Gospel Story Finder

I decided to learn to ski with my niece and nephew. They were quite young. Their whole attention was on the joy of skiing. When we worked with an instructor, they were quite animated about what they could learn and were quick to want more instruction. Theirs was the end goal, and they wanted more information on how to get there as soon as possible.

I, however, was focused on determining whether or not this instructor knew that I was a competent person in other arenas—being a beginning skier was not my sole identity. Looking back I see that I wanted my good intention to ski to be acknowledged more than my current performance. It would have been more useful for me to honestly acknowledge my current ability and focus on the goal.

Another sister tells how her family was finally able to go to the temple: “Probably the biggest reason I became completely inactive was that I wasn’t obeying the Word of Wisdom and I felt very guilty anytime I was around members who were doing what they should. Then my husband was transferred to another state, and the home teachers located us. Their names were Brother Fakatou and Brother Marcek. One thing that struck me about them was they made no fuss about my not following the Word of Wisdom but instead discussed other aspects of gospel living with us. As they continued their visits their concern and kindness became apparent, and we remembered a time when everything was much better. Brother Marcek would come pick up our two girls and take them to see the rabbits he was raising. Sister Fakatou would call me up on the telephone and we would talk like old friends. In fact, the whole ward seemed to care about us, even though we never went to church. Those home teachers and our new friends in the ward were the whole reason we were able to start obeying the Word of Wisdom and the other commandments of the Lord and go to the temple. We saw how happy they were, doing what’s right—and knew we could do the same. The day we were sealed was the greatest day of our lives.”

Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.

After a meeting with our servicemen at DaNang in South Vietnam, we talked with a senior pilot who had come very close to death that day and who was still shaken. He had a request to make, and he made it shyly, not wanting to impose. “I wonder if you might have just a minute when you get home, Brother Hanks, to call or write a note to my 12-year-old son to tell him that I am all right and that his dad is thinking about him. He was ordained a deacon last Sunday without his father there, and I want him to know how much I love him.” Those nearest us need love also.

In elementary school, I always heard about the “popular” kids. Being popular wasn’t something you did, it was who you were—and by the beginning of my first year in middle school, I was at the top of the middle school popularity chain. I hung out with the popular kids in the popular part of the hallway, had the same popular brand clothes, and most importantly, ate lunch with them at the exclusive Popular Table in the cafeteria.
The Popular Table had the perfect location, right by the lunch line but far away from the teachers. Even better, it was the only table where boys and girls sat together. I felt so cool as I sat with them, and we talked about our TV shows and our clothes.
But one thing was just a little off—these popular kids weren’t really that nice. When I was with them I felt popular, but I didn’t feel happy. Sometimes we all gossiped or made fun of others. There was a lot of swearing and talking about things I knew were not appropriate, and I didn’t feel like they cared about me. My “friends” rarely did anything really nice for me, and eventually I began to feel like a doormat.
“You should try to make some new friends,” my older sister said. “By the time those kids get to high school, they’ll probably be drinking and maybe even doing drugs. That’s what happened to a lot the popular kids from my middle school.”
I was shocked. “These are my friends,” I thought, “and they’re not going to do anything that would bring me down. Besides, even if they aren’t that nice, at least they still let me hang out with them.”
One day, as I was walking to my lunch table, I saw Cindy, a girl from church who was in the grade above me. She sat on the complete opposite side of the cafeteria.
“Hey there!” Cindy called to me. “Do you want to sit with me and my friends?”
“Ah … no thanks,” I said, “I have my own lunch table.”
But one day, at the Popular Table, one of the girls was rude to me. She hurt my feelings, and I was tired of feeling like my friends just tolerated me. But where else could I go?
Then I remembered Cindy’s offer.
“All right,” I thought. “I’m going to sit with Cindy. But just today.”
I picked up my lunch tray and tried to hold back the tears as I walked away from the best table in the cafeteria.
Cindy saw me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Meredith! Want to sit with us?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure,” I said and sat down at her table.
Cindy and her friends welcomed me to their table and were really nice. It was a completely different feeling from sitting with the popular kids. I was surprised. Not only were these girls nicer, but we also had similar standards, and that made it easier to go through lunch without having to listen to swearing or crude stories.
I decided to eat with them the next day, and the day after that, until eating with Cindy and her friends became routine. I was still nice to the popular kids, and we got along fine in class, but I stopped hanging out with them in the hallways.
One day, at the end of the year, Cindy and her friends had a field trip and were gone during lunch. I walked over to the popular side of the cafeteria and sat with my old friends again. During lunch, there was all the old swearing, telling crude jokes, and making fun of people, but now they were also talking about drugs and immoral activities. I couldn’t believe how much they had changed over the course of the year, and I was so grateful I had moved to the other side of the cafeteria when I did.
My sister was right; their standards were different from mine, and it would have become more difficult to follow the counsel of the prophets and stay close to the Lord if they had been my only friends. That year I made friends who were not of my faith but who shared a lot of the same standards and made it easy for me to practice my beliefs. They stayed my friends all the way through high school.
I’m grateful for my friend Cindy, who invited me sit with her, and to the Lord for giving me courage to change lunch tables. It seemed like such a big deal, but having friends with different standards was an even bigger deal.
The Lord blessed me to find friends who were fun, encouraging, and shared my standards. Trading being “popular” for being happy was definitely worth it.

“When Jana came home from the hospital, we felt a special close feeling between her and the rest of us. We had already decided as a family that even though Jana would not be able to do some things like other children, we were going to enjoy her a lot,” says Jodie. “She would always have care and love in our home.”
For the first month of Jana’s life, Jason, Jodie, and Jill didn’t see their new sister. When Jana was finally able to come home after a four-week stay at the hospital’s intensive-care unit, her brother and sisters were elated. “When we brought Jana home from the hospital, a special bond developed immediately between the other children and Jana,” says Sister Miriam Morrell, their mother. “I knew right then that Jana would never lack for care and love.”

“What is this yucky stuff?”
My little brother’s honest question reflected what our turned-up noses asked when Mom put the lima bean and corn dish on the table.
“Succotash,” Mom replied. “The Pilgrims survived on it. They got the recipe from local Indians but decided to leave out the dog meat. So did I. We also have corn bread and pumpkin pie. Want some?”
So this is what Sylvester the Cat means when he says “Sufferin’ succotash,” I thought. It makes a lot more sense to me now. Poking my fork into the concoction I wondered why Mom had suddenly gone pioneer with the food storage.
It didn’t take long to find out. Dad announced that he had lost his job, and we would be living on our food storage for a while. I envisioned weeks of whole wheat porridge, fried rice, and bean or lentil soup.
Our next family home evening was kind of scary when Dad and Mom went over our expenses and explained that all cash and savings would have to go for the house payment and utilities. Tears came to my kindergarten brother’s eyes when it was announced that no extra things could be purchased. He looked down at his shoes and whispered, “I guess I can’t get a book club book, huh?”
I didn’t dare ask if I would have to miss the prom and the band trip. I was afraid of the answer, so I just looked at my shoes too.
The only fun part of the evening was planning that month’s menus. It was comforting to see lots of home-canned fruits and vegetables on Mom’s storage list. Green beans, peaches, pear sauce, and apple sauce made me take a grateful look back at our family’s bumpy road to self-sufficiency.
All this was good training for dealing with my dad’s unemployment. Our help in tending the garden, in canning, and in eating what Mom cooked all helped get us through. I was even able to go to the prom and to go on our band trip to Lake Okiboji.

When I was little it used to confuse me. My Primary teachers gave lessons on the Word of Wisdom, and I was taught at church and even in school that smoking was wrong. On the other hand, my dad smoked. I didn’t understand why he would do something he knew was wrong. I knew it made my mom sad, too. I also heard lots of lessons about temple blessings and being sealed together as a family in the temple. I knew that as long as my dad smoked, this could never happen for our family.
Now, don’t misunderstand. I really love my dad; he’s a good man. He’s a good father, and he went to church with us most of the time. But his attitude was negative, and he smoked. He just couldn’t seem to let the habit go.
It was easy not to think about it when I was at school or with my friends. But when the Word of Wisdom lessons were being taught, I felt sad. I baby-sat for couples who went to the temple. And all the time I wondered if it would ever happen for us.
As I was sitting in church one day, I heard someone quote a scripture that said if you have a righteous desire and it is God’s will, then he’ll grant that righteous desire to you. I rushed home after church and looked up the scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants.
“And now, verily, verily, I say unto thee, put your trust in that Spirit which leadeth to do good … and this is my Spirit.
“Verily, verily I say unto you, I will impart unto you of my Spirit, which shall enlighten your mind, which shall fill your soul with joy;
“And then shall ye know, or by this shall you know, all things whatsoever you desire of me, which are pertaining unto things of righteousness, in faith believing in me that you shall receive.
“And then, behold, according to your desires, yea, even according to your faith shall it be done unto you” (D&C 11:12–14, 17). That scripture gave me great hope.
A few years passed, and nothing changed. Still I prayed and hoped that our family could someday be sealed together. Then one fall day my dad got sick—really sick. He caught the flu and a cold together, and it put him in bed for a week. He got so sick that every time he tried to light a cigarette, his lungs seemed to swell shut and he couldn’t breathe. It got so bad that it really scared him. He threw away his cigarettes and promised himself he’d never smoke again. And he didn’t.
After the smoking stopped, we noticed that his attitude began to change. He wasn’t as negative anymore. And he smelled tons better! Several months later I asked him why he quit, and he said he just thought it was time he got his act together.
And then one day last spring we did it! My mom and dad and I went to the temple to be sealed together forever. It was incredible. We were all dressed in white, and I knelt at the altar with my parents and looked in the mirrors that reflected an eternal family—my eternal family.
Things have really changed for our family. It took an awfully long time, it seems to me, but they did change. Just like the scripture said—the righteous desires of the heart, and faith, accompanied by God’s will, can move mountains—even smoking mountains.

Marci dropped her sleeping bag on the kitchen floor. “I was trapped!” she wailed to her mother. “Just trapped. What else could I do?”
“You really had no choice,” said Mother. “Anyway, I agree with Hoa and her parents. If you had Hoa spend the night with you, then you should be willing to spend a night with her.”
“But, Mom,” groaned Marci. “That’s different. They live in a one-bedroom apartment. Hoa, her little sister, and I will be sleeping in the front room. And that’s part of the kitchen!”
Marci didn’t expect an answer. She could hear the car in the driveway and knew Dad was waiting. Sighing, she picked up her sleeping bag. “Well, I guess I have to go. Hoa would be very hurt if I didn’t.”
As Marci entered the apartment where her friend Hoa lived, Hoa’s mother turned from the stove. “We are most glad you came, Marci. We thank you.”
Marci smiled and put her sleeping bag under the kitchen table. Hoa was pouring rice into a pot. “What are you doing,” Marci asked.
“I always fix the rice for dinner,” answered Hoa. A small face peeked from behind her legs. “This is my little sister, Truc.”
Marci knelt down and touched the little girl on the arm. “Hello, Truc,” she said. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
Truc waved a few fingers at Marci, and Marci reached for her hand.
“She’s cute,” said Marci. “I would baby-sit her any day.”
Hoa’s mother turned around and asked, “What is ‘baby-sit?’”
“I would watch Truc for you,” answered Marci.
The mother smiled. “No need,” she said. “Where I go, Truc goes or Hoa watches her.”
“Vietnamese do not use baby-sitters,” explained Hoa. She winked at Marci. “But you baby-sit me. I always have to ask you what to do.”
Marci laughed. That was true. She had been explaining different things to her new friend for six months now, ever since Hoa had come to her school.
When the father came home, they sat down for dinner. Marci thought it was very quiet, not like dinner at her house. Everyone spoke softly, and Marci could feel her voice become quieter.
“Does your name have a meaning, Marci?” asked Hoa’s father.
“I don’t understand,” said Marci.
“Vietnamese names have another meaning,” explained Hoa. “Mine means flower. Truc means bamboo.”
Marci studied Hoa. She does look like a flower. Marci looked at Truc. She wasn’t sure she resembled bamboo. “I wish my name did have another meaning, but I don’t think the names of many people in the United States do.”
After dinner, Hoa’s mother began cooking again.
“What are you making, Mother?” asked Hoa.
“For Marci I would like to make pho,” she replied. “We will eat it in the morning.”
“Oh, good!” Hoa smiled and turned to Marci. “Pho is like a soup. It is made with beef and egg noodles. You will like it.”
Marci nodded. She was sitting on the floor and Truc was on her lap. Marci looked around the room. There were no toys. A small television set was perched on a low table, but no one seemed interested in turning it on.
“Truc, have you ever heard the story of Peter Rabbit?” asked Marci.
Truc shook her head, and Marci began the story. Then she told her the story of Cinderella. After that, she related some tales about Daniel Boone and Paul Revere. Hoa and her parents listened too. They had never heard the stories either. When Truc fell asleep, Marci looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock! Hoa’s mother took Truc away to get her ready for bed.
Hoa’s father stood up and bowed. “You are most welcome, Marci. We liked the stories. I hope you have a good time here. Goodnight.”
Marci stood up and made a slight bow back to Hoa’s father. “This is one of the best times I have ever had,” she said.
Hoa yawned and brought out a mat to spread on the floor. Marci pulled her sleeping bag from under the table and put it next to Hoa’s mat. After the girls were ready for bed, Marci crawled into her sleeping bag and looked at Hoa. The warm smell of pho filled the room. “Thank you for asking me,” she whispered. “I’m really glad I came.”

More than 120 youths from the Monticello Utah Stake undertook clean-up operations at their stake farm that will one day include a recreation-park area for Scouts and a girls’ camp. A stake committee is working on a master plan for the campground, and the project will involve several years’ work.
Some of the day’s work included cleaning out the old spring, tearing off old roofs, cleaning out the solidly built root cellar, and hauling trash to the ravine for burial.
The farm, complete with log cabins still very much intact, will someday serve recreational needs for generations.
After the work was done the young people organized games, and a delicious Dutch-oven supper was served.

Ryan’s dad is a Cub Scout leader, and he also helps out with the Boy Scouts in the ward. Ryan accompanies him on some of the campouts and activities that he might otherwise have to wait a few years to participate in. After Hurricane Hugo struck near Charleston, South Carolina, the Scouts from the Hugheses’ ward decided to see if there was anything they could do to help. Brother and Sister Hughes, Joshua, and Ryan went with the Scouts, and Ryan learned a great deal about people serving one another.

“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.

“Kim was born in the dead of winter, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to pull through. So you see, my little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”

This is what I read:
It is November and cold outside. I can hear the wind whistling through the beech trees down in the woods. I am sitting in front of my fireplace in my old leather-back chair with Mom’s old knitted shawl over my lap. There is a little table by my side, and I am writing on a lined tablet. The lines are wide because my eyesight is not as good as it once was. The dancing flames from the fire seem to stimulate my thoughts, and I relive the years when my beloved wife and I first joined the Church. The wind was blowing off the ocean when we waded into the water off the coast of Wales. Bess’s health was poor, she being with child, andshe was concerned about the effects of the cold water on her and the unborn baby. The presiding elder blessed her that all would be well, that there would be no bad effects from the cold water. It turned out that way. There are other places in my history where I have told of the persecutions we endured, but now I must tell you about my three sons.

When a young man President Monson came home on leave from the Navy to see his beloved Frances only to find she was out on a date with another suitor. He finally won her heart and the two got married. World War II ended but there were rumblings that war in Korea was eminent and he was in the Naval Reserve. He did not want to go to war as an enlisted man; so, he applied for Officer Candidate School and was accepted. At about the same time he was called to serve in the Bishopric of his ward, the ward in which he grew up. In a quandary about what to do since the Reserve meetings were on the same night as Bishopric meetings and he would be missing many Sunday services as well, he went to his former stake president Harold B. Lee, then an apostle and eventually president of the Church, and asked for his advice. Tom trusted that Elder Lee would help him sort out the problem.
As he put his letter of acceptance before Elder Lee and explained his situation, this wise apostle sat back in his chair and took a long look at the earnest young man before him. “Tom,” he said, “I want you to write back to the Navy and decline the invitation to attend Officer’s Candidate School. Then I want you to write to the headquarters of your Naval Reserve unit in San Francisco and ask to be released from the rest of your service obligation.”
Tom was stunned.
President Lee then looked at him with clear, penetrating eyes and said, “The military is not for you. The Lord has other plans.” (And what were those plans? To serve in the highest councils of the church and some day become the prophet. Tom didn’t know that just like we do not know what is ahead.)
President Monson remembers thinking, “If he turned down the Officer’s Candidate School he would serve as an enlisted man if the country went to war. And, if he asked to be released from the Naval Reserve they would refuse; they didn’t do that especially with a war on the horizon. That might even call him up to service for even asking.”
But Tom trusted the Lord was speaking to him through Elder Lee and he went home and wrote the two letters. He did not attend Officer Candidate Training and to his great surprise, he miraculously was released from the Naval Reserve. Just a few weeks later, the nation went to war.
President Monson speaks from experience when he says, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”[v]

This was an issue with my great-great-grandfather Phineas Wolcott Cook. He was born in 1820 in Connecticut. In his diary he notes that he had made a covenant with the Lord to serve Him if he could find the right way. He attended many churches and at one was asked to “testify [and] join the church [and] be a Christian.” His response was he “could not tell which one to join, there were so many.” He continued to investigate several churches. One doctrine was of particular significance to him. He explained: “Sometimes they found fault with me because I wanted a more liberal salvation for the family of man. I could not believe the Lord had made a part to be saved and a great part to be damned to all eternity.” Because of this doctrine, he allowed his name to be taken off the records of one Protestant religion. When the LDS missionaries taught him the true doctrine of the plan of salvation in 1844, he was baptized.
Phineas’s faith in the loving mercy of the Lord and His plan of happiness has been shared by many honorable men and women, even when the teachings of their own churches were very bleak.

Jackson stayed close to Mom as they walked into their neighbors’ storage room. It was dark in there. Something brushed across his face, and he jumped.
“Just a little cobweb, Jackson,” Mom said. She bent down and picked up a cardboard box. “Here it is.”
Inside were Mrs. Karras’s wreath and a small nativity set. Jackson helped set them out for her every year while Dad and Grandpa put up the Christmas lights outside.
Jackson carried the box upstairs. He saw Mrs. Karras sitting in her wheelchair in front of the window. Careful not to trip on the cords from her oxygen tank, Jackson placed the box at her feet.
Mrs. Karras made a tiny noise in her throat and pointed outside. Carter and Kennedy, Jackson’s little brother and sister, were rolling in the snow and throwing snowballs at their big yellow dog. Madison, Jackson’s older sister, was handing a string of lights to Dad.
“This would be fun,” Jackson thought, “if it didn’t take all day.”
Not sure what he should say to Mrs. Karras, he put on his hat and mittens and went out to help.
“Jackson, grab me that step stool from the truck,” Grandpa called to him.
“Can you bring me the electrical tape off the front seat?” Dad asked.
“And then come hold these lights for Dad,” Madison ordered.
“Next the dog will be bossing me,” Jackson thought. But he got the stool and the tape, and he took the lights from Madison so she could go warm up inside.
Soon Grandpa walked over and handed him another string. “Even more lights this year than last year,” he said. “It’s going to be quite a display.”
“Why does Mr. Karras keep buying more lights?” Jackson asked.
“Well, he knows they make his wife happy,” Grandpa said, nodding in the direction of the window. “Since she is sick, he does all he can for her.”
Jackson looked to the window and saw that Mr. Karras had pulled a chair next to his wife. He seemed to always be sitting by her and talking to her, even though she couldn’t talk back.
When the last light was strung, Jackson carried the empty boxes back to the storage room. Walking back, he heard Mom telling Mrs. Karras about one of their Christmas traditions.
“On Christmas Eve we sit around the tree, with all its pretty lights, and we share stories about how God’s light has touched us, and the ways we feel and share His love.”
Jackson smiled. He was glad to help Mr. and Mrs. Karras.
That evening after dinner, Dad said, “Time to make sure all those lights came on.”
The family got into the car and Dad drove through town to the top of a hill. In the darkness below, the Karrases’ house was easy to spot.
“Wow,” Jackson whispered.
Lights wrapped around the large pine tree, traced the roofline of the house, and twinkled along the fence. Every bush and every window shone.
“I bet Mrs. Karras is looking out right now, just smiling and smiling,” Madison said.
“I think so too,” Mom agreed.
All at once, Jackson knew what he would talk about when they sat around their tree on Christmas Eve. It seemed to him that all those little Christmas lights were glowing in his heart.

Now, where temples have long been established, it is time for a renewed and continuing preparation. This is the work of home teachers, quorum presidents, bishops, and especially high priests, as well as all others involved in teaching the gospel. I remember one elders quorum president who determined that his leadership objective would be to help every member in his quorum to go to the temple. His initial report stated that all but six had qualified. He later reported that all but three had gone before he was released. After his release, however, they “got” the other three.

I once preached a sermon along these lines to a group of LDS men doing time in prison. When I was given the assignment, I had wondered what it would be like to meet Latter-day Saints convicted of a crime. It was a disconcerting experience. The prisoners marched in wearing orange jump suits, and to my surprise, shook our hands, looked us in the eye, and welcomed us to the prison. They seemed very much like people I would meet in any ward meeting. I wondered for a moment what really was the difference between them and the people I met in church each week. The prisoners were returned missionaries and former high councilors who had made mistakes. They were apparently sincere men who had fallen into crime. They of course loved my sermon on forgiveness. They hungered for the assurance of forgiveness and took hope in hearing that Joseph Smith the prophet of the Lord had turned to God for forgiveness too.

“I’m the fifth of seven children, and the first son. My mother received a patriarchal blessing and was told that she would have sons and daughters. After she had had her third daughter, she had problems, and it seemed that she could have no more children. But eight years later she had another daughter, and finally I came along. I always felt that without my mother’s faith, I never would have been born into that family. Even after I was born, she said, ‘My blessing promises me “sons and daughters”’—and she had another daughter and another son!

“My father, too, was a faithful and humble man; he served many years in a stake presidency. Growing up in that environment, I never really had to struggle for faith. Of course, we each have to gain our own personal testimony and witness, but I had everything that would teach and encourage me. Without question, my mother and father were the most influential people in my life, with their example, their teachings, and their caring.

“I remember when we used to go up to a little mountain cabin in Brighton, Utah, on the Fourth of July and stay until school started. I enjoyed climbing the mountains, fishing in the lakes, and riding horses. My mother would have us read the Book of Mormon together in a little study class there that also included the neighbor children.
Recalling his activities in Scouting as a boy, Elder Cannon said, “It was a great part of my life. There’s still a group of us who were Scouts together who are very good friends, and we get together whenever we can.

“Another thing that I enjoyed as I was growing up was playing the piano. I studied it and played it in Church. In fact, my first calling was ward organist. I earned a music merit badge from Alvin A. Beesley, who ran a music store. He was the son of Ebeneezer Beesley, an early Church composer. Alvin Beesley was absolutely the most enthusiastic man that I have ever known. Before he signed my music merit badge, he said, ‘All right, George, I will pass you on the condition that you come and play in the Sunday School orchestra.’ I said that I would. Playing in that orchestra was a horrible experience because I didn’t know how to follow an orchestra leader. But Brother Beesley was so encouraging and so enthusiastic and so understanding with us that I suffered through it happily.”
Speaking of his great-grandfather, Elder Cannon said, “George Q. Cannon made this statement: ‘Everything I am, I owe to my membership in the Church. And I can say the same thing.

“My counsel to children is for each of you to know that you really are created in the image of your Father in Heaven. You are an individual spirit and soul, and you each have your own special talents to develop. Realize how important you are in the sight of your Father in Heaven and in the sight of all of us. Be glad that you are who you are. Don’t want to be somebody else, but realize that you have a unique and divine destiny. You are loved by your Father in Heaven, and you have much to share with others.”

We will have opportunities throughout our lives to share our beliefs, although we don’t always know when we will be called upon to do so. Such an opportunity came to me in 1957, when I worked in the publishing business and was asked to go to Dallas, Texas, sometimes called “the city of churches,” to address a business convention. Following the conclusion of the convention, I took a sightseeing bus ride through the city’s suburbs. As we passed the various churches, our driver would comment, “On the left you see the Methodist church” or “There on the right is the Catholic cathedral.”
As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady in the rear of the bus called out, “Driver, can you tell us something more about the Mormons?”
The driver pulled the bus over to the side of the road, turned around in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything more about the Mormons?”
I waited for someone to respond. I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. Nothing. I realized it was up to me to do as the Apostle Peter suggested, to “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.” I also realized the truth of the adage “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.”
For the next 15 or so minutes, I had the privilege of sharing with those on the bus my testimony concerning the Church and our beliefs. I was grateful for my testimony and grateful that I was prepared to share it.