Gospel Story Finder

I held a secret desire through my growing-up years of being a professional baseball player. I practiced thousands of hours and paid the price to become good enough to earn a tryout with the Cincinnati Reds in Pocatello, Idaho. However, it was not until I tried out for the BYU baseball team following four years of military service during the Vietnam War that I was taught baseball in a truly Christlike manner.

One day in pitcher’s fielding practice I scooped up one of the grounders that coaches Glen Tuckett and Vernon Law were rolling out in front of home plate. The drill was one where they would call out, about the time that I fielded the ball, where they wanted the throw made. On this particular occasion, Coach Tuckett hollered, “Third!” I whirled quickly and threw the ball about ten feet over the head of the man covering third base.

Instead of screaming at me or reacting angrily like other coaches had done, Coach Tuckett walked out to me and quietly said, “Throw it to third the same way that you would want him to throw it to you.” I could not believe my ears! Here was a kindly baseball coach teaching me the Golden Rule. I soon discovered that I did not need to be a professional baseball player. My long childhood, adolescent, and young adult ball-playing career came to an abrupt end. But I am still learning to become more like the Savior.

In October of 2000 I experienced something I had never undergone before I went into a deep depression for several months. Oh, I had had a bad day here and there, had known frustration and disillusionment like everyone else, but I had never been trapped by the tentacles of clinical depression so severely that I simply could not be comforted and could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. For days at a time I only wanted to sleep or gaze at the walls or be alone. For weeks I felt as though I was in a closed casket, a prison cell that allowed no light or sound whatever. I prayed. Oh, how I prayed for deliverance. I sought for and received priesthood blessings. I counseled with others of my friends who had known this kind of pain and alienation from firsthand experience.

During those weeks of suffering, for some reason I had great difficulty feeling the Spirit. In my head I knew that I was "worthy," in the sense that I was striving to live in harmony with the teachings of the Savior, but I simply did not feel the peace and joy and divine approbation that I had come to expect and cherish. I knew in my mind, in my heart of hearts that the Lord was pleased with my life, but I did not feel close to God as I had felt only days and weeks before. This experience, which, by the way, passed within a short period of months, taught me something that was and is extremely valuable, namely, it is one thing to have the Spirit of the Lord with us, even the "constant companionship of that member of the Godhead" and another to always feel that influence. Many if not most times that the Spirit is enlightening us, we feel it. Many if not most times that we are being divinely led, we are very much aware of it. But there are occasions when the Holy Ghost empowers our words or directs our paths and we, like the Lamanites who had been taught by Helaman's sons (Nephi and Lehi), enjoy a mighty spiritual experience and know it not (3 Nephi 9:20). That is to say, there is a mental or intellectual component to spiritual living that is in many ways just as important as the emotional component. Sometimes God tells us in our minds, sometimes in our hearts, and sometimes both (see D&C 8:2-3; 128:1).

In 2013, I was successively called to serve as ward employment specialist, government relations specialist in the stake public affairs office, and then director of public affairs for the Brazzaville Stake. It was a breathtaking year—and spiritually mind-boggling—as I began to wonder about my callings in the Church, especially since this experience was not taking into account that I had no one at all in my family to join me in my spiritual journey.
Indeed, I remained very single with five children to take care of; and up to then, none of them were interested in the new religion of their father. In fact, my beloved children were suspecting that their father—who they knew as Christian—at the twilight of his life had suddenly embraced a new religion, one which may have some malicious intentions.
But this scripture reproved me: “For if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the church of God?” (1 Timothy 3:5).
I realized that I needed to help my own family come to an understanding of my commitment to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. While constantly praying—in secret and publicly—to ask the Lord’s help on this matter, the Church extended to me a new calling as national public affairs director for the Republic of Congo. Our first French-speaking, Central Africa regional public affairs directors conference of the Church took place in February 2014 in Kinshasa DRC. I was sensitive about my marital status, but I was comforted when I saw that only one of the five directors gathered had a wedding ring on his finger—the others were single.
But this was a temporary consolation, as the General Authority Seventy presiding over the conference—as well as the area public affairs director—pointed out this issue of being single that prevailed among the gathered public affairs directors. We were exhorted to remain worthy and were encouraged to become married and receive temple ordinances with our spouses. The public affairs director had these concluding words, “The restored Church of Jesus Christ will continue to grow, with or without you; but if it is with you, it is for your good.” These were inspired and unforgettable words and boosted my desire to enter the holy temple and to experience the eternal reality of its sacred ordinances.
So over time, the Lord blessed me—and my desire to once again be joined in marriage was fulfilled. In December 2014, Parfaite Nkounkou and I were legally married at the city hall in Brazzaville. Six months later, we entered the Johannesburg Temple for the very first time, where we were sealed for time and for all eternity.

Two sister missionaries from the United States had come to my grandmother’s home one day and gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. They thought she had no interest in the Church, for she answered their questions with nothing more than a simple nod and a yes. But when they returned the next day, they found she had begun reading the book and could answer everything they asked her. A few days later she became one of the first converts in El Salvador. She was faithful all of her life.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

I joined the Church in May 2009. Since then I have quickly come to value the blessings that come from consistently attending family home evening. One memorable experience occurred when our young single adult ward played “chair soccer,” a variation of indoor soccer, in the cultural hall of a local meetinghouse. The point was to defend your chair while attacking other people’s with a rubber ball. I formed an alliance with two other players; by the end we were the only three still in the game, and we promptly turned on each other. Instead of getting upset about it, we couldn’t stop laughing! It was the most fun I have had in ages, and I know that I would be hard pressed to find an experience like that anywhere outside of the Church. Everyone was having a great time, even if he or she didn’t win, but that’s not what made the experience special to me. What really made it memorable was the spirit of friendship I felt at the activity.
Moments like this help me lighten the overwhelming stress of graduate school. No matter how the week has gone, I know that I will always feel better if I go to family home evening. I may not always be thrilled about the activity and I may not always want to take the time, but I never regret going.
Matt Adams, Nebraska, USA

I’m a convert to the Church. I didn’t join until I was about 25 years old. I investigated the Church off and on for about two years before I was baptized. I ended up getting baptized right at the end of my master’s program. At this time, I was feeling good about the Church, but I still had a ton of questions about it and wasn’t 100% committed to it. However, one Sunday the missionaries told me that the next fast and testimony Sunday all the missionaries in Ohio were going to fast for my conversion. I was so embarrassed, but they were so sincere and kind about it that I decided to get baptized. I thought I’d give it a try, what could happen? I’ll be moving across the country at the end of the month to start my Ph.D. program. If this whole LDS thing doesn’t work out no one will ever know… I’ll just try… Well, I learned a couple of important lessons that month. Fasting and earnest prayer can change hearts as proven in my baptism, and it’s not so easy to disappear into the woodwork when you have a determined bishop. The elders helped me pack up my moving truck and 37 hours later when I pulled up to my new apartment in Louisiana the Relief Society was there waiting for me to help me unpack it. How they knew which apartment was mine and somehow managed to know right when I’d arrive, I’ve never figured out. Needless to say, I was grateful for the help unpacking and for their fellowship that day. Since they figured out after the first 10 minutes of meeting me that I didn’t play the piano, I spent the rest of my time in Louisiana either in Primary or nursery. So, while I feel confident in the fundamentals of the Church -say your prayers, read your scriptures, go to church, popcorn pops on apricot trees, and that once there was a snowman – I don’t feel adequate in ministering to adults. I do know that because of my brave step to “just try…” has led me to amazing things. To find and be sealed to an eternal family and to this amazing job and opportunity. To know in my soul the Lord’s love, and to have a passion to share what I have learned while on this blessed journey of becoming a follower of Christ.

The bump in the freeway wasn’t supposed to be there. At least that was my big brother’s excuse. Andy might have been driving a little too fast, if you ask me.
“I hope Lehi’s ship is tied tight,” I grunted as our truck sailed over the bump.
“No problem, sis,” said Andy.
But just then, Lehi’s ship broke loose and sailed out of the back of our truck.
“Our ship is sunk!” yelled my seven-year-old brother, Tony, who is never without words.
“There goes the main prop for our Primary play,” I moaned to myself.
Cars screeched. I scrunched down between my brothers, waiting for a crash, but it never came. All the screeching tires behind us stopped before running into the prop or each other.
Andy steered our truck to the side of the road. “How could this happen?” he groaned as he stumbled out of the truck. Tony leaped out too. I stayed scrunched in my seat, not wanting to see our once-beautiful ship.
“Wow, will you look at this!” cried Tony. “Lisa, come look.”
I slid out. There, spread over all three lanes of the freeway, was the ship we had lovingly worked on for weeks.
“It isn’t all broken,” said Tony. “Maybe we could put it back together.”
“No way,” I said with a scowl. “The play starts in four hours.”
“I bet there’s a way. If I had a hammer, I could do it,” Tony argued.
Cars were lining up behind Lehi’s ship faster than we lined up for lunch at school. High in the sky, I could see a traffic report helicopter. I could hear a nearby car radio blaring, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but it looks like an old sailing ship has washed ashore on the west freeway. It’s blocking all northbound lanes.”
Cars were honking. People were leaping out of their cars and marching toward us. I was so embarrassed that I wanted to hide.
A young man in a white uniform was the first to reach us. “It looks like you left your ship behind, too,” he drawled. “I left mine over in the Navy yard. I didn’t think I’d be running into another ship quite so soon.”
“Are you in the Navy?” exclaimed Tony.
“Sure am, son.”
A big man who looked like one of those football players Dad watches on TV ran up beside us. “That thing really went flying. I’m glad it didn’t hit me.” He motioned to Andy. “Look, if you’ll pull your truck right around here, I think a few of us can load it for you.”
Another man was peering dumbfoundedly at the wreckage through his thick glasses. “What is this thing, anyway?”
“It’s Lehi’s ship,” piped up Tony.
Oh no! I thought. I hoped Tony wasn’t going to give his Book of Mormon discourse right here on the freeway.
The young sailor scratched his short-cropped red hair. “Lehi’s ship?” he said thoughtfully. “It seems like I’ve heard of that somewhere before.”
“It’s from the Book of Mormon,” answered Tony.
“That’s it!” The sailor snapped his fingers. “Isn’t he the guy who sailed across the ocean with a bunch of sons who were always fighting?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of how the story goes,” said Tony.
“I knew it!” said the young man. “One of my shipmates told me the whole story. He gave me that book to read.”
I didn’t say a word.
By the time Andy pulled his truck up beside our broken ship, the crowd had heard practically the entire Book of Mormon—both Tony’s version and the sailor’s version.
At least a dozen people crowded around to help hoist the prop back into the truck. Tony bounded into the back of it. “Up this way a little,” he directed.
I stood there with a long face. One man looked down at me as he held the ship. “It’s tough luck about your ship. I heard your play is supposed to start—”
Everyone stopped talking and even moving. Wailing down the other side of the freeway were flashing red and blue lights. Two highway patrol cars crossed the median strip, then swung around to where we were. It was the only way they could reach us. Officers from the cars jumped out. One of them scowled as he approached the group surrounding the ship. He seemed oblivious to the fact that they were holding the biggest section of the ship in midair. “Who owns this truck?” he snapped.
“I do,” Andy said glumly.
I felt a little bit sorry for him.
“Young man, do you know what time of day it is?” asked the officer.
“Yes, sir. It’s rush hour.”
I avoided looking at Andy by watching the officer’s thick mustache twitch up and down as he spoke.
“Do you know that you have traffic backed up for over two miles down the freeway?”
“This is no time for a lecture, Jerry,” said another highway patrolman. “They need help.”
The first officer looked around, then nodded, his scowl lessening. With the help of the highway patrol officers, Lehi’s ship was quickly lifted back into the truck. Everyone, including me, scurried across the lanes, retrieving the rest of the wreckage.
Suddenly a short, wiry man trotted up beside me. “My car is trapped way back there,” he panted. “I just heard on the traffic report that you Mormons were having a big play tonight but that your ship got smashed on the freeway. I just wanted to tell you that I’m a carpenter and, well, maybe I could help. I don’t live too far from your church, and I could get my tools. …”
“That’s very kind,” I said, embarrassed by all the attention. “But we’ve already caused you—”
“I think that would be great!” Tony interrupted.
“Terrific! I’ll come over as soon as I get home.” The carpenter waved as he trotted back to his car.
Finally Andy, Tony, and I climbed back into the truck. Andy turned the key in the ignition. The word Mormon jumped out at us from the radio.
“Those Mormons are supposed to be performing tonight,” said the traffic reporter, “but I think they’ve put on a bigger show this afternoon on the freeway.”
I slunk down in my seat, and Andy groaned. Tony gloated, “Hear that! We’re famous.”
When we turned into the church parking lot, Lehi’s ship was not the only thing trailing close behind us. Car after car turned into the parking lot. The big burly man came. The redheaded sailor came. Even the highway patrol officer with the mustache followed us. The parking lot was filling up with our friends from the freeway. When the carpenter arrived, everyone began hammering as fast as they could.
When it was time for the curtain to go up, Lehi’s ship still wasn’t quite finished. “Don’t worry,” said the sailor. “I wouldn’t want to miss sailing across the ocean with Lehi.” He got up on top and held a big timber in place.
The big burly man and the highway patrol officer steadied both ends of the ship, and the carpenter played a Nephite still at work.
When the play was over and the curtain was coming down, the applause was very loud. I peeked through the curtains. Never had I seen the cultural hall so crowded! People I’d never seen before were lining the walls and peeking through the doorways.
Suddenly someone crawled under the curtain and faced the audience. It was Tony! “Please clap real loud for the people on the freeway. They helped us put Lehi’s ship back together again.”
This time the crowd stood up and clapped for a long time. Tony grinned at me, and I wasn’t even embarrassed.
Afterward, instead of leaving, people rushed up to the stage. “Can you tell me more about that story?” they asked.
I noticed one lady tug on the sleeve of the redheaded sailor. “Do you know where I could get a copy of that book—what’s it called?”
“Why, sure!” exclaimed the sailor. “It’s called the Book of Mormon. It’s wonderful. I happen to be reading it now, myself. Let me tell you more about it.”
“We’d both be glad to tell you all about it,” Tony chimed in.

I was a boat ride away from home when I got the news that there had been a big argument in my family earlier that day. A very big argument.
My wife was angry. My kids were angry. Everyone was hurt. And I didn’t know what to do.
I had taken my work truck early that morning from my home island of Upolu, Samoa, and boarded the ferry to Savai’i, Samoa. This trip takes several hours in each direction.
After I talked with my wife on the phone and heard the anger in her voice, I admit that I had a hard time thinking about coming home to this situation. I wasn’t sure how I could help resolve so many hurt feelings in my family.
I pulled up to the wharf and began to pray. For the next four hours, I sat in my truck, praying about my family while waiting for the boat home.
After a long time in prayer, I received a clear spiritual impression. “Just show your love to your children. Show the love. Tell them, ‘I love you, and God loves you.’”
I’ve always gotten along with my kids. They know that I love them, and they know how much they mean to me. But I understood clearly, through revelation, that showing even greater love would be the only thing to bring my family close again.
When I arrived home late that night, my wife was still very upset. “What are you going to do?” she asked me.
I told her about the revelation I received. I told her that I felt we needed to show our love even more clearly to our kids. “I believe that will be the key to heal the pain everyone is feeling,” I said. We decided to give it a try.
Now, this was the normal night for our weekly family council. Because of the argument, however, most of my family wanted to cancel it that week. My wife and I decided we would hold family council anyway.
At first, nobody said a word. I could tell there had been a lot of tears and emotional pain in my family that day.
Then my wife began talking. “I just want you to know how much I love all of you,” she said. I watched the change in their body language. They had all been sitting on the edge of their chairs. But as soon as my wife started explaining how much she loved them, our children leaned back and relaxed. Soon they opened up as well. I also told them how much I love them and how glad I am that we are a family.
That solved the whole problem. It was incredible. All the anger was gone from our home, and we were able to fix what was broken.
Now, my family isn’t perfect. But we love each other very much. And we make time for each other. Whether it’s getting up early to read the scriptures together, going to church together, playing basketball together, sharing meals, or just listening to music together, we work hard to stay close.
Through it all, my wife and I know more than ever how important it is to show our love for our children.

Last March, University of Utah forward Britton Johnsen was making a huge impact in Texas, helping to propel his team on its incredible cruise through the NCAA finals all the way to the championship game in San Antonio. There he played in an arena packed with some 41,000 screaming fans and was watched by a worldwide television audience of several hundred million. Britton’s impressive play under pressure wasn’t surprising considering the titles and descriptions he’d earned: McDonald’s all-American, Utah’s Mr. Basketball, top-20 recruit, “a star in the making,” “breathtakingly talented,” and “able to jump out of a gym.”
This March, Britton continues to make an impact in Texas. Only now he has traded his blazing red jersey for a white shirt and tie, his audiences seldom exceed a handful of people, and his only title is “Elder” as he serves in the Texas Houston Mission.
Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”
Still, when asked how he’d feel if serving a mission meant giving up the NBA or even his college career, Britton quickly replies, “It would be worth it.
“I could join the things-of-the-world team, maybe go to the NBA, make it big, make a lot of money. Or I can play on the things-of-the-Spirit team. Basketball will someday end. But the Spirit is always there—if you do what’s right, it will never leave you.”
Britton is quick to shrug off praise he receives for being willing to give up so much, pointing out that everyone who serves a mission does so at some sacrifice. “Just leaving your mom and dad is sacrifice enough!” He says that for his twin brother, Brandon (serving in the Canada Calgary Mission), going on a mission was every bit as significant and every bit as difficult.
Coming out of high school, Britton was heavily recruited by several top programs. He signed with Utah so he could eventually play with his older brother, Jeff, who had played one year for Utah before leaving for his mission.
Britton began the season with great expectations—sports magazines listed him as a top-20 recruit and compared him to Keith Van Horn, the Utah all-American who had been a number-two NBA draft pick in 1997. But hopes for Britton came crashing down when he sustained a knee injury early on.
“I planned on having a great year, going on a mission, then coming back for three more years,” he says. But as the season progressed, Britton’s injury kept him on the sidelines. “The season was turning into a disaster.”
For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”
Dejected and struggling, Britton turned to a man he looks up to more than any other—his father. “He was such a boost. He would just sit me down and help me open my eyes and realize the right thing to do. But there was no pressure. I knew he would have supported me either way.”
Still wanting more than anything a chance to play before the season ended, Britton also turned to his Heavenly Father. “I prayed nonstop that my knee would improve and that I’d have a chance to prove myself.”
In what seemed like a small miracle, just three games before the end of the season Britton began to get playing time. “Coach said I’d been working so hard that whether he won with me or lost with me, he was going to put me in.”
After being benched all season, Britton was out of sync at first. But with each game, his performance improved and his playing time increased. Astonishingly, by the time the NCAA tournament started, he was playing remarkably well. He was a big factor in the underdog Utes’ upset victories over third-ranked North Carolina and defending NCAA champion Arizona.
“This is what I got from the Lord—the chance to prove what I could do,” says Britton. In the end Britton got his dream come true: an opportunity to play—and play well—in the NCAA championship game.
Britton’s older brother Jeff, who continues to serve in the California Fresno mission, helped Britton keep the whole thing in perspective. “Jeff told me that through all this attention Satan would try to get me not to go. But he bore his testimony to me and let me know that a mission is still so much better than playing basketball.”
Another answer to Britton’s prayers also came during the NCAA tournament—surprisingly, from a competitor. Mark Madsen is a Stanford starting forward who led his team to the Final Four last year. He also happens to be a returned missionary.
Like Britton, Mark knew the thrill of playing in a Final Four game, although his team lost. The day after the loss, Mark shared his testimony at a ward in San Antonio. “I heard that Mark bore his testimony, saying that it had been one of the best weeks of his life, but that it still didn’t compare to his feelings of being on a mission,” says Britton. “Hearing this made my decision easier.”
“That was the greatest dream of my life.” When Britton says this, he’s not talking about playing in the biggest game of college basketball. He’s not describing how he felt knowing millions of sports fans were watching him. Rather, he is talking about a brief, unexpected encounter he had with the First Presidency shortly after the finals.
Back in Salt Lake City, Ute players were presenting a signed basketball to the First Presidency when an assistant coach suggested Britton discuss with them his decision to serve a mission. Before Britton knew what was happening, he found himself alone with the First Presidency in President Hinckley’s office.
“I was totally stuttering,” says Britton. “I said, ‘Going on a mission has been a tough decision, and I guess I already know what the right thing to do is, but it would be nice to hear what you’d say.’ Then President Hinckley smiled at me and said, ‘Well, what do you think I’m going to say?’”
“President Monson explained that I had been a highly touted freshman, that I had been pressured to stay, and that some people were saying I could represent the Church in other ways. Then right away President Hinckley stood up, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and said very clearly, ‘You go on a mission and the Lord will bless you.’ It was an awesome feeling.”
Not long after, Britton had a final talk with his father and his coach, then announced his decision to serve. “It just felt right; I just felt good about the decision,” Britton explains.
In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”
This year, Elder Britton Johnsen won’t be participating in March Madness. But he says that’s okay with him. “I get the same goose-bumpy feeling just reading my scriptures as I do playing in front of 40,000 people,” he says. “Besides, the things I’ll gain on my mission and the things other people will hopefully gain because I go will make it all worth it.”

A month after her baptism, Julia spoke at stake conference. “When I walked to the podium,” she said, “I think most everybody was shocked. It was their first time seeing a black person speaking at conference—maybe for some of them the first time ever to hear a black person address an audience.” She felt prompted to talk about her husband’s death and the years of difficulty she had. She described her bitterness and how she “had finally found the church that could teach me to truly forgive.”

Consider Bill, a nineteen-year-old student who had a difficult time deciding whether to go on a mission or continue his studies. Bill’s parents were pressuring him to go, he said, but his best friend, a nonmember, was testily pulling for him to stay and continue to room with him at school. “Look,” said Bill’s Sunday School teacher, “do you know exactly what your role as a missionary would be and what the result of either your going or not going might be?”
After closer examination it became clear that Bill’s perception of missionary life was largely inaccurate. He thought that the drudgery of tracting and the door-slamming he might encounter would far outweigh the genuine experiences he would have, the joy he would see, and the friends he would make. And Bill’s decision to go or not to go would have eternal consequences. (See “D.”) Rewards or punishment result from any decision, regardless of how small it may seem. That is, the hypothesis that we “become what we do” is true. But in a sense, we also unbecome what we don’t do.
Bill had never thought of his mission call this way. Furthermore, he was asked if the motivation of his parents was selfish. He answered, “No, probably not.” Then Bill saw that the motivation of his roommate was selfish. The roommate simply didn’t understand what this could mean for Bill, let alone what Bill could do for others.
Asking Bill these specific questions—what is the role you are assuming, who wants you to do it, and, furthermore, what are the consequences if you comply or don’t comply—made the cobwebs disappear. He was then in a position to decide what he wanted to do.
Thus, Bill became a self-motivator, because he understood his own attitudes about what he should or should not do. He also knew which choice would help him to fulfill his responsibilities and accomplish his objectives.
Bill acquired a new set of values and expectations about his own behavior and abilities, about the nature of the Church, and about the prerequisites for an enlarging role in it. He began to develop a self identity that included the acceptance of legitimate authority and compliance with it. For others this could easily appear to be unreasonable, even silly or naive. Bill’s roommate did not understand.

I love the story told by President Hinckley of the time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions and not “follow the crowd.” The year that he started junior high school, the building was not large enough to accommodate all the students, and his class had to return to the elementary school. He and his friends were not very happy, so the boys decided that they would go on strike and not attend school the next day—and they didn’t. They had no place to go, so they just wandered around wasting time.

The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, met the boys at the front door and told them that they had to have a note from their parents to be able to return to school. Young Gordon went home and reluctantly approached his mother, who knew something was wrong. He told her the situation.

She did write him a note, which read, “Dear Mr. Sterns, Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”5 President Hinckley stated, “I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of their merits and my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.”6

Elder D. Todd Christofferson recounted the story of Brother George Goates, who in six days lost his son Charles and three of Charles’s small children during the flu epidemic of 1918. That week Brother Goates made the caskets, dug the graves, and helped prepare the burial clothing. His child and grandchildren died during the week he was to harvest his sugar beet crop, which was left freezing in the ground. After the burials, he and another son went to their fields to see if they could salvage any of their crop. When they arrived, they saw the members of his quorum leaving the empty field. His quorum had harvested every sugar beet. It was then that this man who had shown tremendous strength in the previous week sat down and sobbed like a child. He looked up to the sky and said, “Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.”

After that, the missionaries came to our home and gave us the first discussion. Then came the invitation: “Will you pray to Heavenly Father to know if the Book of Mormon is true?” We both agreed to do it.
On the first night I prayed before sleeping, but I was so tired that I fell asleep without waiting for a response. On the second night I prayed again, but I didn’t receive an answer. The next night I prayed once again. I wanted to feel what the missionaries had taught me: “Your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right” (D&C 9:8). I prayed and waited, but I didn’t receive a response. Still, I went to bed certain that one day I would receive it.
The next day was the first Sunday of the month, and we went to church. It was then that it happened. During class I began to feel something I had never felt before—something that made me feel so happy. When sacrament meeting began I had a desire to bear my testimony, but I didn’t have the courage. However, I was certain that the Book of Mormon was true.
My brother and I accepted the gospel without reluctance. We had testimonies of the Book of Mormon, and we knew that everything else the missionaries taught us would be true too.

One final illustration related to the Munich conference didn’t happen in Munich, but in Holland. Just after the conference, Brother de Jager, Regional Representative of the Twelve, was in his own ward. There, interestingly enough, he heard the choir sing at sacrament meeting, not in Dutch, but in German. He asked them afterward, “Why are you singing in German in the sacrament meeting?”

They, with spiritual smiles on their faces, said, “Brother de Jager, this is one of the hymns we learned at the area general conference.” You remember the occupation of Holland by the Germans, and yet you see how the Saints had reciprocated the Spirit of the Lord.

Last year in my kindergarten class, we had a “Teddy Bear Tea Party,” and we got to bring our teddy bears to school. When the party began, I saw that my teacher was serving real tea. I knew that I should choose the right, so I asked for water. I felt happy that I did.
This year, in first grade, we had a “Tarts-and-Tea Party.” Again, my teacher served real tea and I chose to not drink it. I realized that it was easier to choose to not drink it this time because of the good feeling I had when I chose to not drink it the first time.Ryan Wilcken, age 6Ringgold, Georgia

Fifty Primary children from the Littleton Colorado Stake, Colorado, USA, helped sort donations after a flood in Colorado. The children wore Mormon Helping Hands vests and loaded clothes, toys, furniture, household items, and diapers into a large truck. One child said, “It felt good doing something for someone else.” Another said, “It makes me happy and proud because this will make a difference in their lives.”

Elder Nicholas D. Germer, who served in the Brazil Brasília Mission, has been on the receiving end of a family home evening activity. He writes: “I received three letters from members of a family that I knew before my mission. They wrote the letters during a family home evening, and the three-year-old daughter even got help from her father to write to me. I could feel their love and will never forget these letters.”

One of these intrepid souls was Emma Batchelor, a young English girl traveling without family. She started out with the Willie handcart company, but by the time they reached Fort Laramie, they were ordered to lighten their loads. Emma was directed to leave the copper kettle in which she carried all of her belongings.
She refused to do this and set it by the side of the road and sat down on it. She knew that the Martin company was only a few days behind. She had been privileged to start with the Willie company, and when the Martin company caught up, she joined the Paul Gourley family.
A young son wrote many years later: “Here we were joined by Sister Emma Batchelor. We were glad to have her because she was young and strong and meant more flour for our mess.” It was here that Sister Gourley gave birth to a child, and Emma acted as the midwife and loaded the mother and the child in the cart for two days, which Emma helped pull.
Those who died in the Martin company were mercifully relieved of the suffering of others with frozen feet, ears, noses, or fingers—which maimed them for the rest of their lives. Emma, age twenty-one, however, was a fortunate one. She came through the ordeal whole.
A year later, she met Brigham Young, who was surprised that she was not maimed, and she told him, “Brother Brigham, I had no one to care for me or to look out for me, so I decided I must look out for myself. I was the one who called out when Brother Savage warned us [not to go]. I was at fault in that, but I tried to make up for it. I pulled my share at the cart every day. When we came to a stream, I stopped and took off my shoes and stockings and outer skirt and put them on top of the cart. Then, after I got the cart across, I came back and carried little Paul over on my back. Then I sat down and scrubbed my feet hard with my woolen neckerchief and put on dry shoes and stockings.”