Gospel Story Finder

Now I come to the FIFTH and last principle, that of BEING TRUE TO YOUR COVENANTS. Last week I received a phone call from a sweet young Latter-day Saint wife and mother. She was distraught. Her husband had just informed her that for the past several months he has been unfaithful to her.
As I was finishing this talk last Friday, she called again. She said that he had just told her that he was going to divorce her, also leaving behind his young son and daughter.
She was devastated. How could this be happening to her? She had been so careful in her selection of a husband. He had been a faithful Latter-day Saint. He had been an outstanding missionary. They were sealed in the temple. She had been faithful to her covenants. What went wrong?
As I listened to this young woman, I was heartsick. I felt so sorry for her. I felt even more sorry for him. This young man had been one of my missionaries when I served as mission president. I loved him as my own son. I took great joy in his successes. Now I feel overwhelming sorrow at his failure.
How could he throw away everything that he had believed in and lived for his entire life? I wept because of the tragedy of it all. I feel distraught and sick at heart as I think of it now.
How could this happen? We must first understand that there is opposition in all things and that God has given us our agency. God promises us eternal happiness as we keep the covenants that we have made with him. In contrast, Satan desires that "all men might be miserable like unto himself." Satan hates you and will do everything within his power to destroy you. Your safety lies in following the counsel of the prophets and in keeping your covenants.
When a young couple kneels across the alter in the sealing room, first and foremost, they enter into a covenant with God; and, secondarily, they enter into a covenant with each other. As you are sealed for time and all eternity, Heavenly Father promises you exaltation and eternal life if you live faithful to your covenants.
Inherent in that temple sealing is the covenant that you will be faithful to your spouse, both mentally and physically.

If you’re not wild about the thought of graduating as the only member of the Church in your class, you can always do what Tammy Shick of the Ridgeway Branch, Pennsylvania Pittsburgh Mission did. She helped convert two of her classmates.

But her missionary work didn’t stop there. She also gave a class presentation on the Book of Mormon and presented a copy to her non-LDS teacher. Then there was her senior paper, written on Church history.

Tammy is currently at Utah State on scholarship, majoring in Aerospace Engineering.

Amy shuffled along the sidewalk. Her hand measured the spaces between the slats of the picket fence that outlined Sister Pedersen’s yard. It’s not fair, she thought. Why do I have to be cooped up inside reading the news to an old blind lady while everyone else is going to the movie with Emily. And how can I ever be Emily’s friend if I can’t go to the movie with her?
Grudgingly Amy unlatched the gate, trudged up the sidewalk to Sister Pedersen’s porch, kicked the newspaper off the steps, then relented and picked it up before rapping on the door.
The door swung open, and there stood eighty-year-old Sister Pedersen.
“It’s me, Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Bring the Chronicle, and come in, Amy. Sit down here in this armchair. I believe in business first, pleasure afterward. Shall I pay you a dollar each day?” Sister Pedersen asked, reaching for her purse.
“No, ma’am. Mother said that I shouldn’t take money. In family home evening we agreed to work on serving others, and you’re my assignment.”
Sister Pedersen snapped her purse shut, nodded her head, and said, “You may read now.”
Amy struggled through the newspaper’s front-page articles. She wondered how anyone could consider this a pleasure.
After about forty-five minutes, Sister Pedersen interrupted, “Let’s stop now, Amy. Do you like treasures?”
“I guess so. What kind of treasures?”
“Follow me upstairs, and you’ll see,” Sister Pedersen told her.
“My treasure room,” Sister Pedersen announced, ushering Amy into a small room with several curio cabinets. A pedestal table loaded with beautiful small figurines stood in front of the window.
Amy gasped with delight. Her eyes danced from one lovely object to another. Each cabinet was crammed with collectibles: red goblets, silk flowers in painted vases, tiny dolls in native costumes, crystal paperweights, and bright blue plates. “It’s like an antique shop!” she exclaimed, rushing from one cabinet to another to peer at the treasures.
“You probably wonder why a blind lady keeps so many knickknacks,” Sister Pedersen said. “You see, when I touch the smooth glass objects or the soft silk fabrics, my fingers experience beauty.”
Amy watched the old lady gently rub a delicate bird fashioned of blown glass. She traced the china roses on a pink vase. Then she picked up a crystal ball etched with an intricate geometric pattern.
“Go ahead. Touch them, Amy,” Sister Pedersen coaxed.
Fascinated by the beauty of the bird, Amy timidly picked it up from the table. It was a swan with its neck arched proudly and its wings spread wide, anticipating flight.
“This swan is wonderful!” Amy whispered.
“A glassblower made it for me when I was very young. He fashioned liquid glass into that lovely bird by blowing through a long metal tube. He let me feel all the glass figures in his booth, and he even helped me blow a glass bubble. Since that day, whenever I touch my swan, I know that I, too, have seen beauty. Now, you look around, and don’t be afraid to handle everything. I’ll go fix us some refreshments. I remember how hungry young people are after school.”
Amy held the swan and imagined herself a young blind girl. Hearing peals of laughter outside, she set the swan down and leaned over the table to look out the window. Emily and all her friends were returning from the movie. Amy didn’t feel as bad about missing it as she thought she would. As she turned away from the window, Amy’s hand accidentally bumped the swan, knocking it to the floor. She scooped up the pieces and frantically shoved them into her pocket.
Sister Pedersen called, “Come downstairs, Amy, and have some biscuits and milk. Then you’d better hurry home, or your mother might not let you come again.”
Amy gulped down her snack nervously. She was too afraid to say anything about the precious bird. She said good-bye and raced down the sidewalk.
What should I do? she wondered. I can’t go back, no matter what Mother says. As Amy shut the gate, she looked up and saw Sister Pedersen waving to her. It made her feel worse, somehow.
Walking home from school the next day, Amy passed Sister Pedersen’s house and sighed with relief. At least she wasn’t supposed to read to Sister Pedersen until next week. But she still felt awful, and when she got home, she dumped all the money out of her old tin-can bank onto her bed and counted it carefully. “I hope it’s enough,” she muttered as she went to find her mother.
After school Monday, Amy slowly approached Sister Pedersen’s porch, clutching a white box. When the door opened, she said, “It’s Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come in, Amy. I didn’t think this was the day for your visit, but you’re welcome anytime.”
After they sat down, Amy carefully opened the box and placed the new swan in Sister Pedersen’s hands. Swallowing nervously, Amy said, “This is a replacement for the one that I broke. I’m awfully sorry. It was an accident.”
“It’s all right, Amy. I heard it break. I’m glad that you told me, though,” Sister Pedersen said, adding, “I’m sure that this bird cost you dearly, and I want you to keep it. Keep it and its beauty—you have given me something more beautiful. You have been an honest and good friend.”
When she left to go home, Amy happily walked down the sidewalk and turned at the gate to wave good-bye to Sister Pedersen, her new friend, who stood in the doorway, waving back.

Let’s go, guys. Time to get up,” a loud voice said, unconcerned that my exhausted body needed more rest. “Yeah,” I moaned in my most convincing tone. I rolled 90 degrees and half opened one eye to see what time it was. The illuminated digital clock read 4:35 A.M. in bright red. Dad’s portly figure towered at the bedroom door. The hallway light surrounded him, giving him the aura of a heavenly messenger dressed in white. Dad’s message, however, was not exactly prophetic: “We’ve got cows to milk. You guys awake?”
“Okay, okay,” Steve said slightly annoyed.
I closed my eyes, then felt my nose with my hand. It must have been ten degrees colder than the rest of my body, which was warmed by a stack of six blankets. I snuggled, eyes closed, listening to the wind howl outside the bedroom window. I heard the bathroom door open. “Let’s go, Steve,” I said to my brother as I slowly rolled to the edge of my bed. I flipped back the covers, sat up, and quickly pulled my pants over the insulated socks and long johns I wore all night. I grabbed one flannel shirt and slipped it on, then imitated the procedure with a second.
I heard the back door close as I headed downstairs. Steve was right behind me. In the coatroom I donned another pair of pants over the ones I had on, then two more flannel shirts of a quilted style, and a dirty green army jacket. Snowmobile boots, a heavy winter cap over my ears, a thick scarf, and sheepskin gloves completed the outfit. I took a deep breath and looked at Steve. He glanced back, in almost identical clothing. We pulled open the door and stepped out into eight inches of swirling, drifting snow.
Steve’s voice was muffled by the scarf over his mouth, but I detected a sarcastic tone as he talked, “Sure is a lovely morning.”
“Yeah,” I replied, pointing to the thermometer by the milk house. “Let’s check the temperature.”
Out of habit, we walked single file, stepping in Dad’s boot tracks. The barn lights shone brightly through the windows. I could see Dad’s reflection and knew he was throwing hay to the cows. Half asleep and shivering I was barely aware of what I was doing. Dad, however, was bustling around feeding and checking each cow to make sure she had made it through the night okay. We both stopped at the telephone pole, and Steve scraped the ice off the thermometer as I adjusted my view of the mercury. “It’s only twelve below,” I mumbled, “five degrees warmer than yesterday morning.”
As we stepped in the barn and untied our scarves, the warm air penetrating our nostrils was filled with the sweet aroma of oat straw and alfalfa hay. Johnny, our dog, ran to greet us. We each took a second to say good morning to him. Then, without speaking to each other, we moved to do our preassigned chores. In sleepy silence Steve and I prepared to milk as Dad fed the cows. The clanking of neck chains and hooves on concrete was drowned out when I turned on the radio.
As we milked I watched Dad and wondered what it would be like without him. He never missed a morning in the barn. He was never late, and he never complained. No matter what happened (and things inevitably would go wrong, especially in cold weather) he always handled it with cool, efficient professionalism. I wished I could be as patient as he was. He always shared a positive attitude, explaining that things were never as bad as they could be.
The next words were spoken half an hour later when Dad said he needed to check the heifer barn to make sure the water wasn’t frozen. We heard on the radio the wind chill outside was about 55 below. He left but returned in five minutes. We watched as he got the propane torch. “Not too bad,” he shouted cheerfully on his way back out the door.
“I’ll bet that water is frozen solid. He just doesn’t want us to get perturbed at the cold.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “that’s Dad.”
At 6:45 Steve and I were almost done milking. Dad returned. “Took you awhile, Dad. Everything okay up there?” I asked.
“No problem. Everything’s fine,” he said reassuringly.
I looked at Steve in disbelief. His face said without words exactly what I was thinking. “Right, Dad!”
We assembled in a circle and made sure each one knew what needed to be done before breakfast. After deciding who would do what, we dispersed. It took an extra 30 minutes on cold winter mornings to make sure every water line, calf, cow, tractor, and truck was safeguarded from the elements. I took some shortcuts while cleaning the feeder, hoping Dad wouldn’t check. It was a dumb thing to hope, but my fingers were numb and my nose resembled a circus clown’s. Of course Dad checked and discovered my slothfulness. As I refroze my fingers finishing what I hadn’t done before, I imitated Laman and Lemuel and murmured against Dad’s thoroughness.
At 7:20 we sealed up the barn and braved the bitter cold again on our way to the house. Around the breakfast table we discussed the things to do today and decided who would be responsible for each. The list seemed long, especially when I thought of the icy cold weather.
I expressed my disgust at the arctic conditions and complained to Dad about all the trivial things he wanted done. He smiled and explained the importance of each of the “trivial” jobs. I nodded in agreement, my face indifferent. Strangely, I looked forward to the next eight hours. I didn’t realize it then, but Dad was teaching me each day invaluable lessons about responsibility and preparedness. I was in the eighth grade.
Twelve years have passed since that cold January morning. We don’t milk cows anymore, but Dad hasn’t changed a bit. He still shares a positive attitude even after a crippling accident that has left him disabled. The lessons he taught us surface in my conversations and experiences all the time now. At last I understand what he has taught me by his example. I love my dad.

Kate looked at the kitchen table covered with dirty supper dishes, trying to decide where to start. “It’s hard to believe that summer’s almost over,” she sighed as she started to stack the plates.
“I know what you mean,” Becky said. “It’s our last week of summer vacation, and we still haven’t gone to the new water park. Do you think Mom will take us there if we ask?”
“Maybe,” Kate said as she carried the plates to the sink. “But I know that Mom’s really busy this week. And we did a lot of fun things this summer. We just didn’t go to the water park.”
Becky followed Kate back into the dining room. She leaned against the table while her sister gathered up the glasses and utensils. “Yes—if you call driving all day to get to a family reunion fun,” she muttered.
“It was fun,” said Kate. “You’re just being ornery.” She picked up four glasses and headed back to the kitchen. Becky followed.
“It was all right,” Becky agreed, “but I’ll bet we’re the only two kids in our whole school who haven’t gone to the water park.”
Losing patience, Kate turned to Becky. “Will you please stop complaining and help me with the dishes?”
Rolling her eyes, Becky opened the dishwasher and was starting to load the dirty dishes, when their mom came in.
“Thank you for doing the dishes,” Mom said. “I appreciate all the work the two of you do.”
“No problem, Mom.” Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” Becky agreed. “We were just saying that it’s too bad that the summer’s almost over and we never made it to the new water park.”
“That is a shame,” Mom said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning. If you two will clean the garage while I’m gone, I’ll stop and buy tickets to the water park, and we can go when I get home.”
“That would be great!” Becky exclaimed.
“It’s a deal,” Kate said.
“Cleaning the garage is a big job. Do you think you can do it without me?”
“No problem,” Becky said.
The next morning Kate jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom had already left. “Good morning,” Kate greeted her grandmother.
“Good morning, dear. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
Kate nodded and followed her grandmother into the kitchen. “Becky and I are going to clean the garage. Then Mom is going to take us to the new water park.”
“That’s what your mother told me,” said Grandma. “Would you please go wake Becky.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the big hurry?” Becky grumped when Kate tried to talk her into getting up.
“We need to eat breakfast and start cleaning the garage.”
“No, we don’t. You heard what Mom said. She’s picking up the tickets while she’s out. She’s not going to tell us that we can’t go after she’s already bought the tickets.”
Kate frowned. “But we made a deal.”
“If you’re so worried, you go clean the garage. Tell Grandma that I’ll have breakfast later. Right now I need to figure out which swimming suit I want to wear.”
Kate trudged back down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked.
“Becky says she’s not going to help. She thinks Mom will let us go even if we don’t clean the garage.”
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“We said we would clean the garage,” said Kate, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “you’ve made your decision, and you’ll have to let Becky make hers. Sometimes we want to make other people’s decisions for them, but we can’t.”
After breakfast, Kate marched out to the garage and looked around, trying to figure out where to start. She decided to start by moving everything she needed to so that she could sweep out the leaves that had collected around the edges. At first she was angry at Becky for not helping, but soon her thoughts turned to the job that she was doing.
When Mom arrived home, Kate was organizing cans of food storage on a shelf.
“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked.
“In the house,” Kate answered.
“Isn’t she helping?”
Kate shook her head.
Just then Becky appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Mom,” she said cheerfully. “Did you get the tickets?”
“Yes I did,” said Mom. “Did you help clean the garage?”
“I was just coming to help.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Becky looked over at Kate and smiled an I-told-you-so smile. Her smile disappeared fast when Mom added, “You can finish cleaning it while Kate and I are at the water park.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so you may not come with us.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. “But didn’t you already buy me a ticket?”
“I bought tickets for the girls who kept their promises and cleaned the garage. Did you keep your promise?”
Becky hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought that you’d let me go anyway.”
“You made a choice. You’ll have to live with the consequences.”
Tears streamed down Becky’s face. “That’s not fair.”
Mom put her arms around Becky. “I know it isn’t what you want,” Mom said, “but it is fair.”
Becky watched out the living room window as the car pulled away from the house. “I blew it, Grandma,” she said.
Grandma nodded. “You made a bad choice. What you need to do now is learn from your mistake. If your mom had taken you to the water park, you would have thought that it’s all right to make promises that you don’t intend to keep. And it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, I have a deal for you, if you are interested.”
Becky looked up. “What is it?”
“If you’ll go finish up the garage, when you’re done, we’ll bake some cookies for the family.”
“Chocolate chip?”
Grandma smiled. “Chocolate chip.”
“It’s a deal,” Becky said, heading toward the garage. “And this time I mean it.”

One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.

Another Mormon boy was sent east to an officers’ training school. A new commanding officer came into the camp, and they put on a banquet to honor him. There, by every plate, was a cocktail glass. When the proper time came, every one of those potential officers stood up with his cocktail glass to toast that incoming officer. All but one boy, and he raised a glass of milk.
Well, the officer saw it. He made a beeline for that boy after the entertainment was over, and he said, “Why did you toast me with a glass of milk?”
“Well, officer,” he said, “I’ve never touched liquor in my life. I don’t want to touch it; my parents wouldn’t want me to touch it; and I didn’t think you would want me to either. And I wanted to toast you, so I thought you would be satisfied if I toasted you with what I am accustomed to drinking.”
The officer said, “You report at headquarters in the morning,” and told him what time.
I suppose that boy spent a sleepless night, but when he went into the officer’s quarters the next morning, the officer assigned him a place on his staff with this explanation: “I want to surround myself with men who have the courage to do what they think is right regardless of what anybody else thinks about it.”

A great example in my life of unselfish service is Sister Victoria Antonietti. Victoria was one of the Primary teachers in my branch while I was growing up in Argentina. Each Tuesday afternoon, when we gathered for Primary, she brought us a chocolate cake. Everyone loved the cake—well, everyone except me. I hated chocolate cake! And even though she would try to share the cake with me, I always turned down her offer.
One day after she had shared the chocolate cake with the rest of the children, I asked her, “Why don’t you bring a different flavor—like orange or vanilla?”
After laughing a little, she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient, and I promise that if you try it, you will like it!”
I looked around, and to my surprise, everyone seemed to be enjoying the cake. I agreed to give it a try. Can you guess what happened? I liked it! That was the very first time I had enjoyed a chocolate cake.
It wasn’t until many years later that I found out what the secret ingredient was in Sister Antonietti’s chocolate cake. My children and I visited my mother each week. On one of these visits, Mom and I were enjoying a slice of chocolate cake, and I related to her how I came to like the cake for the very first time. Then she enlightened me with the rest of the story.
“You see, Cris,” my mom said, “Victoria and her family didn’t have a lot of resources, and each week she had to choose between paying for the bus to take her and her four children to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for her Primary class. She always chose the chocolate cake over the bus, and she and her children walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
That day I had a better appreciation for her chocolate cake. More important, I learned that the secret ingredient in Victoria’s cake was the love she had for those she served and her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf.

Why do I say that? Here’s one reason: I knew a boy who faced an unexpected and challenging decision. He faced it at the end of the summer in the year he turned fifteen. He had just returned home after working all summer on his uncle’s farm in another part of the state.
It was the first sacrament meeting he had attended since returning home. For some reason, he was detained a few minutes after the meeting. When he found his friends, they were standing in a group just outside the church building. As he approached, he noticed that they were concluding some kind of agreement. When he joined them, he was met with a seemingly innocent question: “Are you going in with us on it or not?”
“On what?” was his reply.
“On a half gallon of beer.”
That answer really shook him. He was not ready for it. His group had always been good kids. This question was completely out of character, he thought. But things were not as he remembered them. He had spent his summer away from his pals, and this had kept him more or less as he was. Something, however, had happened to change his friends. They seemed more grown up and worldly. This surprise made him falter before answering their question. It’s strange how many things can go through your mind in a flash: These were his friends. They were not enemies. He knew each one well. He had sat in Primary and Sunday School classes with them. They had sung songs together. Some of them had been ordained deacons the same Sunday. They had passed the sacrament together scores of times. Their school activities had brought them close. With some of them he had built toy airplanes and scooters and played rubber guns. They had hiked and worked and played together. Why should this simple question threaten this choice association?
Pressure from friends and acquaintances our own age is tremendously powerful! There is a desire to want to be “one” with friends. Besides, who wants to be a sissy, afraid to join in the fun. What’s more, if he didn’t join them, he would be one against the crowd.
But even with all of these ideas running through his head, another idea impressed itself even harder on his mind. There was one reason that stood out against all that seemed so appealing: It was not right. From somewhere within him came the courage to say, “No, I don’t think I will.”
The group turned away and strode across the street toward the beer hall, intent on carrying out their plan. My friend was left standing—alone. I’m sure he did not think of the Lord’s statement, “It is not good for man to be alone,” but he certainly understood its meaning in a new and personal way. He came to understand the truth of that statement in the days that followed and to see why all of us need true and loyal friends who believe and live as they should.
Even though he was fifteen—going on sixteen—tears came to his eyes as he walked home. His mother, sensing that something was wrong, asked, “What has happened?”
He blurted out the short experience.
“You’ve done right, my son” she reassured him.
“I wish I were as sure as you are,” he answered.
“You made the right decision,” she repeated, “and you’ll see. You will be blessed.”
The days that followed this incident were not especially happy ones. It took readjustments to establish his equilibrium. There followed a process of establishing new friendships. There was the inevitable heartache at school when conversations would grind to a stop as he joined his former group. There were moments of loneliness as he walked between the high school and the adjacent industrial arts building. What was formerly spontaneous fun and youthful sport changed to a subdued good humor. There were some obvious moments in basketball practice, too, when he would be in the clear and call for the pass, only to be ignored while another person was sought out to receive the ball.
But that all passed as everyone knows it will. Time is the great eraser. It dulls the former sad moments. It smooths hurts and salves wounds.
It was not long until former friendships were reestablished, although on a different basis than before. In a little more than a year, this young man was elected seminary studentbody president. The next year he was elected high school studentbody president by his friends. Two years later he entered the mission field, the only one of his class to do so. One classmate went on a mission the following year, but his other friends never did.
This young man has since fulfilled many calls to service and responsibility in the Church. Other tests of his integrity and moral standards have come into his life—as they come into the lives of us all. But few such tests have been so well-remembered or have made so lasting an impression on his life.
In a rather undramatic situation, he chose the right. And his mother was right, as mothers generally are. Her promise was literally fulfilled: “You’ll see. You will be blessed.”

The other challenge we had was how to drain 70 cars in the time we had, of the oil, gas, and anti-freeze including the removal of all batteries. Crews of 10-20 community people, including Bishop Kahawaii's family, scouts, wards members, and Pane Meatoga (LCA president) volunteered to drain these vehicles of its fluids, which resulted in nearly ten 35-55 gallon drums of fluids. For two nights and one full day, this group did grueling work. As Alan Oleole and Max Purcell can attest to, the work was not easy. And it had to be completed by Saturday. The earliest they could start was on Thursday afternoon. As I watched them work, I saw how deliberate and focused they were. There was little talking. Just action. Knowing the shortness of time, Bishop Kahawaii's wife, BJ, assured me that the work was progressing well. The system they had seemed to be working. She related what a beautiful spot it was to work in, with the full moon shining brightly each night with the cool breezes blowing. By 3:00 p.m. on Saturday the draining was completed, in time for the trucks to remove the cars. As you can imagine, any number of things could have gone wrong!

They knew it, and we knew it----that Heavenly Father had His hand over them. It was a labor of love and of sacrifice.

As said earlier, Laie is a community that has the capacity to not only draw upon all of the resources of the community, but to draw down the powers of heaven, to achieve small and great things. It always has. The conclusion we drew from this experience was simply--- it was meant to be. The significance and importance of this community is too great---too valuable to the work of the Kingdom.

Someone who did this very thing was Eric Liddell, who won a gold medal in the 1924 Olympics in Paris. His story surrounding these Olympic events, including his refusal to run on Sunday, is portrayed in the great movie Chariots of Fire. At the end of the movie there is a short sentence that indicates that after the Olympics, Eric went to China, where he died. That is true, but a large part of the story is missing.

After the Olympics, Eric became a missionary in China. He married and had three girls, the youngest of whom he never knew because before she was born, his wife and children left China due to events leading up to World War II. Eric and many others who stayed in China ended up in a Japanese internment camp. To me this is where Eric’s life mission and trust in God became evident.

Camp life was tough—the prisoners were not given adequate food, and other restrictions were placed upon them. It was hard, as you can imagine. However, Eric, as he had his whole life, continued to live what he preached. He had come to know God; so where he was did not matter so much as how he acted.

He was assigned to teach science to the children who were also in the camp (Eric had graduated with a degree in science at the University of Edinburgh). They did not have the equipment to do the experiments, so he spent hours articulating and drawing out what would happen, making sure the children understood.

In addition, he oversaw sporting and recreational events. Children who were there in the camp remembered him always patching up hockey sticks using the sheets his wife had left him for his house. He was always serving others. He helped carry the coal for those who were older or disabled to ensure their stoves would continue to burn. He did not let the fact he was hungry, imprisoned, or away from his family stop him. He did die in the camp due to an inoperable brain tumor that had caused him great headaches. So he did all these things when not always comfortable himself.

The number of lives that he touched and shaped during this time is incredible. Scores of letters and tributes have been written by those who were in the camp with him. Yet the most touching tribute is one from his own daughter, who for years could not understand why her father had to be separated from his family. However, as she heard the tributes from the children he served, she realized the Lord knew her father was needed there to help those children who were also separated from their parents, and she knew how that felt. (See “Daily Encouragement Tuesday—Classical Testimonies . . . Eric Liddell; Finishing His Race!” Scotwise Blog, 14 August 2007; http://scotwise.blogspot.com/2007/08/daily-encouragement-tuesday-classical_14.html; see also Ellen W. Caughey, Eric Liddell, Heroes of the Faith series [Uhrichsville, Ohio: Barbour Publishing, 2000].)

At his funeral, the Reverend Arnold Bryson, a close friend of Eric, said, “What was the secret of his consecrated life and far-reaching influence? Absolute surrender to God’s will” (Sally Magnusson, The Flying Scotsman [New York: Quartet Books, 1981], 174). Eric’s last words were said to have been “complete surrender”—a motto he used often in his sermons.

When the Manti Utah Temple was under construction some 120 years ago, George Paxman worked as a finish carpenter. He and his young wife, Martha, had one child and were expecting another.
While hanging one of the heavy east doors of the temple, George suffered a strangulated hernia. He was in terrible pain. Martha laid him in a wagon and took him to the town of Nephi, where she put him on the train and took him to Provo. There he died. Spurning marriage, she remained a widow for 62 years, supporting herself with needlework.
Now permit me to diverge from this narrative to say that when I was engaged to marry my wife, I gave her a ring. When we were married, I gave her a wedding band. She wore them for years. Then one day I noticed that she had taken them off and was wearing this little gold wedding band. It had belonged to her grandmother. The ring had been given her by her husband, George. The ring was the only thing he left in this life. One day in the spring, Martha was housecleaning. She brought all of the furnishings out to give the house a thorough cleaning. Upon shaking the straw from the mattress, she looked down, and the ring was gone. She looked everywhere most carefully. It was the only physical remembrance of her beloved husband. She raked through the straw with her fingers but could not find the ring. Tears fell from her eyes. She went to her knees and prayed that the Lord would help her to find the ring. When she opened her eyes, she looked down and there it was.
Now I hold it in my hand. It is too small for all of you to see. It is 18-karat gold, old and scarred and bent. But it represents faith, the faith of a widow who pleaded with the Lord in her extremity. Such faith is the wellspring of activity. It is the root of hope and trust. It is this simple faith that all of us so much need.

Bishop Romney is here to talk to us about tithing.
Who knows what tithing is?
It’s money we give to Heavenly Father!
That’s right! We share 10 percent of what we receive with Heavenly Father.
Why do we have to give our money away?
Tithing money is used for lots of things, like building churches and temples and helping the missionaries.
If it sounds hard to give away your money, this might help. Pretend this is a peach pie. Who wants the pie?
Me! I do!
OK. I’ll give you the whole pie! Now would you give me just one piece of it back?
Sure! You’re the one who gave me the pie.
This slice of pie is like tithing. Heavenly Father gives us everything we have. He just asks for us to give one slice back to Him.
The next Sunday …
Is this your tithing, Maya?
Yes. Heavenly Father gave me all that I have, so I’m giving Him a piece of my pie!
This story took place in the USA.

The year I was 19 I was invited to spend the Christmas holidays working tours for the Hilton Hotel in Los Angeles with my cousin. We would be able to visit all the main attractions in the L.A. area and get paid for it too. I called for plane reservations far too late, and the only transportation still available to get me to L.A. was the bus. I would leave Logan, Utah, on Christmas Day at noon. My sister dropped me off at the Greyhound stop and I waited for the bus to come. When it arrived I remember feeling quite festive and happy because of the day and the prospect of the adventure. As I boarded the bus and looked about I saw only a few riders. They all seemed preoccupied with something outside the window. No one looked up and nobody smiled.
I took my seat. Several stops later we picked up two little girls. They were totally laden with recently opened gifts, and I was delighted when they sat down across the aisle from me. I was feeling a little lonely that it was Christmas Day and there hadn’t been anyone to talk with. I was to learn that their names were Trisha and Debbie and they were on their way for their annual Christmas visit with their grandparents in St. George, Utah. At the time they were in the third and fifth grades. One by one they pulled out their treasures and showed me each gift they had received.
The day progressed and soon the early evening was upon us. We stopped in a little town for a supper break. As I was exiting the bus I noticed that the only street lamp that was lit was the one above the stop. The night was very dark, and there seemed to be a million stars in the sky. The small crowd of people from the bus ate quietly, and I felt let down that it was Christmas and everyone seemed void of the spirit. As I look back I wonder now if all those folks were just sad to be apart from the people they love on Christmas Day.
I had been doing my student teaching with some fourth graders that quarter at Utah State University and I had taught them the song “Silent Night” in sign language. As we sat and waited to be beckoned back to the bus, I asked the girls if they would like to learn it. They enthusiastically said yes and I began teaching it to them. The signs to the first verse are very simple, and they had it all learned before we boarded the bus.
After we settled back into our seats, Trisha said to her sister, “Debbie, we should practice our song so we can show it to Grandma and Grandpa when we get to St. George.” Debbie agreed and they spread their coats onto the floor of the bus and settled down facing each other to practice. I glanced up to see that several of the other passengers on the bus were visiting quietly and some of the overhead lights were on. People seemed to have relaxed a little. Now that Christmas was coming to a close, maybe they were feeling better about having spent it on a bus.
The girls started singing, “Silent Night, Holy Night, All is calm, All is bright …” After finishing the song they began again. I glanced up. Having been so totally involved with coaching them, I hadn’t noticed that all the lights in the bus had been turned off. The only light that remained on was the one above the girls’ seats. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see the eyes of the other passengers upon us. They were looking over their seats and down the aisle of the bus. The only sound was the hum of the bus and voices of the two girls clear and strong. The light above their seats reflected off their hands and emphasized the signs. The quiet that came over the bus was not the empty one I had been feeling throughout that day. It was one of peace and joy.
The true spirit of Christmas came through to all of us who had the opportunity to be riding that bus that night. It was not connected with gift giving or even with family. I was overwhelmed at the realization that I had been searching for the spirit of Christmas at the mall, at the theater, under the tree, and in dozens of busy holiday functions, and all the time it could be found in the humblest of situations. Here it was with all its power and mystery on a bus full of strangers headed for St. George, Utah.
I wondered if Trisha and Debbie were aware of the wonderful gift they gave to those of us riding the bus that night. Each Christmas since then they write to me and talk of the first Christmas when we met. Perhaps they too felt the warmth that permeated through the crowd that night. I find myself searching each year for that very same feeling that rushed through my soul that night and filled me with a love for other people and for the Savior.

As a high school junior I stood proudly before the small Protestant congregation and delivered an address entitled “Meeting Life’s Requirements.” Following the service, the church members greeted me in the courtyard, offering encouragement for my future religious endeavors. At home that day, I peacefully strolled in the crisp, autumn weather, contemplating the future and thinking to myself, “Maybe I should become a minister.”
It wasn’t the first time I had been before the church body, nor would it be the last. My religious interests developed early in life, and my infatuation with religion was enhanced because of the panic I felt about the prospect of a judgment day. In the introduction to a school paper on the clergy I wrote, “At the end of my freshman year in high school I began to consider the clergy as a profession.” I was at that time anticipating several years in college and theological seminary.
The stage was set, and my high school years were highly successful: student-body president, all-state football player, outstanding band member, and more. But some dramatic changes occurred in my life. The following statements are from my journal and tell the story.
Senior Year, High School—While investigating several churches to learn more about Christianity, I have discovered that some churches do not require extremely long periods of schooling to qualify as a minister. I have just spent several days at a Bible college and learned that if I attend this school I can be ordained a minister after four years. Perhaps after two years, I will be assigned a church of my own in which to officiate. The classes are interesting and Christian oriented.
A Short Time Later—I am planning on attending next year and have turned down a basketball scholarship because of these plans. The only thing that bothers me is that I sense something missing at the college as well as in my personal life. How long will it take to find peace of mind?
Locker Room Prayers—I asked Coach Landrum tonight if we could have prayer before our football games. We all just repeated the Lord’s Prayer, but we are united as a team. We don’t pray to win but to have the strength to be men on the field—using good sportsmanship, wishing no physical injury to either team, winning in the column of character and determination.
A Later Note: I played on many winning teams in elementary and high school. Never did I play on a team as united, as spirited, as our football team this year. It may be secondary that this was the first unbeaten, untied football season in our school’s history.
Approaching Graduation—Religion is becoming so distant that I’m not sure what to do. I pray but can’t interpret any answers. Still, a guilty feeling seems inborn in my soul. I’m bothered when I do wrong. Yet despite my conservative nature I take a drink or cigarette now and then.
Priorities—After I took my first drink the kids at school were more concerned about its effect on my basketball playing than they were about the effect it would have on my religious objectives.
Change of Plans—I just received a football scholarship (and a band scholarship) to Dodge City College. I don’t want to go to school this close to home, but financially it’s my only choice. I missed out on other scholarship offers previously when I was set on becoming a minister. Those plans will wait.
Summer—I’ve moved away from home now and am working at the Dodge City Recreation Center and playing American Legion baseball. It’s not unusual to work all day, go on road games, return home at 2 A.M. and get up at 7 A.M. to go to work.
Miss the Boat—This summer has been unusual. I have gone to church little. I read a lot and write a great deal. But it does seem sort of empty not gathering with people. Religion seems to miss the boat, but maybe so am I.
The Bible—I still tinker with the idea of Bible school education because I can have a pastorate of my own very early. I commented once in Sunday School that we need to return to preaching the Bible. One fellow disputed my claim saying that ministers needed to apply contemporary terms and up-to-date interpretations. But that adds to my confusion—everyone in church hierarchies has a different opinion as to those contemporary meanings.
Tsai Lee-Yueh—I now have a daughter! Tsai Lee-Yueh is her name. I’ve felt lately that while I’m experiencing this transition period I must do something for God on my own. So now I am paying several dollars to Christian Children’s Fund each month to help my foster daughter, Tsai Lee-Yueh, a little Taiwanese girl. I received a letter from her with an English translation. She and some of her friends were given individual Bibles. She wrote, “I don’t know that the Bible is such a precious thing. After the caseworker has taught us how to study the Bible, I know it is a precious book. I feel very happy.” Such a statement would put most Americans to shame.
College Begins—I still pray sometimes. A few times I have said, “Show me the way, Lord, if there is one for me.”
Semester Ends—My first semester of college has ended and I’m on the Honor Roll. Last night I lay in my bed thinking how little time I really devoted to my studies. I laughed to myself and thought, “I did this and all without God.”
A Mormon Girl—I met a Mormon girl the other night. My internal response was, “What’s a Mormon?” I’ve delved into many religions but admit an ignorance to this one.
Book of Mormon—I just spent the weekend with Mom, Dad, and Bill on the farm. I asked Mom if she knew anything about Mormons. She said she thought there was a pamphlet in the bookcase. She found it and an old black, hardback book. I’m reading it now—the Book of Mormon. Mother said it was a Mormon Bible.
After the Carnival—Janet’s the first girl I’ve dated with any regularity in at least six months. Tonight, after our date to my brother’s class carnival, we were talking and the subject of religion came up. I told her about my indefinite plans for the ministry and added, “There’s something wrong with every church.”
With confidence and spontaneity she replied, “Not mine.”
“Oh, sure, you tell me about it,” I answered unalarmed. She isn’t the first girl that has wanted me to be interested in a particular church. But she definitely has a sparkle of purity, a twinkle in her eye.
I told her that I had been studying the Book of Mormon, and she suggested that I talk to the elders. I told her I’d like to sometime.
Following Monday—The strangest thing happened this evening. I work every night at the recreation center, but today when I called in, Mr. Braddock told me they didn’t need me tonight. Studies didn’t appeal to me, so I called Jan about a date and she told me to come over to her house. The elders were coming. The meeting was already set up before I called her, but on any other Monday night I would definitely have had to work.
The Meeting—There we were in her living room. Any minute I expected old men in gray beards and maybe black hats to knock at the door. They rang the bell instead, and was I surprised when the elders turned out to be two young men close to my own age.
Tonight was a spiritual experience. I guess I answered all the questions with the answers they wanted. They said something about planning my baptism for April 27. I’ve never met two people more sincere than Elder Johnson and Elder Towsey.
Dad Knew Mormons—I brought a signed statement from my dad to the elders giving his approval for my baptism. He used to know some Latter-day Saints. He said you have to be a missionary if you join their church.
My Interview—I was interviewed tonight for baptism. It was a relief to find that the elders had only kidded me about taking a written test. I read the pamphlets a few extra times so I wouldn’t be tripped up. I told the district leader that the discussions were like the lifting of a veil, like I had heard the story before. The gospel contains many teachings that I have come to believe over the years, such as a literal, tangible, concerned Heavenly Father. I took the discussions so fast that I have to wait till my assigned baptismal date.
April 27—I was baptized tonight. My family attended the service, as did many of the branch members. This is the cleanest feeling I have known in my entire life. The warm, friendly attitude of the members here is still one of the amazing things about this church.
Few Will Listen—I thought of dozens of my friends who would surely join the Church now. They just needed to learn about it as I had. It’s not like that. I know that most of my friends respect me very much for my high standards, but others leave me asking, as did the Apostle Paul, “Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?” (Gal. 4:16).
Mother’s Day—Dad accepted my invitation and brought Mom out to the branch’s Mother’s Day program today. Bill came too. After sacrament meeting, I went with the elders to my parents’ home for a missionary lesson. After the first discussion Elder Johnson tried to make an appointment to come again and teach my family.
“How about right now?” Mom asked.
So the second lesson was given. Dad had to leave then to do the farm chores. Mom quickly prepared some sandwiches and salads for the elders and our family. About an hour later Dad came back in and ate, and the third lesson was given. Three in one night!
July 27—Tonight I baptized my family. It is three months to the day since I joined the Church. Our family is finally united. As I brought Mom up out of the water, she embraced me and shed tears of joy. We are recipients of life’s greatest blessings.
Youth Conference—My first youth conference just ended, and on the final day I bore my testimony, thanking God that a girl lived the gospel so completely that I found a noticeable, attracting difference between her and other young people, thus leading me to the gospel. I encouraged my other young brothers and sisters to do the same. The gospel works.
A Mission Call—I’m so excited! I came home from classes today to find a letter from the First Presidency. Quickly opening it I discovered that I would be going to California. I wept joyously. Feeling so insignificant in His sight, I asked, “Why me?” The blessings of God seem so unbelievable.
Most Important—My first two years of college have been highly successful, but the most important thing is that I was going off 400 miles away to a Bible college, but circumstances intervened to allow me to discover the truth 13 miles from home. Now, in a week, I will leave on a mission to serve the Lord. I will be a minister.
Temple Sealing—Mom, Dad, and I were sealed as a family today in the Logan Temple for time and all eternity. Bill was still in school back in Kansas.
Temple Marriage—Elder Tuttle married Jan and me this morning in the Salt Lake Temple. Today was even more special because Bill was finally sealed to Mom and Dad. In addition, Mom’s cousins from Missouri were also sealed for time and eternity in the Lord’s house. Mother played a large role in their conversion.
September 3—Our first child, Jill Ann, was born today. Ours for eternity.
Another Baptism—Twenty years ago, Jan’s mother joined the Church. Today, October 9, her father was baptized. A very righteous and faithful man, he has helped the Church on numerous occasions, and served as Scoutmaster. Janet has been shedding tears of joy since her mother called to relay the good news earlier today.
“Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God;
“And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cornerstone” (Eph. 2:19–20).

I know of a wonderful man who grew up with love for the Church. But when he became involved in his business career, obsessed with ambition, he began in effect to deny the faith. The manner of his living became almost a repudiation of his loyalty. Then fortunately, before he had gone too far, he heard the whisperings of the still, small voice. There came a saving sense of remorse. He turned around and became the president of a great stake of Zion.

The Smith family and others in their area were given opportunities to heft the ancient record and feel its individual plates at the Smith family home in Manchester Township, New York. Joseph’s younger brother William, age 16 in 1827, had a vivid memory of witnessing the plates, which he later shared in a sermon: “When the plates were brought in they were wrapped up in a tow frock. My father then put them into a pillow case. Father said, ‘What, Joseph, can we not see them?’ [Joseph responded,] ‘No. … I was forbidden to show them until they are translated, but you can feel them.’ We handled them and could tell what they were. … Could tell whether they were round or square. Could raise the leaves this way (raising a few leaves of the Bible before him). One could easily tell that they were not a stone, hewn out to deceive, or even a block of wood.”1

On another occasion, William provided further information: “I could tell they were plates of some kind and that they were fastened together by rings running through the back.”2 He also wrote that in addition to feeling the individual plates and rings, he had hefted the entire artifact: “I was permitted to lift them. … They weighed about 60 pounds according to the best of my judgment.”3 Joseph’s younger sister Katherine, age 14, also got to hold the plates the day Joseph brought them home. She “rippled her fingers up the edge of the plates and felt that they were separate metal plates and heard the tinkle of sound that they made.”4

The spirit you bring from your service in the temple will touch many within your circles of influence—some you may not have even considered. At the conclusion of one of our visits to the temple in Washington, D.C., the group of members shared testimonies as the bus rolled across the miles toward home. One after another, participants shared their joy and gratitude for the immediate and eternal blessings of the temple. Our nonmember bus driver finally couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed the microphone and expressed appreciation for being with us. He then said, “I don’t know what you people have, but I feel something different here.” Of course, a ward mission leader on the bus got his contact information and later gave it to the missionaries.

I’ve had a profound hearing loss most of my life and can only understand about 20 percent of what is said at the pulpit during most Church meetings. Occasionally, my deafness makes me feel alone and separate, such as when the congregation laughs at a speaker’s humorous remark but I don’t because I didn’t hear it. And I was not the only one. Older ward members confided to me they also had difficulty hearing.
Sometimes, after struggling to understand a soft-spoken speaker in sacrament meeting or when a Sunday School teacher declares there’s no need to use the microphone because everyone can hear, I wonder why I even go to church when I can hear so little. Wouldn’t my time be better spent at home reading the Come, Follow Me lessons or studying the scriptures?
Still, I wanted to be obedient and continued to attend with my family to renew my baptismal covenants and remember the Savior by partaking of the sacrament. It was always a blessing to feel the Spirit, and I always felt edified by those things I could hear.
One Sunday the high councilor who spoke in sacrament meeting had one of those clear, projecting voices that made it easier to hear. He discussed the New Testament story about the woman who suffered from an issue of blood for 12 years and had faith that she could be healed if she could but reach out and touch Jesus’s robe as He walked by (see Luke 8:43–48).
The speaker then offered a poignant insight that struck me deeply, explaining that because of her condition, this woman would have been considered unclean and most likely would not have been allowed to attend church. For 12 years!
The ramifications of this took my breath away. Although sick, this woman was probably not so unwell that she couldn’t attend church, at least occasionally. But because of the social mores of the times, she was not allowed to attend. What a dreadful trial for a person of faith!
As I pondered the heartache she must have felt at being prohibited from worshipping God with fellow believers because of her physical condition—something over which she had no control—the Spirit opened my eyes to how her situation compared with my own. I was given to understand that although I could not be a full participant, at least I had the privilege of attending church and hearing what I could. This woman had no such choice. I felt ashamed for the times I had briefly considered staying home.
Instantly, God spoke to my heart, letting me know that He didn’t want me to feel guilty. He wanted me to feel grateful—grateful for the privilege of attending church and being strengthened by associating with faithful disciples of Christ. Although I couldn’t hear everything, I could understand some things—and each one blessed my life. There were also special moments when the Spirit helped me understand those things I could not hear.
I felt grateful for the freedom to worship God and enjoy the blessings of going to His house. The Spirit testified to me that it was far, far better for me to be at Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, and learn what I could than not to attend at all.
That day my attitude changed. Instead of feeling downcast at my limitations, peace filled my heart, and I resolved to focus on the blessings of church attendance. I resolved to make a sincere effort to be thankful for what I could hear instead of being discouraged over what I couldn’t.

Let me tell you about two sister missionaries who called at a home one morning before the husband went to work. They were welcomed in, so they immediately told about Joseph Smith’s first vision, the angel Moroni, the gold plates, and the restoration of the priesthood. Then the senior companion, noting that about forty-five minutes had gone by, said, “We would like to return next week to tell you more.”

To which the husband exclaimed, “Next week?” He walked to the door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, and said, “You’re not leaving here till you’ve told us all you know about Joseph Smith and this restored gospel!” They were there all day. The family asked for baptism that same evening.