Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago, while serving as a Scoutmaster, I learned the importance of this second principle. When I first received the calling, I felt honored and also excited by the prospects. My dad had been a Scoutmaster for 18 years, most of my summer vacations had been at Scout Camp, I was an Eagle Scout, I’d attended a National Scout Jamboree, and I’d worked on the waterfront at a Scout camp for several years as a teenager. But I quickly discovered that I had much to learn about boys and about my role as the Scoutmaster.

From my experience as a Scout, I knew that we needed to include in our Scouting program activities that were fun and exciting but that also gave the boys a chance to learn and grow, so they would have a sense of accomplishment, confidence in facing the challenges of life, and the needed preparation for additional Priesthood responsibility and service. I had always loved skiing, so one of the first activities I selected was to take the boys to the slopes and teach them how to ski.

We made the needed preparations, and I enlisted the help of two other dads with skiing experience. The arrangements were to drive up to New Hampshire on a Friday evening, sleep in sleeping bags on the floor of a large rented condominium, and then take the boys skiing the next day before driving home on Saturday evening. As fate would have it, that week had been a particularly tough week for me at work, and I was exhausted by the time we arrived in New Hampshire and settled in at 10 PM that Friday evening.

While I was ready for a good night’s sleep, many of the 18 boys were not. They were excited and ready for a night of antics. By 1 AM, I was frustrated and even more exhausted. Each time I would fall asleep, some piece of clothing would come flying across the room, boys would start wrestling, or someone would need another drink of water or to use the bathroom. Two boys – brothers from a single parent home – had clearly picked up on my frustration and were making a game out of it. By 3 AM, when they finally dozed off, I’d had it. Then at 7 AM, they were up, waking the other boys, excited to have breakfast and get going.

In spite of the rough night, we had a successful day of skiing and all of the boys managed to learn the basics without getting hurt. We left the ski slopes, had dinner, and drove home, but I was dissatisfied with my negative memories of the night in the condo. I knew I needed some help and assistance or my tenure as Scoutmaster was not going to turn out well.

That Monday, I went jogging at noon with a close friend who asked me about the weekend ski trip with the Scouts. I told him what had happened and about my frustrations – especially with the two brothers – and then asked him for his advice. He thought about it and then asked a question which surprised me. He asked, “Do you love them?” I told him I thought I did, and he then asked, “Do they know you love them?” At that point, it struck me that, given the weekend’s experience, they might well conclude that I did not love them.

As I reflected repeatedly on my friend’s two questions, I concluded that he was correct. I would do much better, and so would the Scouts, if I really did love them and if I made sure they knew it. Over the next several weeks, I made a concerted effort to pray for greater love for my Scouts and to know how to show that love. While there were no major breakthroughs, there were lots of small wins, and over time as I got more dads and home teachers involved, we made great progress both with the Scouts and the Scouting program but more importantly in my relationship with each of the boys. We had many wonderful experiences, and I even had the pleasure of going as a leader with almost all of those same boys on a national Scout jamboree a few years later.

But I must admit that I was still never sure how much progress I was making with those two brothers. However, 10 years later, through a tender mercy, I learned that I had indeed made real progress. The ward had been split, and those two boys were no longer in our ward, but we continued to meet in the same building. One Sunday, I was in the foyer waiting to meet with the Stake President and the mother of those two boys happened to be speaking. She was talking about Priesthood holders that had made a difference in the lives of her boys. She related how she had overheard her son tell another friend that the only adult he felt he could trust was his Scoutmaster.

I was very grateful that day, both for a good friend who had pointed out the need to love my neighbor – in this case my Scouts – and for the gospel and the Holy Ghost for teaching me how to make real progress and to have it be apparent to those Scouts. The Lord desires that we willingly love others by understanding them, engaging with them, and letting that love guide our actions toward them.

One day a young woman, Annae Jensen, came to the temple to receive her endowment. I could feel the radiance of her spirit. This young woman was born without any arms—nothing beyond her shoulders. However, it was almost as though she had lost awareness of her physical limitation and had been spiritually compensated.

Just this past month, my husband and I received a call from Annae and Garath Jones telling us of their blessing and excitement. I asked her for permission to share part of their story. They are expecting their first baby in just a few months—the beginning of their posterity. Into my mind I saw this faithful young mother without arms and thought of her desire to cradle and love this special little spirit.

I asked Annae, knowing she would respond positively, “How have you learned to handle the hard things in life?”

In her usual happy, upbeat tone, she said, “I just say, ‘Heavenly Father, what am I supposed to learn from this?’ And if I don’t learn it, I’ve missed an opportunity.” While Annae is without arms, her back is strong. She has developed spirituality under what would appear to be adversity. There is no question—that baby will be enshrouded with its mother’s love.

About one year ago my wife, Alessandra, got a text message on her phone from a sister in our home ward in Brazil. It had been more than two years since they had last met. This sister wrote: “On one of the worst days of my life, I don’t know how I got to church. When I did, you saw me. You held my arm and told me to sit by you. I talked to you. You listened and counseled me.”
This seemed to be a simple conversation at the time. But it turned out to be an opportunity for my wife to be an instrument in the hands of the Lord. She ministered to that dear sister who was going through a challenging time. Alessandra didn’t really think about it. She simply felt prompted to listen and to offer comfort, and she acted on the prompting. Now, more than two years later, she received this text message from that sister, expressing her gratitude.

When applying to serve as senior missionaries in Apia, Samoa, Arouma answered one of the questions, explaining, “I can walk about 15 minutes, and my husband can walk about 30 minutes before having to stop and rest, but we don’t need a wheelchair.”
Gose corrected her by stating, “I can walk an hour. Whatever the mission requires us to walk, we’ll walk. It doesn’t matter how far.”
Spend a little time with the Mata’utias and you will quickly learn that this is how they approach life. One step, one day at a time.
Gose and Arouma Mata’utia grew up in Samoa, married, and then raised their seven children, and three other children they call their own, in Australia. They also have 10 grandchildren. They say with big smiles, “Our children complete our joy.”
In 1993, they were involved in a severe car accident with six of their children. It took many months to recover from serious injuries, including brain injury, broken bones, and the loss of one of their children’s arms. They could not understand how something so terrible could happen to them, but they came to realise that they were “very blessed to survive.”
While still recovering, Gose accepted the request by Church leaders to be president of a Samoan branch in Canberra, Australia. He did that from his hospital bed for about a month, and then continued to serve as the branch president for 10 years.
After that life-changing accident, they both believed their lives were spared, and it strengthened their commitment to live the gospel. Arouma said, “We felt the need to give back to the Lord.”
They encountered more challenges when Gose suffered a stroke in 2015. After an extensive time recovering from that, their oldest daughter became sick and died three years later at the age of 38. At the time of her death, Arouma recalls, “Words came to me that Heavenly Father was telling me, ‘She is my daughter, too.’” They were comforted.
When contemplating whether to serve a senior mission, they describe their love of a scripture, Matthew 19:29, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.”
Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.
Another daughter died from cancer in 2023, also at the age of 38. The Mata’utias remember her as especially faithful. Arouma said, “She desired and continually encouraged us to serve a second mission.”
They expressed gratitude to be returning to their homeland of Samoa to serve their second senior mission. Gose said, “We will leave it to the Lord, and He will bless us and our family.”

I recently had a nonmember friend who wanted to come to camp with me. As camp got closer, I didn’t really want her to come for fear she might not like it. After I read the article “I Wasn’t Alone” (July 1992), I felt a warm feeling in my heart. So I quickly called my friend and gave her all the camp information. She did go to camp with me, and during the testimony meeting at camp, she whispered to me through her tears that she felt a comforting feeling. I told her it was the Holy Ghost. Thanks so much for this article.
Name WithheldReno, Nevada

A homely story contains a warning. I like this story because it translates easily into different languages and cultures.
Two men formed a partnership. They built a small shed beside a busy road. They obtained a truck and drove it to a farmer’s field, where they purchased a truckload of melons for a dollar a melon. They drove the loaded truck to their shed by the road, where they sold their melons for a dollar a melon. They drove back to the farmer’s field and bought another truckload of melons for a dollar a melon. Transporting them to the roadside, they again sold them for a dollar a melon. As they drove back toward the farmer’s field to get another load, one partner said to the other, “We’re not making much money on this business, are we?” “No, we’re not,” his partner replied. “Do you think we need a bigger truck?”
We don’t need a bigger truckload of information, either. Like the two partners in my story, our biggest need is a clearer focus on how we should value and use what we already have.
Because of modern technology, the contents of huge libraries and other data resources are at the fingertips of many of us. Some choose to spend countless hours in unfocused surfing the Internet, watching trivial television, or scanning other avalanches of information. But to what purpose? Those who engage in such activities are like the two partners in my story, hurrying to and fro, hauling more and more but failing to grasp the essential truth that we cannot make a profit from our efforts until we understand the true value of what is already within our grasp.

My first memories of a need for power came when my family moved the year I began third grade. I started figuring out more about friends and other people’s families. As my new friends talked to kids in the extended neighborhood, we sized up assets and numbers—who had shade trees you could sit in or chicken coops you could climb on. Besides whose dad was the strongest, I noticed many of the kids were older than I. Luckily, I had two big sisters with lots of friends. In fact, I once said I could call out the whole high school if needed. I felt I had the needed personal power for safety and self-preservation.
My eight-year-old world was enlarging. So was the need for the skills that help one cope in this civilized world. I started appreciating the safety one gets from size, numbers, resources. Our use of what I call personal or political power begins early. Most children learn about size first. “If you don’t stop that, I’ll call Mom.” “When Dad comes home, you’ll be in big trouble.” Resources can supplement our need for size. A toy becomes a stick. What begins as a snowman becomes a fortress. The world was at war in those days, but I was a third-grader. The physical danger I feared was the boy with a wooden gun that shot rubber rings taken from fruit jars. His target was girls’ legs. Friends told me you could give the boy bottle rings and he wouldn’t hit you, but adding to his arsenal seemed like a traitorous thing to do, and I doubted you could trust a commitment from a bully. I think a teacher eventually took his gun. In my world, I appreciated people who had power, like teachers and parents, especially if they had fair rules.

“You won’t understand everything the first time, but always go back to the temple and keep learning more throughout your life.”
My bishop gave me this advice right before I received my endowment, and he was right! I’ll never forget the Spirit and the love I felt in the temple, but afterward, I quickly forgot a lot of it, and I wasn’t sure how to apply everything I had learned.
Which just made me want to keep going back to learn more.
Elder Robert D. Hales (1932–2017) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Temples are the greatest university of learning known to man.”1
But how can we learn in the temple?
We all learn differently, so as we seek revelation, the Holy Ghost can teach us individually and make the temple a “house of learning” for each of us (Doctrine and Covenants 109:8).
Here are a few experiences that have shown me how personalized learning in the Lord’s house can be.
Temple preparation isn’t just a class we take before receiving our endowment. We can always prepare ourselves to learn before each visit.
Heavenly Father wants us to learn and to seek answers. We can pray for help, we can search the scriptures, and we can even fast or do family history work prior to our temple visit to better open our hearts to the knowledge that can be found there. President Russell M. Nelson said: “One may … read in the Old Testament and the books of Moses and Abraham in the Pearl of Great Price. Such a review of ancient scripture is even more enlightening after one is familiar with the temple endowment.”2
Before every temple visit, I try to have a question in mind about the gospel, about my life, or about the ordinances, and I ask Heavenly Father to help me recognize the voice of the Spirit to understand what He wants to teach me. Preparing beforehand always helps me invite a spirit of learning in the temple. And when we let go of the things of the world within the temple and seek to hear Him, we can open our hearts to the Spirit and learn in whatever ways He wants to teach us.
When I was getting married, I felt anxious. My family still chuckles at how I tapped my fingers on my knee (a nervous tick of mine) as the temple sealer spoke to us. I wasn’t afraid to marry my husband—I loved him! But I was worried about the future because I was making such an important covenant. I silently prayed when I entered the temple to know what I could do to keep our marriage strong in a world that was growing increasingly turbulent.
A few moments later, the temple sealer told my husband and me to remember that every ordinance in the temple points us to Jesus Christ. The Spirit helped me recognize this message as an answer from Heavenly Father, and the temple sealer’s words deepened my testimony that as my husband and I consistently turned to the Savior, especially through temple work, we could strengthen our marriage through eternity.
This experience reminded me that Heavenly Father cares about the questions in our hearts and can provide comforting wisdom to us in the temple in personal ways. As President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) taught: “When I have been weighed down by a problem or a difficulty, I have gone to the House of the Lord with a prayer in my heart for answers. These answers have come in clear and unmistakable ways.”3
During one temple visit in a particularly busy time in my life, my mind was elsewhere, and I was in a hurry to do the ordinances and be on my way. But a kind temple worker quietly suggested that when we slow down and consider the sacred work we are doing, we can feel the profound Spirit that resides only in the Lord’s house. I believe that temple worker was prompted to help me understand a truth. And I was reminded of how we can receive knowledge from so many different sources in the temple. I have received revelation in the temple by silently praying, searching the scriptures in waiting areas, meditating on the words of the ordinances, and, yes, even talking with inspired temple workers.
As we learn in the temple, we might receive an increased understanding of ordinances and covenants, a deepened testimony, promptings, feelings of comfort, and more. Heavenly Father wants us to have personal learning experiences in the temple and to be open to the many ways we can receive knowledge in His house.
I still have so much to learn about temple ordinances and the power that comes from keeping my covenants. But I’m so grateful that I can continue to keep learning throughout my life.
As we prioritize our time in the temple and set aside moments to reflect on our covenants, we will open the door to knowledge that can help us stay on the path to Christ. That has been true for me as I have returned again and again to learn in the Lord’s way in His holy house.

Today, while eating my donuts and milk (an after-school-snack) and deciding what to wear to work, I was singing melancholy songs to myself (in my head) and feeling blue. Then Dad, having sorted the mail, plopped the New Era on the table beside me. Instantly my sad song vanished, and as I opened the cover, my blues left too (unable to exist in a mind now full of anticipation and excitement). I read “Feedback,” “3 Rs of Free Agency,” and “A Visit with President Lee” before having to leave for work. Jonathan Seagull never had it so good. In the space of fifteen minutes I was transformed from the depths of apathetic blight (that attacks so strongly the last few months in high school) to that beautiful, sweet, tender, spiritual state that swells my heart and fogs my eyes with love for all that is good.
Bruce R. SnowCarlsbad, New Mexico

While serving a mission in Bolivia, I was confronted for the first time by extreme poverty. As I saw the difficult circumstances of the people that I taught, I began to wonder how God could demand tithing and needed Sunday work-time from his children. Many of them worked twelve hour days, seven days a week, and still couldn’t pay their bills. I often felt bewildered as I taught the Ten Commandments and the law of tithing. How could they be expected to feed their families on 90 percent of their income, working six days a week instead of seven?
For four and a half months, my questions went unanswered. Then came a transfer to the tropical city of Santa Cruz and, with it, a new companion. Sister Hurtado had dark skin, short black hair, bright eyes, and was well under five feet tall. She had been a missionary for less than a week, and I felt I would need to teach her a lot about missionary work.
During our first week together we taught a family the discussion on the Ten Commandments. Both husband and wife and one son worked in the family store on Sundays. I had previously encouraged them to attend Sunday meetings, and they were sending the son who was not tending the store. They felt they could afford to send only one family member to church.
When we asked them to commit to keeping the Ten Commandments, they began making the familiar excuses. I knew the struggle they had to pay for necessities. How could I explain that some blessings could not be seen or calculated into the month’s budget? I felt confused. Then, humbly, my new companion began to tell the story of her own family’s decision to obey the commandments.
As the weeks went by, my companion repeated her story many times. Gradually, I began to understand why God would require so much of his children. As we exercise the necessary faith to obey the commandments, we actually put ourselves in a position where we can receive God’s blessings. His blessings are not always tangible, but he does help us overcome our problems.

Bradley rode his bicycle along the gravel path through the park, pedaling hard and making gravel fly as he turned the corners. In a few minutes the last school bell would ring. He had been late twice already this month, and if he was late again, the school would call his mother. He just couldn’t let that happen.
His father had died when he was two years old, and since then he and his mother had lived alone. She worked the early shift at the hospital so that she could be home with him in the afternoons and evenings, but it meant that he had to get ready for school by himself and make his own breakfast. If the school called Mom at work, she’d be disappointed and worried. She might even hire Sister Williams again to help him get ready for school.
Suddenly Bradley skidded to a stop. There was a black leather wallet lying on the ground, thick with papers and cards. It took him only a moment to pick it up, slip it into his backpack, and be on his way.
Some early-morning jogger or someone taking a walk must have dropped the wallet, he decided. A fat wallet like this must contain lots of money. He thought about how tired his mother was after her shift at the hospital and about how little money they had after she paid the rent and bought food and clothes. They seldom had anything extra-nice. His mother’s birthday was just two days away, and he wished he could give her a really nice birthday present.
He shoved his bike into the rack in the schoolyard and hurried inside, getting to his seat just as the bell rang. During recess, Bradley went into an empty room and closed the door. He took the wallet out of his backpack and opened it. His fingers trembled as he took out the bills: twenty, forty, sixty—sixty dollars! he stuffed the money back inside and pulled out some cards, searching for a driver’s license. When he found it, the picture of a woman stared back at him. She had big brown eyes and wavy hair, her name was Maryann Foster, and she lived not very far from him. A heavy feeling started in his stomach as he wondered if Mrs. Foster had a son. He put everything back into the wallet and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Finders-keepers, he thought. But there was a tight feeling in his chest.
When Bradley got home after school, he tiptoed into the house and hurried to his room to hide the wallet. He sat down on his bed and thought about the birthday present that he could buy. For some reason, though, he didn’t feel happy.
He worked on his homework until his mother called him for supper. He kissed her and sat down at the table.
“How was school?” she asked.
“OK, I guess,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“You sound unhappy. Did something happen at school that you want to talk about?”
“No, not really,” he replied. “Mom, what would you like for your birthday?”
“Oh, Bradley, I know that you don’t have much money, so I don’t want you to worry about my birthday. Just having you is like getting a present every day.”
“What if I told you that someone gave me some money?” Bradley felt his face grow red. The wallet was making him lie, and suddenly he hated it.
“Did someone give you some money?” his mother asked.
When he looked at his mother’s worried face, Bradley had to tell her the truth. “No, but this morning on my way to school I found a wallet. It has sixty dollars in it. I want to buy you a present.”
“Finders-keepers?” his mother asked.
“I thought that we probably need the money more than anyone else. You’ve always said that I should pray for what I need, and I’ve been praying for a long time for some way to buy you a really nice present.” Tears started to run down his cheeks.
“Do you think that if you really need it, that it’s all right to keep something that isn’t yours?” Mom asked in a quiet voice.
“No. I tried to tell myself that it was finders-keepers, but I didn’t really believe it. All I wanted to do was buy you something nice.”
“I know, honey,” said Mom, “but there’s a better present that you can give me than one bought with money.”
Bradley got up and gave her a hug, then went upstairs to get the wallet.
After supper they started walking to Mrs. Foster’s. When they found her address, Bradley opened the gate, went up the sidewalk bordered with late-summer flowers, and rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and Bradley recognized Mrs. Foster from her picture. Clinging to her legs and staring at him shyly were two small children, and she had a baby in her arms. She looked tired, and there were worry lines creasing her forehead.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Uh, … my name’s Bradley. This morning on my way to school, I found this, so I’m returning it to you.” He held out the wallet.
The woman stared at him a moment, speechless. Then her face crumpled, and she started to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the corner of her apron. “Won’t you please come in?”
When they were sitting inside, Bradley noticed that the furniture was old and that the toys on the floor were broken.
“Oh, Bradley,” said Mrs. Foster, “I’m grateful that you are honest. When I couldn’t find the wallet, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been praying all day that whoever found my wallet would return it to me. Thank you for answering my prayer.”
Later, as they were walking home, Mom asked, “When Mrs. Foster tried to give you some money for a reward, why didn’t you take it?”
“Well, I decided then I didn’t really need the money so much. When I first found the wallet, I thought that it was the answer to my prayer. But I’m happier now to have been the answer to Mrs. Foster’s prayer. I think that she needs the money more than we do.”
“Oh, Bradley,” said Mom, hugging him. “I’m proud of you! You really are the best birthday present that any mother could have!”

This story happened in Finland.
Joska and his family walked quietly through the snow. It was Christmas Eve, and they were doing one of their favorite traditions. Every year, people in Finland visited the cemetery to light candles on the graves of their loved ones.
Lots of bright candles glittered in the dark. Even though it was cold, they made the cemetery feel cozy and peaceful.
Joska’s parents led them to a grave. “Who’s this?” his little sister, Aasa, asked.
“This is my great-uncle,” said Mum.
Turo, Joska’s older brother, pointed at the dates on the stone. “He was born over a hundred years ago!”
“Yes. But he’s still part of our family.” Mum pulled out a candle. “Do you want to light it, Joska?”
Joska nodded and lit the candle. Then he carefully put a metal lid with holes in it on top. It would keep the wind from blowing out the flame. He placed the candle on the ground in front of the grave. The soft, glowing light looked beautiful.
They went to the next family grave. Joska held Aasa’s hand as they walked.
“Why do we light candles on the graves?” she asked.
“Because it’s important to remember our family members,” he said.
“Even if they lived a hundred years ago?” Aasa asked.
“Yes,” Dad said. “All our aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents are part of our family. We’re all one big family because of Jesus Christ.”
Mum got out another candle. Turo helped Aasa light it.
“But why do we light the candles at Christmas?” Aasa asked.
Joska thought about that for a minute. They could light candles at the cemetery any other day. Why Christmas Eve?
“Maybe because Jesus is the Light of the World,” Joska said.
Mum smiled. “That’s a great answer. I think you’re right.” She helped Aasa put her candle in the snow next to the grave. “It’s because of Jesus Christ that we can be with our family forever. And because He lived again, all of us will live again too.”
They all stepped back to look at the lights. The whole cemetery twinkled like it was full of stars.
Joska’s heart felt warm as they walked back to the car. When they got home, they would open presents and play games. But right now, Joska was glad he could have this quiet time with his family. He would always be grateful for Jesus’s light.
Why did Joska and his family light candles on Christmas Eve?
Illustration by Flavio Remontti

As my daughter stated, I was blessed to spend most of my formative years growing up in this very community. My family, like most local families, prioritized sports. I share these pictures with you not because I want you to see all the sports I played or how cute I was, but rather to show how BYU–Hawaii has been an integral part of the Laie community for a very long time – as most of these pictures were taken here on campus. My brothers and I grew up playing sports, but eventually I put all of my athletic endeavors into baseball. I was blessed that my dad spent countless hours practicing with me in the batting cage. Although I was supposed to be working on my swing, I often felt like I was working on my takes, as the strike to wild pitch ratio was about 1:10. Even though I didn’t know it at the time, it was during those hours in the batting cage that my dad taught me to work hard even when I didn’t feel like it. He taught me patience and discipline and I learned to be coachable. It was through athletics that I developed the skills I needed to eventually graduate from college and enter the professional world outside of sports. Though my dream was to be a professional athlete, I was able to pivot and use the skills I gained and apply them to other disciplines. It was a surprise to myself and many others that after four years of playing in the minor leagues I chose to go back to college and get a degree in accounting. Returning to school can be a difficult transition with many barriers. I am eternally grateful that when my wife and I decided to return to school we had the support of Brother Arapata Meha who was able to guide us in our return as non-traditional students.

When we began our time as BYU–Hawaii students we were so happy to find out that our good friends Eric and Monique Tevaga would be our neighbors at TVA. It was through this friendship that led me to find my major. Eric, a childhood friend of mine, and former Kahuku football player, shared with me that he was a business major which led me to see what business was all about. The business major led me to an accounting class, which after taking, I felt strongly it was the major for me. I knew right away that accounting would be difficult and extremely new to me and although uncomfortable, I was motivated by this challenge. Early on in the major I met Professor Jennifer Chen who seemed to believe in my abilities, probably even more than myself. She encouraged me to become an accounting tutor and eventually to be the president of the accounting club, both of which I thought were completely out of my league and comfort zone. I am grateful for her confidence and encouragement in me to this day as it was critical to my success in my major.

When our time at BYU–Hawaii wrapped up I had to consider what was next. I had the idea to attend graduate school and to attain a master's degree in accounting. However, there was one stumbling block for me, the GMAT. I studied and studied as best as I could, and despite my best efforts my GMAT score did not meet the minimum requirements for the universities of my choice. I did not get accepted to BYU in Provo or the University of Utah. In a twist of FATE and FAITH, a sister in our student ward, Saineha Reeves, heard about my aspirations and volunteered to speak to a cousin who had influence at the University of Utah about my predicament. She spoke to her cousin who then spoke to someone in charge in the accounting department at the University of Utah. After a short interview I expressed how much it would mean to my family for me to be the first one to earn a master's degree. Upon their consideration, I was granted a conditional acceptance to the MACC program, despite my low GMAT scores. The condition was simple- I must successfully complete the program- which through study and faith, I did. After graduation I was offered jobs from two Big Four Accounting Firms - PricewaterhouseCoopers in Salt Lake City and Deloitte & Touche in Hawaii. Since then, the GMAT has been dropped from the requirements to the MACC program at the University of Utah.

I hope that you can see that through my journey the Lord was there and prayers were always being answered. While I gave my very best, the Lord did the rest and provided me with the guidance and support I needed through others. The road wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. I had to overcome thoughts of not being smart enough or good enough at school. I had spent many years seeing myself as an athlete and not an academic.

A few years ago, I was diagnosed with lung cancer! Cancer is a very scary thing. The doctor informed me that the cancer had attached to one of the lobs of my lung. He was concerned that the cancer might also be attached to the aorta. He recommended immediate surgery. I asked myself a few times, “Why me?” I was serving as a bishop at the time, and I had just retired and was looking forward to some time with my wife, our children, and our grandchildren and to serving another mission. Why was this happening to me? Prior to the surgery, I was given a priesthood blessing by my three sons and son-in-law. It was humbling to hear the words spoken in that blessing, reminding me that the Lord was aware of me and my situation and that I should put my trust in Him. I didn’t know then, or for some time in the future, if I would be healed or not, but I realized I was in the Lord’s hands, and I put my trust in Him. The surgery went well, and my recovery was complete. I testify that I felt the Lord’s hand every step of the way through my surgery and recovery. As you go through trials, you can feel the Lord’s sustaining influence too.

On March 1, 1842, Margaret Cook visited Sarah Kimball to do some sewing for her. They discussed the recent appeals for support of the temple laborers. Margaret’s means were meager, but her sewing skill could be useful to those needing clothing. If fabric could be made available, Margaret said she “would be pleased to contribute needlework.”2 Sarah said she would provide the material, and as they continued conversing, they wondered if others might want to help as well. They spoke with friends about organizing a sewing society.
This conversation, prompted by Margaret and Sarah acting on inspiration, led to further interactions with others, including the Prophet Joseph Smith. In response, the Lord told His prophet that He had “something better” for the women and inspired Joseph to organize them under “the pattern of the priesthood.”3 This laid the revelatory foundation of what we know today as Relief Society, one of the world’s oldest and largest women’s service organizations.

We sing, “Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, number 27). This is a true principle. Let me illustrate with a personal experience.
I was named bishop of a suburban Salt Lake City ward in 1958, in the days when local members paid 50 percent of the cost of constructing a building. One of the most important leadership experiences in my life came several weeks before the dedication of our building. Our ward of young families, struggling to make ends meet, still needed to raise U.S. $30,000. I fasted and prayed to know what I should say to them regarding this obligation. We already had pressed them very hard.
As the brethren gathered for priesthood meeting, I was impressed to read to them the testimony that Elder Melvin J. Ballard, my grandfather, bore when he was ordained to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on 7 January 1919. I quote a small portion recounting his experience in 1917 when he had sought the Lord pleadingly in a situation where there were no precedents for guidance:
“That night I received a wonderful manifestation and impression which has never left me. I was carried to this place—into this room. I saw myself here with you. I was told there was another privilege that was to be mine; and I was led into a room where I was informed I was to meet someone. As I entered the room I saw, seated on a raised platform, the most glorious being I have ever conceived of, and was taken forward to be introduced to Him. As I approached He smiled, called my name, and stretched out His hands toward me. … He put His arms around me and kissed me, as He took me into His bosom, and He blessed me until my whole being was thrilled. As He finished I fell at His feet, and there saw the marks of the nails; and as I kissed them, with deep joy swelling through my whole being, I felt that I was in heaven indeed. The feeling that came to my heart then was: Oh! If I could live worthy … so that in the end when I have finished I could go into His presence and receive the feeling that I then had in His presence, I would give everything that I am and ever hope to be!” (Melvin R. Ballard, Melvin J. Ballard: Crusader for Righteousness [1966], 66).
The Spirit of the Lord touched the hearts of the faithful brethren in my ward’s priesthood meeting that day. We all knew that with greater faith in Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer, we could reach our goal. During that same day, family after family came to my office with money, making personal sacrifices that were far beyond what I, the bishop, would ever have asked of them. By eight o’clock Sunday evening, the ward clerk had written receipts for a little more than $30,000.
Sacrifice truly brought forth the blessings of heaven to the members of our ward. Never have I lived among a people who were more united, more caring, more concerned for one another than those members. In our greatest sacrifice, we became bonded together in the true spirit of the gospel of love and service.

“One cool summer evening when I was a freshman in college, I had a date with someone I really liked. I didn’t know him well, but I looked up to him a lot.
“When he came to pick me up for the movie, we walked to the theater, since he didn’t have a car. We had a great time getting to know each other better.
“Then the movie started. It was okay for the first ten minutes, but even though it had a PG rating, it started making me uncomfortable. The dialogue became more and more suggestive, and I started to sink lower and lower in my seat.
“And do you know what he did? Even though we’d only been there a short time, he turned to me and said, ‘I really don’t like this movie. Do you mind if we leave?’ He didn’t make a big deal over it, he just suggested we leave. I’ll always remember that date because of his integrity. That’s the kind of man I want to marry.”

History is filled with numerous examples of men and women who wore out their lives in service to others. One such person was Florence Nightingale, the founder of the modern nursing profession. Born in 1820 in Florence, Italy, where her well-to-do parents were temporarily residing, she grew to womanhood in England. A child of privilege, she could easily have spent her life in the mindless pursuit of pleasure. But she felt deeply that God had a mission for her to accomplish. She trained in Germany as a practical nurse and became the superintendent of nurses at a hospital in London. It was not an easy task. Nursing at that time was a profession with little prestige.
In 1854, when war broke out in the Crimea, Florence took a party of nurses to work in the military hospitals in Turkey. When she arrived she found that wounded men were being kept under appalling conditions of filth, degradation, and gross overcrowding.
Blessed with an iron will and unflinching courage, Florence fought the hostility of the medical establishment and the army bureaucracy to obtain supplies needed for proper nursing of desperately wounded soldiers. Prodigious efforts were made to clean the wards and bring to the injured some of the amenities of civilized life. The wounded began to receive nourishing, well-cooked food and the comfort of clean linen. Wounds were dressed regularly, and the men were bathed and given clean clothing.
Florence drove herself hard. She worked 18-hour days, making her rounds through the wards late at night, a lamp in her hand, giving comfort and solace to thousands. She became idolized by the soldiers, who called her “the Lady with the Lamp.” Her unstinting service paid off. In a few months the mortality rate among the wounded fell from more than 40 percent to just over 2 percent.
The justly honored position held by the nursing profession today throughout the world has resulted in no small measure from the example of Florence Nightingale’s extraordinary life of unstinting service. I believe she would have agreed with King Benjamin, who knew that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

Sister Mayra is a recent convert from Ecuador. Her joy in the gospel skyrocketed immediately following her baptism as she invited friends and loved ones around her through social media accounts. Many family members and friends who saw her posts responded with questions. Mayra connected with them, often inviting them to her home to meet with the missionaries together.

Mayra’s parents, her siblings, her aunt, two cousins, and several of her friends were baptized because she courageously invited them to “come and see,” “come and serve,” and “come and belong.” Through her normal and natural invitations, over 20 people have accepted her invitation to be baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ. This came about because Sister Mayra simply invited others to experience the joy she felt as a member of the Church.

Brother Anthian has several goals for the choir. One is to infuse joy, love, and hope into the lives of men who have in the past sought to salve their pain with drugs, alcohol, and other vices. The fulfillment of this goal is clear in the life of Nicolas “Colas” Allaire, who hands out roses during subway concerts. Now 65, Colas was raised in a Montréal orphanage until age 17. With no formal education and no family, friends, or money, he was never able to find work. In winter he made snow caves to keep from freezing to death. Sometimes he committed crimes just to be put in jail so he would have something to eat every day. This is his first regular job. Since joining the choir, he says, “my life has been paradise. I have made friends, and I have started to support myself. I now have a small apartment, and I am happy.”