Gospel Story Finder

As part of my calling, my wife and I were once on an assignment with President and Sister Hinckley and Elder and Sister Ballard. After our meetings were finished, Elder Ballard asked me if I’d like to see the airplane that takes President Hinckley to conferences all over the world. I said, “I would love to!” Elder Ballard escorted me inside, and I saw President and Sister Hinckley seated in the plane. The Spirit of the Lord came over me and I knelt down at President Hinckley’s side. I took his hand in mine and said, “President Hinckley, I love you. With all of my heart, I sustain you as a prophet of the living God.” I bear my witness to you young people that he is the Lord’s living prophet, that the Lord speaks to him, that the Church is guided by Jesus Christ, and that the Lord’s prophets—from Joseph Smith to Gordon B. Hinckley—represent the Lord as they speak to us. If we will follow their counsel, we will be protected from many problems and challenges in this life.

I should like to share with you an incident or two in the early life of President Marion G. Romney, best told in his own words:
I’m a Mexican by birth. I was born in Colonia Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico. My parents happened to be down there at the time. I was raised there until I was about fifteen years old. During the last two or three of those years, the Madero Revolution was in progress. The rebels and the federalists were chasing each other through the country; each taking everything we colonists had, by way of arms and ammunition and by way of supplies. Finally we were forced to leave. I came out of Mexico with the Mormon refugees in 1912.
I remember I had a very thrilling experience on the way from where we lived to the railroad station about eight miles south of Colonia Juarez. We went in a wagon. . . . I was riding with my mother and her seven children and my uncle (her brother) and his family of about five or six children. . . . We had one trunk—that was all we were able to bring. I was seated on the trunk in the back of the wagon. . . . The Mexican rebel army was coming up the valley from the railroad station toward our town. They were not in formation. They were riding their saddle horses. Their guns were in the scabbards. Two of them stopped us and searched us. They said they were looking for guns. We didn’t have any guns or ammunition. They did find $20 on my uncle—pesos, not dollars. . . . They took that and waved us on. They went up the road about as far as from here to the back of this room, stopped, turned around, drew their guns from their scabbards, and pointed them down the road at me. As I looked up the barrels of those guns, they looked like cannons to me. They didn’t pull their triggers, however, as evidenced by the fact that I am here to tell the story. That was a very thrilling experience! One of my maturing experiences.
[President Romney continues,] The rebels blew up the railroad track after the train we were on passed over it. Later, Father and the rest of the men came out to El Paso, Texas, on horseback. We never returned nor did we recover any of our property while my father lived.
Father and I went to work to earn a living for his large family. There were no welfare programs then. We had a difficult time making a living. We had to “root hot” or die.[Marion G. Romney, speech at Salt Lake Institute of Religion, October 18, 1974]
I had the opportunity to see how well President Romney handles a trowel when he laid the cornerstone for the São Paulo Temple. President Romney said, “Going to school but part time, it took me from 1918 to 1932 to get through college.”
After he was married and his family was started, he worked full time at the post office in order to provide for his family while he went through law school. In these difficult conditions his marks were so high and his scholarship so excellent that he was later admitted to the Order of the Coif. The Order of the Coif admits only the most distinguished law scholars. I was never invited to join that organization.
Someone has said that among the law students the “A” students make the professors, the “B” students make the judges, and the “C” students make the money. President Romney and I both proved that adage wrong because President Romney did not become a law professor and I did not make a fortune. He practiced law and became a bishop, stake president, one of the first Assistants to the Twelve, a member of the Council of the Twelve, and, as we know, has given great service as a counselor in the First Presidency to two Presidents. He has demonstrated his great love and compassion for people through his many years of guidance in the welfare program of the Church.

My marriage was in crisis, and when the week of Christmas came, my children and I were alone in our home in Los Andes, Chile. It was the hardest week I had ever experienced. We had no money and nothing in the pantry.
I asked myself what kind of Christmas I could give my three young children. They had always had a Christmas dinner and a gift. How could I explain to them that Santa Claus, the old bearded visitor, was not going to come?
The worst of it was that we didn’t have anything to eat. My daughter Michelle went into the kitchen the day of Christmas Eve and couldn’t find anything. I was sitting in the living room thinking about Christmas when she came to me and said, “Why don’t we have a Christmas tree like all the neighbors, and why don’t we have any food?” I had no answer. I was worried, but I also had great faith that our Father in Heaven would not forsake us.
Suddenly I felt strength come into me. I gathered my children together and told them that the dinner and the tree were not necessary. We were going to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, and we were going to get to know the true spirit of Christmas.
During the day we cleaned our house and left it looking beautiful. In the evening we put on our best clothes and sat down at the table to read the scriptures. My children asked me what we were doing. I replied that this was what Jesus wanted from families, for them to draw near to Him. I explained that other years we had almost always been concerned about the dinner and the gifts; we had forgotten the true meaning of the day. They were content.
While we were finishing our scripture reading, someone knocked on the door. How surprised we were when the neighbors came in with a beautiful Christmas tree and with gifts for the children. A few minutes later they knocked on our door again with all kinds of food. They kept knocking on our door all that night.
My children are grown now, but they have never forgotten the miracle that took place in our hearts that Christmas.

The reality of professional singing, which included being absent from my family for up to eight weeks at a time during touring productions, was like a splash of cold water. The old, nagging questions surfaced. What had I done? Had I left my job and dragged my little family far away from the security of a comfortable life for this? Had I really acted upon inspiration or should I let my dreams die and simply bury them? Things were definitely not turning out the way we had envisioned, and for the first time I was really afraid.

When I took these doubts and fears and laid them at the Lord’s feet, the answer to our dilemma came as dramatically and miraculously as our directive to leave Overton. During one of our long-distance telephone conversations I told my wife about several of my colleagues in the touring group that had spent some time in Europe. There it was possible to be a member of an opera company, keep regular hours, have health and retirement benefits, and, best of all, stay in one place. It sounded like a dream come true. We had only one problem: how would we finance an audition tour to Europe?

Absolutely no one knew of our conversation. A short time after our talk and heartfelt prayer, a dear friend called. To my utter amazement he brought up the subject of a European audition tour and offered to finance the trip. With tears of joy and unbelievable gratitude we thanked our Heavenly Father for such an incredible miracle and the generosity of such a spiritually sensitive friend. I made my reservations shortly thereafter, boarded the plane in New York, and three weeks later miraculously had a job in a beautiful city, the oldest city in Germany: Trier.

My friend gave me an invitation to her party! I was so excited—until I noticed it was on Sunday. My mom called her mom and explained that we made a decision many years ago that Sundays are a day of worship and a day to spend time with our family, and that I wouldn’t be able to go to the party. Then my friend’s mom changed the day of the party to a Saturday, just so I could come! I love my friends!
Emma F., age 8, Ohio, USA

On this occasion I would like to speak especially to the young people the world over. Somehow, I believe that they have a special ability to understand important things. May I illustrate with this little story?
Many years ago we sat as a family in our weekly home evening discussing the principle of the Resurrection. Attempting to explain in simple terms what is involved, I noticed our small children looking at me with puzzled expressions on their tiny faces. Apologetically, I mumbled something about it being very difficult to understand such things. Whereupon, Lezlee, our then five-year-old, with a look of loving concern for my discomfort, said, “Don’t feel badly, Daddy; I understand you.” And then she proceeded to demonstrate her new gospel knowledge. Lying down on the floor, straight and stiff, with her arms outstretched, she slowly raised herself and said, “It’s simple; you just sink up.”
So I want to talk to you about the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ, because on Easter Sunday we will celebrate His rising from the dead and all of us should know the wonderful story of that remarkable event.
It was early on Sunday morning. Deep darkness still hung over the holy city, Jerusalem. Mary of Magdala entered the garden and approached the tomb where the body of Jesus of Nazareth recently had been laid.
Just two days before, the humble Christ, hanging from a wooden cross, had given up the ghost, and mortality had ended for the Only Begotten Son of God in the flesh.
Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin but a loving disciple of Jesus, had gone to the Roman procurator, Pontius Pilate, and had asked that he be allowed to remove the body from the cross. Permission was granted. The body was taken from the cross, and Joseph, with the assistance of Nicodemus, who earlier had come to question Jesus by night, gently prepared the body for burial after the manner of the Jews. The kind, loving men placed the body of the deceased in a newly hewn tomb belonging to Joseph. Then a great stone was rolled across the entrance, and a Roman seal was placed upon it, “lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead” (Matt. 27:64).
Now Mary Magdalene approached the tomb, but to her utter amazement the huge stone had been rolled away. The body of her beloved Jesus was gone. Quickly she ran to advise the Apostles of this new tragedy, saying, “They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him” (John 20:2).
Peter, the chief Apostle, and John, the beloved Apostle, hurried to the place of burial. The account of Mary was confirmed. The tomb was indeed empty, except for the linens which had been used to wrap the body. Saddened, the two Apostles went away to their own homes.
“But Mary,” who had followed Peter and John back to the garden, “stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre” (v. 11). Two angels dressed in white sat within the tomb. Seeing her great grief they asked, “Woman, why weepest thou?” Sorrowfully, she answered them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him” (v. 13).
Still weeping, Mary turned from the tomb, and through her misty eyes she noticed someone standing close by. The person spoke to her, “Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?” Thinking that perhaps it was the gardener who addressed her, she replied, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away” (v. 15).
In a voice tinctured with pure love and the sweetest tenderness, he simply uttered one word, “Mary.” There was no mistaking the voice; it was Jesus Christ. And thrilled beyond any comprehension, the dear woman could only say, “Rabboni,” which means Master (see John 20:16).
There He stood—alive! Raised from the dead! Never to die again! His perfect body forever united with the spirit. The eternal Christ!
To the credit of gentle, loving women everywhere, our Redeemer chose as the first mortal witness of His resurrection from the dead a woman, Mary Magdalene.
As we contemplate the events leading to the death of Jesus Christ, we tend to grieve for the awful sufferings which He experienced at the hands of wicked men—the terrible rending by the lash, the dreadful nails placed in His hands and feet, the prolonged agony of the cross, and finally His tender heart breaking for the sins of all men.
But stop! He is not dead! He is risen! He is the first fruit of the resurrection. Without Him, life for all men would end at death. All would be consigned to the grave, their bodies to molder in the dust forever. But because of Him, our Savior, even Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, we, every one of us, will live again—freed from the everlasting chains of death.
To you sweet parents who have placed the mortal body of a dear son or a beautiful daughter in the grave, or to all who have lost a mother or father, husband or wife, to the relentless hand of death, I say, have hope. For if we ourselves are faithful to the end, they will not be lost to us save for a moment. And then, oh, the sweetness of that joyous reunion, for the tender mercy of the Lord will bring them forth triumphant from the grave.
And so, my wonderful young people everywhere, as we come to celebrate Easter, will you remember the story of Jesus coming out of the grave a perfect, glorified being? Will you remember that He made it possible for all of us to someday be resurrected and to come back and live with Him in the celestial kingdom of God throughout all eternity? Then if you will remember, you will understand His love for all of us, and your love for Him will grow deeper and deeper forever.
Such is my humble testimony of the glorious resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ, which I proclaim to you along with my profound love for Him and each one of you. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“You pray funny!” Lucia said after Whitney finished saying a blessing on their lunch.
“No, I don’t,” Whitney said. “Why did you say that?”
“We don’t say prayers like that at my church,” Lucia said.
“What do you mean?” Whitney asked as she picked off the crusty part of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“When you pray it sounds old-fashioned.”
“It’s just the words you read in the scriptures,” Whitney said. “I don’t think it’s weird.”
A car horn honked outside. Whitney looked at the kitchen clock. “That’s probably your mom to take us to soccer practice.”
The girls grabbed their sandwiches and raced out the door. “Bye, Mom,” Whitney called. “See you after practice.”
Whitney didn’t think much about what Lucia had said about her prayer until later that evening when Dad gathered everyone for family prayer.
“Whose turn is it tonight?” Dad asked.
“I think it’s Russell’s turn,” Mom said.
Russell bowed his head and began to pray. He thanked Heavenly Father and asked for blessings. Whitney listened closely as Russell prayed. His words did sound different from the way people usually talk: “We thank Thee. … We ask that Thou wilt bless. … Help us follow Thy prophet .…” Russell finished and everyone stood.
Whitney went to get ready for bed. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth. Then she opened her closet and chose one of her best dresses for church the next day. She took it off the hanger and laid it across the back of her desk chair.
“Hey, Whit,” Dad said as he came into her bedroom with a stack of folded clothes. “Mom told me what Lucia said at lunch. Did that bother you?”
“No, not really,” Whitney said. “Well, kind of. Why do we pray with fancy words? Why not just talk the way we usually do?”
Dad picked up Whitney’s soccer uniform from off the floor where she had dropped it earlier that day. “Why don’t you wear this to church tomorrow instead of that dress on your chair?”
“Very funny, Dad,” Whitney said as she grabbed her shorts and shirt. “This is what I wear to soccer—not to church.”
“There’s a difference?” Dad asked.
“Of course,” Whitney replied.
“Right,” Dad said. “The reason we wear our Sunday best to church is to show respect and reverence for Heavenly Father. We dress differently than we do for other occasions. It’s the same way with the words we use when we pray. The words we say show love and respect.”
“So when we say those words, Heavenly Father knows we are treating Him in a special way?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father listens and understands either way, but when we use words like Thy blessings instead of your blessings and Thou hast seen or Thou seest instead of you have seen or you see, it’s kind of like…”
Whitney lifted the dress from the chair. “It’s like our prayers are all dressed up in their Sunday best!”

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.

When they were married, Sister Abrea recalls, he was a counselor in the Mutual presidency for the mission. (His call as branch president came three months later.) It is the Argentine custom for the bride and groom to meet relatives and well-wishers in their home the evening of their wedding. But he was involved in planning an upcoming Mutual conference, and there was a key meeting that night. So he excused himself to go to the meeting, and she met the guests alone.

“The thing that has always impressed me most has been his faithfulness, his consecration to the work. Always the Lord has come first. And I have been content with that,” she says.

Every Christmas Eve, my mother reads us the Nativity account in the New Testament. Each family member dresses up and plays a character. I’m always the angel who proclaims the “good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10). Christmas has always been a special time to remember the Savior’s birth and spend time with my family.
That’s why my first Christmas as a missionary was really difficult. I’m not sure what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t walking the streets in search of a place to eat and a way to call home.
I had been serving in the Dominican Republic for about five months. I loved everything about my mission. And I was so excited to video call my family and see their faces. But the light and joy of Christmas faded fast after our dinner plans fell through. Then the family who had offered to let us use their computer suddenly had to leave town. My companion and I were left with no food, no computer, and no idea what to do.
We didn’t want to intrude on anyone else’s Christmas, so we walked. And walked. I began to lose hope. Why was everything going wrong? I assumed that since we were missionaries, everything would work out. Weren’t we sacrificing so much to be here? Shouldn’t we at least have a decent Christmas?
I tried to hold on to the true meaning of Christmas. But it was getting harder. Heartbroken and humbled, we returned home only an hour before the time to call our families. Together, we prayed that we would find a way to contact our families in time.
The thought came to my mind to go to the mission office. Maybe someone there could help us. Trusting the Spirit, we got on a bus heading into the city. When we arrived, the gates were locked and the office was deserted. I slumped to the cement, my back against the gate’s bars, exhausted and hungry.
Just then, a man passed by us with a snack stand. Food! My companion and I quickly jumped up and bought some snacks. We asked the man about his Christmas and shared a small message about the miracle of Christ’s birth and the love Heavenly Father has for us to send His Only Begotten Son.
As I bore my testimony, I could feel a weight being lifted from my heart. The stress of the day had kept me from feeling the peace of Christmas—of Christ. As I testified of the Savior, I slowly felt that peace seep back into me.
After the man left, we sat back down, feeling much happier with a little food in our stomachs and the spirit of Christmas in our hearts. About 10 minutes later, the office gates opened and the office elders drove up in their white minivan.
When they saw us, they knew something was wrong. We told them about our long day, and they called the mission president, who gave us permission to use the office computers to call our families!
Soon I was inside calling my family. Tears came to my eyes at the joy of seeing their faces. The awfulness of the day faded away as we talked. Even better, the Christmas package my mom sent me was at the office, so I was able to open it with my family right there! The treats my mom sent became one of the best Christmas dinners I’ve ever had.
Cancelled dinner plans and hopeless street wanderings weren’t what made me sad that Christmas—it was being away from my family and losing sight of the Savior. Acting on faith and sharing my testimony brought the peace of Christ back into my heart. And brought me closer to my family. None of the disappointments that day mattered when I finally got to see their smiling faces and feel their overwhelming love for me. It reminded me that our Savior made it possible for families to be together forever, and that’s what truly matters.

One day Heber J. Grant was playing marbles with some friends when a bookkeeper from the bank walked by.
Friend 1: That man makes a lot of money.
Heber: How much?
Friend 1: As much as you would earn polishing 120 pairs of boots every single day.
Heber knew he wanted to be able to make a living when he was older.
Heber: Someday I’ll be a bookkeeper at the bank too!
Friend 2: You’d better learn how to write. Your writing looks like lightning struck the ink bottle.
Friend 1: It’s worse than hen tracks!
Heber worked on his handwriting until it was beautiful.
To earn money, he wrote greeting cards, wedding cards, and legal documents. He was offered a large amount of money to be a professional penman in the state of California, but he didn’t take the job.
Eventually, Heber reached his goal of working at the bank. He also became a penmanship teacher at a university.

There is a power in goodness that is often learned in families. There is a void when it is lacking. I know one family that left what they described as “the good life” in a desire to do good. They agreed on a noble purpose that would take them to the Philippines for a year. The mother of this family reported, “We were flabbergasted it was so hard.” Without the normal routine and conveniences of home, she said, “We were just the same old ornery people.” Then they set a new routine—exercise at 5:30 a.m., 6:30 scripture study, then breakfast and school. Each afternoon they visited orphanages to play with the children.
Gradually the family started to notice a change—new levels of patience, gratitude, and respect. They started to talk to each other—to really talk and to really listen. The mother stated, “I will never forget the learning that took place for me and my family the day they brought a five-month-old baby into the orphanage whose tongue had been cut and an eye poked out.” When they learned the mother, a beggar, had injured her own child, it gave a new dimension to the social studies lesson they had discussed at home. A new level of compassion started to develop—greater reverence for the sanctity of life. This family put their “trust in that Spirit which leadeth to do good” (D&C 11:12), and gradually they started to experience the power to become changed.

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.”

Let’s go back 60 years. The minutes of the Wandamere Ward of the Grant Stake for June 4, 1944, indicate the sacrament was administered by my friends Ward Jackson, Arthur Hicks, and me to a congregation of 141. Then it was off to war. In May of 1945, I was blessing the sacrament again—but in a foxhole on Okinawa for a congregation of only one—myself!

The training of my youth took over without fanfare—something only partially appreciated by me then—including abstaining from coffee in those same circumstances when water was scarce and highly chlorinated.
I do not know what lies ahead of you young men, but my advice would be to fasten your seat belts and hold on firmly to your principles!

President Charles W. Penrose used to tell the story of an officer on the Titanic who stated that there was no fear of “God, man or devil,” because the Titanic was built so solidly that it could readily withstand collision with other ships or contact with any other force, including icebergs. The Titanic was in fact three football fields in length, 12 stories high, and built of the finest steel. On that fateful night of April 14, 1912, other ships warned of ice ahead. Yet the Titanic continued to increase her speed, cutting through the cold Atlantic Ocean. By the time the lookouts sighted the iceberg, it was too late. The Titanic could not turn out of its way in time, and the iceberg scraped along the starboard side of the ship, creating a series of punctures. Two hours and 40 minutes later the brand-new Titanic sank to the bottom of the ocean. Over 1,500 people were drowned.

Usually one-eighth of an iceberg is above the waterline. The ice in the cold core is very compact, and keeps seven-eighths of the iceberg under water. As it was when the Titanic encountered the iceberg, so it is with us. We can often only see part of the danger that lies ahead.

One Sunday in October, I was assigned to give an important part in a program at church. But in October everyone in my family had to work hard to harvest the rice in my father’s rice fields. That included working on the Sabbath day.
I prayed to Heavenly Father, and the Spirit planted a thought in my mind: I could try to finish the harvest before Sunday. I would get up early and work every morning before school. Then every afternoon I would work after school until dark.
But by Saturday night only half of the harvest was done. I went to bed discouraged that I had not accomplished my goal. Sunday morning I awoke early to go to the fields. My father came to my room and, with a gentle smile, asked why I wasn’t going to church. My heart was full of joy. I could go to church and keep the Sabbath day holy!

A few years ago following general conference, our four-year-old grandson Andrew asked his mother, “Mommy, is Jesus counting on me?” His mother answered, “Oh yes, Andrew, Jesus is counting on you. He wants you to obey Mom and Dad, to do what is right, and especially to be kind to your little brother, Benny.” This four-year-old thought about that for a few moments and said, “Mommy, tell Him not to count on me!”
Fortunately, by the time Andrew receives the Aaronic Priesthood, he will have come to know that Jesus is counting on him.

I recently had the opportunity to travel with Elder Donald L. Hallstrom to visit five cities in the great central area of the United States. In each city we visited, we would hold a meeting with the full-time missionaries, followed by a meeting with the stake and ward leaders regarding missionary work. Between each of the two meetings, the stake Relief Society would prepare a light dinner for us to afford us time to meet with the stake presidents. When we reached Milwaukee, Wisconsin, two young families appealed to the Relief Society to let them prepare and serve the dinner. The two husbands manned the kitchen. The two mothers supervised the table arrangements and the serving of the food. Three young children handled the table setting and the serving of the food under the supervision of their mothers. This was an opportunity for the mothers to have a teaching opportunity with their children. It was very special to watch the children respond to every detail as they were taught by their mothers. They carried out their assignments completely and fully.

Two weeks ago I shared with the freshmen during their orientation one of the most sacred moments I have experienced on this campus. I wish to share it again because it illustrates the blessing and power of this university as a temple of learning. Almost two years ago the Palmyra Temple was dedicated. Prior to the dedication First Presidency instructions were for students to gather in local Provo chapels to view the services. After some investigation it was determined that few students would be able to attend because local Saints would fill the chapels. Consequently I asked President Hinckley if the services could be shown in the Marriott Center. Although there was some concern that it would be difficult to feel the spirit of the services in this large space, permission was granted.

Students with recommends were asked to be in their seats at least 30 minutes before the services began. The outside doors of the building were locked 20 minutes before. I arrived early and took a seat on the floor. As I entered this space through one of the tunnels, I immediately noticed the extreme quiet in the room. There were no sounds. There was no whispering. Almost every student had a set of scriptures, and each was quietly reading or pondering the events of the next two hours. A quiet, reverent attitude prevailed throughout the dedication. Following the dedicatory prayer, 20,000 students stood in this arena and with white handkerchiefs waving repeated the Hosanna Shout. It was electric! The sea of handkerchiefs was like fields of grain waving in the wind. I have attended a number of temple dedications, but not one like that.

Following the closing hymn and prayer, the Holy Spirit pervaded every corner of this room. We watched President Hinckley and others depart the celestial room of the Palmyra Temple. I then approached the microphone and excused those in attendance to return to their classes. The few of us on the floor stood and waited for the audience to leave. But no one moved. After another minute or two I returned to the microphone again and invited those in attendance to return to class. Slowly, quietly, people arose and left the building. It was one of the great, spiritual moments of my time at the university. This building literally became an extension of the Palmyra Temple during those two hours.

Many years ago in the ward over which I presided as the bishop, there lived a couple who often had very serious, heated disagreements. I mean real disagreements. Each of the two was certain of his or her position. Neither one would yield to the other. When they weren’t arguing, they maintained what I would call an uneasy truce.

One morning at 2:00 a.m. I had a telephone call from the couple. They wanted to talk to me, and they wanted to talk right then. I dragged myself from bed, dressed, and went to their home. They sat on opposite sides of the room, not speaking to each other. The wife communicated with her husband by talking to me. He replied to her by talking to me. I thought, “How in the world are we going to get this couple together?”

I prayed for inspiration, and the thought came to me to ask them a question. I said, “How long has it been since you have been to the temple and witnessed a temple sealing?” They admitted it had been a very long time. They were otherwise worthy people who held temple recommends and who went to the temple and did ordinance work for others.

I said to them, “Will you come with me to the temple on Wednesday morning at 8:00? We will witness a sealing ceremony there.”

In unison they asked, “Whose ceremony?”

I responded, “I don’t know. It will be for whoever is getting married that morning.”

On the following Wednesday at the appointed hour, we met at the Salt Lake Temple. The three of us went into one of the beautiful sealing rooms, not knowing a soul in the room except Elder ElRay L. Christiansen, then an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, a General Authority position which existed at that time. Elder Christiansen was scheduled to perform a sealing ceremony for a bride and groom in that very room that morning. I am confident the bride and her family thought, “These must be friends of the groom” and that the groom’s family thought, “These must be friends of the bride.” My couple were seated on a little bench with about a full two feet (0.6 m) of space between them.

Elder Christiansen began by providing counsel to the couple who were being married, and he did so in a beautiful fashion. He mentioned how a husband should love his wife, how he should treat her with respect and courtesy, honoring her as the heart of the home. Then he talked to the bride about how she should honor her husband as the head of the home and be of support to him in every way.

I noticed that as Elder Christiansen spoke to the bride and the groom, my couple moved a little closer together. Soon they were seated right next to one another. What pleased me is that they had both moved at about the same rate. By the end of the ceremony, my couple were sitting as close to each other as though they were the newlyweds. Each was smiling.

We left the temple that day, and no one ever knew who we were or why we had come, but my friends were holding hands as they walked out the front door. Their differences had been set aside. I had not had to say one word. You see, they remembered their own wedding day and the covenants they had made in the house of God. They were committed to beginning again and trying harder this time around.