Gospel Story Finder

My mother began teaching me at a young age this same important lesson, to forget my own problems by thinking of and helping others through theirs. On my first nervous day of kindergarten, my mother held my hand as we walked into the classroom. Across the room, sitting by herself was a little girl who was crying. “Oh Susie,” my mom said to me, “you must go and be her friend.” My mother let go of my hand and suddenly I forgot my own fears as I obediently set out to help someone else.

I was one of only four Spanish-speaking missionaries in the New England Mission. We worked hard to learn the language and share the gospel, but we met mostly with rejection.
One day we knocked on the door of Hugo and Niza Diaz, a couple in Providence, Rhode Island. After they invited us into their apartment, I asked how long they had lived there.
“We just moved here from New York,” they said. “The Lord told us to move to Providence and He would send us messengers to teach us the truth. Are you the messengers?”
We responded assuredly, “Yes, we are the messengers.” We taught Hugo and Niza about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and they readily accepted our message and were soon baptized.

We run onto many little experiences and stories. For instance, in California some years ago I went to a Relief Society bazaar with my daughter there—her daughter’s sitting right down here this morning—and I met a woman who came up here to go to the Y and started keeping company with a young man who was a member of the Church but wasn’t at all active in the Church. When he became serious and proposed to this woman, she said, “I’ll never marry a man who doesn’t do his duty in the Church and honor his priesthood. I’m going to be able to point to my children and say, ‘You follow your father.’” He wasn’t willing to pay the price; so their courtship ended right there. In a short time she started keeping company with another young man. He proposed, and their engagement was announced in the newspaper, and a copy of that newspaper was sent to the first suitor in Chicago, where he was living at the time. When he read it, he called her up all the way to Los Angeles—this was before they had those cheap rates—and he said, “I can’t live without you. If you’ll call off that engagement and give me another opportunity, I’ll do anything and everything you ever ask me to do in the Church.” When I met them down there in California (she was the daughter of one of the families that lived in the stake there when I was the president), he was a counselor in the bishopric. I’ve since checked with the stake president, and he said the man later became the bishop and was the best bishop in the stake. And here—just a year ago in April, I think it was—I met him in front of the Hotel Utah. He had just been appointed a member of the stake presidency. Now, there was a girl who understood what it meant to build on the right kind of foundation, who understood that life beyond this life is more important than this and that it pays to make preparation for it.

When I was about six or seven, I wanted to know if the scriptures were true. My mom said I needed to pray and find out for myself. I did, and I felt really warm inside. I know that the scriptures are true. I have a testimony that Jesus Christ suffered for our sins and that He helped many people. I also have a testimony of Joseph Smith. I know that the Church is true. I will always be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Solomon Massaquoi’s journey of gratitude began at the Gathering Place, where he discovered a world of opportunities! He took a few different classes, including Plumbing Basics at the Kakata Liberia District stake center. Learning about different materials, fittings, and pipe connections opened the door to his future. Armed with newfound skills, he secured a paid contract with a small company, helping him earn his mission commitment money and meet his goal to serve the Lord! Solomon received his mission call to the Nigeria Calabar Mission while on a YSA temple trip, marking the start of his next adventure!

I never knew my Dad. I knew he was a soldier in the British Army in World War II. I knew he had been a Prisoner of War for several years. But I didn’t know much else.

Two months ago I posted this on the Internet. I know you can’t read the screen so I’ll read it to you.

“Robert Otterson was buried in the summer of 1949. Rifle shots were fired over the grave and a Union Jack draped the coffin. Later, his older brother would say of the funeral wake that it was a particularly silent affair. The usual attempts to cheer up the mourners with stories and even a little humor were absent. Such was the stunned reaction to the death of a man who, at 37 and as a professional soldier, had spent more years away from home and family than he had ever wished. Three of those years had seen him incarcerated as a prisoner-of-war, first in North Africa, then in Italy and finally in Germany. As he walked up the narrow street of a village in Surrey, England, to be reunited with his family again in the late spring of 1945, he described his feelings as ‘on top of the world.’
Four years later he was dead. Not the glorious battlefield death of a soldier, but a common road accident that threw him from his motor bike on a Welsh country road. For me, his son, it meant growing up without a father. I was nine months old and have no memory of him. I felt no particular deprivation during my boyhood - due, no doubt, to a devoted mother and two caring older sisters. But as I grew older I began to sense the loss. I missed the experience of talking to a father. I missed the things I imagined he would have taught me. I missed his wisdom.
Yet that fact has been the stimulus for me to learn all I could about his life. Over the years I have recreated from interviews, letters and journals what I could not learn first-hand. I share it now for his children, his 10 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren, with the hope that they will come to know and appreciate this remarkable man.”

And I’m still learning. I never knew whether there was any trace of the German prison camp where my father spent the last months of World War II. But this past summer my wife and I found the huge flat field in what used to be East Germany, near Muhlberg on the Elbe River. Using my Dad’s prison camp journal, we followed the route he took when he grew tired of the Russian military authorities who liberated the camp in March 1945 but who wouldn’t let the Allied soldiers leave. So he and a friend slipped out of the camp anyway, and tracked across fields and streams, headed for the American lines 40 kilometers to the west. Overnight they slept in a barn with German refugees to avoid the Russian patrols. Finally they reached the River Mulde. Over the other side of the bridge were the American front lines. My father describes his feelings as he walked over that bridge and shook hands with American soldiers on the other side. For the first time in years, he said, he felt “really free.”

So, of course, you know what I did this past summer. I walked across that bridge over the Mulde River as my father had done, and I shook hands with the only home-grown American in our company – my son-in-law. I then stood on the bank of the river with the bridge in the background, and read from my father’s journal as my daughter recorded it. That will now be posted on our website at otterson.us in the hope that it will help turn the hearts of my children and grandchildren to their fathers.

What if I hadn’t been able to travel to Germany? That is the wonderful thing about the power of the Internet. As I mention some of these discoveries, I hope you are thinking about the parallels in your own families and what you should search for, and what you can find.

From the Reiksmuseum in the Netherlands I found a picture of the gates to the camp known as Stalag IVB, as it had stood on that field you saw earlier.

From an Italian naval site I found a picture of the prison ship that carried my father from North Africa to Italy, across the Mediterranean for three miserable days. Many of the men had dysentery. There was no proper sanitation. They slept below decks on metal floors, wretched, hungry souls who didn’t know if they would survive. My father describes his place on the ship, below the aft hatch. Then I found this on the Internet, on a site for model ship building. It is the very ship, the Ugo Foscolo, that carried those British prisoners of war across the Mediterranean. You can clearly see the hatch he describes.

When they finally disembarked, they faced a 5-kilometer march – an eternity it seemed to some of them – to their new camp near Bari on the Adriatic coast. As they shuffled through the village, my father depicts it this way:

“As we passed through the city, the doors and windows of every house were filled with curious spectators. There were giggling girls, mocking youths, grave-faced men and an old lady who watched while tears ran down her furrowed cheeks. Truly, our appearance was more to be pitied than laughed at, but ragged, unkempt, dirty and half-starved as we were, we unconsciously held our heads erect, got into step and gazed defiantly back at the mocking faces, while the war songs of 25 years ago burst from our lips and echoed through the street.”

So why is this important? Because when I stand in the baptismal font of a temple – as I did in London in 1976 for my father – or complete any temple work for someone whose life I’ve studied, the experience is immeasurably richer. And even if all I can find on the Internet is a description of the time and place in which an ancestor lived – and that is the case for most of them - it still enables me to make a connection. Family history for me now is not just names and dates, but flesh and blood, experiences to be passed on, stories to bind and strengthen families. Could the Lord also have had this in mind when he said that the hearts of the children would be turned to their fathers?

Lucio Gil Díez, bishop of the Belén Ward, Santa Cruz Bolivia Equipetrol Stake, finds one of his primary concerns is helping new converts stay committed. “I know how it feels to be new in the Church,” he says. As a young man out of work, he went with a family member to a chapel under construction. He was introduced as an “investigator.” “What is that?” he asked, looking around the construction site. “I haven’t come to investigate anything.” But he soon did investigate and eventually join the Church. He was called as a bishop for the first time at age 27.

Knowing how important finding friends can be to new converts, Bishop Díez supports weekly fellowship evenings held on Mutual nights—as do many wards and stakes throughout Bolivia—to encourage greater love and friendship among members, investigators, and new converts. “The ward is invited to come together Thursday evenings, and many bring friends along. Each week a different family takes charge. It’s a lot like a family home evening,” he explains.

When someone joins the Church, the ward is invited to the baptism, and the new member is invited to the fellowship evenings. “We feed them spiritually,” explains Bishop Díez, “and we give them callings.” In one family, baptized only eight months, the wife is already serving as Relief Society president; her husband, as elders quorum secretary; and their son, as deacons quorum president.

Almost a decade ago, I read a letter from a returned missionary who described this process in his life. He had written to thank those who direct missionary work “for daring to send me where the Lord required rather than where I had deemed appropriate.” He had come, he said, “from a background of proud, competitive intellectualism.” Before his mission he was a student at a prestigious university in the eastern United States. Quote:

“I guess out of a sense of obligation and inertia, I filled out my [missionary] papers and sent them in, extremely careful to mark the column indicating greatest desire to serve abroad and in a foreign language. I was careful to make it apparent that I was an accomplished student of Russian and fully capable of spending two years among the Russian people. Confident that no committee could resist such qualifications, I rested confident that I would enjoy a wonderfully mind-expanding cultural adventure.”

He was shocked to receive a call to serve in a mission in the United States. He didn’t know anything about the state where he would serve, except that it was in his own country speaking English rather than abroad speaking the language he had learned, and, as he said, “The people I would work with would likely be academic incompetents.” He continued, “I almost refused to accept the call, feeling that I would be more fulfilled by enlisting in the Peace Corps or something else.”

Fortunately, this proud young man found the courage and faith to accept the call and to follow the direction and counsel of his fine mission president. Then the miracle of spiritual growth began. He described it thus:
“As I began to serve among the uneducated people of [this state], I struggled mightily for several months, but gradually the sweet workings of the Spirit began to tear down the walls of pride and disbelief that had wrapped themselves so tightly around my soul. The miracle of a conversion to Christ began. The sense of the reality of God and the eternal brotherhood of all men came more and more powerfully to my troubled mind.”

It was not easy, he admitted, but with the influence of his great mission president and with his growing love for the people he served, it was possible, and it occurred.
“My desire to love and serve these people who in the ultimate scale were at least my peers, almost definitely my superiors, waxed stronger and stronger. I learned humility for the first time in my life; I learned what it means to make our valuations of others [without relying on the] irrelevant details of life. I began to feel swelling within my heart a love of the spirits that came here to earth with me” (letter to General Authorities, Feb. 1994).

Let me share with you one of my favorite and true love stories. I learned about the story very late in its development. One night I went with my husband to a company dinner party. I sat next to an older man who was there with his wife. She had suffered a stroke, so he would lean over to cut her meat and help her with her food. His manner was very tender and caring. As he finished the meal, I said to him, “You are so good to your wife.”

His reply: “Why shouldn’t I be? I love her.” Then he told me about their courtship and their life together. “The first time I saw her,” he said, “was at a party in Canada. She was giving a reading. She had long golden curls and wore a beautiful white eyelet dress with a pretty blue satin sash. I was so impressed by her that I told my mother that that was the woman I was going to marry. Mother laughingly indulged me. I went on my mission, and when I came home she was engaged to another. I was asked to take a special assignment by the bishop, and when I protested he told me that if I would always put the work of the Lord first I would find that the Lord would always take care of me. I made the long trek to Salt Lake City. When I came home, she had broken her engagement. We started to date, and then we married.”

His wife rarely accompanied him in public after that dinner. It wasn’t long until her condition worsened, and she was completely bedridden and virtually unable to speak. He was a General Authority and went out on his regular conference assignments to visit and counsel the Saints. He would always come home and tell her all about the conference. One day as he finished, he teased, “If you are not going to speak back to me, then I am not going to tell about my experiences. You must not love me anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and with great effort she found enough strength to form the words, “I do love you.” It was difficult and extremely slow, but with great effort she got the words out. He decided he would never again treat their love lightly, for their love went beyond even her crippling physical impairment.

At the funeral of this special woman, Zina Card Brown, every speaker commented on her love both for her sweetheart, President Hugh B. Brown. President Marion G. Romney said, “Wherever she was she was a loving lady.” President N. Eldon Tanner declared that President Brown was so successful because of her love. President Kimball said that the love of President and Sister Brown was such that they would soon be together again everlastingly. Her love pulled them toward immortality—a beginning of eternity.

A true story from the USA.
“Action!”
Evan’s little brother Ethan pressed record on the tablet, and Evan began his speech. “Hi, my name’s Evan. I was looking for more service opportunities and found our town’s food pantry.”
Evan and Ethan loved making movies together, but this video was special.
The pantry gave food to families who didn’t have enough money to buy groceries at the store. Right now, the pantry was all out of jelly. They were asking people to donate more.
Evan always felt happy when he did service, so he decided to gather some jelly to donate. He was making a video to ask his neighbors to help too.
“If you wanna help, you can drop off jelly at my house. Or you can send money, and I’ll buy the jelly for you!” Evan said as Ethan filmed.
When they were done filming, Evan edited the video until it was just right to share. After Mom posted the video online, people started dropping off jelly and sending money to buy even more!
At the store, Evan stacked jelly jars into a cart. “This would be even more fun with more kids,” he said. “Maybe the kids at my school can help.”
“Great idea!” said Mom.
The next day at school, Evan asked to see Principal Sanchez. He explained his idea to collect jelly for the food pantry.
“It can be like a game,” Evan said. “We can call it the Jelly War.”
“That’s a great plan!” said Principal Sanchez.
Evan made special flyers to pass out to all the fourth graders telling them about the Jelly War.
The next week, the whole fourth grade competed in the Jelly War. Each class tried to bring the most jars of jelly.
At lunch, everyone was excited about the Jelly War. “I’ve never done a competition like this,” said Evan’s friend Maria. “I hope my class wins.”
“I bet my class wins!” said their friend Isaac. “I brought three jars today.”
Evan watched the donation boxes in each classroom start to fill up with jars.
At recess, Evan dug in the sand with his friend Gabe. “Have you brought any jars of jelly yet?” he asked.
“My dad gave me five to donate! I put them in the box this morning,” Gabe said.
“Wow!” Evan couldn’t believe how many kids were joining in the Jelly War.
Soon the jelly boxes were filled to the top. All the fourth graders and teachers gathered in one classroom to hear Evan announce the winners of the Jelly War.
“Together we collected over 200 jars of jelly!” said Evan. The kids all cheered.
“Everyone did such a good job, but only one class can be the winner,” Evan continued.
Everyone held their breath to hear who won.
“Mrs. Child’s class is the winner!”
The kids in Mrs. Child’s class jumped up and down and clapped their hands.
After school, Evan met up with his friends to walk home.
“My class didn’t win, but I just feel happy that I got to help other people,” Maria said.
“Me too,” said Evan. “Who knew kids could make such a big difference?”
Evan couldn’t wait to take all the jelly to the food pantry. He felt warm inside when he thought of all the people who would have food because of their donations.
Best of all, he knew he had followed Jesus Christ by helping others. Evan wanted to feel this way all the time.
“Hey, Mom,” he said when he got home. “When can we do our next service project?”

David Brown, a 15-year-old from Leigh Ward, Liverpool England Stake, is surrounded by missionary opportunities. As an associate school boy for one of England’s major league football teams, Oldham Athletic, David has plenty of people to share the gospel with.
Prior to playing for Oldham Athletic, David played for the Little Moss team in Manchester, scoring 32 goals in six games. David made the difficult decision to leave the team after two successful seasons when they tried to get him to play on Sunday.
David is not only a superior athlete, he makes sure he finds time for the truly important things in life—like seminary.
“It’s tiring getting up so early each day, but worth it. Seminary is a very good start to my day.”

How does someone with a degree in recreational therapy and 10 years of experience in the mental health field end up opening a dessert shop selling colorful brownies, blondies, and ice cream?
For Molly Kohrman, the answer is simple. In 2017 she took a 12-week Self-Reliance Services course on how to start and grow your own business. That course gave her the courage to pursue a dream.
“I did pastry school in Washington, D.C., and I went to culinary school in Utah,” she says. “When my stake said they were going to do self-reliance classes, I thought, ‘Maybe I should look into this. I’ve always wanted to have my own business. I’ve done other business classes. It wouldn’t hurt to learn more.’”
The course was different from any other business or pastry class Molly had taken. What made it unique, she says, was the presence of the Holy Ghost and the spirit of camaraderie among course members.
“The business discussions were good and helpful,” she says, “but it was the spiritual side tied into the business discussions that made the biggest difference for me.”
“I went through an inner turmoil,” Molly says. “I wondered if using all of my savings, time, and energy to start a business would really be the best use of my resources when, at the time, I was working in suicide prevention.”
During her first class, Molly and other attendees discussed the Lord’s desire that His Saints be successful and choose a livelihood that brings them joy. She asked the group, “How do you reconcile using the talents you’ve been given for weighty matters versus using your talents for something you just want to do?”
As the group discussed her question, Molly realized that she wouldn’t just be selling brownies. If her business proved successful, she would be employing people, she would have financial resources to donate to worthy causes, and, once her work hours slowed down, she could return to social work as a volunteer.
“It took me until that discussion to really understand. It didn’t sink in until I was in a room full of like-minded people,” she says. “We were all at different stages of the business process and at different stages of life, but the Spirit was there, and it definitely guided our discussion—in every class. I realized that if having my own business was really what I wanted, then Heavenly Father would support me.”
About halfway through her 12-week course, Molly began baking and sharing brownies with the 10 members of her self-reliance group.
“They weren’t mad at all about that, and some of them had really good feedback,” she says. “I started trying different flavors, frostings, and compositions. By the end of the class, I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do.”
Molly says it was vital to get together weekly with her group, hold each other accountable for weekly commitments, learn how and whom to ask for help, and direct each other to needed resources.
“During the whole time we were together, I felt blessed and supported by the people in my group,” she says. “The class helped me become aware of all the things I had to figure out.”
After opening her brownie shop in the fall of 2018, Molly quickly discovered that running a business takes more time than she had imagined. But a principle she remembers from her self-reliance class continues to bless her.
“I could not have started this business without Heavenly Father’s help,” she says. “And without the help and support of many other people, it just wouldn’t have been possible. This is such a great opportunity. I’ve wanted to do it for so long.”
And thanks to her self-reliance class, “I’ve been blessed with the chance to try.”

Matthew put his head down and walked faster. He tried not to see the white stucco house ahead. He knew he should stop. Mother would probably ask him, “Did you see Grandma today?” He sighed. He used to stop almost every day on his way home from school.
Then Grandpa died.
Matthew hadn’t known what to say to Grandma since Grandpa died. She was sad now. Sometimes when she talked about Grandpa, she cried.
Other people seemed to know what to say to Grandma. They put their arms around her and told her not to cry. But Matthew never knew what to say or do. He just stood there feeling uncomfortable.
Matthew walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. Grandma opened it. Her eyes were red. Matthew’s heart sank. He wished he had walked on past her house.
“Come in, dear.”
Matthew went in. He saw a box on the floor in the hall. Inside was a small rosebush, its roots wrapped with burlap and packing.
Every year Grandpa ordered a new rosebush for his garden. He must have ordered this one before he died.
“Take it home with you, Matthew. I can’t bear to look at it,” sniffed Grandma.
“No,” said Matthew. He gulped, surprised at himself, then plunged on. “Grandpa would have wanted you to plant it. He loved the garden, especially the rosebushes.” Matthew had spent many hours helping Grandpa in the garden.
Grandma was silent. Matthew thought she was angry with him. He wished he hadn’t said anything.
“You’re right, Matthew. Grandpa would have wanted that rosebush planted in the garden. I’ve never planted a rosebush before, though.”
“I’ll help you, Grandma,” Matthew offered. “I helped Grandpa lots of times.”
Grandma changed into old clothes while Matthew went to the garage to get a shovel.
Soon the two of them had a big hole dug in one corner of the garden. It was hard work. By the time the rosebush was in place, they were panting. The afternoon sun was almost behind the hills.
Grandma stood for a moment and looked at the rosebush. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes sparkled. “Is it all right, Matthew?”
“Yes, Grandma. It’s fine. It’s where Grandpa would have wanted it.”
Matthew put the shovel away. When he went inside, Grandma was in the kitchen. “I’d better go home, Grandma. Mom will be worried.”
“It’s all right. I called her. She knows where you are. Matthew, I want to show you something.” Grandma reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a box of seed packets. “These came in the mail last week. I was going to throw them away. I was just thinking … maybe I’ll try to plant them after all. Would you help me? I’ve never been much of a gardener.”
“I sure will, Grandma,” said Matthew. “I’ll stop by tomorrow after school.”
Matthew went out the door and down the sidewalk whistling a happy tune.

I recently received a letter from a sister serving a mission in Siberia that showed how a small group of Russian sisters was engaged in this active kind of love. Sister Okelberry said:
“I am proud to report that the women of Siberia have caught the vision of the Relief Society. Sister Kappenkova, a six-month Church member, has risen to the mighty challenge of Relief Society president of this northernmost group in Russia. She, along with her counselors, understands the importance of visiting teaching and is helping these sisters serve each other and build each other—saving them from the dangers of inactivity. They are teaching each other precious gospel principles and valuable skills in leadership as mothers, wives, and women in the Church. Conditions are not easy for them. Yet they understand and have already embraced those immortal words ‘Charity Never Faileth.’ It has been an honor to watch this develop right before my eyes.
“With only one short and very precious week left of my missionary time, I know that my sisters will be left in good hands—they are all taking care of each other” (letter from Michelle Okelberry, 31 Jan. 1996).

As a nurse anesthetist in the US Navy Reserve during the COVID-19 pandemic, I was mobilized and assigned to the emergency field hospital at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center in New York City, providing frontline care during the peak of the city’s COVID-19 outbreak.
As I began my duties, many concerns filled my mind. I was especially worried about caring for patients and combating this debilitating virus.
I felt like Nephi, being “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do” (1 Nephi 4:6). This thought helped me to trust in Heavenly Father and pray often that I would hear His voice, follow His instructions, and give the best care I could to my patients.
During my first night providing care, a patient was admitted in critical condition. As my colleagues and I began to assess his status, I quickly discovered that he could communicate only in Spanish. I was the only one there who spoke Spanish, having learned it on my mission to Venezuela.
As I began speaking to the patient, he asked if everything would be OK. I reassured him, telling him that he was receiving the best care possible. I sensed a degree of trust and comfort in his eyes. Throughout the remainder of the night, I visited his bedside often, making assessments and providing updates. Within a few days, his condition improved markedly and he was discharged.
During my assignment, I met many patients who primarily communicated in Spanish. My ability to speak to them offered them relief and reassurance during their recovery.

Previously: Franco asked permission to go to church with Matt. And Matt tried a spicy soup called posole.
That soup was good. But I thought I was going to breathe fire like a dragon!
Well, the spices can take some getting used to.
Next time I might need a bigger glass of milk! Thanks again for lunch.
So, Dad, can I go to church with Matt?
I don’t think so, boys. Our family’s been in our church for many generations.
Later, at Matt’s house …
Franco’s dad is a good man who wants the best for his son. He’s being cautious.
Sigh. I guess.
That night …
Franco’s still my best friend. And his dad’s great too. We don’t have to be the same to be friends.
Good thing … ’cause I’m pretty different from everyone!

I affirm to you, my young brethren and sisters, that that principle of revelation is a constantly operative principle, and I close with one other experience.
I was organizing a stake in Samoa. There appeared before us in the interviews these wonderful Samoan brethren. One of them, a branch president, stood there—white shirt and tie, lava-lava tied around his waist, barefooted. I told him we were organizing a stake and seeking a stake president and asking his suggestions on men. He said, “Yes, I know. I’ve prayed about this.” And he said, “I’ve come to know, by the voice of the Spirit, that Bishop Iona will be our new stake president.”
He was right. But I wasn’t anxious to have him make the announcement and so pressed him for another name.
He said, “No, just one name.” And I said, “Suppose he were not available or not eligible? Won’t you suggest another name?” He stood there for a few minutes, and then, looking at me, he said, “Elder Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?” This wonderful man was possessed of that Spirit, as all of us can be, each of us answering the calls that come.

A returned missionary came to see me one day for some advice about whether he should join a particular group at the University at this point in his life. When asked what he thought about it, he suggested several ideas that seemed to point to one course of action. When asked what he really felt inside about it, at first he looked puzzled then he smiled as he recognized that the feeling was different from what most of his reasons suggested.

One day a boy stopped at my office and for several moments talked very negatively and critically about the Church, suggesting several reasons why the Church just couldn’t be the Lord’s Church. When asked to search deeply within himself, to examine his conscience concerning the matter as to whether or not the Church was the Lord’s, he replied after some reflective thought, “I feel it is the Lord’s Church.”

Another individual was advocating the new morality, suggesting that a boy and girl are free to choose the way they will show their affection for each other based on the circumstances, without fear of law or punishment, neither of which he felt existed. He was confronted with God’s standard of morality and the truth that there is something within each person that comes from the Lord to assist him in distinguishing between good and evil. When he was challenged to look within himself to see which of the two conflicting approaches to morality was really right, he replied, after some pause, I feel God’s standard of morality is right, which is different from what I have been saying.

Mormon wrote that “the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil …” (Moro. 7:16.) He further said that the true way to judge is to be able to discern one’s feelings, “… for every thing which inviteth to do good … is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ …” (Moro. 7:16.)

The reflective thought within a person must be sincere and done with real intent. Many times an individual will lay aside the influence of the Lord in favor of what seems appealing or rational at the moment. Such an individual may fluctuate back and forth in his feelings. If the negative feelings are a true source of inspiration, they will continue to be felt if one really wants to know what he should do.

On one occasion a girl was trying to decide whether or not to marry a certain young man and was confused because at times she felt doubt and uncertainty and at other times was certain she wanted to marry him. When they were together it seemed right, but when she was alone or away from him, there was much doubt and uncertainty. We talked about many things: the kind of person she wanted to marry, the element of trust in marriage, possible reasons for her doubt, and why at times it seemed all right. Toward the end of the conversation she was asked to consider what she really felt was the right thing to do. After a few moments she said that she had really known all along it wasn’t right but had just put aside those feelings. One must follow the counsel of Mormon and “search diligently in the light of Christ that ye may know good from evil …” He then promised, “… if ye will lay hold upon every good thing, and condemn it not, ye certainly will be a child of Christ.” (Moro. 7:19.)

While I was serving as a bishop, a wonderful young man came to my office for an interview. As we visited, he mentioned that his only major problem was swearing. He constantly heard vulgar language around him, and he too had started swearing. He said he had been trying to quit but was unsuccessful, and he wanted some counsel on how he might stop using bad language.
I immediately thought of suggestions similar to what is now found in For the Strength of Youth: “If you have developed the habit of using language that is not in keeping with these standards—such as swearing, mocking, gossiping, or speaking in anger to others—you can change. Pray for help. Ask your family and friends to support you.”1 I wish this counsel had been available in For the Strength of Youth at that time.
Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I did tell this young man of an experience I had as a youth in an environment where inappropriate language was often used. It seemed that whenever I heard any type of profanity, those words would take hold in my mind more easily than the good thoughts I wanted to have. A wonderful priesthood leader told me that the mind was like a miraculous storage device and that we could remove inappropriate thoughts by quickly overwriting them with things that were praiseworthy.
A friend and I decided to do just that. We memorized two hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98) and “More Holiness Give Me” (Hymns, no. 131), and the thirteenth article of faith. We agreed that if either of us said something inappropriate, we would immediately sing one of the hymns or quote the article of faith.
We quickly realized we did not want to sing the hymns aloud in certain places. We were too embarrassed! So we quoted the thirteenth article of faith, emphasizing the part, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.”1 It worked! We discovered that when we would repeat it, the inappropriate thoughts would disappear. By changing one word, we also created a simple motto: “We speak after these things!” When either of us said this phrase, we would think, “Are my words true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy?” (see Articles of Faith 1:13). If they were not, we knew we had work to do.

In the gifted program at school, Heather knows a lot about other things too. After studying about solar energy, she made a solar car that was displayed at two area science fairs. First she made a pinewood derby car, then attached a solar cell and motor on top, and then used a rubber band between the solar motor and rear wheels to drive the car. (She made a “hot-dog” racecourse to go with it, but that wasn’t entered in the fairs.) She knows a lot about art, too, and has had her artwork displayed at the Young Artists Fair. She’s also a pretty good amateur photographer.