Gospel Story Finder

Summers in San Antonio, Texas, can get hot, very hot. But this particular Saturday in July, the temperature was record breaking, well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. And best of all—yes, best of all—most of the teens in the San Antonio Texas Stake were lost.
They had forgotten themselves, their own aches and pains, their own problems and worries, and even the heat. They were lost in service to a group of children they would never meet face to face. They were refurbishing the play areas, grounds, and buildings of Providence House, a day-care facility devoted to children with life-threatening illnesses. Because of the children’s illnesses, the group would not be allowed to meet those who would benefit directly from their work.
For these teens, their youth conference was devoted to service, the true kind of service that is given with no thought of reward, even the reward that comes from seeing the smiling faces of children. They had chosen to dress modestly, even though temperatures had virtually never been higher. They chose to work outside or inside until every job was finished. And they chose to work with an attitude that they hoped would please their Heavenly Father.
The adult leaders took every precaution. They made sure teens had plenty to drink and were taking rest breaks in the shade or inside in the air conditioning. They even broke out a shaved-ice machine to serve plenty of cooling, flavored ice. They had also worked carefully with the director of Providence House in identifying exactly what needed to be done so the correct materials and tools were on hand.
Carol Bova-Rice, the executive director of Providence Home and Family Services, said, “I cannot find the words to express our appreciation. Other groups have offered to help, but they didn’t want to do big things. With this group, we planned what really needed to be done in advance, no matter how big. It’s wonderful.”
Taking their theme from the scriptures, the stake youth council agreed on the title “Mission Possible.” They liked the idea that individually they could not accomplish much but “with God all things are possible” (Matt. 19:26). They were particularly excited about combining the usual youth conference dances and barbecues with an outstanding service project. They wanted something substantial so the teens could really pull together to accomplish something big, something that would be memorable, and something that would teach a great lesson of Christlike service.
Hannah Clark, one of the teen co-chairs of the youth conference, explained, “There are some people that need our help. That’s where we need to come in and be like Christ. We need to serve. That is the pure love of Christ. It’s charity. That is the way to do it, by serving, even if we can’t see them and even if we don’t even know who they are. We are becoming more the way that we should be when we do those things.”
“We’ll have to visualize the children coming in,” said Chris Weirich, another youth co-chair, “and seeing the new things in a room, the new murals, all the new materials, the repainted play equipment, the new grow boxes; you just have to visualize it. You won’t see them, but you can still feel their excitement.”
On youth conference Saturday, Providence House was bustling. Everyone was assigned a group, and each group was assigned a job. Because of the red T-shirts issued for youth conference, the scene was literally a sea of moving, shifting colors. Everyone had a cleaning rag, a paintbrush, a broom, a vacuum, a hammer, or a rake in hand. Every spot that needed cleaning was cleaned. Everything that needed a new coat of paint was painted. Every weed was pulled. Every toy was sterilized. Every shelf in the storage closets was stacked with donated food or supplies. The San Antonio Stake youth had indeed taken on the big things.
Even as hot and tired as they were, by early afternoon nearly everything had been finished. The group returned to the stake center for a testimony meeting. One after another, they spoke about the things close to their hearts, about giving service without complaint, about how positive they were about the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Sandra Clark summed up how she felt, saying, “I’ve never been so sore and so happy with everything that’s going on around me. So many things were done with the right spirit this weekend.”
There were some nice, unexpected moments. Brant Ellsworth mentioned one. “When we first got there, we were digging the holes for the grow boxes. Some girls were weeding along the fence, and they started singing. It was so beautiful. They were doing a hard job and singing as they were doing it. It made me think of the pioneers. They didn’t know how their actions would affect other people. They didn’t see us or know how much we appreciate the things they did for us. I felt that same spirit while we were working.”
Two girls, working in the building that houses the nursery and the offices, paused to look at some small metal stars engraved with first names and attached to the wall.
“What are these for?” they asked.
These represent the children at the center who have died from their illnesses, they were told. Suddenly, all the work and effort in such extreme conditions seemed like such a small thing. They had found those that the scripture speaks of when it says, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
While planning things that needed to be done at Providence House, several items on the list became good ideas for one person to take on as a Laurel project or as part of an Eagle Scout project.
Steven Ellsworth took on the canned-food drive. Checking with the center about its specific needs, Steven set a goal to collect 750 cans. He also created a Web site to keep stake members informed about youth conference and about what specifically was needed for the food drive.
Amy Kreiger accepted the assignment to create school boxes suitable for the children at the center. She organized painting and assembling the boxes and arranging for the school supplies to go inside.
Megan Baillio was excited to take on the redecorating of several rooms used for children who stay overnight. She worked with her mother in learning to sew quilt tops and curtains for the rooms. She organized groups at the youth conference to tie the quilts.
Esther Crandall accepted the assignment to make baby-sized blankets for the center. She worked with her mother to learn to make blankets with decorative edgings.

There was snow on the ground and decorations were everywhere. Christmas music played on the radio and people smiled and laughed and shouted, “Merry Christmas!” But this year there was an added excitement for Breana, who told her mother, “I can’t wait!”
Mother laughed. “You say that every year, but somehow you do.”
“But this year is different!” Breana exclaimed. “For nine long years I’ve wanted to be a sister, and now I’m going to be one for Christmas.”
“The baby could come after Christmas,” Mother teased.
“No,” Breana said confidently. “This Christmas I will finally be somebody’s sister.”
Mother hugged Breana to her. “I’m glad you’re so happy.”
“I’ll feed the baby and change its diapers. I’ll be the best babytender in the whole world!” Breana promised.
“I’m sure you will be.” Mother smoothed her daughter’s curly black hair as she walked over to the kitchen sink to start dinner.
Breana sat down at the table and watched. She remembered how graceful and slender her mother used to be. Now she was big and moved awkwardly about the room. Sometimes she stopped her work and rubbed her back.
Breana’s eyes drifted until they settled on the paper-sculpture nativity scene she and Mother had carefully cut out and arranged on the buffet. The figure of Joseph was hovering over Mary as though trying to protect her. Mary was sitting on piled hay with the baby Jesus held tenderly in her arms. The shepherds seemed to be afraid to come too close, yet strained to be as close as they dared. Breana almost thought she could see them moving slightly forward to get a better look at the precious baby.
“Do you want salad with dinner?” Mother interrupted Breana’s thoughts.
“That sounds good,” Breana answered. “Can I help you make it?”
“Of course,” Mother answered.
Breana walked to her mother’s side and began tearing apart the lettuce.
“Just four more days,” Mother said. “Do you really think the baby will get there before Christmas?”
Breana’s eyes turned again to the nativity scene. There was something tender about the way Mary looked at her baby.
“Yes,” Breana said slowly. “I’m sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mother sighed and rubbed her back again.
“Are you all right?” Breana asked.
“Yes,” Mother answered. “I just feel tired.”
“You go sit down,” Breana said. “I can finish the salad.”
Slowly Mother walked over to the kitchen table. Breana watched as she awkwardly braced herself against the table and then slowly lowered herself into a chair. She must hurt, Breana thought and once more looked at the paper statue of Mary.
“How do you think she ever rode the donkey all that way?” Breana asked.
“Who?” Mother asked.
“Mary—before Jesus was born. How could she have traveled all the way to Bethlehem on a donkey? She must have been big and uncomfortable too.”
A tear appeared in the corner of Mother’s eye. “I’m sure it was hard for her,” Mother answered. And she, too, stared at the nativity scene.
For a long moment neither said anything. The tear in mother’s eye slid onto her cheek and she wiped it off with her hand.
“I feel so close to Mary and Joseph and the Christ child,” Breana said. “Closer than I’ve ever felt before. I just know this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
It was nearly morning when Breana’s father tiptoed into her room and gently shook her shoulder until she opened her eyes.
“Breana, you’re a sister!”
“What?” Breana jerked around and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“You have a brand new baby brother.”
Breana threw her arms around her father’s neck. “At last! I’m finally a sister,” she said. “How’s Mother? When can they come home from the hospital? What are we going to name the baby?”
“Wait, Breana, honey. One question at a time. Your mother is fine and the doctor said she could come home Christmas Eve day.”
“That’s wonderful!” Breana exclaimed.
“And your mother said to ask you for suggestions about names,” Father said.
“That’s easy,” Breana responded. “I think we should name him Joseph.”
Father nodded his head thoughtfully.
“That’s a good suggestion. And now, young lady, back to sleep.”
Father left the room, but Breana was too excited to sleep. Finally she tiptoed into the kitchen and turned on the small light over the stove. It seemed to give the nativity scene on the buffet a luminous and dreamy appearance. “I waited so very long to be a sister,” she whispered. “But the whole world waited for this baby.”
Breana walked over to the nativity and traced the outline of the tiny baby with her finger and stared once more into Mary’s face. “You must have been the first person on earth to love Jesus,” she said softly. “And I’m going to be one of the first people on earth to love our new baby.”
She ran her finger once more over the blue blanket (see Luke 2:7) and as she did a thought struck her, almost jolted her. Breana smiled. “All the time I was waiting to become a sister, but I already was one and didn’t realize it!” she murmured.
Breana looked once more at the baby in Mary’s arms, then turned out the light and went back to bed.
The next two days seemed as though they would never end, but at last it was Christmas Eve day. Father and Breana went to the hospital to get Mother and the baby.
Mother kissed Breana’s cheek and asked, “Do you want to hold Joseph?”
“Joseph?” Breana cried.
“What better name for a Christmas brother!” Father said, smiling.
Breana held out her arms and Mother gently placed the baby in them. A warm and loving feeling filled Breana. “It feels so good to be a sister,” she said. Carefully she pulled the blanket back from Joseph’s red pudgy face and smiled at him.
“He’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. Already she knew she loved him. Already she felt that she had known him forever and ever.
Suddenly she was aware of “Silent Night” being played on the car radio. She remembered the nativity scene and Mary holding her baby, a baby who was also her Brother! They would celebrate His birthday tomorrow.

The river eddied fast and smooth around the raft and was a muddy gray color. The air was cool and smelled of snow. It was early spring, May 20. In Canada that’s a holiday celebrating Queen Victoria’s birthday, and for the LDS Branch in Banff, Alberta Province, it’s time for the annual trip down the Kootenay River.
Erwin Oertli is a member of the Banff Branch. He is also a professional river guide who has a government concession to run raft trips in Canada, and on the same weekend each spring he invites the entire Banff Branch, all interested families, on a three-day raft trip down the Kootenay River. He also invites several nonmember friends.
“It’s the best way I know of to introduce them to the Church,” he explained.
The trip began early Saturday morning. The rafts were unloaded on the river bank, inflated, and lifted into the water. Under Brother Oertli’s direction, metal platforms were placed in the rafts and lashed to the sides. Each family loaded and secured its food, supplies, and equipment onto the platforms. Brother Oertli gave final instructions on safety, the river, and handling the rafts. The river runners then buckled on life jackets, and at last the first raft was launched.
The first section of the river was fast and smooth. This gave the oarsmen a chance to get the feel of their rafts. The river reflected gray and liquid silver in the bright sun.
At noon the rafts were beached and Brother Oertli led the group up an old mining road to a ridge that overlooks the river. Below them the Kootenay snaked its way through the high Rocky Mountains of British Columbia. The tops of the mountains were still iced with snow. The long, ivory fingers of glaciers twisted down the slopes of the higher peaks.
After lunch the rafts were launched again. The river dropped faster now, turning sharply around the high slopes that walled it in. These rough-cut river canyons are bordered with stands of columnlike lodge pole pines. There were several sections of rough, white water, but by evening, with the exception of the girl who fell in, the rafts made it to the campsite with little trouble.
Equipment was unloaded and the rafts were pulled onto the shore and tipped over, allowing the water to drain out. In the blue-gray light of evening, tents were set up near a line of jagged pines that shouldered the beach. Fires were built, and the sounds of laughter and voices mixed with the savory aroma of burning pine and of frying steaks and potatoes.
The following morning a testimony meeting, held in the pines, was directed by Harlen Cahoon, a counselor in the Banff Branch presidency. In the meeting nearly everyone from the branch stood and expressed the strong feeling of closeness they felt for each other and for their Father in Heaven.
Brother Cahoon later explained that the testimony meeting on the trip was something everyone looked forward to every year.
“It’s the highlight of the trip,” he said.
After the meeting some of the families spent the afternoon hiking to a ridge that overlooked the river, while others sat by the river or in the shadows of pines, enjoying a steady flow of conversation. Fires were built with wood gathered the night before, and dutch ovens filled with chicken were buried in hot coals for dinner.
Toward evening, high-piled clouds drifted across the sky and the mountain peaks were fogged with gray-white wisps. Rain fell lightly, cooling the earth and scenting the air with the pleasant smells of wet leaves, pine, and aspen. The sky partially cleared as night came.
A cream-white moon, full and large, rose above the river, flooding it with shimmering, silver light that danced on the waves. A large bonfire was built on the beach. The group gathered around its warmth, watching fiery sparks sail up with the moon and the stars. Their soft singing filled the night air.
The next day, late in the afternoon, it was over. Under a fierce barrage of water fighting, the rafts glided into shore where the river intersected a road. The rafts were pulled onto the bank, deflated, and rolled up. Equipment was loaded into waiting cars and trucks, a prayer of thanks was said, and everyone drove for home feeling warm from the sun and from the closeness they felt for each other. Looking forward to the next trip, they left the Kootenay.

Our youngest daughter, Abby, saw a unique opportunity to stand as a defender of the role of mother. One day she got a notice from her children’s school that they were having Career Day presentations at the school. Parents were invited to send in an application if they wanted to come to school to teach the children about their jobs, and Abby felt impressed to apply to come and speak about motherhood. She didn’t hear back from the school, and when Career Day was getting close, she finally called the school, thinking they may have lost her application. The organizers scrambled around and found two teachers who agreed to have Abby come talk to their classes at the end of Career Day.
In her very fun presentation to the children, Abby taught them, among other things, that as a mother she needed to be somewhat of an expert in medicine, psychology, religion, teaching, music, literature, art, finance, decorating, hair styling, chauffeuring, sports, culinary arts, and so much more. The children were impressed. She finished by having the children remember their mothers by writing thank-you notes expressing gratitude for the many loving acts of service they received daily. Abby felt that the children saw their mothers in a whole new light and that being a mother or father was something of great worth. She applied to share again this year at Career Day and was invited to present to six classes.
Abby has said of her experience: “I feel like it could be easy in this world for a child to get the sense that being a parent is a secondary job or even sometimes a necessary inconvenience. I want every child to feel like they are the most important priority to their parent, and maybe telling them how important being a parent is to me will help them realize all that their parents do for them and why.”

Last October my mom told my siblings and me to listen to ward business that Sunday instead of drawing. So when sacrament meeting started, I paid close attention to the opening prayer and the hymn. Once that was over, the person conducting the meeting asked the bishop to stand up. Then he said the bishop was being released.
He asked my dad, who was first counselor at the time, to stand up. Then he announced that my dad was going to be the new bishop!
I was really worried that something about my dad would change drastically. I had always thought bishops were people who were formal and serious, most unlike my dad. That they had perfectly well-behaved kids who sat quietly on the bench every week. That was not my family.
But I realized that bishops aren’t men with perfect families. They aren’t men who are solemn and serious. They are men with the priesthood. Men with strong, good testimonies.
I don’t know why the Lord chose my dad to be the bishop, but I know that He has His reasons. And I know that my dad did change … but not into a stiff and serious man I didn’t know. I could tell his testimony grew.
And so did mine.

Mom put her arm around him and smiled. “You remind me of your great-great-great Grandpa Turner,” she said. “When he joined the Church in England, he had to leave his friends and family to go to Utah.”
Mom got up and walked over to the bookshelf. When she came back, she was flipping through the pages of an old photo album. She pointed to an old black-and-white photo of a man with a beard.
“This is Grandpa Turner,” she said. “When he got to Salt Lake City, Church leaders asked him to move to a small town in the desert several hundred miles away. He didn’t like it there. He thought it was dry, hot, and ugly, and he missed his friends. But he stayed there because he wanted to obey the Lord.”
“What happened after he moved?” he asked.
“He lived there for a few years. But then he had to move back to Salt Lake City because they couldn’t grow enough food in the desert,” Mom said.
William frowned. “But why did Heavenly Father tell him to move somewhere he didn’t like, when he was just going to leave a few years later?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered. “But I do know Grandpa Turner got a lot of blessings by obeying Heavenly Father— like meeting his wife in that small desert town. And he learned important things that helped him serve the Lord for the rest of his life.”

After joining the Church, my great-grandfather, Ole Hansen, emigrated from Norway and settled in Menan, Idaho. In 1925, he obtained employment hauling sand from the Menan Little Butte quarry. As work progressed, workers would drive trucks or teams under a rock overhang to get a new load.
One morning, Grandpa Ole received a strong spiritual prompting: “This hill is going to tip over today.” His first thought was the hill could not possibly collapse, but he eventually investigated the top of the rock ledge. He was alarmed to discover a large crack along the ridge and knew he had to act. Though other workers were skeptical, Grandpa Ole finally convinced all to evacuate. Less than five minutes later, several tons of sand and rock fell where the evacuated men had just been working. Grandpa Ole’s ability to receive and respond to spiritual promptings saved more than 25 men that day.

Set an example of service. The shining moment of the conference came in the form of service. Except for one very rainy morning, the youth spent several hours each day cleaning different areas of the island—picking up trash, cutting weeds and bushes, removing rocks, hauling away garbage. During the conference, they cleaned beaches along the dock area and tidied up the village cemetery, the church grounds and building, and the local soccer field, which had become little more than a garbage dump and an eyesore.
Mani Terooatea is a Laurel from Takaroa home on vacation from Japan, where she has been studying the technique of pearl grafting (placing tiny pieces of mussel shells inside oysters in order to cultivate pearls). Mani said, “It was super to clean up the field, to see everyone working side by side. It didn’t take long, and I’m glad we could leave the place cleaner than we found it.” Mani brought along a friend who is a member of another faith. The friend, Hina Dexter, developed a new appreciation for Latter-day Saints, as did several other non-LDS participants.

Danny clutched his new sailboat tightly as he walked with his mother toward the pond in the park. Today he was going to sail his boat for the first time. Carefully he set it on the water. Then, holding onto a long string attached to the boat, he watched as a breeze caught the sail and moved the boat across the water.
On the other side of the pond, another boy was also watching the sailboat. Danny felt proud when he saw his sailboat skimming easily across the pond, and he wondered if the other boy wished that he had a sailboat too.
Before Danny realized it, the string attached to the boat slipped from his hand. He looked at his boat getting farther and farther from him. “Mom! Mom! My boat’s getting away!” he shouted.
“Don’t worry,” Mother said. “The wind will probably blow it back to where you can reach it.”
Danny waited, but the breeze stopped, and the sailboat just sat in the middle of the pond.
Suddenly the boy on the other side of the pond picked up some rocks and began throwing them into the water near the boat.
Danny ran to the water’s edge and yelled. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re going to sink my boat!”
The boy ignored Danny and kept throwing rocks.
Danny’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his new boat moving wildly up and down in the splashing water. “Oh, Mother, I hate that boy. I hate him!” he cried.
Suddenly Danny realized that his boat was getting closer to the opposite shore. Finally the boy reached out with a stick and pulled the boat to him.
“Now he’s going to steal my boat!” Danny wailed.
The boy picked up the boat and ran around the pond. To Danny’s surprise, the boy handed him the sailboat.
“Hi. My name’s Bobby. I thought I could get your boat back for you by throwing rocks into the water and making the water ripple to move your boat.”
Danny felt his face get hot. He was sorry he had shouted at the boy, and he felt ashamed for saying he hated Bobby.
Danny smiled at the other boy and said, “Thanks, Bobby. Would you like a turn at sailing my boat? I just got it yesterday.”

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares.”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

At the age of 17 I went with my parents on a trip to Mexico and Central America. I am the youngest and with the others gone from home it was just the three of us. We saw so many wonderful places and ancient archeological sites. On one occasion, we arrived at a pyramid, we stood at the base and marveled at the grand structure before us. With much excitement and anticipation, we started up the steps. There were so many people, going up and down so many steps. In his excitement, my dad soon outpaced us in our ascension. We were perhaps an eighth of the way up when my mom suddenly froze. Grabbing on to the step just in front of her so tight she exclaimed “I can’t do this. I’m stuck! “I can’t go up; I can’t go down. I will just have to stay right here.” I Looked around for my Dad only to find he was nowhere in sight, so, I tried to reason with her saying, “Let’s just take a break for a bit.” But each time I ventured some encouragement she would announce firmly, “but I can’t move.” So, there we were. I was sitting next to her on the very step she was clutching with her hands while she faced upward, absolutely frozen.

Until this point our life’s roles had been reversed, with her helping me. Gently guiding me through life’s big problems, big pyramids which seemed insurmountable at the time. She was gentle, soft and soothing. This time however, she needed me. Was I ready? Certainly, her example through my life had provided me with sufficient preparation.

Initially I needed to get my mom’s focus away from her predicament, so, very tenderly I coaxed her to turn around and sit down. Then, I suggested to her to just think of one step at a time. This seemed to be something she could do. So, gingerly at first, we ventured down one simple step. At first, I actually had to move and place her feet on the next downward step. Our progress was slow but steadily we made our way down. We went down that pyramid together scooting on our rear ends one step at a time. Until we made it safely to solid ground.For the rest of the pyramid sight-seeing, my mom spent her time on the ground, under a shady tree while my Dad and I climbed around, up and down.

I’ve been in the waiting place before. When I was in my early 20s, I watched my friends, one by one, hit big life milestones—graduating from college, getting married, having kids, starting careers. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was getting left behind. Like everyone else had boarded the bus of life, but I’d somehow missed it. And I had no idea if it was ever going to come back for me.
My life didn’t look the way I had always pictured when I read my patriarchal blessing. Some things had gone according to plan, but other things hadn’t. I didn’t understand why my life wasn’t working out the way I wanted. I had always tried to do the right thing. I read my scriptures, attended church, kept the commandments, and tried my best to do all that the Lord has asked us to. But it often seemed like the blessings I longed for would never come.
The waiting place can be a dreary home, and it didn’t take long for the gloom to sink in. Every day I pleaded with the Lord to grant me my righteous desires. I felt stuck. Stagnant. Helpless.
But whenever I felt my hope slipping, I made a topical study of it. I read scripture after scripture containing words like hope, wait, and patience. The more I searched, the more uplifted I felt by the examples and promises I found:
“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles” (Isaiah 40:31).
“Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
“Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart” (Psalm 27:14).
“Thou shalt know that I am the Lord: for they shall not be ashamed that wait for me” (Isaiah 49:23).
As I studied, my attitude changed. I began to see how waiting could strengthen me if I approached the Lord with patience and faith. The verse that had the biggest impact on me was 2 Nephi 6:13: “The people of the Lord are they who wait for him.”
I realized that the Lord is constantly waiting for me. He’s waiting for me to see a problem, admit a wrong, swallow my pride, get on my knees, do the right thing. He’s infinitely patient with me, even when I don’t deserve it. He waits for me every day.
And I decided that I would wait for Him too.
I learned that the waiting place doesn’t have to be a gloomy or useless place. With an eternal perspective, it can become a place of joy and hope. We can choose to accept our time of waiting as a blessing from a loving God and use that time to develop ourselves, draw closer to Him, and prepare for future blessings. If we rely on the Lord, He can help us turn the waiting place into the growing place.

One of the men who touched my life was the late Elder John A. Widtsoe, a man who graduated summa cum laude from Harvard after three instead of four years, who was given that last year an award for the greatest depth specializing in his field (which was chemistry); but they also gave an award that year for the student who had shown the greatest breadth of interests, which he also received. Brother Widtsoe has written perceptively about the temple and temple worship. I heard him say in sacred circumstances that the promise was given him by a patriarch when he was a mere boy in Norway: “Thou shalt have great faith, in the ordinances of the Lord’s House.” And so he did. I’ve heard him say that the temple is so freighted with depth understanding, so loaded with symbolic grasp of life and its eternal significance, that only a fool would attempt in mere prosaic restatement to give it in a comprehensive way. I’ve heard him say that the temple is a place of revelation. And he did not divorce that concept from the recognition that the problems you and. I have are often very practical, very realistic, down-to-earth problems. He often said, “I would rather take my practical problems to the house of the Lord than anywhere else.” And in his book In a Sunlit Land he describes a day when, having been frustrated for months, I assume, in trying to pull together a mass of data he had compiled to come up with a formula, he took his companion, his wife, to the Logan Temple to forget his failure. And in one of the rooms of that structure, there came, in light, the very answer he had heretofore failed to find. Two books on agrarian chemistry grew out of that single insight-a revelation in the temple of God.

Last year the Williamsport Pennsylvania Stake Laurels hiked through the little village of Nauvoo—but not in Illinois. They hiked through Nauvoo, Pennsylvania, and learned about its history. The Williamsport stake covers a large area encompassing 11 counties, and some of the girls are the only members in their entire high school. So learning about once-thriving congregations of early Latter-day Saints within their present-day stake boundaries is inspiring to them.
The young women stopped to talk to an elderly man at the edge of the road on the outskirts of Nauvoo. Earl, age 70, a lifelong resident confirmed that his Nauvoo community was a Mormon settlement during the 1840s and named after the Mormon city in Illinois. “Our borough was named Nauvoo by a prominent Mormon leader,” he said. When asked what he thought the word Nauvoo meant, he was unsure and thought it might be a Native American word. Earl seemed pleased to learn that Nauvoo is Hebrew and means beautiful, a place of rest and beauty.

But even knowing about God and our relationship to Him and doing the things that will enable us to understand those truths at a deeper level will not lead us to a full understanding of who we really are. For just as there is a difference between knowing about something and doing something, there is an equally big difference between doing something and being something.

Let me explain what I mean. In my opinion, the greatest basketball player of all-time was Bill Russell—Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant notwithstanding. In 21 seasons of playing organized basketball, Bill Russell won 18 championships, including 11 NBA championships, 9 of them in a row. He won an NCAA championship, an Olympic gold medal, and an NBA championship—all in a single year. Russell obviously knew a lot about basketball. And he just as obviously knew how to do (or play) basketball.

Russell tended to stand out in a crowd. He was 6"9" and had a unique goatee. He was also notoriously unapproachable. When he was traveling, people regularly asked him if he was a basketball player. He always said no. His teammates often were exasperated with this answer—thinking Russell was being sarcastic or condescending. After seeing this scenario repeat itself yet again in an airport, one of his teammates, John Havlichek, finally summoned up the courage to ask Russell why he denied being a basketball player when it was obvious that he was and that he was one of the best known basketball players of his time. Russell's answer was profound: "Basketball is what I do, it's not who I am."

Bill Russell understood that there is a difference between doing something and being something. That is true of our quest for a full knowledge of who we are as well. Our divine destiny is not to "do" something, but to "be" something—to be gods and goddesses.

Because I also work in and love construction, let’s consider this humorous story about the way these tools feel when everyone gets together in the toolbox.

Some tools lived together in a carpenter’s shop. They were having some problems getting along, and some complained that others were not doing their share of work. They met to discuss their issues.

The Hammer spoke first, for he served as the chairman. “Brother Drill,” he began, “you and your family are so noisy. And you seem to spin in circles but go nowhere.”

The Drill quickly spoke up. “It’s true that I go around in circles, and my work makes noise. But at least I’m sharp. Pencil is small and often so dull that he makes a bad impression. He needs to be sharpened a bit if he expects to be of any use around here.”

Pencil felt defensive and spoke up. “Yes,” he began, “I’m a little blunt at times, but it’s because I work hard at my job. At least I’m not rough like Sandpaper here. It seems all he does is rub things the wrong way!”

That remark made Sandpaper really angry. “Hey, what about Ruler, here? He measures others by his standards, as though he is the only one right around here.”

Ruler surveyed the group and said, “I’ll go if I have to, but then so must the Screwdriver. He’s so annoying, always tightening here and loosening there.”

Screwdriver angrily spat out, “Fine with me! I’ll go, but Plane must go, too. His work is superficial; there’s no depth to it!” he said.

To this, Plane leveled his terse reply, “Saw’s cuts hurt, and divides instead of unifies.”

Saw rose up to answer these accusations when suddenly a noise at the door stopped all conversation.

The Carpenter walked in, ready to begin the day’s work. He put on his tool belt and stepped to the workbench. He picked up the pencil and ruler. Carefully he measured and marked the wood before him. He sawed along the marks and then planed the cut edges of the wood to smooth the rough edges. He hammered joints into place and drilled holes for screws to make the piece sturdy. Then he sandpapered the wood to a silky smoothness. All day long he worked, using first one tool, and then another.

At the end of the day, he gave a hearty blow and blew the dust from the finished product. And then he said, “Beautiful! I couldn’t have done it without my tools. Each one had an important role to play. No one tool could have done all the jobs. They’re all important.”

The problem each of these tools had was pointing blame to the others. They seemed to gain their individual value based on the fact that they were better than someone else. They forgot the rule to identify the problem, not just blame the other tools in the toolbox. It took the touch of the carpenter’s hand to use these tools for their intended purpose, to help each individual know what they were placed there to do. As we allow the Savior Jesus Christ into our lives, and build a relationship with Him, He will help us to see our relationships in a brighter light and we will begin to care for, minister to, and love all of God’s children in a more caring and compassionate way.

Some years ago during the war, Elder John A. Widtsoe went to the land of Great Britain to preside over the European Mission. When the immigration official saw his papers and who he was, he said, “Nothing doing. We have been letting your missionaries in, but we don’t want any of your leaders—go sit down.” So Brother Widtsoe went and sat down.
In a few minutes, he called him back and he said, “If I let you enter my country, what will you teach my countrymen?”
And Brother Widtsoe said, “I’ll teach them where they came from, and why they are here, and where they are going.”
The man looked up at him and he said, “Does your church teach that?”
And Brother Widtsoe said, “It does.”
“Well, mine doesn’t,” he said.
To me, that knowledge is worth more than all the wealth in this world. If we don’t know where we came from, and we don’t know why we are here, and we don’t know where we are going, nor how to get there, we are just like a ship on the ocean without a rudder, or a sail, or anyone to guide it. We might keep afloat, but we would never come into port.

Too often we hear the lame, mediocre, slack-handed excuse to give up on marriage: "We just drifted apart. We just aren't the same people we were when we fell in love." My wife and I started our life together with a rich vision. We had a distant dream we were working toward and we've worked every day together toward our goals. If you set your sights on a star and you work together in the same spaceship every day to reach that star, you will not drift apart, but will truly become one. The day of our marriage in the Idaho Falls Temple, after everyone else had congratulated us and left the room, my mother hugged me and said, "Son, a celestial marriage was not made today. A celestial marriage is made every day for the rest of your life."

Guillermo Soto, his wife, Pilar, and their children are like many Chileans who have found the Church during the past four decades.
“The missionaries would always greet us in the street,” Pilar recalls. “One day they asked whether they could come over for a visit. I told them we wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation in our home because our eight children made a lot of noise. One of the elders replied, ‘Excellent! I have five brothers and sisters myself.’”
The missionaries came, and their message rang true. Soto family members, who had often spent evenings together singing and playing games, embraced the family home evening program. Word of Wisdom warnings against tobacco coincided with familial prohibitions against smoking in the home, but posed a challenge for Guillermo, a professional musician who directs music for television programs.
“As a teenager I had found peace and love by studying the Bible,” Guillermo says. “But I later lost my way and began living a worldly life.”
The Soto children who were old enough were baptized in 1994, but Pilar waited until her husband was ready. Guillermo struggled with the Word of Wisdom until his prayers about the gospel’s truthfulness were answered.
“I received an answer many times,” he says. “Once I imagined seeing myself come up out of the waters of baptism pure and clean, and I began to weep. I felt something very special and decided that I needed to get baptized.”
Brother Soto left behind his struggles with the Word of Wisdom but kept his musician friends. “My presence in my group of friends is important,” he says. “I am preaching the gospel by leading a new life. Little by little my friends will become interested in the Church.”
These days the sounds coming from the Soto home include prayers of thanksgiving and the harmony of Guillermo, Pilar, and their children singing gospel hymns. The closeness they shared before baptism has increased as their understanding of the gospel has grown. In their Tierra del Fuego Ward in north Santiago, Brother and Sister Soto serve respectively as elders quorum president and Relief Society president.
“I had always asked God to put me on a path where I could grow with my family, where Pilar and I could do the right things for our children, where they could grow strong and find some heaven on earth,” Brother Soto says. “It has been a long journey, but at last we are on that path.”

As I spoke in general conference 25 years ago, I introduced a visual aid who stood beside me. It was my eldest grandson. He had recently received the Aaronic Priesthood and been ordained a deacon. I took the opportunity on that occasion to address my remarks to him on the importance of receiving the Aaronic Priesthood.
I said to my grandson:
“I am not overly pleased with worldly conditions that you and other young men are inheriting as you assume your role in moving toward manhood. While those of us who are older have been of an age and position to influence the world, I believe we’ve greatly failed you in what we have allowed the conditions in the world to become. This places you in a position where many of those with whom you must associate have not been reared with an understanding of or respect for traditional values. Thus, peer pressure becomes much more difficult and extreme.
“We have brought into our homes radios, record players, and television sets. While each has the potential of providing wholesome entertainment, so much of what has been produced for our listening and watching pleasure is not of the caliber to inspire and encourage young men. In fact, most of what is produced is degrading. The flip of a switch right in your own home has the potential of destroying within you a sense of what is right and what is wrong” (“I Confer the Priesthood of Aaron,” Ensign, Nov. 1985, 46).
I also taught my grandson Terry four lessons based on the story of Daniel in the Old Testament. I told him to (1) keep his body healthy and clean, (2) develop his mind and become wise, (3) be strong and resist temptation in a world filled with it, and (4) trust in the Lord, especially when you need His protection.
I closed my counsel to Terry with these words: “These stories in the scriptures will never grow old. They will be just as exciting for you when you are reading them as a deacon, a teacher, a priest, a missionary, a home teacher, an elders quorum president, or whatever the Lord calls on you to do. They will teach you to have faith, courage, love for your fellowmen, confidence, and trust in the Lord” (Ensign, Nov. 1985, 48).
I am happy to report that Terry has been faithful to the charge I gave him 25 years ago. He later received the Melchizedek Priesthood, served a faithful mission, currently serves as an elders quorum president, and of course is a father of a beautiful daughter.