Gospel Story Finder

To illustrate the next suggestion I would make today, I would share with you another story.
In 1967, when I was a very young controller at The University of Utah, still striving to follow the council of the Lord through Elder Packer, I was asked to meet with President Harold B. Lee in his office at Church headquarters. I had only met President Lee one brief time before that day. President Lee informed me that Brother Neal A. Maxwell, who had been appointed as the new commissioner of the Church Education System, had asked that I be called to be his new Associate Commissioner responsible for all finance, budgets, buildings, etc. in that world wide school system. President Lee asked me if I would accept the position. I told him that I would. He asked if I did not need to visit with Sister Andersen before making such a career change. I told him that I did not need to visit with Sister Andersen. We had decided together that we would always do whatever we were called to do in the Lord's kingdom. President Lee then asked if I needed to know how much the salary would be for that assignment. I told him no, I was sure that I would be satisfied with whatever arrangement he made in that regard. His response was very interesting. He said, "Well, since you feel that way about it, I have some other assignments that I would like you to accept." He then outlined several other tasks that he wanted me to work on with him to help accomplish what he had in mind for the Church. That was just the beginning of some wonderful experiences with President Lee.
Let me tell you about one such experience. One day, as I entered his office to ask him to sign some papers, he asked how things were going. The work that he had asked to be accomplished was not easy, in fact, in some cases, I wasn't sure I could get it done, and so I told him what I thought. Well ... his response was more interesting. He got up from his chair, went to the door of his office, told his secretary, whose name was Frances, to see that we were not disturbed and then closed the door. I could tell that Brother Andersen was going to the woodshed!
Brothers and sisters, you have read about the Brother of Jared being chastised by the Lord for three hours for not calling on Him in prayer as recorded in Ether 2:14. I hope you remember his experiences. He learned how much the Lord loved him and wanted to help him. Here I was, being chastised by the Prophet of the Lord and I was going to learn the same lessons. It was one of the sweetest occasions of my life.
President Lee had me sit in a chair and then he laid his hands on my head and by the power of his Priesthood taught me the things that he felt I needed to know to accomplish the work that was to be done. He would bless me and teach me out of the Doctrine and Covenants, and then bless me and teach me again, and then bless me and teach me again. He was a master teacher and a loving friend. When he was finished, he asked me if I thought I could do what needed to be done. I told him that with that kind of help and understanding I was sure that I could get it done, and if I did not, it would be my fault, not his or the Lord's.
Here is the council I would leave with you today.
Never refuse a call to build up the kingdom of God in the earth or to help establish Zion. Be prepared in advance with a determination to always serve the Lord and along with your wife and family, put His work first in your life. Please be willing to accept whatever calls the Lord sends your way.

Jonathan sighed as he moved his food around his plate with his fork.
“Paseme la ensalada, por favor,” his sister Jasmine said. Mom passed the salad to Jasmine across the table.
“Muy bien,” said Mom. “You’re getting pretty good at Spanish.”
“I’m sure trying!” Jasmine said. “I’m glad Jonathan is in class with me. I learn a lot by hearing him speak.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said.
“What? Don’t you mean gracias?” teased Jasmine.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just not in the mood right now,” Jonathan said.
“Is everything OK?” Dad asked.
Jonathan sighed again. “Well, I like Spanish, and our teacher is really nice. But she uses Heavenly Father’s name to swear a lot.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “I’ve noticed that too.”
“It makes me feel sad,” said Jonathan. “I’ve been thinking about talking to her about it.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “I know Heavenly Father will help you know what to say.”
Later that night, Jonathan prayed about talking to his teacher. He wanted to talk to her about it, but he felt so nervous! What if she got angry? Jonathan asked Heavenly Father to help him talk to his teacher in a good way.
The next morning, Jonathan and Jasmine hurried off to school. Spanish was the first class of the day and went by quickly. Before Jonathan knew it, it was time to pack up his books. The other students started walking to their next class, but Jonathan hung back. Mrs. Gomez was erasing the board.
“Mrs. Gomez?”
“Oh, Jonathan, I didn’t know you were still here,” Mrs. Gomez said, turning around. “Can I help you with something?”
Jonathan said a silent prayer in his heart. Please help me know what to say.
“I wanted to say thanks for being a great Spanish teacher,” Jonathan said. “Jasmine and I are learning a lot, and we even talk to each other in Spanish at home.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Mrs. Gomez said.
“There’s just one thing,” said Jonathan. His stomach did a flip-flop.
Mrs. Gomez smiled kindly. “What is it?”
“Sometimes in class you swear with Heavenly Father’s name, and it makes me feel sad.”
Everything was quiet for a second. When Mrs. Gomez spoke, she didn’t sound angry at all. “I’m so glad you told me. I didn’t even realize I was doing that. I will work on not saying that anymore.”
Jonathan’s nervousness melted away. He gave Mrs. Gomez a big smile. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Gomez smiled back at him. “Thank you for having the courage to come talk to me. It’s not easy to talk to a teacher about something like this. But you did it in such a respectful and mature way. I’m proud of you.”
Jonathan felt happy as he walked out of the classroom. It hadn’t been easy to talk to Mrs. Gomez, but Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. The Holy Ghost had helped him know what to say. And maybe Mrs. Gomez had felt the Holy Ghost touch her heart too.
Gracias, Heavenly Father. Jonathan said another prayer in his heart. Muchas gracias.

One Sunday I felt uncomfortable about going to meet with the members in Sada. I told my wife that I felt I would be letting them down if I did not go. “Ernie,” she replied, “if the Spirit is prompting you not to go, then you must listen to that warning.” I did—and my next visit to Sada proved the wisdom of her counsel. Had I visited that Sunday, I would have been caught up in a riot. Police used tear gas to break up an angry mob, and the Saints were forced to scatter when the gas drifted into the meetinghouse.

Gus German is only 17 years old, but he cannot remember a time when he wasn’t visiting Church members with his father. In Delaware, members are spread out in different directions and in many cases they’re miles away from one another. With that in mind, members try to check up on each other. Of course, Gus didn’t become a home teacher until age 12, when he received the Aaronic Priesthood and was assigned by his bishop to be his father’s companion. But he’d already learned a lot about caring for people and about preparing and presenting meaningful lessons, so he stepped right into his home teaching role.
“Scripture stories were my staple home teaching lessons,” says Gus, a priest who grew up in the Wilmington (Delaware) West Ward. “I’d studied them in story books from the time I was five, so I knew those stories cold. Some people wonder who Nebuchadnezzar is. I know who he is.”
Over the years, Gus and his father regularly visited Sister Joyce Miller, at the time a less-active member of the Church who was battling cancer.
“The thing I remember most about Gus as a young boy was that whenever I asked him to say a prayer, he would stand up and do it,” Sister Miller says. “A lot of young boys and girls roll their eyes when you ask them to do something like praying. Not Gus.”
Now the young man who stopped by was a deacon with a priesthood responsibility. “I wasn’t active when they first started visiting me,” Sister Miller continues, “but their visits meant everything. I wanted to come back to church, but I was smoking and didn’t want to go because I was afraid people would smell the smoke on me.”
“All I knew is we always went to Sister Miller’s house and had fun when we home-taught her. I didn’t think any different of her when I found out she smoked because we were already really good friends,” says Gus. “I was pretty impressed and proud of her when she did stop smoking because I have heard how tough it is to quit.”
When she did stop smoking, Sister Miller began going to church again. “I was so glad because I liked seeing her. I would be able to see a smile on her face and be able to tell she really liked being at church,” Gus adds.
When Gus turned 16 and got his driver’s license, he was able to see that smile more and more. As her condition worsened, Sister Miller was unable to drive. Gus happily volunteered to pick her up and take her to church. “Sometimes she couldn’t stay past the sacrament in sacrament meeting so I would take her home.” Now, other ward members pick up Sister Miller when she’s able to go to church. And when she wasn’t, guess who went to her house to take her the sacrament.
“Sometimes I went with my dad, and sometimes I went with the Young Men president or one of the guys from my quorum,” explains Gus. “It’s something I did that helped her out. I liked doing it.”
Something else he did to help her out: Gus and his dad took Sister Miller to receive her patriarchal blessing.
“When we went for my blessing, Jack (Gus’s dad) took us in his car, the hot rod (a Chevy Nova). We laughed all the way down there. Gus was in the backseat laughing, and my face hurt from laughing,” Sister Miller remembers. “When I had my blessing, Jack and Gus were as quiet as church mice. After all that laughing we did on our way down, it was pretty quiet on the trip back. That is very memorable. We always have a good time, the three of us.”
Last September, Gus left Delaware to attend BYU. He saw Sister Miller at Christmas when he went home, and he still stays in touch, even though she’s living at one end of the country and he’s 3,000 miles away. She misses his visits, but is happy Gus is going to college. In Gus’s place as Jack German’s home-teaching companion is Lance, Gus’s 12-year-old brother.
As for Gus, some things never change. No sooner had he settled in his new ward in Provo than he was called to be a home teacher.

Some friends of mine were starting clubs at school. One girl in my class came up to my desk during class and whispered, “Lacey, if you want to be in my club, come and meet me at recess.” When the bell rang for recess, I ran out to find her. I was excited to be in her club.
After waiting for some more girls to get there, she said, “OK, now, to be in my club, you have to write on your hands and arms with these markers.” Then she passed out markers to everyone. I got a feeling inside that this was wrong. In Primary I had learned that our bodies are temples of our spirits and that we should respect them. Drawing on them didn’t seem very respectful. I looked at my friend and said, “I’m sorry, but if I have to draw on myself, I don’t want to be in your club.”
I’m glad that the Holy Ghost helped me to make the right choice for me.

While in Canada recently, I was happy to meet a young man serving as a missionary whom I had interviewed some years before. He had wanted so much to serve a mission, but his parents were against his doing so. He felt torn, knowing the prophet’s counsel that every worthy young man should serve a mission, yet also knowing the Lord’s commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother.” He wanted to do what was right, and he wanted me to tell him what to do. I counseled him to go home and live worthily for a mission call and to honor his parents by abiding by their wishes. And that is what he did. I didn’t hear any more from this young man until I saw him on my visit to Canada. Now he was a missionary, serving with his parents’ approval and support. “Elder Pinegar is a prophet,” he said to the stake president. “He promised me my parents would some day consent to my coming on a mission if I would honor and obey them, and he was right.” Now I want to be quick to assure you that I make no claim of being a prophet; but I can promise you, as the prophets have promised, that the Lord’s words are true. His commandments are for our good. His promises are sure to those who love him and keep his commandments.

That’s why it hurt so much when we had to bury him. One minute he was racing across the street to meet me. And then he was in Tom’s arms, quiet and broken and looking at me with large sad eyes as if to say, “I’m sorry.” His dying didn’t take long. The car had hit him a mean whack.

“Killed by a bunch of long-haired hippies who didn’t even stop after they ran over him,” Tom sobbed when Mother came running out of the house. The boys had been long-haired all right, but I don’t think that had anything to do with it. Tom’s letting his hair grow now, and it hasn’t changed him much. I don’t think those guys meant to kill Joey, or to leave him lying there. They were scared maybe, because they came so close to hitting me.

For a long time after that, I’d go to bed at night and live it all over again. Sometimes I’d imagine that Joey didn’t get hit at all. Other times he’d only break a leg. But most of the time it would all happen the same way, except the boys wouldn’t say, “We got ’im. Let’s dig outa here.” They’d stop and say how sorry they were. And I’d say, “It’s all right fellows, I know it was an accident.”

My dad says it’s easy for kids to want to drive a car fast when school first lets out. I can see how that would be because I used to start running right from the school steps and never stop till I could see Joey with his nose poked through the hole in our fence, waiting for me. He never ran into the street even though it was hard for both of us to wait until I could hug him up again.

That day I couldn’t wait. “Here, Joey,” I yelled from the top of the street. “Come on, Joey.” He gave a leap through the fence and we both ran full speed. It seemed Joey was just a touch away when the car hit. And then he was gone forever.

Abdul smiled happily and wiped his brow as he strode between the tents that formed a cloth city in the desert oasis.
“Let me in on the joke,” called his friend, Hadji, from the front of a beautiful striped tent.
“No joke, to be sure, Friend Hadji. A boon. A blessing from Allah. I have just completed the harvest of my dates. It surpasses last year’s crop which was superb and the crops from all prior years that were nothing to sniff at.”
“I’m glad to hear of your good fortune, Friend Abdul,” said Hadji. “Let me show my happiness to you by loaning you my camel. He can carry more than your small donkey. You will be able to take a larger share of your date crop to the city in one trip.”
“You are a good friend, indeed,” said Abdul. “I accept your generous offer. Why not travel with me? When my dates are sold, we shall celebrate together.”
“I will prepare to leave at once,” replied Hadji, and he withdrew into his tent.
Abdul hurried away to sort his dates.
Together Abdul and Hadji loaded the camel with sacks of dates. Then they began the long journey across the desert toward the city. The morning had been warm, but the afternoon was hot. The two friends trudged along next to the heavily laden camel, saying little.
Abdul on one side of the camel walked comfortably, for he was in the shadow cast by the beast. Hadji on the other side struggled in the heat. Now and then he glanced at his friend striding along in the shadow.
Finally, Hadji could stand it no longer. “Friend Abdul,” he suggested, “I shall join you in the shadow. It is truly a warm day.”
“Friend Hadji,” replied Abdul, “I regret that it is impossible. Obviously there is only enough shade for one and I am already here.”
“Friend Abdul,” insisted Hadji, “if there is only enough shade for one, it should be my shade as it is the shadow of my camel.”
“Ah, but you loaned the camel to me,” resisted Abdul, “therefore, you loaned the shadow also.”
“Not so,” said Hadji. “I did not loan the shadow, only the camel.”
“They are one and the same,” cried Abdul.
“Not at all,” shouted Hadji.
The two friends continued to shout and wave their arms there in the middle of the desert. All the noise and commotion startled the camel, which was the cause of the argument, and he raced away from the two men, taking the load of dates with him.
“What fools we are,” complained Abdul as the two men trudged back toward the oasis in the heat of the afternoon. “If we had shared and taken turns walking in the shadow, we would have arrived in the city, sold the dates, and celebrated.”
“I agree, Friend Abdul,” said Hadji. “Because of our foolishness, we now both walk in the sun and must search for the dates and the camel. Certainly we have learned a lesson.”

My wife and I once boarded a train going south from Paris to Marseilles, a Mediterranean port. At Lyon, about halfway there, part of the train (the part we were in!) split off and headed east toward Geneva. As soon as we saw the Alps, we realized that we were off course. We got off in Grenoble, caught a train back to Lyon, then took a later train to Marseilles. Our minimal ability to discern between the Alps and the Mediterranean helped us to make a necessary course correction on a physical journey.

Something happened to me yesterday afternoon that I found of great help to me, and it may be of help to you. Since that moment, the fear has gone. It was when Bishop Hales was speaking in conference. He mentioned that we had known each other since boyhood, and as he did a memory was replayed in my mind. It was of a hotel ballroom in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Bishop Hales was likely not there, since he lived in what seemed to us the well-established stake in New York. We were in the New Jersey District, a single district that covered the whole state. The Princeton Branch met in my parents’ dining room. Dad was the branch president. Mother was both the pianist and chorister (which is hard to do if you think about it). There was not another family in the branch with children, so my brother Ted was the Aaronic Priesthood, and my brother, Harden, and I were all there were of Primary and junior Sunday School. The congregations were young students who happened to be there, like Jim Fletcher and Neil Zundel, and a few older converts—none with spouses that were members.
There was no building, no gym, no stake center, and so we traveled to a hotel ballroom for what must have been a district conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. But then I remember hearing something—a man’s voice from the pulpit. I turned around and looked. I still remember that the speaker was at a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. He was the priesthood visitor. I don’t know who he was, but he was tall and bald, and he seemed very old to me.
He must have been talking about the Savior or the Prophet Joseph, or both, because that was all that I remember much of hearing in those days. But as he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true, and it burned in my heart. That was before scholars told me how hard it was to know. I just knew of certainty—I knew it was true. And when I listened to Bishop Hales yesterday, I knew that what he was saying was from God and that it was true, and then the fear left.

You can’t help but like Andrea* when you meet her. She’s warm and friendly and fun, and she knows how to make you feel good about yourself.

But she wasn’t always like that.

For a long time, she carried around a dark and tragic secret that she could confess to no one. She cried a lot. She was usually depressed. She withdrew from people—wasn’t close to anyone, and didn’t have the self-confidence to excel in school or anything else. Andrea had been sexually abused when she was younger.

“I thought I had committed a terrible sin,” she said. “I thought it was too gross to tell anyone. I felt disgusting and totally worthless, until a very understanding bishop explained to me that it wasn’t my fault, that the Lord still loved me, and that I could get help.”

The help Andrea got, which included professional and spiritual counseling, is enabling her to put those traumatic experiences in the past and become emotionally and spiritually healthy again.

Going through these stages has helped Andrea begin to lead a happier, more fulfilling life. Others like her who have experienced sexual abuse can also begin to recover. It is important for them to realize that they have a right not to be abused, and that they need to get help if it happens. They need to know that they are not at fault, that they are not impure, nor are they any less chaste. And most of all, they need to know that Heavenly Father still loves them, has great hope for them, and has provided ways for them to recover.

At age 30, Eric James of New Mexico, USA, was diagnosed with a kidney disease. As a young father, he was devastated and wondered if he would be able to provide for his family.

He read in the Book of Mormon that Nephi wondered the same thing when he broke his bow made of fine steel. But after making a bow out of wood, Nephi was again able to feed his family. (See 1 Nephi 16:18–23, 30–32.)

“Nephi’s story filled my soul like a brilliant light,” Eric said. “The health I had enjoyed up until that point was like Nephi’s steel bow. When my health failed, it was like my bow had broken. But I realized that the Lord had blessed me with a wooden bow in the form of a kidney transplant. The transplant would give me the strength to care for my family. This gave me hope. Almost 10 years later, I continue to provide for my family and serve the Lord the best I can.”

Tragedies often strengthen marriages, but not mine. I was so filled with bitterness that relationships of any kind were impossible. My wife and I divorced. I turned people away from me wherever I went. My anger filled every part of my life.

After forcing a driver who made an illegal turn in front of me off the road, I beat him up. I attacked a 6-foot-4-inch skier whose skis poked me in the ribs while I was waiting to get on an airplane. Legal charges for my bad behavior grew in number, as did my debts to avoid being sentenced. My life was filled with anger and violence.

I chose the usual means of worldly escape, but the pain still remained. I cried every time I remembered that awful scene. I continued blaming God for ruining my life and my chance for happiness. Years of complete frustration followed, and although I remarried and moved to another area, I did not feel peace.

After coming home from work one evening, I saw two young men at my door. They announced themselves to be missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I shouted at them loudly, then took one of them by the back of the neck and ordered them off my property with the threat, “And don’t let me see you in this neighborhood again, or I’ll make you sorry you ever came here!” They left my property quickly.

The incident, typical of many of my days, was soon forgotten. The following week, as my wife and I were about to sit down for our evening meal, the doorbell rang. I answered it, and much to my surprise, there stood the same two young men I had ordered off the property a week ago! Before I had a chance to say a thing, one of them looked me straight in the eye and said very sincerely, “I know you don’t want to hear what we have to say, but we have a very important message for you from our Savior, Jesus Christ. He wants you to hear it.”

The confident, yet humble tone in his voice took me by surprise, and I listened. Then they listened as I expressed my anger and bitterness. They seemed to understand. They talked to me about “free agency.” My heart responded. And thus began my search for truth.

I was eager for each weekly visit. My soul hungered for the answers to the questions Who am I? Where did I come from? Why am I here? And after death, what? The missionaries helped open the eyes of my understanding through the scriptures. My longing, aching heart began to heal.

They explained my unanswered questions. I came to understand that although my little boys had died so early in life, they had had the privilege of earth life and had chosen to come here. They were not victims of a revengeful God who mercilessly let them drown, but were party to a great plan long before they became my David and my Boyd. This life was merely a step forward in their eternal progression. The magnitude of this idea made a great impact upon me.

Today tears still fill in my eyes when I think of my boys. But they are not tears of anger or hate. They are tears of love and understanding. This new knowledge of the plan of salvation has transformed my life, and I have joined the ranks of the believers.

“When I think of Dad, I think of the word dependability. He has repeated the story many times about when he was a boy and his father left him home to take care of the chores. For some reason, Dad did not do the assigned tasks and when his father returned, he disappointedly remarked, ‘I thought I could depend on you, son.’ Dad recalls that if he had been whipped on that occasion he would have felt no worse. He vowed then and there that neither the Lord nor anyone on earth would ever again have reason to question his dependability. He has spent all of his life since then being where he said he would be at the time he said he would be there and being fully prepared to do what he has been asked to do.”

While serving as the elders quorum president of his married student ward, Ron became acquainted with Jon Huntsman Sr., the ward’s high council adviser. Jon was immediately impressed with the way Ron ran the quorum.
“He had incredible leadership and organizational skills,” recalls Elder Huntsman, who served as an Area Seventy from 1996 to 2011. “I thought it unusual that a young man who was still in college could run a quorum in such a way.”
For several months, Jon watched Ron turn ideas into action as he completed priesthood duties. When a senior marketing position opened at Jon’s company—which would become Huntsman Chemical Corporation—he concluded that Ron had the skills he wanted and offered him the job. The position started the following week in Ohio, USA.
“I told Melanie, ‘I’m not going to drop out of school and move,’” Ron recalls. “I’ve worked my whole life to graduate from college, and I’m finally close to my goal.”
Melanie reminded Ron that finding a good job was why he was in school.
“What are you worried about?” she asked. “I know how to pack and move. I’ve been doing it my whole life. I’ll let you call your mother every night. Let’s go.”
Jon’s confidence in Ron proved well placed. Under Jon’s mentorship, Ron advanced quickly in the growing company, becoming its president and chief operating officer in 1986. He traveled extensively for the company—both domestically and internationally. Despite his busy schedule, Ron tried to be home on weekends. And when he traveled, he would occasionally take family members with him.
“When he was home, he really made the children feel special and loved,” Melanie says. He attended their activities and sporting events whenever possible. Jenessa MacPherson, one of the couple’s four daughters, says her father’s Sunday ecclesiastical duties often kept him from sitting with the family during Church meetings.
“We would fight over who got to sit by him at church because it was such a novel thing to have him there,” she says. “I remember putting my hand in his hand and thinking to myself, ‘If I could just learn to be like him, I’ll be on the right track and will be becoming more like the Savior.’ He was always my hero.”
The couple’s son, Christian, recalls fond memories of “father-son time.” Friends came and went because of the family’s frequent moves, he says, “but my father was always my best friend”—albeit a competitive one.
Whether shooting a basketball with Christian, playing a board game with his daughters, or fishing with family and friends, Ron loved to win.
“While we were growing up, he would never let anyone win,” Christian says. “We had to earn it, but it made us better. And the tradition continues with his loving grandchildren.”
Over the years, Ron’s family could not help but notice how ministering in Church leadership magnified his ability to show love and compassion, to express feelings of the Spirit, and to inspire others to do their best. After the birth of Ron and Melanie’s grandson Paxton, the family relied heavily on Ron’s spiritual strength and support.
Paxton, born with a rare genetic disorder, suffered from myriad health problems that tested the family physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Elder Rasband has called the journey that followed Paxton’s birth “a crucible for learning special lessons tied to the eternities.”4
During Paxton’s short three years on earth—when questions were many and answers were few—Elder Rasband stood as a spiritual pillar, leading his family in drawing upon the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
With the announcement of his new calling, several family members and friends were not surprised. “Those of us who know him best,” Christian says, “raised our hands the highest when he was sustained as an Apostle.”
In 1996, at age 45, Ron was in the middle of a successful career when the call came to serve as mission president of the New York New York North Mission. Like the Apostles of old, he “straightway left [his] nets” (Matthew 4:20).
“Accepting the call took only a microsecond,” Elder Rasband says. He said to the Lord, “You want me to go serve; I’ll go serve.”
Ron took along a great lesson he had learned from his professional experience: “People are more important than anything else.”5 With that knowledge and his honed leadership skills, he was ready to begin full-time service in the Lord’s kingdom.
Ron and Melanie found missionary work in New York City both challenging and invigorating. Ron was quick to delegate responsibility to the missionaries—inspiring their loyalty, and teaching, building, and lifting them in the process.
In 2000, a short eight months after Ron and Melanie had completed their mission, Ron was called to the Seventy, where his preparation, experience, and many talents have blessed the Church. As a member of the Seventy, he served as a counselor in the Europe Central Area Presidency, helping to oversee the work in 39 nations. Though he left college more than 40 years ago, he remains a serious student, welcoming ongoing mentoring from his senior Brethren as he supervised the North America West, Northwest, and three Utah Areas; served as Executive Director of the Temple Department; and served in the Presidency of the Seventy, working closely with the Twelve.
Recently, Elder Rasband observed, “What a great honor and privilege it is for me to be the least among the Twelve and to learn from them in every way and in every occasion.”6
Mormon Preachers, First Missionaries in Denmark, by Arnold Friberg (based on a painting by Christen Dalsgaard, 1856); Dan Jones Awakens Wales, by Clark Kelley Price
Two paintings adorn the walls of Elder Rasband’s office. One is of Mormon missionaries teaching a family in Denmark in the 1850s. The second is of early missionary Dan Jones preaching from the perch of a well in the British Isles. The paintings remind Elder Rasband of his own ancestry.
“These early pioneers gave their all to the gospel of Jesus Christ and leave a legacy for their posterity to follow,” he has testified.7 What pushed Elder Rasband’s ancestors forward amidst adversity and persecution is what most qualifies him for his new calling: a knowledge and a sure witness of the Lord and His work.
“I have so very much to learn in my new calling,” he has said. “I feel very humble about that. But there’s one aspect of my calling I can do. I can bear testimony ‘of the name of Christ in all the world’ (D&C 107:23). He lives!”8
As a great-grandson of pioneers, he adds: “What they felt, I feel. What they knew, I know.”9
And what they hoped for in their posterity is embodied in the life, teachings, and service of Elder Ronald A. Rasband, who is following their example and honoring their legacy as he goes forward as one of the Lord’s special witnesses.

Our membership in the Church has blessed our lives so much. When we first joined the Church we could not understand, speak, or read English. We would come to church each week and we enjoyed being there, even though we did not understand English. The branch president would invite us into his office after church was over and explain to us the teachings. We were nurtured by the leaders and other Church members.
Soon we were introduced to the Church’s literacy program. The senior missionary couples were our teachers. I especially wanted to learn to read, to write, and to speak English so that I could do God’s work and also teach my family. Through the Gospel Literacy program, we can now understand, speak, read, and write English. I do not know what we would do without the couples who contributed so much to our learning, serving as our teachers, and helping us to develop self-reliance skills. Our couples were Elder and Sister Brinks, Elder and Sister Renfroe, and Elder and Sister Wight. Without these couples we would not have been able to accomplish so much, but with their help and with God’s power, we are better now!
We love serving in our branch where Abraham is the elders quorum president and I am the Relief Society president. I can give lessons now and read from the scriptures.
We love holding family home evenings with our children. We are learning from the Come, Follow Me manual and we also pray together. I read scriptures stories to them from the Book of Mormon and the Bible.
We are so happy that our family is sealed together in the temple. It made my heart happy when I read, on the outside of the temple, those holy words! When I went inside, I thought, “This is a small heaven”. I loved it!
Ministering is a big part of what we do as members. We visit and support our other members. We have many members of our branch now. They are coming!
God has blessed us too much! We are so happy to be members of the Church and as we look back at our lives and how they have changed and been blessed because of our membership in the Church, we are so grateful. Our progress has been small but now we have strong testimonies and we will never leave the Church, not ever! If you ever come to Tamale, we hope that you will visit our branch.

I eagerly glanced down at the basketball summer league schedule, and saw to my dismay that 8 of the 12 games were on Sunday. What was I going to do? I don’t play on Sunday.
I looked across the room at my talented teammate. I had worked so hard to win the starting forward position, and if I didn’t play, I was going to lose the job to him. But I had decided a long time ago to never play on Sunday, and that wasn’t about to change now.
The coach finished up his speech by saying, “Congratulations on making the team. The first practice is tomorrow at five. See you then.”
The team slowly filed out the door as I sat nervously in my seat. I knew my course of action, but that wasn’t going to make this any easier. I hesitantly walked up to the front of the room and said, “Hey coach, I have a little problem.”
“What’s that, Brad?” he asked.
“Well, I was looking at the schedule, and I saw that there were eight games on Sunday. I won’t be able to play in those games,” I said with a shaky voice.
“How come?” he asked with a surprised look on his face.
“It’s a religious thing. I believe in keeping the Sabbath day holy and part of that is not playing sports on Sunday,” I responded, feeling a little awkward with the situation.
“Okay, well listen. I would still love to have you for the other games—that is if you still want to play,” he said with a smile.
“I would love to,” I said, and we shook hands as if to seal the agreement. I turned and walked out the door, feeling less awkward and more satisfied.
True, I wasn’t going to play for most of the league games and I might lose my starting position, but I felt good all the same. If I hadn’t made the decision early that I was never going to play on Sunday, I might have chosen differently. But I knew I would be blessed for keeping the Lord’s commandments. I confidently walked away from that room knowing that everything was going to be all right.

I thought of the winter I almost drowned. I was about ten. It was December then too. All the ponds in the area had frozen over. A friend and I decided to go sliding on the ice on the reservoir above town. The reservoir had steep banks surrounded by willow branches. I ran ahead of my friend onto the shining ice. It was a warm cloudless day, and the sun had melted the surface of the ice. It was slick, perfect for sliding. I was wearing my new Sunday shoes, the best shoes I had for sliding. Like mercury on glass, like light on water, like a lizard’s tongue flicking out after a cicada, I flew over 50 feet out onto the middle of the reservoir in one long beautiful slide.
“World record,” I yelled. “You’ll never beat that.”
Then I heard a breath of cracking sound, the sound you get when you pour water into a glass of ice cubes on a summer day. I looked down at my feet. Small white cracks, like a spider’s web, raced from beneath my shiny brown wing tips. Water came suddenly onto the ice through cracks, reflecting a turquoise sky. A month earlier two boys had shot a snow goose on another reservoir. Like an angel falling from heaven, the white goose had dropped out of the blue winter sky onto ice, landing 30 feet from shore. Walking out to get the bird, both boys had fallen through the ice and drowned. As I dropped I felt the burning cold shock of the water and saw the blue sky vanish into darkness and thought of the two boys. I could see them drowning in the dark water surrounded by white, the white goose with blood on its wings lying dead next to them.
The icy water brought with it a feeling of certain death. The cold made me gasp, and water quickly filled my lungs. The reservoir was only six or seven feet deep, and I hit the bottom and pushed hard with my legs. My head crashed into the ice, and there was a flash of dark red light. I felt a numbing warmth coming to my body. I was still conscious but barely able to move. There was a feeling of total helplessness. I felt life leaving my body and terrible darkness coming over me. It was one of those things where seconds turn into a million years. I have no idea how long I was under the ice. It was an eternity. What did I feel? Darkness, pain, helplessness, lost, anger are good words, but they’re not strong enough. A black sadness settled on me darker than anything I’d ever known.
Somehow, not even knowing what I was doing, I pushed against the ice and felt my body hit the bottom of the reservoir again. I pushed off toward what seemed a shaft of light. My head came up in the hole I had fallen through. Choking for air, somehow I managed to get my arm onto the top of the ice. By crawling flat on the ice my friend reached me, caught my arm, and pulled me to safety.

7. Recognize the Hand of the Lord
Be humble and acknowledge the hand of the Lord. Look for miracles and write them down. I recorded this miracle in my journal a few years ago. “In 2019, my husband had his second stroke. He was life flighted to the University of Utah where we spent 8 days. While in the hospital, I had plenty of snacks to eat, but after a few days, I wanted a real meal. I walked down to the cafeteria, but nothing appealed to me. What I really wanted was a Subway sandwich. Instead of getting any food, I walked away and headed to my car in the parking garage to get some clean clothes. It was busy with vehicles and noisy with the sound of a helicopter taking off. All of a sudden, I heard a car honking right behind me. I quickly moved over and looked back at the car. There was my sweet daughter-in-law with her window down, and in her hand, she held out nothing other than a Subway sandwich for me.”
How could she have known and how could she have been there at that exact moment to meet me? She couldn’t have known, but the Lord knew and He poured His love out on me with that simple act of love. I have felt His love many times in my life and know He is aware of me even with my many inadequacies. We need to take notice of His little tender mercies and expressions of love in our lives.

The sign at the entrance to Manzanilla High School near Sangre Grande, Trinidad, is clear. “No” it says in big red letters, and it itemizes what is forbidden by the dress code: Absolutely no short pants, skirts, or tops; and absolutely no thin straps, halter backs, strapless vests, or bare backs.
Some students balk at the restrictions, but for 17-year-old Michelle Ramnauth they’re no problem at all. “There’s nothing in the school dress code that isn’t already clear in For the Strength of Youth,” she says. And many people at the school know what For the Strength of Youth is, thanks to Michelle.
She explains: “After lunch every day we have 20 minutes for silent reading, and we can read any book we would like. So I would bring For the Strength of Youth and read it. One day I left it sitting out and some of the more mischievous boys took it.” But then they actually read it. “And that turned out to be good because they used to curse a lot, but now when they are around me they respect my standards and don’t do that anymore.”
In fact, word spread through the school that Michelle followed the “rules” in her church book, and that meant she had high standards. “If the way I conduct myself in school agrees with For the Strength of Youth, that’s exactly how I want it to be,” she says. “Some people think that means I’m too proud to talk to them, but that’s not it. When they’re telling dirty stories or using bad language, I just don’t want to be around that influence. They’re being disrespectful, I would say. But I have two or three genuine friends who are now trying to change their ways because they respect me and appreciate me for who I am. So I would call them my true friends, and I’m happy if I can be a good example for them.”