Gospel Story Finder

I begin with a short anecdote which illustrates a point I should like to make.
A young couple, Lisa and John, moved into a new neighborhood. One morning while they were eating breakfast, Lisa looked out the window and watched her next-door neighbor hanging out her wash.
“That laundry’s not clean!” Lisa exclaimed. “Our neighbor doesn’t know how to get clothes clean!”
John looked on but remained silent.
Every time her neighbor would hang her wash to dry, Lisa would make the same comments.
A few weeks later Lisa was surprised to glance out her window and see a nice, clean wash hanging in her neighbor’s yard. She said to her husband, “Look, John—she’s finally learned how to wash correctly! I wonder how she did it.”
John replied, “Well, dear, I have the answer for you. You’ll be interested to know that I got up early this morning and washed our windows!”

Some years ago as a seaman on the USS Bairoko, I had an experience that taught me the importance of having a reliable lifeline. Our aircraft carrier was operating off the coast of Korea in rather choppy seas. As one of the Corsair fighter planes was attempting a landing, the ship rolled sharply, and the plane bounced off the flight deck, flipped over, and landed upside down, dangling partly on the ship and partly in the water. The pilot was rescued by a team of men linked together by a lifeline that enabled them to make their way down the wing to the plane’s cockpit. It became necessary, however, to rig a large crane to retrieve the plane.
The boom, or arm, of the crane was stored in a cradle, or saddle-like device, approximately six to eight feet out from the side of the flight deck over the water. The rather dangerous assignment to release the boom was given to me.
I put on a life jacket, and a lifeline secured to a steel cleat on the deck was placed about my waist and between my legs. Three men stood on the flight deck holding on to the line to save me should I slip from my precarious position.
With my arms and legs straddling the boom, I inched my way along over the churning waters. The men holding the lifeline kept assuring me that they would not let me fall—at least not very far.
When I reached the cradle where the boom rested, the nut and key bolt securing it appeared to be somewhat rusted from months at sea. It appeared that a great deal of force would be needed to jar it free. This would be no small trick while I was sitting astride the slick, round boom. The lifeline team readied themselves, knowing that the push with my rigger’s spike might throw me off balance and cause me to fall.
With the spike in place, I leaned forward, making a quick, heavy thrust, expecting the nut to resist my effort. Unexpectedly, the nut spun free, and the force of the thrust sent me quickly off the boom. Surprisingly, however, rather than tumbling down into the water, I spun completely around and stopped atop the boom in an upright position. By grasping the steel cradle, I was able to steady myself. The men holding the lifeline had stood firmly in place, carefully managing the line, making my situation as guarded and safe as possible.
Soon the boom was rigged, the plane lifted aboard, and the crew returned to their regular duties.
Several days later we arrived in port in Kobe, Japan. Waiting to welcome me there was a letter from my mother. After words of greeting and family news, Mother had written: “We try not to worry too much about you, Rex. We pray for you every day.”
My recent harrowing experience at sea had made me grateful for the strength and support of a lifeline in the hands of strong and reliable men. My mother’s letter reminded me of the lifeline of the greatest security and trust, the gospel of Jesus Christ. That lifeline is secured in the hands of God. If I would hold to it and live by it, it would hold me secure to eternal life.

I didn’t feet much like an expert, but the four men in the small room looked at me as if I were, Reggie, Robert, Charles, and Don, the district president; they needed my help in getting their new chapel built, and I’d been sent for that purpose.
But there are times when the expert doesn’t have any answers. What could I tell these men who wanted an infallible method of gathering the needed funds? Certainly the approved way was by member contributions. But these members said they were incapable of such contributions—or at least they seemed to be. Even the richest among them appeared poor.
But I could think of no other solution. I said, “Of course, we’ll need to get the money from the members.”
They nodded, but said nothing. They knew I hadn’t really solved their problem.
So I took it a step further. “First it is essential that each of you make your own personal commitment,” I said.
“How much do you suggest?” Don asked.
“I’d suggest about fifty pounds.” I could tell by their expressions that I had struck too deep.
“As with the leader, so with the people,” I reminded them. “You cannot ask others to do what you yourself are reluctant to do. After you have made your own commitment, the Lord will help. With that, good planning, and hard work, anything can be done.” They nodded, but I could see they had some reservations. Two of the men had retired on small pensions, and the other two, one a contractor and the other a day worker, had families and small incomes.
Following the meeting, Don drove me back to my hotel, with Charles accompanying us. As I got out of the car, Charles looked at Don and said, “I’ll take a bus from here. I need to talk with Brother Walton.”
“All right,” Don replied. “I will come and get you at seven so that we can get to our meeting on time.” He was smiling but the worry that had come into his eyes at the suggestion of a fifty-pound donation was still there.
Charles and I went up the steps of the hotel veranda and sat down on wicker chairs. I looked into his face and saw a lifetime of grinding toil behind him. We sat there and rocked and looked across the street to the big green park and the Indian Ocean beyond.
At last he spoke. “About the money: I’m on a fixed pension and I have no other source of income. My health is poor. My wife and I struggle every month to have enough to pay our bills. I can honestly see no way to pledge anything—fifty pounds or even less.” He was a humble man, and I regretted having placed him in this position; I also felt his regret that he was not able to carry his share of our burden. “Most of the others are in as difficult a position as I am. It may be that we should wait awhile before we attempt such a huge undertaking,” he said sadly.
I said nothing because I didn’t want to pressure Charles, but I must admit that my mind began to reflect over the many pages of history written about the efforts of people who achieved the impossible. I finally said, “May I suggest that you talk this over with your wife and pray about it. It’s really between you and the Lord, not with me or anyone else.”
Charles stood and we shook hands. He was a small, pale man, with very little strength in his hands, but there was sincerity in his eyes. He walked down the sweeping wooden steps; as he crossed the street he must have felt my eyes on him for he turned and waved.
I was about to go to my room when Reggie drove up, waved, and parked his car. He was young and wiry and came up the steps two at a time. He told me of his small business, his young children, and lack of work, and finally that he simply could not see how he could pledge fifty pounds.
I gripped his shoulder. “Let me suggest that you discuss this with your family and with the Lord. You are not wanting to build this church for me, but for the Lord. Perhaps He has a way in mind for you. But most of all, don’t be depressed. No one expects you to do more than you are capable of doing.”
Reggie was in a hurry, and there was obviously nothing more that I could say. I knew that unless these leaders made their own commitments, their people could not be expected to respond. I did not have much time to think about Reggie; before my visitor was out of sight, a young hotel employee called me to the phone.
The caller was Robert. He was a retired postal worker, a fine man, and a recent convert. He talked slowly and he repeated, over the wires, almost word for word what Charles had said. “We have only a small pension … fixed income …”
I was standing in the lobby at the reception desk. There were other people around and I felt I should not discuss Robert’s finances in a public place. I agreed with all that he said, then reminded him, “But there is someone else that you need to talk to besides me.”
There was a pause, then he answered, “I understand. I will see you at the meeting.”
The members filled the small red brick building they called their Church. We closed all of the windows, but still the neighbor’s radio could be heard through the wall. It was the usual meeting, with few surprises. Despite the events of the previous afternoon, I wasn’t even surprised when the president and his counselors announced that they would each pledge fifty pounds for the new building. Their talks, though short, rang with sincerity, and the audience was moved to participate.
I returned to Sydney the following day with confidence. The money would be collected; the building would be built. All that remained for me to arrange was a Church building supervisor. I sent a telegram to Salt Lake City asking them to send one.
The first few weekly reports from Perth were not encouraging. Money was being pledged, but not enough. Soon I decided to make another visit to see when they would be ready to start construction. Certainly I did not want a supervisor sitting in Perth with no building to build. I sent a telegram to Don, and one week later I sat down again with the same four men. This time there was a definite air of excitement among them that had not been there before. I began to speculate, gave up, and asked Reggie to give his report.
“I didn’t see how I could possibly get the fifty pounds, but my wife and I decided to make the pledge anyhow and hope we could find a way to get it. After pledging the fifty pounds, I contacted a nursery to see what I could do. I got a contract to bring in wild flower seeds—we have the most beautiful flowers in the world here in western Australia. I was lucky; the nursery had just received a request for these seeds from a U.S. company. My family and I have given our Saturdays and every possible hour after work to gathering them. We have not only earned our pledge money, but we’ve also received some side benefits from the work. The children enjoyed the family outings as well as the opportunity to earn extra money. We have started some projects of our own at home that we could never afford before.” He looked at each of us and smiled, “It sure has been a great benefit for us!”
Next I asked Robert to report. He crossed his legs and, with a quiet smile, leaned forward and began to speak.
“Like Reggie, I just didn’t know how I was going to fulfill that commitment. I spent some time before and after that meeting in conversation with the Lord—I really needed help. Well, the next morning I received a letter from an old friend. His son had been admitted to the university here, and he needed room and board. Now that our children are married and gone, we have an extra room. The boy has been with us for the past two weeks, and he has brought light and sunshine into our home. He’s a fine lad, and we are happy to have him with us. He has no church ties, so he’s started coming with us.”
“What about your pledge?” Don asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, yes! Well, his father sent us fifty pounds in advance for his school year. It will be fairly easy to add what little he eats to what Mum and I need—especially with our garden as it is growing now.” He smiled at us, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “We not only got the money, we got extra sunshine in our lives as well,” he said.
Don turned to Charles. “Let’s hear from you now.”
“I also did not know what to do. I could not conceive of how I would ever get the fifty pounds I committed for the Lord’s house. I, too, spent some time telling the Lord of my problem and asking his help to fulfill my commitments.
“I was in town the morning after that meeting, and, as I crossed the street, a truck came by with a load of reinforcing bars extending well beyond the bed of the truck. I nearly walked into them—and I wasn’t the only one. Several other people had equally narrow escapes. I was so angry that he hadn’t tied a warning flag on the ends of the bars that when I got home I called the chief of police. He told me that there was an ordinance requiring red flags, but it had not been enforced because no flags were available for the truckers.”
Charles took a deep excited breath, then continued. “As of now, my wife and I have bought up all the red cloth in town. It’s all cut into the legal size; she sews a seam and I thread a piece of stout twine through it for tying it to the loads. I contacted some of the truckers, and we have more orders than I can possibly fill. More than that, our usually dull days have turned productive and we have established a little business that will bring us additional money long after the building is completed. Yes, we have fulfilled our commitment; and we will have the strength to do even more now.” He sat back with a satisfied smile that had in it more than a tinge of gratitude.
Don was the next to give his report.
“That Monday morning following our fund-raising meeting, I went to an early morning sales meeting. Afterwards, I overheard our store manager complain about the lack of honest, competent help to take inventory. I stepped forward and volunteered four people—my wife, my two oldest daughters, and myself. We’ve already received our first check, the fifty pounds that we agreed to work for. In six months we’ll take inventory again—just in time to meet the next needs. Oh, and one more thing: our work has brought me favorably to the attention of my superiors. I have already received a pay raise and I was told that I’m next in line for promotion.”
I looked at the men in the room, each of whom had found a way to honor his commitment—with the Lord’s help. And then I knew as never before that even though I may have felt inadequate as an expert, the Lord is never inadequate as a helper. The good Saints in Perth had responded to the challenge with obedience and effort. In turn, the Lord had responded by opening the windows of heaven and pouring out blessings.

Hetty stepped over the milk bottles near the front door and began the long walk to school. She breathed in the cool spring air and smiled. In just one week it would be May Day, and Hetty couldn’t wait. There would be parades, festivals, and fairs all over England.
May Day had always been one of Hetty’s favorite holidays, but this year it would be even better. This year she was 11, and the May Queen would be chosen from her school class.
As Hetty skipped along the cobblestones, she tried to imagine who it would be. Maybe Sara. She was pretty, and would look nice holding the gold ribbon in the maypole dance. Alice would too. She wore nice clothes, and the May Queen always had a new dress. The May Queen also needed to be a good student.
Hetty paused. She was smart. Was it possible she might be chosen?
Hetty looked at her reflection in a shop window. Her plain dress blended with the gray cobblestones behind her. She’d never had a new dress before, only ones her sister had outgrown. Hetty tried to picture herself leading the parade in a hand-me-down. No, she couldn’t be the May Queen.
At mid-morning the headmaster entered her classroom. “It’s time to announce the May Queen,” he said. “But first, the attendants.”
Hetty held her breath while the headmaster read four names. Sara and Alice were among them.
“And the May Queen is … Hetty Neal!”
Sara and Alice glared at Hetty, and she knew what they were thinking. She didn’t fit the picture of a May Queen. No one knew that more than Hetty.
After school Hetty knocked on the headmaster’s door. “Are you sure?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he said.
“But I can’t buy a new dress.”
“That’s not important. Just wear your best.”
Hetty didn’t feel any better.
When she got home, she went straight to the garden. Flowers often made her feel better, but only a few green shoots poked through the earth.
Hetty’s mother opened the back door. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Hetty said. “Well, yes. I’m the May Queen.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mother exclaimed.
Hetty nodded. It was wonderful. But terrible at the same time.
“Your dad will be proud,” Mother said. “I’ll send him a telegram at work.” Hetty’s father was away working in the southern part of the country.
Mother noticed Hetty’s expression. “What’s bothering you?” she asked.
It’s just …” Hetty hesitated. “I won’t have a new dress.”
Mother looked worried. “Do you need one?” she asked.
Hetty couldn’t lie. “No,” she said.
Mother smiled. “There’s nothing to worry about then. You’ll do fine.”
Sara and Alice didn’t seem to agree. They both looked away when Hetty walked into class the next day, and Hetty found a note in her desk that said, “You’ll ruin everything.”
After school, Hetty went to the garden when she got home. If only she had flowers. Even her plain gray dress would look nice with a bouquet. But though the green shoots were growing taller, she knew the buds wouldn’t open in time.
Mother came to the door. “I’ve heard from your dad,” she said. “He’ll try to make it home for the holiday.”
Hetty smiled at the good news. Then she had a thought. “Are the flowers blooming where he is?”
“I would think so,” Mother said.
“Could he bring some home?”
The rest of the week crawled by. Sara and Alice ignored Hetty. But the day before the celebration, Sara walked up to Hetty and whispered two words: “Stay home.”
After school, Hetty fled to the garden. Still no flowers, and no sign of her father, either. Should she stay home? Should she let someone who looked more like a May Queen take her place?
Later that evening, Hetty heard heavy steps on the porch, and then the door swung open. There stood Father with a large box in his arms.
“How’s my May Queen?” he asked.
Hetty ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Then she peered into the box. It was brimming with flowers, all kinds and colors, even more than she had hoped for.
“Will these do?” Father asked.
“Oh, yes!” Hetty pictured herself at the head of the parade, decorated with blossoms from head to toe. Alice and Sara would be amazed.
Then Hetty had another idea.
The next morning she was up early, but she was still late for school. When she walked in the classroom, her instructor looked relieved. “Hetty, we were beginning to worry,” she said.
“I’m sorry to be late,” Hetty said. “I was making these.”
From out of her box she took a circlet of flowers and placed it on her instructor’s head. Out came more circles, one for each girl in the class, and small bouquets for her attendants. As they took their bouquets, Sara and Alice looked surprised.
“Why, Hetty, what a queenly thing to do,” her instructor said.
At the bottom of the box was one more flower circle for her own head. As she led the parade, Hetty didn’t feel plain or poor. She felt like a queen.

President Hugh B. Brown (1883–1975), a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and of the First Presidency, shared an experience where God made more out of his life than he would have done on his own.
Hugh had been serving in the Canadian military and was in line to be promoted to general. He had been working, hoping, and praying for that promotion for 10 years.
When the position became available, however, he was passed over simply because he was a member of the Church. That was literally the only reason, and they told him so.
Hugh was furious. He said: “I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap … on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.”3
Then Hugh remembered an experience from years earlier. He’d once bought a neglected farm that had an overgrown currant bush. Without trimming, that bush would never provide fruit. All it wanted to do was grow taller.
So Hugh trimmed it back severely. Afterward, he saw little drops of liquid at the end of each cut branch. They looked like tears. “I am the gardener here,” he told the currant bush. Hugh knew what he wanted that bush to become, and it wasn’t a shade tree.
That experience came to his mind as he battled anger over being passed up for promotion. “I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …
“… And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”4
Hugh never became a general. The Lord had other plans for President Brown. With the Lord as his architect, President Brown’s life became a masterful structure.

At a recent extended family home evening, our grandchildren were having a wonderful time. A six-year-old grandson became very upset when his father said it was time to go home. So what did this dear boy do? He came to me and said, “Grandfather, may I have your permission to disobey my father?”
I said, “No, sweetheart. One of life’s great lessons is to learn that happiness comes through obedience. Go home with your family, and you will be happy.” Though disappointed, he dutifully obeyed.

Michelle and I have been best friends since last December, when she moved here. Her family went to a different church until our ward members asked them to come to our church the next Sunday. Michelle really liked Primary. Her sisters, Rachael and Molly, went to Young Women, and they loved it.
The following Sunday, only Rachael and Molly came. On Monday, I asked Michelle why she had not come. She told me that she hadn’t had time to get ready. I told her that she could be late if she needed to be, as long as she came.
I invited her to Achievement Day that week. She asked what that was. I told her that there were different groups, depending on age. She said that she was ten, so I told her that she would be in my group. She was excited and asked her parents if she could come. They said yes. She didn’t know anybody there. I introduced her to everybody. Now we are all very good friends. The next week, missionaries started to teach her family, and they are now baptized!

One young man left his little Welsh village in the early 1840s, heard the Apostles of God, and came into the kingdom of God on earth. He sailed with the Saints to America and drove a wagon west across the plains. He was in the next company after Brigham Young coming into this valley. His priesthood service included clearing and breaking ground for a farm.
He sold the farm for pennies on the dollar to go on a mission for the Lord in the deserts of what is now Nevada to take care of sheep. He was called from that to another mission across the ocean in the very village he had left in his poverty to follow the Lord.
Through it all, he found a way to learn with his priesthood brethren. Bold missionary that he was, he walked down the lane in Wales to the summer estate of a man who was four times the prime minister of England to offer him the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The great man let him into his mansion. He was a graduate of Eton College and of Oxford University. The missionary talked with him about the origins of man, the central role of Jesus Christ in the history of the world, and even the fate of nations.
At the end of their discussion, the host declined the offer to accept baptism. But as they parted, that leader of one of the great empires of the world asked the humble missionary, “Where did you get your education?” His answer: “In the priesthood of God.”

As my 12th birthday approached, I attended a Priesthood Preview for the boys in the ward preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. The only things I remember about the experience are getting a brand new white shirt and a talk about hands, given by my dad. He spoke of the importance of the priesthood holder’s hands and how you must keep your hands clean and use them appropriately to be worthy to use the priesthood of God.
That talk left an impression on me. I don’t think I realized this until some years later, but from that point on, I was very aware of my dad’s hands.
My dad’s hands always seemed to be involved in doing much good.
I noticed his hands as we did different landscaping projects, built a shed, helped move furniture, and did other projects together. His hands were tough farmer hands. Bulky, calloused, worn from farm days of his youth and years of service and work, his hands were well used and yet able to endure any labor they were called to perform.
For my own hands, this was not the case. I viewed the strength and toughness of his hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I wish I had hands like those.” I hoped that one day, maybe, I would.
When I was about to receive my mission call, I had an experience with my dad that really impressed upon my heart and mind the importance of worthy hands.
I had the opportunity to accompany my dad to the house of a man we home-taught. This good brother had asked for a blessing. I was not yet a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, so I watched and listened as my dad placed his hands upon the brother’s head and spoke the words that the Spirit put into his mouth. I felt the Spirit strongly during the blessing.
Afterwards my thoughts lingered on my dad’s hands. Those rough, tough farmer hands had been kept clean by their owner. Because of that, they were able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bestow the blessings and power of heaven upon one of many whom my dad cared for. I viewed the sacred power of those hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I want to have hands like those.” I knew that soon I could, but I would need to keep them clean throughout my life to do any good.
My dad has always used his hands for good. He has kept them ever worthy to hold the priesthood of God.
We need to consider how we are using our hands. Are we keeping them clean? Are we remaining worthy of the blessings that come from honoring the holy priesthood?
If we strive to have a pure heart and clean hands, we will have great joy in life through the priesthood, and we will be ready and happy at the judgment bar of Christ (see Alma 5:19; D&C 88:86).
I’m grateful for my dad for setting an example and showing me the right way.

Prior to joining the Navy at the close of World War II, I attended Brigham Young University. Because I played the trumpet, I was invited to join the symphony orchestra for a special concert under the guest direction of Dr. LeRoy Robertson, the greatest Church composer in that day.
Many of the musicians were still in the service, and university enrollment was small. We were determined to have a full orchestra, however, so I was persuaded to perform on the French horn instead of the trumpet.
I soon learned the only similarity between the two instruments is that both are brass. I found the French horn much more difficult to play, especially in reaching for higher notes. With the trumpet I could accurately hit any note up to a high C, but with the French horn I never knew if my attack would be right.
I was nervous when we began the first rehearsal under the renowned Dr. Robertson. I had never before even been in the audience to hear a full symphony orchestra, and now I was right in the middle of the most magnificent sounds I had ever heard. It seemed to me that we had at least 50 violins and all kinds of other instruments in numbers to match the violin section.
The 12 bass viols to the left made the floor and my rib cage vibrate in unison. Behind were the other brass instruments and the timpani. I was in the center of a new world of glorious sound. The difficult French horn passage came. Everyone around me knew when I bobbled it, ending a fifth or a third out of register.
Dr. Robertson stopped the orchestra. “There is something wrong in the French horns. Let’s start over at the top of the page.”
Embarrassed, I began once more. I didn’t want to be singled out again as the offending musician. It seemed obvious to me that even with the violins singing, the brass trumpeting, the cellos warmly filling, the great bass viols zooming, and the other French horns boldly playing, Dr. Robertson might hear me if I made a mistake, but it would be impossible to know that I wasn’t really playing.
I puffed my cheeks out and went through the fingering, but as we entered the hard part of the French horn quartet no air went through my lips. To my absolute horror and embarrassment, Dr. Robertson stopped the orchestra and announced to the world, “The fourth French horn is faking it. Let’s start again at the top of the page.”
It is easy in many of life’s situations to fake our way through and think that our lack of preparation, or lack of effort, will go unnoticed. It may be true that in a large group some of our weakness will be covered up by others, but we know if we are putting forth our best effort. We know if we are faking it. Besides that, the Lord knows, and more times than we want to admit, a great bishop or mission president or other Church leader also knows.

In Portugal, in the city of Funchal, lived a lady named Asencao Frango, who had been a nun for twenty years. She ran a home for poor children and orphans. Early in her life as a nun, doctors discovered a cancer in her throat. Having a strong feeling that she had not finished her work on earth, she prayed with great faith and was healed. When her church decided to close the children’s home, she used her own money to keep it going for four years—until the children living there were either adopted or old enough to be on their own.
When she heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she and a friend attended out of curiosity. The meeting was held on the dirt floor of a member’s garage. But the spirit she felt there impressed her, and the elders began teaching her the discussions. She read the Book of Mormon, gained a strong testimony of its divinity, and soon asked to be baptized. A year later she obtained her temple recommend and could hardly wait to enter the Swiss Temple to pledge sacred covenants with Heavenly Father.
Many lands in Europe are becoming lands of temples. When President Thomas S. Monson rededicated the land of Germany for the advancement of the work of the Church, he prayed, “Heavenly Father, wilt Thou open up the way that the faithful may be accorded the privilege of going to Thy holy temple, there to receive their holy endowments and to be sealed as families for time and all eternity.”

If we follow up, the Lord will not let us down. I have seen the unspeakable joy that accompanies testimony-driven inviting and faithful follow-up among members of the Church the world over. While in Argentina recently, I encouraged members to invite someone to church before this general conference. An eight-year-old by the name of Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his friend’s family to an open house at their ward in Buenos Aires. Let me read from a letter I just received that explained Joshua’s invitation and his faithful follow-up:
“Every few minutes [Joshua] would run out to the gate to see if they were coming. He said that he knew they would [come].
“The evening wore on and Joshua’s friend did not come, but Joshua did not give up. He faithfully checked the front gate every few minutes. It was time to start putting things away when Joshua started to jump up and down announcing, ‘They are here! They are here!’ I looked up to see an entire family approaching the church. Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They all came in and seemed to enjoy the open house very much. They took some pamphlets and spent lots of time getting acquainted with some new friends. It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.”11

When President George Albert Smith was young, his deceased grandfather George A. Smith appeared to him in a dream and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President Smith responded, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”
Each week as we partake of the sacrament, we covenant and promise that we are willing to take upon us the name of Christ, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. If we are willing to do so, we are promised that most wonderful blessing—that His Spirit will always be with us.
Just as President George Albert Smith had to account to his grandfather for what he had done with his name, someday each one of us will have to account to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for what we have done with His name.
The importance of having a good name is spoken of in Proverbs, where we read: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold” and “The [name] of the just is blessed.”
As I pondered these scriptures and the importance of having a good name, a flood of memories came into my mind about the good name and legacy my parents left my four brothers, my two sisters, and me. My parents did not have the riches of the world, nor did they have silver or gold. Nine of us lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath home with an enclosed back porch, where my sisters slept. When my parents passed away, my brothers and sisters and I gathered to divide their earthly possessions, which were few in number. My mother left a few dresses, some used furniture, and a few other personal items. My father left some carpenter tools, some old hunting rifles, and little else. The only things of any monetary value were a modest home and a small savings account.
Together we wept openly, giving thanks, knowing they had left us something much more precious than silver or gold. They had given us their love and their time. They had often borne testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, which we can now read in their precious journals. Not so much by words but more by their example, they had taught us to work hard, to be honest, and to pay a full tithing. They also engendered a desire to further our education, to serve a mission, and most important, to find an eternal companion, be married in the temple, and endure to the end. Truly they left us the legacy of a good name, for which we shall ever be grateful.

“I was born in Layton, Utah,” Elder Sill stated. “Soon after my birth we moved onto a twenty-acre farm my father had a mile and a half north of Layton. There were several modest homes on the street where we lived, and I could never understand why it was called Easy Street, because we were all very poor and had to work very hard. My family’s house there had only two rooms: a little eight-foot by ten-foot bedroom for my parents and a room about fifteen feet long that served as the living quarters for the family. Attached to the house was a little lean-to where my brother, Russell, and I slept. It measured about six feet by eight feet. And in the wintertime, our bed was often covered with snow.
“My parents were wonderful. Even though we lived under hard circumstances, they never complained about our poverty. I was the fourth of ten children they had to care for. My father worked as a farmer, a schoolteacher, and a postmaster. However, he was disabled most of his adult life, which gave me the opportunity to partially pay him back for his earlier assistance to me.
“We lived two miles from our meetinghouse. I always walked to church, and I always attended church from the time I was eight years old. I had a kind of compulsion to go to church, which I did not then understand, inasmuch as no one—not Mother, Father, the bishop, or anybody—urged me to go.
“It was my job at home to make the fire each morning. My father would call to me from his room when it was time to make the fire. Because of the extreme cold in our plasterless house, which allowed the air to blow through the walls, and because there wasn’t time to completely dress, I became expert in making a fire in the shortest possible time. I would prepare the kindling, paper, and coal the night before. Then in the morning I would dump the ashes from the grate; take off the stove lids; put in the paper, kindling, and coal; light the match to the paper; put the lids back on; and see if I could get back into bed with my brother before I froze to death. Sometimes it was about an even race.
“I also helped with other chores, which included feeding the pigs, milking the cow, keeping the stable clean, and feeding the other animals. Unfortunately we frequently had little to feed the animals. During the summer I used to herd the cow out on the street, where she would eat the grass along the ditch bank at the side of the road. One of the great trials of my young life was that sometimes I had to herd her on Sunday. Otherwise, she would not get anything to eat, and she furnished a large part of our food supply. We also had a chicken coop with a few laying hens. My mother used the eggs to trade at the store for things we needed.
“One of my most vivid memories is of the irrigation reservoir that my father built. During the week we used to play in the reservoir. I got a couple of railroad ties and made a raft on which I could sail. Frequently we went swimming in the reservoir. One time the reservoir sprung a leak in its bank along the outlet pipe. It started as a little trickle but soon became a large stream. Before we could stop the leak, the water had washed away part of the dike that served as the bank of the reservoir. Several men from around the neighborhood tried to help by shoveling in dirt, throwing in rocks, and stacking sandbags, but they were unable to control the escaping water, which did a great deal of damage by washing away the crops that were below it. Many times after that I had a kind of nightmare dream about our farm being washed away.
“When I was older, my father permitted me to have a little bit of land of my own to cultivate. I planted raspberries, blackberries, dewberries, and all kinds of garden produce to supplement our food supply. I used to get a seed catalog every year, and I loved to look at those beautiful pictures of radishes, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, watermelons, cantaloupes, etc., and imagine what I could produce by putting a few seeds into the ground. I loved the soil, and I loved to see things grow.
“I think that I learned more on the farm that helped me to succeed in life than I did in any other place. It was while farming that I learned how to work consistently, joyfully, and to the best of my ability. I was motivated by my own enthusiasm, without any prompting from others.”
Elder Sill wishes to impart this message to the children of the world: “In our preexistence, we lived with God, who is our Teacher and our Eternal Heavenly Father. And by the quality of our lives there, we earned the right to be born and to live now.
“What a great time it is to grow up under the most favorable conditions that have ever been known upon our earth. Many of you will have all of the education you could possibly desire. The gospel has been restored in a fulness never before known so that the pathway to eternal life is now brilliantly lighted and perfectly marked. No one need get off that strait and narrow way leading to the celestial kingdom, except by his own choice. God, who is concerned about our destiny, will abundantly bless us if we will always remember to serve and to worship Him.
“The best success formula that I know of in the world is to keep the Lord’s commandments with no exceptions permitted. In the words of Dicken’s Tiny Tim, ‘God bless us, every one.’”

I served in the United States Navy near the end of World War II. Navy boot camp was not an easy experience for me or for anyone who endured it.
When Sunday rolled around after the first week, we received welcome news from the chief petty officer. Standing at attention on the drill ground in a brisk California breeze, we heard his command: “Today everybody goes to church—everybody, that is, except for me. I am going to relax!” Then he shouted, “All of you Catholics, you meet in Camp Decatur—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!” A rather large group moved out. Then he barked out his next command: “Those of you who are Jewish, you meet in Camp Henry—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!” A smaller group marched out. Then he said, “The rest of you Protestants, you meet in the theaters at Camp Farragut—and don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!”
Instantly there flashed through my mind the thought, “Monson, you are not a Catholic; you are not a Jew; you are not a Protestant. You are a Mormon, so you just stand here!” I felt completely alone.
Then the chief petty officer looked in my direction and asked, “And just what do you guys call yourselves?” I had not realized that anyone was standing beside me or behind me. Almost in unison, each of us replied, “Mormons!” Joy filled my heart as I turned around and saw a handful of other sailors.
The chief petty officer thought for a moment and finally said, “Well, you guys go find somewhere to meet. And don’t come back until three o’clock. Forward, march!”
As we marched away, I thought of the words of a rhyme I had learned in Primary years before:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone.
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
How grateful I am that I made the decision long ago to remain strong and true, always prepared and ready to defend my religion.

Shannon, a young mother, did not expect that she would teach her children the power of prayer when they piled into their van to drive to their home just 40 minutes away. There was no storm when they left their grandmother’s home, but as they began to drive through the canyon, the light snow turned into a blizzard. The van began sliding on the surface of the road. Soon visibility was near zero. The two youngest children could sense the stress of the situation and began to cry. Shannon said to the older children, Heidi and Thomas, ages 8 and 6, “You need to pray. We need Heavenly Father’s help to get home safely. Pray that we will not get stuck and that we will not slide off the road.” Her hands shook as she steered the car, yet she could hear the whisper of little prayers repeatedly coming from the backseat: “Heavenly Father, please help us get home safely; please help us so we will not slide off the road.”
In time the prayers calmed the two little ones, and they stopped their crying just as they learned that a road closure prevented them from driving any farther. Cautiously, they turned around and found a motel for the night. Once in the motel, they knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for their safety. That night a mother taught her children the power of holding true to prayer.

“We also used to go to Huntsville, Utah, every summer; that’s where my mother grew up. Mother was President David O. McKay’s sister. I can’t remember President McKay when he didn’t have white hair. He was a great man, loving and kind and never saying an unkind word about anyone.
“I was so impressed with Huntsville that when I was nearing eight years of age, I decided that I wanted to be baptized in Spring Creek, which runs just a half block north of the old McKay home. It was late November, and the weather was very cold. There was ice along the edge of the creek when we stepped across it into the old swimming hole where Mother and President McKay had both been baptized.
“My mother was a very spiritual person. She taught us well the importance of living to be worthy to receive the impressions of the Spirit and to follow them.
“When I was older, I had a remarkable spiritual experience. I had taken my family to Burley, Idaho, to see my wife’s family. Coming back, we had a flat tire on a very sharp curve. I stopped the car on the curve because I didn’t want to ruin the tire. As I pulled off the two-lane highway and started to jack the car up, I had the strongest impression to move the car ahead. I ignored the feeling and continued to jack the car up. Luckily the car slipped off the jack. I again had an impression to move the car ahead. I said, ‘OK,’ and I pulled it ahead about twenty yards from where it had been to the straight-away. I had the wheel off and was about ready to put the spare tire on, when I saw two cars speeding west, one car passing the other. Then I saw another car coming from the opposite direction. The three cars passed each other on the curve exactly where our car had been. I don’t know how many of us would have been killed if we had not moved. From then on I’ve tried to follow my impressions the first time—I don’t wait for a second time. When you follow your impressions, you don’t always know what would have happened if you hadn’t done so, but it pays to heed them.
“It’s important for us to learn that serving others is the only way to gain real happiness. My father taught me something that has always impressed me: There’s no limit to the amount of good that you can do if you don’t care who gets the credit. If we can keep this in mind and serve the best that we can, whatever our assignment is, and try to be thoughtful of others, our happiness will multiply. Happiness doesn’t come to us by just seeking it. It comes to us as we serve other people. It’s important to understand that and to do things that are beyond the call of duty, to be helpful to our mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and all our friends. By helping them in ways that will bring them happiness, our own happiness will be increased.”

When 12-year-old Malachi Priest of Nottingham 1st Ward heard about the Captain Tom Moore’s 100 Challenge, he was very keen to take part. Malachi’s school, the Priory Ruskin Academy, had encouraged pupils to do a sponsored activity one hundred times and to donate the money to the St. Barnabas Hospice Trust, that supports people across Lincolnshire.
Malachi has enjoyed dancing from an early age and with the suggestion of his mother, Elaine, he excitedly decided that his fundraising activity would be 100 video dance games. He did four sets of 25 dances over three days, taking five hours 28 minutes and 21 seconds to complete. He said he felt exhausted after each session but, thinking of being able to help others and the encouraging support from his family, helped him carry on. Malachi’s four older siblings Rebekah, Rachael, Joseph, and Ethan supported him by taking turns dancing along with him in some of the sessions. This inspired Malachi to finish and raise over £1,000 in sponsorship.
Malachi’s charitable work caught the attention of the local media. A picture and report appeared in the local newspaper, The Grantham Journal. The local radio station, Radio Lincolnshire, interviewed Malachi and his mother. Malachi also appeared on two television news programmes: ITV Central News, and ‘Make a Difference’ on BBC East Midland News.
Some of the comments made to the local media by Malachi included: “I will be celebrating the extraordinary spirit of Captain Tom my way and help my chosen charity. Please donate to help me reach my goal, or even go beyond” and “Thank you everyone who has supported me. I did it! I followed in Captain Tom’s footsteps and danced my way down the path. I danced 100 dances from Just Dance 2021 (animated dances for downloading on electronic games ‘boxes’).”
Elaine said: “He absolutely loves dancing. It’s lovely. He’s such a kind boy, he always has been.” After he completed the challenge, she added: “Malachi feels great. I asked him when he finished if he still enjoyed dancing? Bless him, He smiled a great big smile and replied, ‘Yes, I still love dancing’” (Grantham Journal, 6 May 2021).
On Malachi’s fundraising site he gave the reason he wanted to participate and do the 100 dances, “Because I love dancing, and being kind.”

Apples to Oregon: Being the (Slightly) True Narrative of How a Brave Pioneer Father Brought Apples, Peaches, Pears, Plums, Grapes, and Cherries (and Children) Across the Plains, by Deborah Hopkinson, illustrated by Nancy Carpenter. This is the silly tall tale, based on truth, of how young Delicious and her family faced rivers, storms, drought in the desert, and other obstacles on their way across the plains to the West. The colorful oil painting illustrations give even more life to this exciting tale.

Not only should you be eager to learn your priesthood lessons in this life, but you should be optimistic about what is possible. A few of us may limit in our minds our possibilities to learn what the Lord sets before us in His service.

One young man left his little Welsh village in the early 1840s, heard the Apostles of God, and came into the kingdom of God on earth. He sailed with the Saints to America and drove a wagon west across the plains. He was in the next company after Brigham Young coming into this valley. His priesthood service included clearing and breaking ground for a farm.

He sold the farm for pennies on the dollar to go on a mission for the Lord in the deserts of what is now Nevada to take care of sheep. He was called from that to another mission across the ocean in the very village he had left in his poverty to follow the Lord.

Through it all, he found a way to learn with his priesthood brethren. Bold missionary that he was, he walked down the lane in Wales to the summer estate of a man who was four times the prime minister of England to offer him the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The great man let him into his mansion. He was a graduate of Eton College and of Oxford University. The missionary talked with him about the origins of man, the central role of Jesus Christ in the history of the world, and even the fate of nations.

At the end of their discussion, the host declined the offer to accept baptism. But as they parted, that leader of one of the great empires of the world asked the humble missionary, “Where did you get your education?” His answer: “In the priesthood of God.”