Gospel Story Finder

I witnessed the peace covenants bring as my father-in-law, Jim, chose to be baptized and lead his family to the temple to be sealed. My wife grew up in a loving, Christ-centered home, but covenant blessings and promises brought further joy. This is the very experience we provide others as we participate in temple and family history work.

Building covenant connections is to live life enhanced. Even so, covenant keeping does not shield us from the realities of mortality. As Brother Doug Sorenson powerfully taught us last week, we are still susceptible to painful and tragic episodes as part of life’s test. We are promised strength—not immunity—from difficult circumstances. Remember my in-laws?

The youngest child in this family passed away unexpectedly, after a brief illness. Sincere pleading did not result in immediate healing. Can you sense the continued mourning of a parent faced with the unnatural order of losing a child; the ongoing grief of a heartbroken spouse; sons facing life without a father? What of promised apostolic blessings in the darkest hour?

The Son of God rose. Faith was found. Assurance given of a promised future together. Strength mustered to continue on covenant paths. Power to offer comfort to the comfortless, to mourn with those that mourn. To think Celestial, with eternal perspective.[44]

As a junior in high school, I worked away from my family in Washington, D.C., through a program whose schedule dictated that school start at 6:45 a.m. When school ended, work at the capitol continued until 5:30 p.m. at the earliest. Seminary started at 6:00 p.m. and took an hour and a half from my evening. I rarely had time to finish my homework before falling—exhausted—into bed. I didn’t have time, I told myself, to do everything, and I decided seminary was the only thing that could go.
So, I quit seminary. I was confident I would make up the credit somehow and that I would still be able to graduate, and I reasoned to myself that it wouldn’t affect my entrance into the celestial kingdom or cause me to lose my testimony if I didn’t go to seminary for a few months.
Everything seemed fine, except that my grades dropped. My math teacher put me in mandatory study hall for an hour every night for several weeks. After three months without seminary, my friend convinced me to go just one Friday night. I agreed reluctantly. Deep down, I truly did want to go, but I was too embarrassed to walk sheepishly into the classroom after my three-month absence.
However, my whole outlook changed the moment I entered the room. A feeling of peace and contentment flooded over me, wiping away my embarrassment and apprehension. I couldn’t believe that I had let myself remove a constant source of strength and peace from my life, especially at a time when I was away from my family and needed extra strength to stand as a witness of Christ. I wondered how I could have let myself leave the place that made me happy. That night I made a commitment to attend seminary consistently.
I followed through with that commitment, and I was never put in mandatory study hall again. Even though I still struggled with math, my grades came up and stayed up, and I passed with a good grade. I know that Heavenly Father provided a way for me to follow His commandments and that He blessed me so that I could do more in His hands than I could do by myself.

Before sharing anything else, I feel the need to confess something. I did not grow up wanting to be an undergraduate student at Brigham Young University. Due to the college choices of parents and older siblings, I grew up making fun of the culture that is so much a part of this wonderfully peculiar place. After I had already decided to attend another university, a high school counselor suggested that I meet with a recruiter from Brigham Young University. I told the recruiter that I had no interest in attending Brigham Young University and that I was meeting with him just to get out of class.
He was gracious, handed me his business card, and said, “If you change your mind, please give me a call.”
In my teenage arrogance, I responded by saying, “You’ll never get that phone call.”
When I knelt to pray that evening, I talked with God about my conversation with the recruiter, and suddenly, for reasons I did not then fully understand, I knew I needed to change my plans. You can imagine how foolish I felt when I called the recruiter on Monday morning, apologized for being a haughty teenager, and told him I would like to attend Brigham Young University.
That change in plans proved to be a very good one when several years later I went with a friend to the Cougareat for lunch. While I was eating two cheese enchiladas with rice and beans—it’s amazing that I can still remember what I was eating—the friend introduced me to this ­person [a picture of Deborah, Elder Haynie’s future wife, was shown], and then this happened [a ­picture of the young couple was shown], and then this [a ­wedding picture was shown], and now this [a picture of the extended Haynie family was shown].
I owe this university for so much more than just an education. I discovered that notwithstanding your ambitions and well-thought-out life plan, if you are single and you keep your mind and heart open, you might discover—perhaps in a place equally as romantic as the Cougareat—a relationship that can become eternal.

Walter C., age 15, Jaén, Peru
For a long time I was the only member in my school. My closest friends seemed to understand me, but other school friends made fun of me. One day I prayed and felt the need to talk with one of them who encouraged the others to make fun of me. I explained that I didn’t feel angry at him, but I asked him to give me the respect he’d like to have. After hearing our conversation, one of my teachers always defended me when he saw something happen. I know that the Lord will be with you as you talk with these people.

When our family was young, we lived in Connecticut and were the only members of the Church in our small community. When our oldest son was nine years of age, he was invited to play Little League baseball. He was outfitted with a complete baseball suit, and he practiced very hard to be a good member of the team. Several days before the first game was to be played, the coach of his team came to our home and informed us that due to a recent scheduling change, all games would be played on Sunday. Our son was devastated. We convened a family home evening the next Monday and discussed the matter and left the decision to our son. He, knowing of our heritage and principles, made the decision that he would not play. I can still recall his heartbreak as I drove him to the coach’s home, where he turned in his newly acquired baseball uniform. I am eternally grateful that all of our children, to this day, properly observe the Sabbath.

I have found happiness in doing as the prophets ask, so when President Ezra Taft Benson urged us to read the scriptures every day, I wanted to do so.
But I began making up excuses. I decided that I had too much homework to begin my scripture study that day. I did this for weeks, even months, while my conscience continued to bother me.
One night while I was frustrated over my math homework, I knelt in prayer to ask for strength. When I looked up, the first thing I saw was the Book of Mormon sitting on my dresser. I picked it up and began to read, not really knowing why since I had a lot of math left to do. I finished a chapter in 1 Nephi, then went back to my treacherous math problem. I found I could solve it.
I made a decision to be obedient. I would read the Book of Mormon each night. Then I would see if taking the time to study the scriptures had any effect on my grades. After several weeks, I found that this habit of reading every night, even though it took some time, helped me achieve more academically. I still had to do the work, but the reading gave me an extra push. It motivated me in ways that nothing else could. I was able to understand what I studied, and I had the patience to stick with my work. Not only did my grades improve, but I was easier to get along with and happier than I had ever been.

On 23 February 1979 Elder Richards was taken to the hospital, where he remained in critical condition for nearly a month. His obituary was written, and the First Presidency and the Twelve were informed that it was only a matter of hours before he’d be gone. But gradually Elder Richards recovered.
Later, in a meeting of the Twelve, Elder Richards said, “I read in the minutes where you’d received word of my imminent demise, but I fooled you, didn’t I?”

Running was one of my favorite activities when I was young. I was on the track and field team, and my specialty was the 800-meter dash. That meant I ran two laps around the track.
My dream was to be in the Olympics. My trainer had been an Olympic athlete. He thought I was talented enough to go to the Olympics if I practiced hard.
I practiced a lot and ran in many races. When I was 15, I was the second-place champion for my category in the whole country of Argentina. I hoped that if I continued working, perhaps I could go to the Olympics.
But there was a problem. Often our races were on Sunday. Soon I realized that I could not continue competing. So I chose to stop running.
The choice was hard. I had to give up my dream of being in the Olympics. My trainer didn’t understand why I stopped. But I knew I had made a good decision. Even though sports are a good thing, choosing to follow the Lord and His Church is better.

Five-year-old Dee woke to whispers and gentle nudging from Grandpa Leonard, who was dressed in his blue Sunbeam Bakery uniform. Dee sat straight up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. The clock on the nightstand next to him read 3:00 a.m.
An inviting aroma of bacon and toast came from the kitchen. “Grandma is finishing breakfast for us,” Grandpa whispered. “Hurry and dress, but don’t wake your brother. Duke can come to work with me tomorrow. Today it’s your turn.”
Excitement swelled as Dee quickly dressed. He looked across the room at Duke, his twin brother, who was sound asleep and snoring. All year long Dee and Duke looked forward to the day school would end and they could visit Grandma and Grandpa in the country. They fed the chickens, worked in the garden, and went fishing. But Dee’s favorite activity was riding in the big bread truck, helping Grandpa deliver bread to the small country grocery stores serving the Iowa townships nearby.
Dee made his way to the kitchen, his stomach growling. After prayer, he gobbled his breakfast in record time and ran out the door to the car with Grandpa. Grandma stood on the porch in her robe and waved good-bye.
When they arrived at Sunbeam Bakery, Dee was surprised to see Grandpa’s bread truck already loaded with freshly baked bread and delicious pastries. He savored the aroma. A man emerged from the idling truck’s cab and waved. “Everything’s ready for you this morning.”
Grandpa smiled. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just get my inventory sheet and double-check our load. Then we’ll be on our way.”
Grandpa quickly and carefully checked off each item and made a few notes on the inventory list. He lifted Dee onto the passenger seat and handed him a day-old Danish. “Here you go, Dee—dessert to top off Grandma’s fine breakfast.” Grandpa was allowed to buy the day-old breads and pastries at a reduced price after he had returned them to the bakery. Sometimes Grandpa’s boss treated them, but they never took anything unless it was offered first.
Soon they were on the road. Dee watched the sun peer over the rolling hills of corn and grain carpeting the Iowa landscape. The ride with Grandpa was fun. They sang songs together that Dee had learned in church, and Grandpa taught him to whistle a new tune. He told Dee stories about life on the farm as they passed cow pastures, sheds that held pigs, and chicken coops.
Before Dee knew it, they had arrived at the tiny town of Fairview, and Grandpa pulled the truck to the back door of the local grocery store. Grandpa hopped out of the truck and helped Dee out. Dee was happy with his small hand in Grandpa’s great big one as they approached the store. With his free hand, Grandpa reached for the ring of keys that he kept attached to his belt loop and unlocked the back door.
Grandpa spoke slowly. “These keys are a sacred trust. Do you understand what that means?” Dee wasn’t sure. He slowly shook his head.
As they walked through the door, Dee saw the many items the grocer had for sale. There were aisles and aisles of food, an aisle for cleaning supplies, and even a special aisle filled with toys and sporting goods, like fishing gear. “How nice it would be to own this store,” Dee thought, “to have all these things and never just wish for them.”
Grandpa interrupted Dee’s thoughts. “The owner of this store has given me his key to the back door because he knows that I will never harm my good name by stealing,” Grandpa said. “My father was known for his honest dealings in this town, and I am blessed to carry his name.”
Nothing more was said. Dee helped Grandpa remove the bread that would go back to the bakery to be sold as day-old goods. He helped him stack the fresh bread that was still warm. He thought about what Grandpa had said and smiled. He was happy to be a member of Grandpa’s family. He made a promise to himself that he too would someday be known for his good name.
Dee watched with pride as Grandpa reached again for the ring of keys and securely locked the door. They got into the truck again and headed for the Eddyville store, whistling as loud as they could.

During his senior year Billy heard of a village in Mexico that had been flooded, and he organized a relief effort with some of his friends. They collected clothing and food and with a good number of trucks and trailers delivered the provisions to the ravaged town. Billy and his bride, Amy, are now living in Southern California, where he teaches early-morning seminary. A criterion for the corporate position that he ultimately took was that he would have the time he needed to continue to make a difference.

Billy took seriously the parable of the sheep and the goats as taught by Jesus and recorded in Matthew 25:34–37, 40:
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me. . . .
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? . . .
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

On one occasion I was trying to help a woman see her husband more truthfully and compassionately instead of so accusingly. I told her I would begin describing her husband and his situation as I saw them, and then I would ask her to take over and continue with her observations. I began by mentioning some of his problems and limitations, and then started listing his strengths. Then I asked her to take over. She described how good he was with the children, how helpful he was in the ward, how much he liked people generally.
Suddenly she looked at me with shock on her face: “Do you know what I see? I see the man I married!” I explained that he had been there all along, but that she had ceased to see his strengths because of her exaggerated attention to his weaknesses.
She then looked at her husband, and as her head fell onto his shoulder she sobbed, “I’m so sorry for the way I have blamed you and treated you all these years. Can you ever forgive me?”
She had come into that session feeling sorry for herself and for the way her husband had mistreated her. But she left sorrowing over the way she had treated him. As she admitted the truth to herself, her heart softened, leading her to a sincere desire to change.

One day the two of us were riding from Salt Lake City to Morgan, Utah, in a small old truck on a narrow road. It was a big adventure for me, a little boy who had never been on a trip in an automobile before nor traveled very far from home.
My brother had explained to me that we would be traveling quite fast and that it would be dangerous if a tire should blow out. Lincoln had me hold tightly to his arm, instructing me that if a tire should blow out, he would try to keep the steering wheel steady. He asked me to help him by holding on to his arm with all of my strength.
The next hour, as we drove along the road and up the canyon to Morgan, was one of the most exciting times of my life. It was the first time that I ever remember feeling really necessary—really important. We didn’t have a flat tire, but my wonderful big brother had made his little brother feel needed.
I have since traveled to many places around the world, but I remember that trip with my brother and the lesson he taught me as well as I remember any travel adventure.

While serving a mission in Oklahoma I met Rick. Rick was 16 years old and was searching for the truth. Through a young woman, who was a strong member of the church, Rick began taking the missionary lessons. He believed the message and wanted to be baptized. However, he needed his parents permission, who would not agree to his embracing the gospel, and would not give their permission. He was told that if he did join the Church that he would be evicted from his home and his family would disown him. Rick had a decision to make. Others have had to make the same decision between Church and family, perhaps some of you here today. But Rick's situation was a bit different. Rick was blind, had no eyesight and was totally dependent upon his family. The young woman that had introduced him to the gospel had read the Book of Mormon to him and by exercising his faith and prayer he had gained a testimony of the truthfulness of that book. He picked up the smooth stone of faith, and made the decision to be baptized. His parents were true to their promise and Rick did loose his home and family. But through one miracle after another, Rick was blessed with another home, support and means to progress and grow in the gospel and life. Rick was able to defeat his Goliath by exercising faith.

As you were listening to this beautiful rendition by the choir, I was thinking of William Clayton. His father was a teacher, and William had received a good education. He was a good penman, he was good with figures, and he was good at writing and keeping records. He was taught and baptized by the Heber C. Kimball missionary group in the early days of the Church in England. They understood and accepted him readily because of his education and his penmanship. He was just a bright young fellow, 23 years old. Soon he was being used as a secretary, a scribe, or as a bookkeeper by the little organization of the Church over there.

By the time he was 24, he and his wife wanted to go to Nauvoo, so they sailed for America. In Nauvoo he met the Prophet and other leaders of the Church. They used him in interesting ways again because he wrote a beautiful hand and he was a good speller. They could use a young man of that kind. But after the martyrdom of the Prophet he sided with Brigham Young and the Twelve and became one of their scribes and the secretary.

After the martyrdom of the Prophet, he left with the Brigham Young company and had the experience in Iowa that inspired the writing of this wonderful song that we have today. They left in February; it was now April. Slogging through the fields with the wagons and the horses and the teams and the rain and the mud in Iowa, they were discouraged. The going was difficult; people were dying, and babies were born. They were moving slowly, only traveling a few miles a day. In their discouragement, William Clayton wrote in his journal that he sat on a wagon tongue and wrote a song, hoping it would encourage and give some renewed hope and faith to the Saints.

So he wrote “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear.” It was difficult. They were discouraged. “But with joy wend your way. / Though hard to you this journey may appear, / Grace shall be as your day.” He was giving them encouragement to keep going, that the situation would get better.

Then he wrote those wonderful lines, “We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, / Far away in the West.” Even though we’re stuck here in the mud and discouraged, this will all change. If we have the courage and the faith, the Lord will answer our prayers; it will all come about. It gave them hope and encouragement. “We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, / Far away … / Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid”—stirring, inspirational words.

And then the last verse that the choir sang so beautifully this morning, “And should we die before our journey’s through, / Happy day! All is well!” So if we die, we’ve done our best. We’re going to die sometime, as we all know. So “Happy day! All is well!”

“But if our lives are spared again / To see the Saints their rest obtain.” We’ll see if the wagon wheels will stay on and if the rims will stay on the little handcarts and if we can keep up that courage and the strength through our prayers and we’ll get there. “If our lives are spared again / To see the Saints their rest obtain.” If we get there, then “All is well! All is well!”—if we get there and if we have the courage to make it work.

And in his journal he wrote, “I’ve composed a new song—‘All is well’” (William Clayton’s Journal [1921], 19). I like that original title, “All is Well! All is Well!” which explains our lives if we live as we should. We have the outline, we have the procedures, we have the information, and if we can get there and if our lives are spared again, then we will be able to sing “All is well! All is well!” That hymn has become the Church’s “national anthem.”

Oscar Castro was baptized and confirmed after finding a general conference issue of the Liahona in the home he moved into.
Illustration by Dan Burr; photograph provided by the author
The day Oscar’s wife left him and his two small children was one of the hardest of his life. So many decisions needed to be made. He had been searching for a job, and now he would need a new place to live. It seemed to him that his life was in ruins. He thought of just giving up, and he might have if not for his two beautiful children.
In San Juan, Argentina, not many homes were available to rent in Oscar’s price range. But a small home in a safe neighborhood had just been left empty by a group of young men, so Oscar rented it and prepared to begin anew with his children.
In their new home, some magazines and books had been left lying on the floor, and after working all day cleaning and putting things away, Oscar sat down and looked at one of the magazines. The cover intrigued him for some reason. Underneath the title, Liahona, there was a picture of an old man standing on a tower talking to the people. The man reminded him of pictures of biblical prophets.
Oscar opened the magazine and began to read, “Each of us already knows we should tell the people we love that we love them. But what we know is not always reflected in what we do.”1 Oscar thought about the sharp words that had been said many times between him and his wife. He wanted to teach his children to be better than that. Oscar continued to read the magazine, and he began to feel hope growing within him. Before the week was out, he had read every article and wanted to know more.
A month later two missionaries were walking in Oscar’s neighborhood. Oscar approached them and asked if they were Latter-day Saint missionaries and how much it would cost to get more of those Church magazines. The elders told him that it would cost him only about 20 minutes of his time.
The next day the two missionaries visited Oscar at his home. Oscar told them about moving in and finding old books, magazines, and pamphlets that let him know about the Church. He explained that the first article he read related directly to his life at the time. He already knew the importance of family and wanted to know more about family home evening and family prayer. He told the elders what else he had learned about the Church, including about Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel.
He looked directly into the eyes of the elders and said the words every missionary longs to hear: “I believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.” The elders invited him to be baptized, and with tears in his eyes, Oscar accepted. A few weeks later, Oscar Castro was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
The Lord had prepared Oscar, and his spirit was contrite and ready to learn and grow. On that memorable, moving day, the spirit of the messages in the general conference issue of the Liahona touched Oscar’s heart. The previous owners of the home did not know the effect that leaving behind a few Church magazines would have, but the gospel messages in those magazines became an important missionary tool. In leading him to the truths he was searching for, they forever changed Oscar’s life.

The answer has to be in that room. Maybe I missed a false wall, Jackson thought.

“How do you spell kiwi, Jackson?”

“Uh, what, Miss Grouder?”

“Kiwi. How do you spell it? We’ve been talking about the spelling test for the past 10 minutes. Where have you been?”

“Trying to rescue the princess of Mendoza,” Chester whispered from his seat behind Jackson.

Jackson felt his face getting hot. He had no idea how to spell kiwi.

Miss Grouder sighed as she gave Jackson’s spelling test back to him. He had spelled most of the words wrong.

On the way home, Jackson crumpled the spelling test and stuffed it into the bottom of his backpack. Chester ran up behind him. “Do you want to come to my house and play soccer?”

“No,” Jackson replied. “I think I’ve figured out how to rescue the princess. Do you want to come watch?”

“Sit there and watch you play?” asked Chester. “No thanks! Seems like all you think about lately is video games.” Chester turned the corner toward his own house.

At home, Jackson turned on the computer and started the video game. I’ll play one game, he thought, and then I’ll get going on my homework.

Two hours later his mother called, “Time to eat, Jackson. We have to hurry or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”

“Coming, Mendoz—uh, Mom.” If I can just get past this guard, he thought. His hand deftly moved the joystick back and forth. Too late. The figure on the screen toppled over. No fair! I’ll play just one more. I know I can do it.

Suddenly the house seemed awfully quiet. Jackson grabbed his jacket and ran to the front door. His family was gone. There was a note on the table: “Gone to the movie. Wish you had come. Home by 8:00. Call Grandpa if you need anything.”

It’s all the guard’s fault! Jackson thought angrily as he stomped to his bedroom. His unfinished homework was on his bed. Beside it lay his scriptures. He hadn’t read them all week. And there was the family home evening manual. He was supposed to give the lesson next Monday. But he didn’t feel like doing any of those things tonight.

Good thing it’s Friday, Jackson thought as he headed back to the computer. I’ll catch up on everything tomorrow.

But he didn’t catch up the next day—or the next. And it wasn’t long before the sound of the piano interrupted Jackson’s concentration on his latest attempt to rescue the princess. It was his sister playing the opening hymn for family home evening.

Family home evening! He had intended to prepare the lesson on Sunday, but he had gotten closer to rescuing the princess than ever before. Now it was too late to prepare.

Jackson grabbed his scriptures and ran to home evening. He would fake it. After all, they often read a scripture and talked about it so long they never got to the lesson. He would make sure they did that tonight.

“And help us apply the lesson to our lives,” his little brother said as he finished the opening prayer.

Jackson opened his scriptures to where he had last read. “Dad, could you read a scripture for us?” he asked. “How about Ether 12:27?”

His father read: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

“What do you think that means?” Jackson asked.

“Well,” said his father thoughtfully, “I think it means that we are given weakness to help us be humble. If we acknowledge our weakness and ask Heavenly Father to help us overcome it, it will become a strength to us.”

Mom raised her hand. “Soap operas were my weakness. Some days I didn’t do anything but watch my shows. The television was like a magnet, drawing me to it. It wasn’t until I admitted I had a problem that I figured out a solution.” Then she told how she had prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help her give up those shows.

Jackson squirmed in his chair. This wasn’t going quite like he wanted it to. He began to think about how much time he spent playing video games.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I prayed about it, then decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by putting the money I would have spent on candy toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy.”

Jackson thanked everyone for their participation and bore his testimony that while we all have weaknesses, we can overcome them with Heavenly Father’s help. In fact, those weaknesses can even become our strengths.

After the closing prayer Jackson went to turn on the computer. Maybe a video game would help him forget the growing uneasiness inside him.

But he couldn’t ignore the feeling he had. Did he really have a problem with video games? He didn’t spend much time with Chester or his other friends anymore. He had gotten a bad grade on a spelling test for the first time. He hadn’t read the scriptures all week. And he had missed the family movie. He knew it was time to apply tonight’s lesson to his own life.

Jackson turned away from the computer and went to his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed and opened his scriptures to Ether. The princess would have to wait. Right now he had some reading and thinking to do.

I am reminded of one of my favorite movies. The movie is a story of a man that not only understood his place but understood the ability and potential of others. The movie is titled "Stand and Deliver." This movie is the story of Jaime Escalante who quit his job as a computer programmer to teach math at an inner city high school in Los Angeles. All of the people around the students in his class, teachers, parents, other students, even the students themselves, had already concluded that Mr. Escalante's students were going nowhere and did not have a chance in life--much less in school. Mr. Escalante did not buy into this belief and worked with all his strength to teach the students math up to and including Calculus. He helped them, worked with them during the summer, came in early, stayed late, and in the end prepared them for the advance placement test. Just before they were to take the test, one of the students asked him if he was worried that they would mess up on the test. Mr. Escalante, having a greater understanding of what his students could become, told the student that he was not worried about the test tomorrow. He was worried about their whole lives. Mr. Escalante understood the potential of those students even when they did not. He gave everything he had to work with them and help them achieve that potential.

“The Mapleton Utah North Stake decided to focus entirely on virtue at their stake youth fireside. Young men and women, including their parents, were asked to complete the four new value experiences and the value project of reading the Book of Mormon by this November.

“At the end of the young men’s discussion, each young man was given a gold tie to wear. Each young woman was presented with a beautiful gold necklace made especially for them by the stake Young Women presidency. Hopefully, these gifts will remind each young man and young woman of their renewed commitment to virtue.

“A great moment in the fireside came as the young women returned to the chapel after the separate sessions. The young men and parents had already returned from each of their sessions. The chapel was full of young men in new gold ties literally rising to the challenge by standing as a sign of respect as the young women of the stake walked in.”
—Casey Packard Allen

When I was 11 years old, I won my first state cross-country title and vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness and determined to conquer mediocrity, I stormed the gates of excellence as I began a routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from three to ten miles. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to deter me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto. I even learned to like healthy foods.
By the time I was 14, things could not have been going better. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by our local newspaper as the fastest freshman in the state of Oregon. I felt good and knew I was ready.
Three teammates and I had been invited to participate in the prestigious Meet of Champions in Portland. Full of confident chatter, we piled into the team van with our coach on our way to the meet.
As we pulled onto the highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously decided to fasten my seat belt. Everyone began joking about the seat belt law. In the midst of the teasing, I casually looked up and noticed a car flying over the top of a hill approximately 200 yards ahead of us. Completely out of control, it was coming directly toward us in our lane. It began swerving back and forth between the borrow pit and the road, barely avoiding several cars ahead of us. Crippled by a sense of sickening helplessness, the occupants of our van were seized by an ominous silence as we focused on the inescapable disaster that surely would occur.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radio lingo, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by a policeman. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt buckled, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. A dozen policemen dotted the hillside and roadway. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances whirled in beside our crushed van, and I was very carefully extracted from the totaled vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one medic say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
It turned out my back wasn’t broken—just my nose. However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my timetable for being in top form for nationals was once again interrupted.
After regaining my strength I began to work out. But as I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and smooth strides, like I used to. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. Even though I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him, and how the luck that had thwarted my progress favored him.
I watched Tyler take state, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A horde of excited fans swarmed around him as I stood back. In spite of myself, an uncanny sense of pride swelled inside of me, and as Tyler’s blue eyes shot past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the warmth was so intense that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. His need for my approval drew from me a depth of response that shredded my resentment. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to nationals equipped with all I knew and the might of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of drills to improve his reflexes, surges, and kick. We talked racing whenever we could. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both took first in the Northwest Regional Championships that qualified us for the national meet in North Carolina. Because of the break in my training caused by the accident, I realistically hoped to place in the top 25. I achieved that by taking 21st out of 300 runners. I reached my goal and earned all-American status.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. As we sought out his place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I could sense his apprehension as if it was my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy.
“Be tough, Ty. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can take The Kid,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a flawless race as I sprinted from place to place on the course cheering him on and hoping he could feel my support. Could he hear me above the crowd? Could he sense how I was pulling for him to find the strength? He came out of the trees in second place. “Stay on his shoulder, Ty!” I screeched. “Use your arms! Breathe deep!”
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters we had run over and over together. It was a moment we had planned. “Pull, Tyler! Give it all you’ve got! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish as the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me I had won something too. Shaken and jubilant, I was consumed by a riot of emotions. I had given myself away and felt something far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Breathless and filled with fatigue, Tyler again sought my eyes over the crowd. As he came to my side, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way. I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”

This past summer at the Nauvoo Aaronic Priesthood Encampment, special missionary preparation workshops were held. Bishops conducted these sessions with their Aaronic Priesthood. Every young man was given his own missionary preparation book. Two thousand young men participated in this activity.
A bishop reported that one young man would not get involved. He lazed on the grass a few feet from the group. He would occasionally laugh or seem to make fun. He would not participate, as he had no intention of serving a mission. Around a campfire that night, during a testimony meeting, this young man stood up and began to talk. He said, “This morning I did not participate in the missionary preparation workshops, but I was listening, I was listening. I have been thinking, thinking a lot.” Then, with great emotion he said, “I have made a decision to go on a mission.”