi-private room. I quickly accepted and moved. That Sunday, I attended the ward I now belonged to. Sitting up on the stand was my new Fijian friend. He said after sacrament meeting that he knew I would be in his ward. A few days later I received a call to serve in the elders' quorum presidency. He taught me much about leadership and how to strengthen others. He was a true disciple of Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love,
Abby
Eight-year-old Abby was underlining the word love when her brother, Zac, marched into the living room. “What are you doing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at six-year-old Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why not?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It was strange not having them here for Thanksgiving. I missed Grandpa’s great stories about the turkey hunts he used to go on with his dad. And it didn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought that if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the small table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the two shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because someone told them. But, Zac,” she added as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find some and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I want to make my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the nativity scene. She smiled and gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”