Gospel Story Finder

When I was 12 years old, me and my older siblings decided to find another church to help us better live the teaching of Jesus Christ as we understood in the Bible. We became like the Wise Men at the Savior’s Birth, seeking for Christ.

My mother, Dorothy, is the oldest of twelve children. My mother’s sister, Katherine Warren, we call her Aunt Rene, was the first member of our family to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She lived in New Orleans, Louisiana and was baptized on Christmas Day 1976. [1]

Aunt Rene shared the gospel with our family by holding a Family Bible Study. [2] She would travel from New Orleans to Baton Rouge often to hold Bible Study with her 11 siblings and their children, all at my mom’s house in Baton Rouge under a huge oak tree. Aunt Rene would teach us the gospel of Jesus Christ using the Bible and the Book of Mormon. Aunt Rene was guided by the Lord on how to teach us. She was shown in a vision that some members of her family would be baptized.

As a result of her teachings and lessons with the missionaries, 13 members of my family were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on January 21, 1979. We found Christ! It was a large baptism in the South and Church News recorded it. [3]

In 1982, my wife and I had talked about how blessed we had been as a family. We knew several others who had gone through adversity, and wondered when our day would come. It came at 6:00pm on December 28th, 3 days after Christmas. It was a life-changing wake-up call. Our oldest son, Brian, who was a deacon at the time, was playing on the snow machine we had purchased for Christmas. He had gone on his last ride, taking his cousin along. It was getting dark. He was killed instantly as they hit a sprinkler line on wheels, which was not visible because of its height and its silver color against the snowy field. The impact knocked Brian off the machine and broke his neck. His cousin was not injured. Every fast Sunday, Brian, had been the first one to bear his testimony and express how much he wanted to go on a mission. We envisioned he would receive a call like most young men at the age of 19. Our lives were changed! Our hearts were broken! Our spirits were more contrite! Our empathy for others was more pure! The following month, on the 26th of January, my wife and I went to the temple to do his work. I felt his presence with me as I was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood and received the endowment for him. It was an emotional experience at the veil, and I wept as I felt him quickly leave, and knew he was happy to begin preaching "in the great world of the spirits of the dead."[22]

The bus pulled into the parking lot of the hotel at 10:00 P.M. and deposited 36 nervously excited singers, a load of stage equipment, and a couple of dazed advisers who were showing the effects of a 16-hour bus ride. Inside the hotel’s ballroom Bob Hope was finishing up a few jokes while 750 Hollywood celebrities and top military officials finished their dinner. In the parking lot a few last-minute instructions were given, a prayer was offered, and on the cue of “Footprints, let’s go!” the Footprints of Freedom entered the Beverly Wilshire Hotel to entertain at the annual Air Force Ball.
The group had left Provo the night before and had not really slept since. After the show they would have six hours of sleep before the bus picked them up for the return trip to Provo. But cramped buses, lack of sleep, and a steady diet of roadside hamburgers are minor inconveniences when the Footprints have the chance to sing about America’s proud 200 years.
The performance at the Air Force Ball was a rousing success. General David C. Jones, Air Force Chief of Staff, personally came backstage after the performance to congratulate the Footprints. The group was invited to film a short segment in a movie for the Air Force, and it was nearly midnight before everyone got back to their hotel rooms. At 6:00 A.M. the bus would arrive for the return trip. There’d be another round of “Good,” “Bad,” and “Ugly” awards, another luggage rack rotation, and another 16-hour bus ride.
But it had been worth it—they had sung about America for 20 minutes. And during those 20 minutes perhaps one person had decided not to let the good land pass him by.

But where does man’s research go from there? He seems to analyze the physical nature very well, but he is lost as to his ultimate destiny. There is, of course, danger in such a course, researched wholly from a scientific or biological viewpoint. And I say danger advisedly, to the extent that the real purpose of man’s creation and his identity as an external being is lost. I say this because I once heard a professor say to me that he had difficulty in maintaining his testimony because he knew too much, indicating that he had some conflict between his intellectual genius and his spiritual nature. Perhaps this is what J. Golden Kimball referred to when he said, “They are educated beyond their intelligence.”

Fortunately, I know that that professor weathered the storm in his soul. He is now a patriarch and could not function in that office without a strong spiritual conviction. But we must always remember the possibility of being caught up so much in the academic to the point where it might obliterate the reality of God.

Hal nevertheless completed his degree in physics in 1955 before entering the U.S. Air Force. The Korean War had recently ended, and the number of young men called as full-time missionaries from each ward had been restricted. For a period of time the Mission Home in Salt Lake City was closed, and no missionaries went into the field. In a blessing, however, his bishop promised him that his military service would be his mission. Two weeks after arriving at the Sandia Base near Albuquerque, New Mexico, Hal was called as a district missionary in the Western States Mission—a calling he fulfilled in evenings and on weekends during the two years he was in the military.

The next year, Iris was born. Lyle said, “I thought of a lot of things, but other people had tried them and they didn’t work. I was in over my head. But I’m always in over my head. I found out that there is another way to have a robot ‘see’ other than using big, huge, complex computers. It was to simplify things. All the robot needs to recognize is one object—the floor. Anything that’s not the floor must be an obstacle.”

This time, Lyle knew what he needed to do to succeed. He kept meticulous records. He perfected his presentation. And he made sure Iris was working at her best. He knew his information backward and forward.

While at the international competition in Louisville, Kentucky, disaster struck. Iris’s eye—the digital camera—was damaged in shipping. An hour before his presentation, Lyle had the camera apart, working on it. “As soon as something goes wrong, especially at the science fair, there is no time for sitting back and wondering. You have to do something and do it now. No sense getting angry. It’s a waste of time. When the eye broke, I started diagnosing it. How am I going to fix it? How am I going to change my display? That’s one thing my dad teaches. You can’t be a victim. It’s up to you to make sure things are going right for you. Is your teacher a jerk? It doesn’t matter. It’s up to you to get a grade. You can’t leave it up to somebody else or put the blame on somebody else.”

This time Lyle and Iris took some honors. He won the prestigious U.S. Army Gold Medal for Science and Engineering. And he took second prize in the fair’s engineering division.

Three years after losing our first baby, Brooke and I welcomed our daughter, Penny, into the world.
She is beautiful. She is full of light. And every time I hold her, I feel hope: Hope that God sees the full story. Hope that sorrow isn’t the end. Hope that joy can be born from mourning.
Penny doesn’t erase our pain, but she reminds us that God was never absent. He was with us in the silence. He was preparing something beautiful, something we couldn’t see yet. And here’s something I’ve come to believe with my whole heart: God doesn’t just want to hear from you when you’re thankful. He wants to hear from you when you’re sad. When you’re frustrated. When you’re angry, helpless, or confused. Not because He’s waiting to scold you, but because He loves you. Because you’re His. Because He’s a Father who wants a relationship, not just performance.

I learned the importance of words by reading Vaclav Havel. As a citizen of communist Czechoslovakia, Havel used his words to oppose the communist government. The communists knew the power of words and policed their use carefully - there was no freedom of speech in the Soviet system and Havel found himself in jail a few times because of his words. In 1977, Havel wrote an illegal essay titled, "The Power of the Powerless." In that essay, Havel described a common phenomenon in his country. In every store window was a sign placed there by the shop owner. The sign read: "Workers of the world, unite!" The shop owners did not necessarily believe the slogan's Marxist ideology. All knew that if the sign was not posted, the shop owner would be visited by the state police. While most ignored the signs, Havel recognized their insidious message. The sign was a tacit acknowledgment that the shop owner had accepted his life under the communist system, feared the state's power, and would obediently comply with the state's other dehumanizing demands. The shop owner's sign was like a single brick, but each shop owner's brick together formed a bridge that spanned the gulf between what the people feared and despised and the reality of a totalitarian government. The shop owner's simple act of displaying this sign, Havel wrote, "Confirm the system, fulfill the system, make the system, are the system." In other words, displaying the simple words of a sign that no one believed, created a world of appearances that justified and realized an unnatural and immoral political order.

Havel predicted, however, that communism would collapse peacefully overnight, because the powerless people would at some point get fed up with the world of appearances and stop supporting it. At that time, the bridge would collapse, and communism would crumble.

In1984, Havel wrote another essay noting emerging cracks in big brother's system resulting from a few courageous individuals who were willing to say openly what others only dared whisper privately. Alexander Solzhenitsyn's book, The Gulag Archipelago, unmasked Stalinism by revealing the thousands of innocents locked away in a massive and horrible penal system, victims of Stalin's efforts to control society through mass terror. The physicist Andrei Sakharov's single voice, Havel wrote, can be heard over the continents . . . more clearly than entire brigades of hired propagandists. And Lech Walesa, "One simple electrician with his heart in the right place . . . and free of fear," was shaking the communist system with all its "army of soldiers, policemen, and bureaucrats." Havel concluded that "wholly personal categories like good and evil still have their unambiguous content," and "truth and morality . . . have an undeniable political power."

In the West, leaders such as England's Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher contributed to ending the Cold War, according to the eminent Cold War historian John Lewis Gaddis, by following Winston Churchill's example of using "words not euphemisms, to speak truths, not platitudes."

Havel's 1977 prediction came true twelve years later when communism throughout Eastern Europe collapsed, peacefully, almost overnight. The first to succeed in this fight was the simple electrician from Poland, Lech Walesa. Whether backed by political power or not, right words speaking truth have power to change the world.

As time went on, being surrounded by the normalcy of others drinking alcohol made it difficult for me to keep my standards. Going to pubs with clients and coworkers was a regular circumstance I would find myself in. I grew tired of having to explain myself when I turned down a drink, and sometimes I just wanted to fit in.
But beyond wanting to fit in, I wanted to be an example of a disciple of Jesus Christ, so I learned a few ways to help me resist temptation:
I prayed for strength each morning to make good decisions.
I often listened to conference talks or hymns on my way to work.
I kept my favorite scripture taped to my bathroom mirror to read each day: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).
I enlisted the help of my closest coworkers, asking them to support me when others would offer me “just one drink.” They could tell when I was feeling uncomfortable and would kindly jump in and order me a “sparkling water on the rocks” to help me avoid feeling awkward during these gatherings.
I worked with many other religious individuals who had similar morals. There were a few practicing Muslims whom I bonded with, and we often sat together during work functions so we could have strength in numbers. Surrounding myself with like-minded people who respected my standards helped me immensely (see Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).
I strove to focus on my baptismal covenant to “always remember Him” (see Doctrine and Covenants 20:77, 79), which helped me feel the Spirit more abundantly. I had promised to follow God and be a disciple of Christ, and seeking to always remember the Savior helped me keep an eternal and infinite perspective in the most finite moments of temptation.
But what has helped me most in resisting temptation is knowing that the Lord has a higher purpose for keeping all of His commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. And I know that remaining true to the commandments has always blessed my life in so many ways. (See Doctrine and Covenants 82:10.)
I’ve realized that the Word of Wisdom is more than just going without alcohol and other strong substances. Heavenly Father gave us this commandment to help us maintain good health and practice self-mastery, to protect us from potentially crippling addictions and other consequences, and to allow us to find greater wisdom and knowledge (see Doctrine and Covenants 89).
I’ve seen that when we demonstrate obedience to the simple things the Lord asks of us, our capacity and desire to keep all of His commandments grows, and we can learn to overcome even greater temptations and challenges (see 2 Nephi 28:30).
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and that through His strength and the Savior’s, I can overcome peer pressure and temptation. I always remember Alma 7:11–12, which explains how the Savior understands all we face—pains, afflictions, and even temptations. He knows how “to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As I have relied on Jesus Christ to help me in my weaknesses, I have felt His strength enter my life, and I more fully see that He truly does understand us. And when we are faced with temptation, He is ready to help us see the bigger picture and choose well. All we need to do is turn to Him.

Around the world needles have been slipping through satins, calicos, muslins, and velvets, stitches taken tiny and neat. No ordinary sewing projects, these—they’re works sewn from the strong threads of testimony, thankfulness, love of family, and all the lovely feelings a young woman holds sweet in her life.
What’s the occasion?
The young women of the Church have made banners to celebrate the Church’s 150th anniversary!
“A banner lets you express what’s important to you,” explained Shauna Stebers of the Northwest First Ward, Chicago Illinois Stake. “It’s not just a sewing project—it’s a part of your personality, of what’s important to you and how you feel about the gospel. And it’s a special reminder of the Church’s sesquicentennial that you’ll be able to pass down to your children and to their children.”
If you could float your thoughts or goals high above the crowd for the world to see, what would you show them? Some young women quilted or sewed slogans on their banners like “Plant happiness and love will grow,” or “I love and sustain our prophet,” or “Prayer is so simple it’s like quietly opening a door.” Other young women filled their banners with symbols of their heritage and goals. And all of them spent long hours designing, planning, and sewing the banners (often with the help of mom, dad, brothers, or sisters).
And the stories the banners tell! Marylynne Aposhina of the Hunter Ninth Ward, Hunter Utah West Stake, designed her banner after an oriental rug her great grandfather, Zadik Moses Aposhina, had made. A wealthy rug designer, her grandfather was forced to flee Armenia because of persecution against Christians. He lost his wealth, and some of his family members were sold as slaves in Mexico, but after overwhelming struggles, they finally reached the Salt Lake Valley.
“Making the banner helped me appreciate my heritage even more,” said Marylynne. “My mother and grandmother and I had fun together doing it, too. I don’t get to do things with both of them very often.”
Teuila Matua, a Mia Maid from the West Jordan 24th Ward, West Jordan Utah South Stake, whose first name means “Ginger Flower,” is Samoan, and her banner reflected her heritage. Her banner was symbolic of a taupaou (handmaiden) of Samoa, who must be of royal family, must be pure, and have dignity.
Teuila explained, “My heritage and the work of the Lord go hand in hand. First, I am born of the royal birthright of Christ. Second, I have purity in keeping clean thoughts and maintaining moral standards. Third, I have dignity in studying the scriptures, attending Church meetings, and keeping the commandments of the Lord.”
Mary Lou Beilfuss, a Laurel from the Holladay 17th Ward, Salt Lake Olympus Stake, earned the money for her banner by working at a grocery store. The theme of her banner was eternal life.
“It helped me understand more about the recent death of my father, because I studied more about eternal life. The subject was on my mind a lot, and the banner gave me the opportunity to express it on material.
“My mother and sister helped me make it. We are very close already, but working together helped us share our love. I feel close to them because they’re always willing to help. We also shared tears together because the banner had a very special meaning. It made my sister and I think of our father and my mom of her husband.
“I learned from making this banner that I am a daughter of God and that he is there when I call. It has helped my self-image and helped me grow closer to my Heavenly Father. Also, it comforted me about my father’s death,” said Mary Lou.
Many of the young women earned the money needed for the banner by themselves. Others made their banners from materials they already had. LeeAnn Cox of the West Jordan 36th Ward, West Jordan Utah Stake, raised the money by babysitting, giving rides on her horse, and selling bread.
And the excitement of making the banners was often contagious. Annett Pemberton, a Laurel from the Bluffdale Second Ward, Riverton Utah Stake, spread her enthusiasm for the banner to her friends and family. “I included everyone as I prepared my banner—mother, father, all 11 brothers and sisters, 5 friends, my basketball coach, and my sewing teacher at school. I learned that friends can make a big difference in a person’s life if you give them the chance to help.” Annett’s brothers and sisters each made a quilted patch with their name on it for the bottom of her banner. The patchwork symbolizes love, purity, and loyalty to the gospel, Annett explained, and her theme is “A Quilt for My Lord.”
And there are many, many other stories that the banners tell. LeeAnn Cox’s banner was in honor of her pioneer ancestors whose son was lost while they traveled across Nebraska. The mother pinned a red shawl on the shoulders of her husband who was to search along the trail for the lost son. The bright shawl waving in the evening sun let a mother, sick with worry, know that all was well.
Kjersti Harward’s banner honors her grandparents in Sweden who dearly wanted to come to America after they joined the Church. Even though they saved enough money, they decided they couldn’t leave their parents, who were unable to make the strenuous journey. Her grandparents sacrificed by remaining in Sweden until their parents no longer needed them.
Displaying the banners has been just as exciting as making them, many of the young women have found. For the Pioneer Day Parade in the Salt Lake Valley, 1,500 young women dressed in white marched up Salt Lake streets, heads erect, banners pointed towards the sky. Thirty-six young women dressed in costumes from around the world marched alongside. And a band of 76 young women playing flute, drum, and clarinet accompanied them all by playing hymns.
In Pasadena, California, at the Rose Bowl, 400 young women dressed in white displayed their banners to the audience gathered for a regional dance festival. And throughout the Church, programs are being held in special meetings where the young women have the opportunity of displaying their banners and bearing their testimonies.
“Making the banners can bring you special opportunities and blessings, even if you can’t march in the 24th of July parade like we did,” said Alyson Barlow of the Monument Park 16th Ward, Salt Lake Monument Park Stake. “It lets you say how you feel about the gospel and brings you closer to whoever helps you.”
Lanette Madsen of the Butler 16th Ward, Salt Lake Wasatch Stake, agreed. “It’s helped me grow so much and can be a great missionary tool. We were able to display our banners and explain them to the people who attended the World Conference on Records. Thousands of people were there, many of them non-Mormons, and I think we were able to touch the hearts of the people who saw us. Many of them were from other countries, and even if they didn’t know our language, they could still feel our spirit.”
“It gives you a good opportunity to spread the gospel, because people ask you what your banner is about. It’s an easy way to talk to them about yourself and the gospel and what you believe,” said Becca Briggs of the Oak Hills 5th Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake.
For many of these nimble-fingered seamstresses, their banners have pulled a shower of blessings down from the sky. It’s given them the chance to learn more about their heritage, to get closer to their families, and to pass their testimonies down to future generations. And to top it off, they’ll have a lasting reminder of the Church’s 150th birthday.
As Jeannie Winters of the Taylorsville Utah North Stake, 14th Ward, put it, “I think all the young women should make banners, because if they don’t, they’re passing up a great experience they’ll remember all their life.”

The October dawn was frosty as I helped load our belongings into the covered wagon. The weight I carried in my ten-year-old heart was heavier than the bundles of clothes and food under which I struggled. It just isn’t fair, I thought. I don’t want to leave our home and my friends and travel three hundred miles to an unknown place.
It was 1877, and our home near St. George, Utah Territory, was already one of the farthest away from Salt Lake City.
My mother called. “Mary Agnes, please make sure everything is cleared from the back porch before we leave.”
As I made my way around the house, I thought back to the day six months ago when my father had returned from the dedication of the St. George Temple. Mother and I had stayed home because my baby brother was very ill. One look at Father told me that something serious had happened.
Mother spoke first. “William, what is the matter?”
My strong father took her in his arms with tears streaming down his face. “We must leave our beautiful home.” He could say no more.
Leave? How could we leave? After years of saving and doing without, we had finally been able to buy 260 acres of farmland and build a comfortable brick home where the ten of us could live. We had many horses, cattle, and other farm animals. We lived near my grandmother and my cousins. I was able to attend the school in town. Who would ask us to sacrifice all this?
Later, I heard my parents discussing what was happening. Families were needed to extend Church settlements and influence farther south. Brigham Young had called my father to move with his family. He counseled my father to sell all that we had so that we would not be tempted to return to Utah. We were needed in Arizona.
Arizona. A place where there was very little water. Where there were great distances with nothing to see. Men had been called there by the prophet last year. Many had returned to Utah because they could not endure the hardships. Father said no greater sacrifice could be asked of him.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “It is hard to leave, is it not, Mary Agnes? Do you know the real reason we are moving?”
I shook my head.
“We are going to Arizona because the prophet gave that call to us. Remember what I told you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with nonmember neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship as we pleased in peace.
“Terrible as it was to leave our home, there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go to the unsettled desert. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could make excuses to not go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me to her as she continued. “In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.’*
“Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago that we would follow the counsel of the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I gained strength to face the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed in the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I would follow the prophet, even to the last frontier.
We have been promised that the President of the Church, as the revelator for the Church, will receive guidance for all of us. Our safety lies in paying heed to that which he says and following his counsel.
President James E. Faust(Ensign, August 1996, page 6).

When I was young, I always wanted everyone to feel included. If children on the playground were being picked on, I wanted to be their friend. I remember befriending one girl other children were mean to. Years later, after I was married, she was my neighbor. When I saw her, we happily greeted one another. I thought, “Look at her now. She’s a wonderful mother who serves well and works hard to teach her children.” I am so glad that when I was little I was nice to her. Then when I saw her again, I didn’t have any regrets. We were still friends.

It’s been five years now since I drank any coffee but sometimes the smell of it reminds me of those years when I drank so much of it that now even I find the amount unbelievable. My day would begin with a cup of coffee as I told myself I needed that energy boost to meet the demands of being a mother and homemaker. After that first cup I needed little or no excuse for more whether it was the visit of my mother or a friend, or a belief that I needed a cup of coffee to keep up my energy or to help me relax. It was cup after cup after cup. And as I had convinced myself that the day had to begin with coffee so I convinced myself that it had to end with coffee. I just “knew” that I wouldn’t be able to sleep without my bedtime cup of coffee, even though logic told me that coffee was a stimulant—after all wasn’t that why I used it throughout the day? It never occurred to me that so much coffee was harmful to my health.
I didn’t face that fact until the day two missionaries knocked at my door and introduced me to the gospel. I willingly accepted their message and their challenge to be baptized. But, they explained, for me to accept baptism I also had to accept the Word of Wisdom, and that meant no more coffee.
Somehow I wasn’t completely surprised by their injunction so I was prepared to meet their challenge. The people who were surprised were my husband and my daughters. They knew that coffee was an integral part of my life and they were convinced that I would never give it up.
But something inside me had changed. In accepting the gospel message I accepted all its precepts. As I did so I felt a tranquility enter into my life and I knew that the Lord would help me live his commandments.
Of course, it was not easy to stop drinking coffee; my body had become so used to relying on it that for a week after I quit drinking it I walked around in a daze, my legs trembled and my arms felt weak. But with the help of the Lord my desire for coffee had gone. There was no way I was going to go near that coffee pot. It was a marvelous sensation and more than once I found myself on my knees thanking the Lord for his help and strength. The missionaries regularly visited me to see how I was doing and to give me encouragement and my watchful family was constantly surprised to hear me say how good I felt.
Today I can look back on five years of happiness. Not only do I have the energy to fulfill my role as wife and mother, but I’ve also been able to serve in a number of Church callings. On the rare occasions when I may feel physically tired, my spirit is always ready for more and that helps rejuvenate me. Is it any wonder that I have a testimony of the Word of Wisdom, and of the gospel that brought it into my life.

“You think you’re better than everyone else because you don’t swear,” Nikolai said at recess.
“That’s not true,” said Andrei.
“Then why won’t you say one swear word? Just one? It’s not going to kill you. Everybody else swears.”
Andrei shrugged. “I just don’t want to.”
Andrei knew swearing was wrong and makes the Holy Ghost leave. Andrei wanted the Holy Ghost with him. So he didn’t swear.
Andrei was new at school, and so far, Nikolai was the only one in his sixth-grade class who wanted to be his friend. But Nikolai bugged him about swearing every single day. And every day Andrei got a little more tired of saying no. Besides, Andrei was afraid that Nikolai would stop being his friend, and then he’d really be lonely.
“Just say one swear word,” Nikolai said after school. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Finally Andrei was so tired of being bothered that he said one swear word—one that wasn’t too bad.
Nikolai nodded. “Good, now you’re one of us.”
After that, Nikolai’s other friends talked to Andrei too. They ate lunch with him and played football with him at recess. But being in Nikolai’s group of friends was like walking into quicksand. The more Andrei hung out with them, the more he talked and acted like them. And they all swore. A lot. They laughed at and insulted each other. They said rude things about their teachers. They got mad and acted mean a lot. Slowly Andrei started feeling angry more often and found more and more reasons to swear.
One night when Mom and Dad were gone, Andrei and his older sister Katya got into an argument about what show to watch. Before Andrei even thought about it, a swear word jumped out of his mouth.
Katya looked shocked. “I’m telling Mom.”
Andrei ran to his bedroom and slammed the door. What was wrong with everyone? Why were they making him mad all the time? When his parents came home, Andrei cracked open his door and heard Katya say, “Mom, Andrei swore at me.”
“What?” Mom sounded surprised. “Andrei would never swear.”
Andrei closed the door and slumped down on his bed. He thought about how different he’d become since he started swearing. It had been a long time since he had felt the Holy Ghost.
Andrei knelt down by his bed and prayed. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry I’ve been mean and angry. I’m sorry I started swearing. I’m going to do better.”
As Andrei prayed, a warm feeling filled his heart. For the first time since he started swearing, he felt really happy. He knew God loved him, and he could feel the Holy Ghost. He felt forgiven and knew he could change and become better.
After his prayer, he told Mom the truth and apologized to Katya. Andrei felt better after that. It felt good to repent.
The next day at school, Andrei didn’t eat lunch with Nikolai’s group. Instead he sat next to some kids he didn’t know. It would take time, but Andrei knew he would find friends who were good and happy and didn’t swear. Just like him.

“I’ll always remember that when I was in high school, Dad and I were President and Sister Kimball’s home teachers. Every time we visited them President Kimball invited me to say the prayer. One day I asked him why he always asked me to say the prayer. Sister Kimball smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, son, he asks me too.’ Then with a twinkle in his eyes, President Kimball said, ‘I thought you both could use the practice.’

Just as an example to show you how easy it is, let me tell you about these names, William and May Brown. In January 1979, when we first arrived in England, there was an unusual amount of snow. We had no snow shovel; there were none for sale. I tried to sweep the snow, but it was too heavy. Phillip Brown, a young man, and his friend stopped and asked if they could clear our yard. They did a nice job. Sister Reeve called Phillip Brown’s mother to ask him if he could come and clean the yard again and to tell her what a good job her son did for us. Mrs. Brown said, “Why don’t you come over to our home and have coffee and get acquainted with the neighbors?”
Sister Reeve went, but she had orange juice; and, of course, that gave an opportunity to tell them why—that we were Mormons. Mrs. Brown said, “I met some of your missionaries, and they’re surely a fine group of young men. If I were going to change churches, I’d join yours.”
On February 19, our forty-second wedding anniversary, we didn’t have anyone to share it with, and so we thought, “Why don’t we call William and May?” So we called them and said, “Won’t you come over and help keep this anniversary with us?” We’ve had just one pleasant experience after another. They have a Book of Mormon and an LDS hymn book (Mrs. Brown plays the organ in her church). We send cards as we travel; they are fine people. We are keeping in touch with them. They are good friends.

The Resurrection and the Atonement of the Savior can be a constant fortifying influence in our lives as illustrated by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, a pioneer in the Martin Handcart Company. She tells of the death of her husband, Aaron, on the Wyoming plains in 1856 in these moving words:
“About nine o’clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce so I did not disrobe. I slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold. The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed, he lay so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body, when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed. My husband was dead. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone by the side of the corpse till morning. Oh, how the dreary hours drew their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who had died, and then covered him up with snow. The ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace until the trump of God shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. We shall then again unite our hearts and lives, and eternity will furnish us with life forever more.”

I sat at my desk one Monday morning looking at all the e-mails that had piled up over the weekend. Always suspicious of a computer virus, I was almost ready to delete an e-mail and its attachment that were from an unknown sender. But as my finger paused on the mouse button, ready to click, the Spirit prompted me to open the message.
“Hello, Elder Rian Jones,” it began. “You are now around 50 years old, and I am 37. I have only a vague remembrance of your person, and I am not sure if the man I remember is the one I am writing to.” Actually, I was 45 years old, and who was this person who would address me as “Elder”? I hadn’t been called that since my mission. The writer then asked if I was still active in the Church and had kept the spirit of my mission. My curiosity was really piqued now.
“I was only 12 years old when you and your companion taught me the gospel in Taranto, Italy. The year was 1975.” My mind raced as I tried to recall the writer. “You are probably asking yourself if I baptized me. No, you didn’t, because my mother and father refused permission.” The writer went on to explain how painful and embarrassing it was for him and his brother to stop the missionaries on the steps of their apartment building as we were going to ask his parents for permission to baptize him. He recounted how he kept coming to church for a while but eventually stopped because he could not be baptized. “But I kept the teachings in my heart and never betrayed the principles I was taught,” he wrote.
I served in the Italy Rome Mission from 1975 to 1977, and Taranto was my first city. But I could not recall the story that was unfolding in this e-mail. The writer explained that when he was 22 years old he was called into compulsory military service in northern Italy. There he suffered a spiritual crisis that caused him to pray for the first time as an adult. He received an answer to his prayers, and because of this, he sought out the missionaries in that area. He found them at a fast-food restaurant and told them he wanted to be baptized. “Nothing like that ever happened to me on my mission,” I thought. Those elders must have been shocked.
He was baptized and later married in the temple at Friedrichsdorf, Germany. He now had three children, had moved to Canada several years ago, and was an active member of the Church.
“I don’t know if you will ever answer this e-mail. If you do, I will tell you many other things about my life and how I have been blessed by your mission. Elder, you never know where a small, good action can lead.” He signed his e-mail “Cesare Quarinto.” Later he told me he had found my e-mail address on the Italy Rome Mission Web site.
Try as I might, I could not recall the experience of teaching a 12-year-old boy in Taranto. But the attachment to the e-mail was a page he had scanned from an old copy of the Book of Mormon. It was a dedication, written in my handwriting in Italian, dated September 14, 1975. It read:
“Dear Cesare,
“I am giving you this gift so that you can read it to find the beautiful truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Don’t ever forget prayer, because it is only through prayer that you can find the truth. … I know this is the true Church, and I hope to share this truth with you.
“Your friend,
“Elder Rian Jones”
Suddenly I had a perfect recollection. Seeing the words I had written caused the memory to return. I recalled vividly the rented space we used for a chapel in Taranto. We taught young Cesare the gospel in that building. I had given him his own copy of the Book of Mormon shortly before I was transferred to another city. Recalling the circumstances and reading Cesare’s e-mail, I was overcome with joy.
I did have some success on my mission, but unfortunately most of the people I baptized had fallen away from the Church over the years. Now a scripture came to mind: “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15).

Whenever anyone said something nice to Dan, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept it. A typical conversation with his teachers quorum adviser went something like this:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m no good at basketball. The only reason I came was because the other guys kept calling me.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“I don’t have an outside shot. I don’t even have an inside shot.”
“So … what do you do in a game?”
“Mainly try to get the other team to feel sorry for me,” Dan said glumly.

Let’s take another look at Dan, this time with a more positive light in his life.
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“Okay. Maybe I can work with Steve a little. He’s good at passing, and that, along with what I can do, should be a good combination. You know, I’m starting to feel a little sorry for the other team.”

After I got thinking about it, I realized that I had my own devo date almost 30 years ago while attending BYU. I asked a girl with whom I had been on several dates to go to devotional with me. I don’t remember anything about the date, but I do remember that as we were walking back across campus after devotional, we had an interesting conversation. My daughter also told me that this specific conversation is what is known as a DTR—a “define the relationship” conversation. Now, I didn’t know what a DTR was, and I wasn’t the one to start it. It certainly wasn’t a very long conversation. In fact, it was very one sided. It went something like this: “I wish you wouldn’t hold my hand in public. People might think we’re dating and not ask me out.” I said, “Okay,” and that was that.
Now, I shared this experience with you because I think I was a good example of someone who didn’t understand where he stood in a relationship. The DTR I had was needful for me to have a correct understanding of where I stood with this young woman. It was a little hard on my ego, but it was necessary for me to be able to put the relationship into proper perspective.
Honestly, I think it’s a good thing to have an occasional DTR.