Gospel Story Finder

I received a letter only this past Monday from which I read to you. This woman writes:
“Twenty years ago last June, I was expecting a new baby and had five other little children, nine years and under. My husband chose to leave our family and walk another path. I wish I could say I was a noble pioneer, but rather I was a naive, frightened, insecure young mother who did not know what to do and who daily made foolish mistakes. Nevertheless, I sought counsel from my leaders and obeyed, even when I knew their advice would make my life more complicated. I decided it was not for me to question and that if some advice caused temporary pain for me, it must be something I should experience.
“I remember reading President Kimball’s monthly message in the Ensign wherein he promised that if we would read the scriptures daily that every problem we faced during the day would be answered within those holy pages. I thought, ‘Okay, President Kimball, you’re on. I have lots of problems and they sure do need answers.’ I gathered my children around me and we studied daily, we prayed, we fasted for our Daddy and ourselves, we held family home evening and attended our meetings. We forgave our Daddy and I literally gave my agency back to my Heavenly Father. I told Him if I was not to have my husband for eternity as I had originally thought, I would be pleased if He would change the love I had for him as a wife into a Christ-like love, because I would rather die than go another minute hating or resenting the father of my children. I did not want to teach anger, hate or bitterness to them. I knew my husband was basically a good man, full of potential and talent. He had made a terrible mistake and I knew he would reap his own heartaches and he has. But my personal task at hand was to care for those soon-to-be six children and to teach them in such a way that they could not misunderstand the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt I had borne the heartbreak of losing my husband, but I could not bear it if I lost one precious child of God, who had been entrusted to my care.
“I am humbly touched to report the Lord both heard and answered my prayers. The youngest of my four sons (from my first marriage) is presently serving a mission. … He joins his other three brothers and a sister who have seen fit to share their testimonies literally all over the world. … My oldest daughter married a returned missionary in the temple. … The three oldest boys have been Elders Quorum Presidents and Ward Mission Leaders, the two daughters have served in a Primary Presidency and Relief Society Presidency. Four of those beautiful children have found wonderful eternal companions and have been married in the temple. They are on the right track and have tasted the joy of service to a small degree.
“President Hinckley,” she continues, “this is a miracle if ever there was a miracle. The Lord protected and nurtured those children. He answered their prayers. …
“The Lord saw fit to provide me with a second husband and we were sealed in the temple. We have been a family. Was the way easy? No, there were a million troubles to iron out. But with the scriptures as our ‘iron rod’ resource, prayer as our foundation, and obedience as our determined pathway, my children are learning ‘to trust in the Lord with all [their] hearts and lean not unto [their] own understanding.’
“I do not share our story with you,” she writes, “to brag of myself, but I certainly can boast in the Lord. The Atonement is very real for us. Wounded hearts have been healed, confidence has been restored, peace has been tasted in a most delicious way. Indeed, as you have said, ‘Every principle God has revealed carries its own conviction of its truth.’ I think of my first husband, if he could only realize he has already paid the price for his mistake. … He missed the joy of seeing his talented children grow up in the Lord. He missed their school and church achievements, and their mission farewells and reports—all that makes life sweet. How thankful I am that I was privileged to be by their sides.”
She concludes: “I know there are many single parents in the world today. How I wish I could help them see that they must never waste time reliving their own tender injuries. I have found if you cast your burden at the Savior’s feet, He will carry it for you and replace anguish with love. … May the Lord bless you and your family always. With deepest love and appreciation,” and she signs the letter.

“What are you doing with my ball?” Rodney Sims growled at me as I stood under the huge sycamore tree at the park, admiring the new football I’d found on the grass. He stomped toward me, his face red and sweaty from playing ball in the sun.
I nodded at my friend Frank. “We were just riding past on our bikes and spotted it here. I figured somebody lost it.”
“Well, I left it here,” Rodney barked, snatching the ball from my hands and tucking it under his arm. “It isn’t lost, and I don’t want anybody stealing it.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal it,” I said, climbing back onto my bike. “It sure is a nice ball, though. If it were mine, I’d write my name on it so I wouldn’t lose it.”
“Hey, kid, you want to buy it?” Rodney’s tone was suddenly friendly. Surprised, I turned to face him. “I have another one.” He nodded at the guys who were still playing football. “If you like this one, I’ll sell it to you.”
I laid my bike down again and took the ball—it fit my hand perfectly. I had seen some just like it at a sporting goods store near my home. I had wanted a ball like this one, but it cost $10.
“I like it,” I said, gripping the ball tightly, cocking my arm and pretending to throw a pass. I shook my head and handed the ball back to Rodney. “But I don’t have $10.”
Rodney studied the ball as he rolled it in his hands. “I’ll sell it to you for $5.”
“Five dollars?”
“I have my other ball, so I don’t need this one, anyway.”
My mind began to race. I had $4 at home in my drawer, and I could borrow $1 from my little sister, Stephanie. I licked my lips and grabbed the ball again, searching for flaws. There were none.
“I’d have to go home for the money,” I explained, picking up my bike. “It will take me 15 or 20 minutes.”
“I’ll be here. But the price is $5. And no refunds or returns.”
I sped home so fast Frank had a hard time keeping up with me. Stephanie agreed to lend me $1. I snatched the other $4 from my drawer.
“You’d better think about this,” Frank warned as I crashed out the front door and leaped for my bike. He was still straddling his bike in the driveway.
“What do you mean, think about it? I’ll never get another deal like this! Five dollars, Frank, for a $10 ball! And if I bought it at the sporting goods store, I’d have to pay tax, too. I can’t pass this up.”
“Something’s not right, Joshua,” he cautioned me again. “Has Rodney ever been nice to you?” I thought a moment and shook my head. “So why’s he suddenly doing you this great big favor?”
“He has an extra football, and he doesn’t need it. I’m just helping him out,” I answered defensively.
“Something has to be wrong with the ball. Maybe it has a slow leak. Have you thought of that?”
“I checked the ball out, Frank. It’s brand new. Nothing’s wrong with it.”
“I wouldn’t buy it if I were you, Joshua.”
I stared at my friend. “You’re just jealous because he’s not selling it to you. I’m getting that ball before Rodney changes his mind.”
Rodney was waiting for me under the sycamore tree with one of his buddies. The others had left. He had the new ball and another one that was a bit scuffed up. I held the money out, and Rodney snatched it. As soon as he was sure it was all there, he handed me the football. “You just bought yourself a ball, kid.” He laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Holding the ball, I watched the two run off. They were smirking as they glanced over their shoulders in my direction. An uneasiness stirred inside me. I thought of Frank’s warning. Maybe there was something wrong with the ball. I tossed it around a bit. It felt good. I squeezed it to see if it was losing air. It seemed firm enough. If there was anything wrong with the ball, I sure couldn’t tell what it was.
For the next two days, my friends and I played with my new ball. It was everybody’s favorite. It didn’t have a slow leak, either. It was brand new, just like it looked. I kidded Frank about being worried and asked him if he wished he had come up with the $5. He shook his head, but I still figured he was jealous.
One afternoon as I sat on the front steps, tossing my ball in the air and catching it, he rode up on his bike, looking serious. “I found out something about your ball,” he said.
I grinned. “Are you still worried about this ball, Frank?”
Frank didn’t smile. “My brother Derek knows one of Rodney’s friends. According to him, Rodney stole that ball.”
“What do you mean stole it?”
“Rodney stole it from the sporting goods store. A couple of his friends covered for him, but he was the one who sneaked it out of the store. That’s why he wanted to sell it.”
It felt as if Frank had punched me in the stomach. I looked at the football. “Maybe this isn’t the same ball,” I argued, feeling myself get angry.
“Rodney stole a ball exactly like that one the same afternoon you bought it from him. This is the one, all right.”
“Well, I didn’t steal it,” I snapped at Frank. “I paid for it, so it isn’t my problem. And I didn’t know it was stolen when I bought it from Rodney. He’s the thief, not me.”
Frank shrugged and turned away. “I just figured you ought to know.”
I was angry at him for telling me about Rodney’s stealing, because I liked that ball and I wanted to keep it. “Are you going to tell anybody?” I shouted after him. He turned back and stared at me. Slowly he shook his head.
After he left, I put the ball away. When Stephanie asked me to play catch, I said no. I kept telling myself that the ball was mine, fair and square, and that I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I still didn’t feel good about having it. I didn’t even want to play with it anymore. And I sure didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad what Frank had said. They hadn’t been happy about my borrowing the dollar from Stephanie in the first place, but they had left it up to me.
The next day I went looking for Rodney. He was riding his bike over in the school parking lot with a couple of his buddies. Walking up to him, I handed him the football. “I want my $5 back!”
He looked at the ball and then at me. “I told you—no refunds and no returns. Besides, I’ve already spent most of the money. And,” he added, nodding down at the ball, “it doesn’t even look new, anymore.”
“You stole this ball,” I hissed.
The grin disappeared from his face. Jumping off his bike and letting it clatter to the pavement, he grabbed the front of my shirt and jerked me toward him. “Who told you that?”
“There are guys who know,” I rasped. “And I don’t want a stolen ball.”
“Don’t you go blabbing around that I stole that ball, kid, or you’re going to be in a bunch of trouble. Nobody can prove I stole it. Besides, it’s your ball. You paid for it.”
“I don’t want it now.”
“That’s your problem. If you don’t want it, throw it away.” He gave me a hard shove, climbed onto his bike, and rode off with his friends.
My feet dragged as I left the parking lot, carrying the football that had been such a prize. Now it was a cold, hard reminder of dishonesty. I saw the garbage dumpster in the corner of the parking lot. I considered throwing the ball away. But I couldn’t. I’d paid $5 for it, and I still owed Stephanie $1. I couldn’t just get rid of it.
I tried telling myself I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t known the ball was stolen when I bought it. I hadn’t been the one to take it. I had tried to give it back to Rodney. What else was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to lose my $5 because Rodney had done something wrong?
I shook my head. All my excuses wouldn’t make the sick, guilty feeling go away. I thought of the sporting goods store. I had always liked going there and looking around. Now every time I even passed by, I thought of the stolen football. And even though I hadn’t been the one to steal it, the store was still missing a ball. And I had it. I knew what Dad and Mom would say, and I knew I wouldn’t feel good again until I did it.
I walked home, climbed onto my bike, and rode downtown. It was tough walking into the store. I asked for the manager, Mr. Turley. One of the clerks took me to his office in the back of the store.
“Well, hello, Joshua,” Mr. Turley greeted me as I stepped into the office. “How can I help you?”
I set the football in the middle of his desk and stared at it. “This ball was stolen from your store,” I announced quietly. “I didn’t steal it, though,” I quickly added. I told him the whole story.
“So it’s not my ball,” I finally ended. “You might not want it, either, because it’s been used and I wrote my name on it with a black marker.”
Mr. Turley leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. For a long time he thought without saying anything. Finally he leaned forward and took the ball from his desk and rolled it around in his hands. “Joshua, first of all, I want you to know I’m happy that you had the courage to come in. I don’t expect that was very easy.” I shook my head without looking at him. “It’s not always easy to be completely honest. In this case, it cost you $5. And you weren’t even the one who stole the ball. But being honest is more important than this football or the money you spent to buy it.”
Mr. Turley smiled at me. “I’m going to try to make your being honest this time a little easier. I have some work around here that you could do to pay for the ball.”
“You mean I could keep it?”
Mr. Turley smiled. “You just be here tomorrow morning.” Grinning, I turned and started for the door, the sick, guilty feeling gone. “Hey, Joshua,” Mr. Turley called out. I turned. He laughed and threw me the ball. “You’d better take that with you, or someone might walk off with it.”

I often looked at the picture of the Oakland Temple hanging from the wall in my room, mostly because I loved to lie on my bed and dream of going there someday with my future companion.
My fiancé had already been through the temple before his mission. Now he and I were preparing to go through together a few days before our wedding.
I know the temple is a holy place, and only worthy members holding temple recommends can enter. I had made an appointment to see my bishop and would also have to see the stake president for a temple interview. I realized, however, that there’s more to an interview than just making the appointment and answering the questions. I had to be prepared and feel worthy. I wanted to be able to tell my bishop and stake president that without a doubt I felt worthy to attend the temple.
How does one go about getting a feeling of worthiness? I felt like I had been living a good life, and I was striving to keep the commandments and follow the counsel of my Church leaders. But I had to be sure I was forgiven of my sins and could therefore worthily enter the temple. In contemplating all these things I decided to set aside a day for fasting and prayer.
At my parents’ farm there are many places for privacy where I could fast and pray undisturbed. I chose a spot on the root cellar, shaded by a large pepper tree, where I would go to my Heavenly Father in study and prayer. I began my fast on Monday. Early Tuesday morning, with scriptures in hand, I went to the tree. I looked forward to some moments of quiet prayer, gospel study, and meditation as I sought an answer from my Father in Heaven. I began reading, and as I did, I would often stop to pray. I felt the Spirit very strongly a few times, but I had not yet approached Heavenly Father with my question of worthiness. I decided to get off the cellar and kneel on the ground.
The sun was coming up and the rays were filtering through the rows of crops. It was beautiful. The light seemed to warm my soul, and I felt the Spirit very strongly. Suddenly, the good feelings went away and I felt confused. I knew I had felt the Spirit, but I had not yet received an answer to my question: Am I worthy to attend the temple? I felt that I was, but I had to be sure.
I continued to pray, but that strong spiritual feeling I had before didn’t come again. I wanted to go back to the house, but I knew I couldn’t leave until I felt good. I decided to continue reading my scriptures. I turned to Doctrine and Covenants 50:34 [D&C 50:34], which says, “He that receiveth of God, let him account it of God; and let him rejoice that he is accounted of God worthy to receive.”
A beautiful and joyful feeling came over me, for I knew I had felt the Spirit, and in that verse it said that if you receive of God, rejoice that you are worthy to receive it! I felt so good as the tears streamed down my face. Finally, I knew I could answer before my Church leaders. But more important, I knew I could answer before my God that I was indeed worthy to enter into his holy house.

A sign in the Smiths’ front yard says “Smiths’ Blissful Acres.” Blissful means “happy,” and the Smiths have found that working and playing together make them happy. They live in a house that was once a barn on 10 acres (4 ha) amid brush-covered hills. Here you’ll find a tree house with a rope swing, a pond with canoes, a vegetable garden, a fruit orchard, steers, chickens, and a big dog named Rascal. You’ll also find ten-year-old Daniel, eight-year-old Steven, and six-year-old Alysa Smith. They have four older brothers, an older sister, and lots of cousins. They love being part of a large family.
On Saturday, October 25, 2003, a small fire started 18 miles from the Smiths’ home. But in a few days the wind had turned the small fire into the largest fire in the history of California. By Tuesday, the fire was burning toward Smiths’ Blissful Acres.
“The sky was orange,” Alysa says, “and the sun looked dark red. We wore masks over our noses and mouths because of the smoke and ash in the air.”
Daniel, Steven, and Alysa packed their clothes and stuffed animals. Because it feared the fire, “one of our steers broke the chain on his halter and went under the fence,” Daniel says. “Rascal helped us get the steer back into the corral.”
When the Smiths had to evacuate, they had to leave the steers and chickens behind. “We raise the steers to sell and pay for our missions,” Steven says. “We were scared that everything would burn.”
Before they left, the Smiths knelt in family prayer. “We prayed for the Lord to bless us and our house and animals,” says Daniel, Steven, and Alysa’s dad, Jeff. “We had done all we could do and then left it in Heavenly Father’s hands.”
“We felt better after our prayer,” Steven says. “I felt the Spirit. Mom helped us feel calm, too.”
At 7:30 p.m. the Smiths got into their two cars and a truck to drive the 30 minutes to a friend’s house in the desert. “Rascal wouldn’t get in the car,” Alysa says. “Some of us were crying, and we were scared Rascal would die in the fire.”
The firefighters worked for four days to protect the town of Julian from the fire. One firefighter died. More than 700 houses burned in the hills around Julian, but the town was saved.
Though the roaring fire raced toward Smiths’ Blissful Acres, the firefighters stopped it two miles before it got there. When the Smiths came home on Saturday, they were so happy that the animals and the house were safe. But Rascal was still missing. Five days later, a man from the animal control center called and said Rascal was there.
“When my mom brought Rascal home, we all jumped on him and hugged him,” Daniel says. “We were so happy.”
During the weeks after the fire, Daniel, Steven, and Alysa helped at the disaster center in Julian. As people donated clothing and supplies, and others sorted the donations into boxes, the Smith children carried the boxes up or down the stairs to the assigned areas.
Since the fire, the Smiths are more grateful than ever for their family, home, and the Church. They express gratitude in their family prayers at the beginning and end of every day. After the prayer, the Smiths have a family tradition. They put their feet in the center of the family circle, pile their hands on top of each other’s hands, and say, “We love everybody.” Then they raise their arms and hands over their heads and shout, “We fly high!”—a reminder that with the gospel and each other, they can become better every day.
And Daniel, Steven, and Alysa do “fly high” because working and playing together makes them and their family strong.

Luke E., 17, and his younger companion approached the home of their assigned family to visit. A small cross hung on the front door. “With that cross on the door, I knew they were probably a pretty faithful family,” Luke says.
Inside the home they had a great spiritual discussion with the family. Luke and his companion shared their testimony and thoughts based on Christ’s words in the Bible, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
As the conversation unfolded, the couple asked a question that Luke and his younger companion hadn’t expected.
“What is the Book of Mormon?” they asked.
The adult leaders in the room remained silent in order to allow the youth to answer.
“I took this one,” Luke says. In a few minutes he explained the meaning of the title and subtitle (“Another Testament of Jesus Christ”) of the Book of Mormon, as well as a basic overview of the contents inside. He shared with them how Jesus visited and taught other nations after His Resurrection. Luke also bore testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and left them a copy.
When Luke finished answering the question, the couple was touched. They thanked everyone for coming and said, “We are grateful for young people in the world who believe something so passionately.”
For Luke, the experience was a huge boost in confidence for sharing the gospel.
“Sometimes in high school you clam up and stay quiet about spiritual things, and then you lose your confidence,” Luke says. “That day was very strengthening for me as a young man preparing to serve a mission.”

In March 1946 Elder Ezra Taft Benson, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, visited Czechoslovakia. He was pleased to find that the Czech people were cheerfully at work and that the Church had been as resilient as the country. Ten baptisms had been performed during the war. When Elder Benson inquired at government offices about reopening the mission, he found that the Church had an excellent reputation and would be welcomed back. On 28 June 1946, three missionaries reentered Czechoslovakia, including Wallace Toronto, who had never been released as president. Members had waited seven long years for this reunion.

Last February my stake went on a winter trek. It was very cold at the beginning of the day, so none of us worried about putting on sunscreen. But by the end of the day, I had very, very severe burns on my face. My dad, who is a doctor, told me that I had gotten third-degree burns on my face and that I wouldn’t be able to continue on the trek the second day. I was devastated. I had been looking forward to this trek for months now. I knew I was going to miss out on spiritual experiences. I couldn’t just stay in my tent, but I didn’t know what else to do.
So the next morning my dad gave me a priesthood blessing, asking that my face would heal and that it wouldn’t get burned again. I wrapped a piece of nylon around my face and borrowed one of my brother’s hats. I went out that day looking very strange, but I was able to go out and have spiritual experiences that I wouldn’t have been able to have if I hadn’t gone.
After the trek, my family and I were all worried about my face healing and how badly it was going to scar. But as the next couple of weeks came, the burns healed like a normal sunburn. I healed completely and have no scars on my face. I know that because of the Lord’s power through the priesthood, I was able to be healed. I’m so grateful for the priesthood, and I know Heavenly Father was watching over me.
Darity T., Arizona, USA

I have a student employee, Adriano Carneiro, who arrived in the US from Brazil last winter semester and was having a difficult time with the culture, weather, and language adaption. He is a busy father of three children, attends school full-time, and works part-time.

You may not believe this, but soon after he arrived here, he spoke to the same friend as he was looking for a job, was asked a similar question about attending the temple for 40 days, acted on the impression from the Spirit, and has far exceeded my effort.

This challenge has greatly increased his faith in Jesus Christ, and miracles have happened in his life. He has told me he has achieved an A in all of his classes for the last two semesters, even though he could not spend as much time studying because of spending more time in the temple. There are some days he only has time for one ordinance, but he tries to go every day. He is a great example to me of being all in.

Who would have known that one decision made when I was 11 would touch the rest of my life?
At that time, my family seldom attended church. But my brother and I attended Primary. My teacher, in her lesson on temple marriage, told us, “You have to decide now that you’re going to be married in the temple. It can’t wait. Decide today.” It’s the first time I remember feeling touched by the Spirit, and I did decide, right then, that my goal was the temple.
For a few years, nothing changed. I still seldom attended church, but I thought differently. I believed I would someday go to the temple.
Eventually that one decision began to affect other decisions. When I was 14, I decided that a person planning to go to the temple needed to take seminary. I saw myself as a going-to-seminary kind of person.
My friends from seminary attended Young Women activities, so I started going too. I decided that someone who planned to receive temple blessings would be helped by earning her Young Womanhood Recognition award. It wasn’t easy because of my late start in church activity, but a great leader helped me set extra goals to catch up.
One of my goals was 100 percent attendance at church meetings for one month. It was hard to have my parents drop me off each week. Sometimes I coaxed my little sister into going with me so that I wouldn’t have to sit alone. Achieving that goal helped me see that I was a going-to-church kind of person.
I made mistakes, lots of them. Sometimes I became discouraged and thought my temple dream would never come true. A loving bishop guided me, taught me about repentance, and helped me find the determination that no matter how difficult, reaching the temple would be worth it.
Turning 16 brought more decisions. One of my Sunday School teachers warned, “You will marry someone you date. Make sure you date the kind of person you can marry in the temple.” I took his advice seriously and asked myself about each friendship, “Is this the kind of person I could go to the temple with?” Sometimes my judgment was off. Still I kept to my plan until I found the right person to marry in the right place.
My parents supported me in all my decisions. Mom and Dad stood with me on the stand in sacrament meeting the day I received my Young Womanhood medallion. They were there when I graduated from seminary. They were with me when I received my patriarchal blessing, and they supported me as I attended Ricks College.
They were both with me the day I walked to the doors of the temple. I had finally reached the day when I would enter the temple and receive the blessings I had learned about. The angel Moroni, glowing in the early morning sun on the temple spire, seemed to proclaim my joy to the world. I kissed my parents good-bye as I entered.
If I had waited to decide where to marry, it would have been too difficult to leave my parents outside and be married inside the temple. I wouldn’t have had a strong enough testimony of the gospel and the importance of the temple. I may not even have had the opportunity to decide. Leaders, bishops, and friends helped me. My family supported me. But I never would have made it if I hadn’t first decided that I was going to the temple.
In the temple I learned more about Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I hadn’t reached the end of my goal at all. I had only made one more step. So I decided right then to keep my temple promises, no matter how difficult. I decided I was someday going to return to my Heavenly Father.

There is another way we can let our lights shine. Elder Henry B. Eyring’s friends call him “Hal.” He told a story in general conference about a friend he once worked with. His friend was a good person who loved his family. Elder Eyring never told his friend about the gospel and how families can be together forever. One day, he heard that his friend had died. Elder Eyring said that he sometimes wonders if he will meet his friend in heaven and his friend will say, “Hal, you knew—why didn’t you tell me?” Now Elder Eyring shares his testimony with people all over the world. When we share what we know about the gospel with others, we are letting our lights shine.

It seems to me that a direct test of the proposition is the effect on the university of the influence of prophets on the university. And one of their principle contacts with it has been through their generous service on its board of trustees. I have now for many years been able to observe the service from close range. The documents themselves mirror what I have seen. First, the consistency of the messages—over the years and from so many personalities with such different experiences in life—is both evidence of the source of the vision they share and an assurance that we are on a charted, steady course.

I have personal evidence of that and of its value. Many years ago, when I served as the president of Ricks College, then Commissioner Neal A. Maxwell asked me to chair a committee charged with considering the future of higher education in the Church. Some of the faculty of this university made valuable contributions to that committee’s work. Between our meetings and on a visit to Salt Lake City, I was allowed a few minutes to seek help from President Spencer W. Kimball, one of the authors in our series of foundation documents and then a member of the board of trustees.

As we talked about the plans we should make for the future, I made what I thought was the logical suggestion that conditions during the Millennium would surely allow such educational innovation that we should assume our universities should be planned with the expectation that they would be replaced with some more effective institutions in that time when the Savior would be among us.

There was what seemed to me a lengthy silence, and then he made the quiet statement that over the centuries universities had proved to be the most effective institutions we had developed to find, conserve, and transmit knowledge across numerous fields of inquiry, so why not expect that they would serve as well in the Millennium. That immediately seemed sensible to me.

That little incident is representative of all I have seen: Even in times of turbulence there is a steady, shared confidence in the value of this university. That confidence is rooted in a sense of the history of universities and of education—and the facts of their present condition—and in a shared reliance on common sense.

I am thinking of a missionary.. From the first day I saw his picture on his missionary application form and read the comments made by his bishop and stake president I knew we were in for a great blessing. This missionary was somewhere between being like Helaman and Shiblon and to my knowledge he never had any Corianton-like course corrections to make. He was simply wonderful! He came to the mission with the greatest of all desires to be extraordinary, to be like Ammon , Aaron, Omner, Himni, Muloki or Ammah. He was as near as I could ever detect as exacting in his obedience as anyone of the Sons of Helaman that we read of in the Book of Mormon.

But he struggled for much of the first part of his mission. He sometimes had a tough time being tolerant of those who were not as focused. But, he was one of (if not 'the' hardest worker I have ever seen. I heard other missionaries comment in positive ways, how this elder would with boldness and without fear, opened his mouth on every MICRO (that's a bus), in the METRO (that's the subway), at the corner store, and seized every opportunity to stop and talk to everyone about the message of the gospel.

He, in short, was a mission presidents dream. But he lacked one critical attribute. LOVE! He hadn't come to understand the LOVE of JESUS CHRIST and His atonement in a personal or empowering way. He didn't have a LOVE for the Chilean People. He didn't LOVE many of His Less Perfect Companions. I sensed his motives were rooted in being 100% (or more if that's possible) in fulfilling the DUTY of his calling more than DOING things for his LOVE OF GOD and OF HIS FELLOW MAN.

We spoke openly about his challenge in interviews and on other occasions. He understood and acknowledged the void he felt. Characteristic of his wonderful nature -- he took counsel from His mission president but mostly from the Spirit. He engaged in the process identified by Mormon when he counseled his son. He prayed with all the energy of his heart. I have no doubt that included in his every prayer was a supplication to feel and have the LOVE of God and for man in his heart. I know that he fasted and sought with every fiber of his being 'to be filled with this LOVE'.

I cannot tell you of all his personal and private efforts -- but I can tell you, that he received an answer to his pleadings to the Father. After months of struggling -- it came. You could see a new sense of kindness, his capacity to suffer longer increased, his faith increased, and he was less concerned about himself and the fulfillment of DUTY. He became a total and a complete missionary. To me he seemed to receive in his countenance, an image of Christ. The power of the Holy Ghost came into his life. It were as though the prophetic words of Parley P. Pratt came alive in the life of this missionary, when he said:

The Gift of the Holy Ghost quickens all the intellectual faculties, increases, enlarges, expands, and purifies all the natural passions and affections. It inspires, develops, cultivates and matures all the fine-toned sympathies, joys, tastes, kindred feelings, and affections of our nature. It inspires virtue, kindness, goodness, tenderness, gentleness, and charity. It develops beauty of person, form, and features. It tends to health, vigor, animation, and social feeling. It invigorates all the faculties of the physical and intellectual man. It strengthens, and gives tone to the nerves. In short, it is, as it were, marrow to the bone, joy to the heart, light to the eyes, music to the ears, and life to the whole being.[11] Somehow, because of the desire and prayerful pleadings of the missionary, the Holy Ghost was somehow released to purify his motives and cultivate a SPIRIT of LOVE in his heart. His sense of "DUTY" to be a great missionary (which is a good thing) was replaced with a profound LOVE of God and Everyone Else!!!!

“Take that!” Josh growled, jabbing the controller with his thumb and slamming a bad guy to the ground. Josh loved video games.
“Better get out of your school clothes,” Dad called. “We’re due at the priesthood preview in an hour. Your mother went to get Grandpa—they’ll meet us there.”
Josh switched off the game without the usual grumbling. “Great!”
He was clipping on his Sunday tie when Dad laid a large hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re so excited about receiving the priesthood.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Josh exclaimed. “Sister Burke says that priesthood is the power Jesus used to make the world. When I get part of that power, nobody had better mess with me!”
Dad cleared his throat. “Josh—”
“My friend Devin’s a deacon already,” Josh interrupted. “He says that I’ll have more power than the president of the United States, and he can launch missiles and order whole armies around.”
Dad sighed. “Josh, the power is the Lord’s. He’s given the priesthood to us so that we can serve others. We don’t use it to hurt people.”
“Not even bad guys?”
“Which of us is perfect?” Dad replied. “Let’s go sit at the kitchen table—I’d like you to read something in the Doctrine and Covenants.”
At the table, Dad pointed to a passage and Josh read it aloud, sounding out some of the harder words. “No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love un-un—”
“Unfeigned,” Dad said. “It means genuine, not faked.”
“What good’s power if you have to be wimpy and weak to use it?”
“It doesn’t say wimpy and weak. It says gentle and meek.”
“Same thing.”
“Josh, will you come downstairs with me, please?”
Dad put the bracelet back into his wallet, and Josh followed him upstairs to the living room. Taking a picture of the Savior from the wall, Dad said, “On my last day of school, I hobbled into Brother Jones’s room and told him that I hoped to be as strong someday as he was. He smiled and handed me a graduation gift. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but here’s a better example to follow.’ I unwrapped this picture. Since then I’ve studied the life of the Savior and done my best to follow his example.”
Dad handed the picture to Josh and got his Bible. “When Jesus was arrested, one of his disciples tried to defend him with a sword. Jesus said, ‘Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?’”*
Josh whistled. “Twelve legions! That’s a lot!”
“According to the Bible Dictionary, each Roman legion had some six thousand foot soldiers plus cavalry. If angel legions are about the same size, that would be more than seventy-two thousand angels.”
“Wow!” Josh exclaimed. “They could wipe out an army!”
Dad’s voice grew very serious. “Josh, he didn’t call for those legions. He let himself be whipped and spat upon and mocked and crucified. Instead of conquering men, he conquered death itself, even for those who had hurt him.”
“Wow!” Josh said again, softly this time.
Dad reached out and touched the picture. “The best power of all is the power to help and heal. Jesus has that power, and he’s willing to share it with those who love him and follow him. I think you’re one of those.”
Josh looked him in the eye. “I’ll try to be.”
“Good!” Dad said. “So will I. And now we’d better be on our way to the priesthood preview.”

This past January, I had the privilege of witnessing a profound act of service in the life of a woman who had lived in my ward when I served as bishop many years ago. Her name is Adele, and she and her two grown daughters—one of whom is handicapped—have lived for many years in the Rose Park area of the Salt Lake Valley. Adele, who is a widow, has struggled financially, and her life has often been difficult.

I had received a telephone call from an individual involved with the Gingerbread House Project inviting me to the unveiling of Adele’s home, the renovation of which had been undertaken during a period of just over three days and nights by many kind and generous individuals, all working voluntarily with materials donated by numerous local businesses. During the time the makeover of her home had been accomplished, Adele and her two daughters had been hosted in a city a number of miles away where they themselves had received some pampering.

I was present when the limousine bearing Adele and her daughters arrived on the scene. The group which had been waiting for them included not only family and friends but also many of the craftsmen who had worked night and day on the project. It was obvious they were pleased with the result and were anxious to see the reaction of Adele and her daughters.

The women stepped from the car, blindfolds in place. What a thrilling moment it was when the blindfolds were removed and Adele and her daughters turned around and saw their new home. They were absolutely stunned by the magnificent project which had been completed, including a redesign of the front, an extension of the home itself, and a new roof. The outside looked new and immaculate. They could not help but cry.

I accompanied Adele and others as we entered the home and were amazed at what had been accomplished to beautify and enhance the surroundings. The walls had been painted, the floor coverings changed. There were new furnishings, new curtains, new drapes. The cupboards in the kitchen had been replaced; there were new countertops and new appliances. The entire house had been done over from top to bottom, each room spotless and beautiful. Adele and her daughters were literally overcome. However, just as poignant and touching were the expressions on the faces of those who had worked feverishly to make the house new. Tears welled in their eyes as they witnessed the joy they had brought into the lives of Adele and her daughters. Not only had a widow’s burden been made lighter, but countless other lives were touched in the process. All were better people for having participated in this effort.

On numerous occasions as ambassador I was even asked by Cook Islanders from various other religious denominations to give sermons in their church. I could have elected not to be involved, but I recognized the missionary opportunity that I could be engaged in, without compromising my role as the ambassador of the country.

I recall one incident where I was asked to give a religious sermon. I informed him that I could only give a Mormon discourse. He replied, and I quote, "Well we've never had one of those, so let's give it a try." After completing my sermon, he gave me a thick envelope which was obviously the collection of money from the congregation during the service. After several minutes trying to refuse the offering, I finally heard and listened to the guidance of the Spirit and accepted the gift. But without letting go of his handshake, I returned him the unopened envelope as a donation for the maintenance of their building grounds. He was obviously touched, expressing great interest in more LDS teachings.

I remember when President Rufus K. Hardy, of the First Council of Seventy, passed away. I was walking along the street of one of the cities in New Zealand, and one of our native members came up—a lady. She said to me, “President Hardy is dead.” I said, “Is that so? Have you received a wire?” She said, “No. I received a message, but I haven’t received any wire.” She repeated, “He’s dead. I know.”

Well, I always believed them when they told me those things. When I got back to headquarters, I wasn’t there long when here came a cablegram which said that President Hardy passed away the night before. But she knew that without any cablegram. She told me about it.

Years later I received a similar call late at night in a hotel in Japan. I was then the new commissioner of education for the Church. I knew that President Gordon B. Hinckley was staying somewhere in that same hotel on his separate assignment to Japan. I answered the ringing phone just after I had lain down on the bed to sleep, exhausted by having done all I thought I had the strength to do.

President Hinckley asked in his pleasant voice, “Why are you sleeping when I am here reading a manuscript that we have been asked to review?” So I got up and went to work, even though I knew that President Hinckley could give a better review of a manuscript than I could possibly do. But somehow he made me feel that he needed my help.

In Dortmund, Germany, during the last area conference on this trip, we stayed in an older, beautiful hotel. The manager was an austere, tall, straight, gray-haired Prussian gentleman. He looked as if he could have been an officer in the army. On the second day after arriving at the hotel, the manager commented, speaking of President Kimball, “Every time that man walks through this lobby, I feel goose bumps all over me.” He felt the spirit that radiates from President Kimball. After making that remark he was introduced to the prophet. President Kimball spoke with him briefly and gave him a family home evening manual. Arrangements were made for him to receive the missionary discussions.
The hotel manager was vividly influenced by that very brief contact with the living prophet. On the day we left, we boarded a bus in front of the hotel and drove around the block, passing the hotel again because of the one-way streets. As we passed the hotel, this handsome, stately gentleman was standing outside on the sidewalk waving good-bye to President Kimball with his white handkerchief. It was significant that the hotel manager could feel the Spirit of the Lord just by watching our prophet walk through the hotel lobby. You know, President Kimball looks like any one of the rest of us. Some may not think that there is anything unusual about his appearance—but there is an unusual spirit that he carries with him.

Derek was born with serious physical handicaps. In his five years on earth, he knew little of the world of those who run, play hide-and-seek, skip rope, or feel free of pain. But he knew how he could feel better. When things were tough, when he suffered and those around him were weary and discouraged, he would hold up his arms and ask, “Let me hold you?” In his innocence, he knew he could kindly lift others—even while he endured hardship.
It is important to develop the attribute of kindness even if we feel we are too shy or too busy. For some, like young Derek, it requires little forethought; for others who have not developed the natural inclination to be kind, it demands a greater effort.

“You’re going where?” The Mexican official seemed genuinely amused.
“Quitovac.”
“But nobody goes to Quitovac,” he laughed. “There’s nothing there.”
“We’re going to the school. To see friends.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “Go ahead. But if I were you, I’d go to the beach instead.” He was still chuckling as we left.
Americans do come down this way from Tucson, Arizona, across the Tohono O’odham Nation (Papago) Indian Reservation to the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, through Lukeville, then over the border into Sonoita. Mostly the Americans are tourists or university students on break, looking for the sun. They find it on the beaches of the Gulf of California, which aren’t far away.
But nobody goes to Quitovac. Nobody.
That is, of course, unless you have friends there. And the LDS youth of Tucson have friends in Quitovac, more than 70 of them.
And now, here we were.
We turned from one dirt road to another, came over a small hill, and there, in the middle of nowhere, was the village. Now, months after Christmas, would the children even remember the earlier visit? Now, when the sun was hot and winds calm, would the friendship still be there?
The answer was quick in coming. The dust from our arriving vehicles had hardly settled when we were mobbed by children. Yes, we brought some supplies, some candy, some food. But again what mattered was the sharing. Children who didn’t speak English guided teenagers who didn’t speak Spanish around their school, their classrooms, their playground. Kids watched Brian, who brought along a tool kit, fix a broken swing and re-attach fiberglass panels on the pavilion.
Michael and Susanne organized volleyball and basketball games. Danyel gave piggyback rides. Crystal Smith, 15, of the Sonora 18th Ward, Tucson Stake, became an instant celebrity with school officials because she speaks Spanish and could act as an interpreter.
We were shown the school’s new hand-operated mimeograph machine. A flag ceremony and school assembly were held in our honor. And the principal presented a letter of thanks to the LDS youth.
But it was Walt Stone, a seminary teacher who accompanied the group, who summarized what meeting with the children of Alberque School taught us. “These kids have dignity,” he said. “Everything they own fits on the half of the bed they sleep in. But they share whatever they have.”
An example: “One boy brought out his bag of marbles—the only marbles in the school,” Walt said. “A bunch of us joined him in a game. Nobody argued about winning anything; they just had fun. And when the game was over, the marbles went back in the bag, and he put them back on his bed. He knew they would be safe.”
Many times we saw older children looking out for others, making sure the youngest (some are little more than one year old) weren’t neglected. If anyone tripped and skinned a knee, others were instantly there to help. When teachers asked students to do something, it was immediately taken care of. Students marched, stood at attention, posed with us for a school photo, hugged us over and over again, and literally clung to the teenagers when it was finally time to leave.
All the way home, the youth talked about their day in the sun.
“That was great, even better than Christmas,” Brian said.
“What you never forget are their faces,” Danyel added. “There’s such joy in their faces. Designer jeans and worldly things don’t really matter down here. What’s important is to enjoy life, and to share your joy with others.”
Nobody goes to Quitovac, the Mexican official said. But he was absolutely wrong. Friends come to Quitovac. And their friendship shines all the brighter when they leave. The tourists and the students who drive to the beach seeking the sun take the wrong road. The brightest light is found where people help each other. It’s the light of Christlike service, and it’s a light that shines brighter than any sun.